MLV Ch 51

Jiang Ye calmly reached out and pointed toward a girl in the crowd.

“It’s her.”

The nurse turned her head in the direction he indicated. 

“Where? I don’t see anything. You’re lying to me.”

The nurse’s head had been halved by Huo Ang’s bullet, leaving only a solitary chin; naturally, she couldn’t see. Regardless of everything, she raised her surgical knife, the gleaming blade pressing against Jiang Ye’s brow. Jiang Ye’s expression remained cold. Without so much as a blink, he said, “Turn around and walk five steps.”

The hand holding the knife paused. Her head tilted slightly as if she were considering Jiang Ye’s words. The corridor was silent under the emergency lights; everyone stood open-mouthed, not daring to move. The nurse swayed, vanished abruptly, and reappeared five steps away—standing exactly in front of a girl. Zhang Yi noticed it was Fang Weiwei, the girl who had tried so hard to stop them from coming down earlier. Fang Weiwei was weeping uncontrollably, her legs shaking like willow branches.

“You named Jiang, you’re killing people!” Someone tried to rush forward to save her, but Ming Yue held them back firmly.

The nurse raised her hand and the knife fell, ripping open Fang Weiwei’s abdomen. She reached inside to feel around, then flashed a satisfied smile. 

“It’s you. It is you.”

She grabbed Fang Weiwei’s right leg and dragged her into the elevator. Despite her stomach being sliced open, Fang Weiwei could still move. She held her neck stiff and upright, staring deathly at Jiang Ye. Only then did the crowd realize the girl’s face was far too pale—almost like a paper effigy. As the elevator doors slowly slid shut, the girl’s venomous gaze was cut off behind the heavy metal.

Once the ghost was gone, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“How did you know she was a ghost?” Huo Ang asked.

Jiang Ye explained tonelessly, “She wasn’t breathing out warm air.”

Sudden realization hit the group. The first basement level was much colder than the outside; the living were all exhaling plumes of white steam, but that girl hadn’t produced a trace of warmth. Everyone’s attention had been fixed on the corpses in the morgue and the tragic death of Li Miaomiao; no one had noticed the silent girl, allowing her to fish in troubled waters.

Two people in the group had died in an instant, and the floor was slick with thick blood. Fighting back tears, the students worked together to carry the bodies, following Huo Ang and Zhang Yi back to the first floor. No one dared go back for body bags. They laid the corpses side-by-side in the open-air parking lot, placing them next to the boy who had fallen to his death earlier.

The sky grew darker as a pale crescent moon hung in the center of the heavens. The buildings cast deep, pitch-black shadows, and a thick cloud of misery hung over everyone’s hearts. They sat in a circle to discuss what to do next.

Jiang Ye didn’t join them. Instead, he carefully placed Li Miaomiao on the triage desk in the lobby. She was slender, and the narrow desk fit her perfectly. Jiang Ye stared at the dark body bag in silence.

Zhang Yi sighed and patted his shoulder. 

“My condolences. Now isn’t the time for grief; we have to pull ourselves together.”

Huo Ang pulled Zhang Yi aside and asked Jiang Ye, “Xiao Jiang, should we step back and give you some space?”

The young man standing by the corpse didn’t say a word, standing as still as a wooden post. A wordless sorrow swirled silently around him like an invisible vortex, trapping him inside where no one could reach. He wondered: Had he been wrong? Li Yi’an had warned him not to investigate further, and Li Miaomiao had tried to dissuade him as well. He had been headstrong and ignored them. If he hadn’t chased after his mother’s footsteps, if he had just filled out a normal application for a normal university and lived a quiet life like any other student, would Li Miaomiao still be lying here?

“You’re wrong. She likely would have died anyway,” Zhang Yi suddenly spoke.

Jiang Ye slowly turned his head to look at him.

“I heard you muttering to yourself,” Zhang Yi said, scratching his head. 

“Did I ever tell you? I’ve attracted ghosts since I was a kid. I saw ‘unclean’ things so often my parents sent me to Mount Longhu. But since I met you, that stopped happening. At first, I thought you were like A-Ze—naturally gifted at warding off evil—but then I realized it wasn’t that. It’s because their gaze isn’t on me anymore; it’s shifted to you. Every time I cast a divination, your direction is always ‘Great Misfortune.’ Jiang Ye, I don’t know who you are, but I know those things have been watching you for a long time. People around you will inevitably be affected. If you were just an ordinary person, you’d probably die even faster.”

Jiang Ye remained silent, a shadow as heavy as iron settling over his heart. It seemed he was the source of all the calamity. Was that why his mother stayed away?

“Seriously, Jiang Ye, you need to snap out of it,” Zhang Yi checked his watch. 

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to break down. After that, we’re having a meeting to plan our next move.”

“I’m going to find Miaomiao’s internal organs,” Jiang Ye said hoarsely.

“Huh? Why?”

“Jin Feize said his mother killed her. His mom likes playing treasure hunts and hid the organs. He says if I find them, he has a way to bring Miaomiao back.”

Huo Ang was shocked. 

“Xiao Jin has that kind of power? Bringing back the dead?”

Zhang Yi’s expression grew complicated. He knew a few secrets about the Jin family, including the fact that Jin Feize’s mother had vanished into a Forbidden Zone. It was highly likely she had become some sort of malevolent entity. 

“Jiang Ye, do you really believe him? Knowing him, he’s probably lying. A-Ze is a psychopath with no emotions who kills for fun. In some ways, he’s no different from his mother.”

Huo Ang cut in, “How can you say that? Xiao Jin likes Xiao Jiang. He’s helped him multiple times and would give his life for him—I’ve seen it.”

Zhang Yi was speechless for a moment. 

“It’s fine to joke about that usually, but being serious, I really don’t think A-Ze ‘likes’ you that much. He’s a master actor; he could win an Oscar. Plenty of my fellow disciples thought he was head over heels for them just because he looked at them once—it’s like they were hexed. Jiang Ye, believe me, if you were the one in that body bag right now, A-Ze wouldn’t even blink. He’d probably just be disappointed he wasn’t the one who killed you. I stake my reputation as a Celestial Master on this: you can’t trust a word he says. Don’t go looking for them.”

Huo Ang shook his head. 

“Xiao Jin definitely has issues, but he’s sincere toward Xiao Jiang. Don’t discriminate against the mentally ill.”

Zhang Yi paused, then gave a roguish grin. 

“I don’t discriminate against the mentally ill. I discriminate against idiots.”

“Discriminating against idiots is wrong too,” Huo Ang countered.

Zhang Yi gave up and turned back to persuade Jiang Ye. He rambled for a long time, but Jiang Ye didn’t hear a word of it. Would Jin Feize lie to him? Jiang Ye wasn’t sure.

He touched the hand of the body bag. Through the thin layer of plastic, the coldness of Li Miaomiao’s fingertips felt like mid-winter frost, freezing his heart. Even if there was only a sliver of hope, he had to try.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He hoisted Li Miaomiao’s body onto his back and walked toward the corridor.

“Good grief,” Zhang Yi felt a massive headache coming on. 

“Jin Feize is sick, but I think you’re pretty far gone too.”

“Where is he going?” Ming Yue noticed and hurried over. 

“Why is he acting on his own?”

Seeing Jiang Ye disappear into the pitch-black corridor with the body, Huo Ang handed Zhang Yi a walkie-talkie and two grenades. 

“Xiao Jiang helped me; I can’t let him face the danger alone. Take these weapons and protect the students.” With that, Huo Ang strode off to catch up with Jiang Ye, both of them vanishing into the shadows.

Zhang Yi was fuming. Moving alone in an unknown Forbidden Zone was practically a suicide mission. Since Ming Yue wasn’t close with them, he couldn’t say much. Zhang Yi tucked away the gear Huo Ang left and asked, “What did you guys decide?”

“Guan Hao is invoking his family’s ‘Immortals’ (Jiaxian),” Ming Yue replied.

Returning to the parking lot, they found the group gathered in a circle. Guan Hao had moved a broken long table to the center, setting up an “Altar of Heaven and Earth” and “Seven-Star Incense.” He had a red cloth—resembling a bridal veil—draped over his head. His body shook as he performed ritual steps, walking in a Taiji pattern to invite the Immortals. Zhang Yi knew a bit about Northeast Chinese Shamanism (Chuma). This setup was called a “Shrine” (Tangkou). Once a disciple began the ritual, it could not be interrupted, and every step had to be perfect. Otherwise, it would become a “Black Shrine,” with disastrous consequences.

The moon reached its zenith; the auspicious hour had arrived. Guan Hao began to chant in a high-pitched ritual melody:

“The sun sets behind the western hills and the sky turns black, Every house and home slides the bolt and lock. Only one house remains with an open door, Cracking the whip and beating the drum to invite the Immortals—”

The incense on the altar flickered like stars, and blue smoke curled from the furnace.

“Do not be hurried, do not be rushed, To be in a flurry is to be exhausted. The old ox pulls the cart with a steady hand, The Old Immortal appears in the shadows, It seems they have arrived, ah-hai-yo-ah…”

As soon as he finished the line, a soft, oily, slithering sound of a fox’s cry echoed through the silent parking lot. Everyone spun around. The night felt like an invisible membrane, with things hiding everywhere in the darkness. They squinted, but saw nothing. Turning back to Guan Hao, they saw his body hunched over strangely, his hands tucked against his chest like fox paws. His voice changed too—becoming shrill, raspy, and harsh.

He continued to chant:

“Seven miles to receive, eight miles to greet, Nine miles to reach the Changsha Inn. Rest the horses at the Changsha Inn. A man leaves a name, a wild goose leaves a cry, I, the Old Immortal, am—”

In the Northeast, there are five Great Immortal Families: Fox, Weasel, Hedgehog, Snake, and Rat. Everyone strained their ears to hear which family had arrived, but Guan Hao’s chant suddenly caught in his throat. He clutched his own neck, wheezing for air. A ritual cannot be interrupted, so the group stood paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Guan Hao collapsed to his knees and spat a glob of thick, black blood onto the ground. Within the blood sat a tuft of yellow fur. He ripped off the red veil; his face was flushed red, his features contorted.

“What happened?” Ming Yue asked.

Guan Hao caught his breath, his face full of disbelief. 

“The Immortal… was intercepted on the way.”

“Intercepted?” The crowd looked at each other.

Ming Yue sighed and muttered a prayer. 

“It must have been intercepted by the ghosts here.”

Exhausted, Guan Hao apologized and packed up the altar. Everyone felt discouraged. How fierce must the ghosts here be if they could intercept an Immortal worshipped by a family for generations? These “Immortals” were actually supernatural creatures that had been domesticated over centuries; they weren’t as savage as wild entities and could be used to help people. Now that this method had failed, they had to find another way. It was cold outside, so they retreated to the lobby to rest. This was their first night in the Forbidden Zone; they decided to take turns keeping watch.

Zhang Yi couldn’t sleep. Something felt wrong. He quietly slipped back to the parking lot to examine the blood Guan Hao had vomited. The sight of the hair in the blood made his skin crawl. Ming Yue, who didn’t know the others well, followed Zhang Yi like a shadow.

“What is it?” Ming Yue whispered.

“I don’t think his Immortal was intercepted,” Zhang Yi pointed at the yellow fur on the ground. 

“I think he swallowed his own Immortal. Look at this fox hair and blood—doesn’t it look like the remains of something that was eaten and then spat out?”

“Don’t say such things lightly,” Ming Yue hissed, stopping him. 

“A disciple eating their own Immortal? Only if they wanted to die.”

“Do you remember the first fox cry we heard? Did that sound like the voice he used for the chant later?”

Ming Yue thought back and his resolve wavered. The first fox cry had been soft and smooth, but the later chanting voice was shrill and raspy. Zhang Yi was right; they sounded like two completely different creatures.

“The essence of Chuma is inviting a spirit to possess your body,” Zhang Yi’s face was grim. 

“Damn it. Guan Hao was probably possessed by a different ghost altogether.”

Ming Yue pressed his palms together, inwardly groaning. 

“We just got rid of one ghost. How is there already another?”

As they spoke, a shrill, thin voice whispered from behind them:

“What are you two doing?”