Chapter Thirty-Five: Encountering a Living Ghost

Yang Meng told Hu Erleng and the other to return to the ward first, while he followed Long Teng and his group into the elevator up to the hospital's top floor and its luxury wards. The atmosphere along the way was intensely awkward—no one knew what to say. Long Xixiang glared at Yang Meng's relaxed expression, grinding her teeth in frustration, making it feel as if mice were scurrying around in the elevator.

Secretary Duan, sensing the tension, hurried to speak: “Mr. Yang, we've already reserved the entire top floor of the hospital. There’s not a single outsider here now. It should be more convenient for Master Yunhe to work his magic.”

“Tsk tsk, money really is power. Renting out an entire floor of a hospital at a whim,” Yang Meng sneered at Duan Bowen’s words.

Secretary Duan cleared his throat. “Mr. Yang, in some people’s eyes these things are considered feudal superstition, aren’t they? So we had no choice but to take these measures.”

Yang Meng shrugged. “It just means the Long family is rich.”

Duan Bowen had nothing to say to that—wasn’t it obvious? Without money, how could the hospital let you make such a mess? It was best not to argue with Yang Meng; doing so was just asking for trouble.

At last, they reached the top floor. As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, a tremendous crash echoed down the hallway.

Turning toward the sound, Long Teng and the others’ faces changed dramatically. Someone had been thrown from a room, slammed against the wall, and collapsed to the floor.

“Dad!” “Uncle Long!” Long Teng and his companions cried out in alarm when they saw who it was.

The person who’d been thrown out was none other than Long Teng’s father, Long Mingyang.

Long Teng rushed over and helped him up. “Dad, are you all right? Who did this?”

He was about to storm into the ward in fury when Long Mingyang grabbed him. “Teng’er, don’t be reckless! Don’t go in there!”

“Dad?” Long Teng was bewildered. He didn’t understand why his father was holding him back. “Yaoyao is still inside!”

At that moment, the ward was filled with thick black smoke; no one could see what was happening inside. Flickers of small flames floated back and forth within, casting an eerie and menacing scene.

As the smoke gradually dissipated, people finally saw what was happening inside. Master Yunhe was chanting incessantly, his hands forming a series of complex gestures, faint tongues of fire dancing from his fingertips. His face was grave, prepared for a formidable foe.

Besides him and Long Nanyao, who lay on the hospital bed, another figure was slumped in the corner behind him. Looking closely, they realized it was Feng Tao, Long Nanyao’s boyfriend, now motionless and of uncertain fate.

Long Teng saw this and shouted, “Dad! This is just a ‘lone horse’ trick! They're all con artists! He’s got powder on his hands!”

He ran a fitness club and was familiar with the tricks of street charlatans. For centuries, street swindlers had been divided into ten types: Horse, Swallow, Wind, Sparrow, Porcelain, Gold, Judge, Skin, Hang, and Color. The ‘Horse’ referred to the solo con artist, who would often dress as a reclusive master to deceive people. The so-called fire on the hands was a cheap trick: a mixture of camphor powder, phosphorus, and sulfur, shaken and rubbed until it smoked and combusted, a long-standing ruse.

But Long Mingyang glared at Long Teng and snapped, “What do you know! I’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice—don’t compare the street tricks you’ve heard of with Master Yunhe’s skills! When I was making my way through the underworld, you weren’t even born! Just shut up and watch quietly! Master Yunhe is the real deal!”

Yang Meng looked at Long Mingyang in surprise. So there was someone here who understood what was going on.

While others couldn’t figure out what was happening in the ward, Yang Meng saw it clearly: Master Yunhe was facing a female ghost, and the flames on his hands were genuine Taoist spirit fire. Every movement was aimed at sealing the ghost’s actions. And the ghost was none other than the fat woman ghost he’d encountered earlier in the elevator!

When he’d first seen Master Yunhe, the huge gold chain around the man’s neck had seemed gaudy, but now it was clear this old master had some true skill.

But the female ghost was obviously stronger.

She was relentlessly attacking the barrier Master Yunhe had constructed, desperate to escape its confines.

“Hmph!” Master Yunhe, seeing the fat ghost struggling, snorted coldly and sped up his chanting. Something miraculous happened: where there had been nothing, a shadow now appeared, writhing and emitting a hair-raising, guttural howl.

“What is…?” Long Teng and the others stared, dumbfounded, their worldviews shattering before their eyes.

Long Xixiang’s jaw dropped. “Wait… There really are ghosts?”

Just then, the sound of a lighter flickered at their ears. Turning, they saw Yang Meng lighting a cigarette. Catching their gaze, Yang Meng waved his cigarette. “Oh, right, it’s not very appropriate to smoke in a hospital.” He quickly stubbed it out. “Sorry about that.”

“Ahem,” Duan Bowen gestured toward the ward. “Mr. Yang, don’t you find this strange?”

Yang Meng shrugged. “Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean others haven’t. You’re just inexperienced.”

He said it with a cocky air, but, truth be told, this was only the second time he’d seen a ghost himself. The cigarette was just to steady his nerves.

Duan Bowen’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen something like this before?”

Seeing the Long family staring at him, Yang Meng smugly declared, “You really think I was harassing your third miss for no reason? Please! I was giving you a genuine warning! And yet, all I got in return was trouble. But I should thank you for that—otherwise, who would’ve handed me so much easy money?”

Long Mingyang looked Yang Meng up and down, uncertain—could this young man really be an expert?

Yang Meng caught the look and smiled. “Old sir, I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll help you all one more time. You’d best run now.”

“Run?” Long Mingyang’s eyes went wide. “Why should we run?”

Yang Meng pointed into the ward. “That old master won’t be able to restrain the female ghost for long.”

“Mr. Yang, you must be joking,” Long Mingyang replied, waving him off. “Master Yunhe really is a man of great ability. Hiring him costs a million per session!”

Yang Meng snorted. “A million per session? What about poor people—are they just left to suffer? Someone who only serves the powerful—what kind of real master is that? He’s just a sycophant.”

He meant part of it, but mostly it was jealousy: after all, he’d risked his life for just a hundred thousand or so, while this so-called master earned a million for a single job? The comparison was maddening.

No sooner had Yang Meng finished speaking than chaos erupted in the room: the shadow before Master Yunhe suddenly burst into flames.

“See that? The master’s about to burn the ghost to ashes!” Long Xixiang, who had never believed in ghosts, found herself forced to reconsider. But she couldn’t stand Yang Meng’s smugness and was determined to contradict him.

Yang Meng only shook his head and retreated to a corner by the wall, beckoning to Long Mingyang. “Sir, come over here.”

Long Mingyang said nothing, but Long Teng’s eyes widened. “Dad, don’t go! Yang, what are you up to?”

Yang Meng shrugged indifferently. Come or don’t, it’s your choice.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Long Teng pressed, growing anxious at Yang Meng’s silence.

No sooner had he spoken than a terrifying howl came from the room, followed by a blast of chilling wind. Long Teng and the others were slammed against the wall, while Yang Meng, who had hidden on the other side, was the only one unharmed.

“Sir, don’t forget to give your son a beating when you get home—it was his idea not to come over,” Yang Meng said, grinning mischievously.

“You—ugh…” Long Teng tried to retort, but the impact had left him too bruised even to speak.

Yang Meng pointed toward the ward, saying nothing. Following his gesture, everyone stared, eyes wide. Master Yunhe now lay slumped in a corner, unconscious or worse, and in the center of the room stood a figure wreathed in flames. At first glance, it looked like the Human Torch from the Fantastic Four.

Yet the fire gave off no heat—instead, it made the surrounding air grow noticeably colder.

More terrifying still, the flaming figure began to speak. “You… all deserve to die!” With that, it began to advance slowly toward the group gathered outside the door.

“Yang! What the hell is going on?” Long Xixiang, still sitting on the floor, stared at Yang Meng in alarm.

Yang Meng glanced at her. “Miss, mind your tone. Didn’t they teach you manners and courtesy in school? If you’re going to ask someone for help, at least ask nicely.”

Long Xixiang watched the fiery figure draw ever closer, her face pale with terror. Who could worry about manners now? She was too frightened to speak at all.

“That fire you saw just now wasn’t the Taoist’s true flame—it was the ghost’s own ‘karmic fire,’ the fire of the underworld. For ghosts, it’s a double-edged sword. She’s determined to destroy you all, even if it means annihilating herself. What did you people do to make her hate you so much?” Yang Meng’s voice drifted to their ears.

“Hmm?” Long Mingyang, seeing Yang Meng standing calmly nearby, hurriedly begged, “Young friend, please help us! If you can get us through this, the Long family will reward you handsomely!”

“Why couldn’t you have been this polite earlier? Let me show you something you’ve never seen before.” Yang Meng recited a brief incantation, fished out Yi Di’s wine gourd from his pocket, took a deep swig, and sprayed the liquor directly at the fiery apparition.

A miracle occurred: the karmic fire was extinguished at once by Yang Meng’s wine!

With the flames gone, the Long family all gaped in astonishment. Before them stood a female ghost, her face twisted and menacing, fully revealed at last.

“Holy crap, there really are ghosts!”