Chapter 4: Crooked Melons and Split Dates

Chapter 40: Chapter 40: Crooked Melons and Split Dates

Wen Yan slept like a baby.

After his whole body was brimming with yang energy, holding the Warm Jade, a gentle warmth seeped out from inside, like days of pouring rain suddenly giving way to clear skies, a gentle breeze outside, the air high and crisp, neither cold nor hot, not too humid or too dry—people would feel exceptionally comfortable.

He had no idea that tonight, more than one group had their eyes on his new home.

But even if he knew, he probably wouldn’t care much. As long as they didn’t come looking for trouble, he just wanted to get a good night’s sleep.

He’d only been on the job for a few days, and he’d already pulled two or three all-nighters. He was really running out of steam.

If it weren’t for the director and Feng Yao, representing the Funeral Home and the Scorching Sun Department, both stuffing sweet talk into his mouth, he really would’ve hit his limit.

As for the weird hauntings—let them haunt! If he wasn’t so broke that he couldn’t afford to rent a place on his own, couldn’t cough up several months of rent and deposit at once, would he have just taken the keys Feng Yao gave him, not even checked out the place, and moved right in?

Wen Yan slept soundly and happily, but there were others who weren’t nearly as pleased.

In the villa behind his, right in the center of the main hall was an altar. On the altar, front and center, was an incense burner stuffed with incense sticks. Next to it, a few candles burned with faint flames, but the light only reached about two meters around.

Outside the ring of candlelight, a few Black Shadows stood. One of them, standing at the window, stared at the lights flickering under the eaves of Wen Yan’s house, gritting his teeth in fury.

"What’s the meaning of this! What does this mean! Sleeping in front of our graves—are they blocking our feng shui or something?"

"Hiss... ha..."

Outside the glow, a few Black Shadows stuck out their necks, gorging themselves on the incense smoke. As the wisps drifted over, even the candle aura faded a notch.

"Eat, eat, eat—that’s all you lot do! All a bunch of rice buckets!"

The Black Shadow by the window stormed toward the altar, but the others anticipated this and leapt forward, hugging his limbs and body tightly.

"Old Zhao, calm down! Even if you’re pissed, don’t flip the dinner table."

"Yeah, Old Zhao, what era do you think this is? You gotta be scientific, stop with the superstition. Feng shui, schmeng shui."

"Even if we cared about feng shui, this place has been a house for years. The feng shui’s long gone."

"Right, feng shui’s for living folks, not dead ghosts like you. What do you know about feng shui, anyway?"

Pinned down, Old Zhao puffed up in anger. With a twist of his head, his noggin detached from his neck, turning into a rage-filled, wild-haired head that flew straight into the altar.

CLANG! The whole altar toppled over, candles snuffed out, offerings scattered, incense ash all over the place.

"Crap, someone’s missing! Who? Who was supposed to hold Old Zhao’s head? Did everyone forget?"

"How should I know? It’s the weekend—I’m supposed to be holding the left leg, not my turn."

"Not me either, I’ve got the right arm."

"I’ve got the waist."

"I’m holding the left hand."

"Right leg for me."

"Then why is someone missing!"

"How should I know! All I know is it’s the weekend, but there’s no white cut chicken!"

"So unfair! Why isn’t there white cut chicken on the weekend!"

"Yeah, let’s go out there and ask them—where’s our white cut chicken?"

"Exactly!"

The group of Black Shadows started quarreling among themselves.

The one known as Old Zhao, now in pieces, had each of his parts grabbed by a different Black Shadow.

They reassembled his body, stuck his head back on his neck.

"Let’s go, Old Zhao! Let’s raise a fuss—why isn’t there white cut chicken on the weekend!"

Old Zhao, stone-faced, reached out and twisted his backward head right side up, then silently walked to the front door, and opened it.

In the mournful moonlight, the wild-haired Old Ghost stepped out of the villa’s door.

Trailing behind were five figures, scrawny as skewers, looking downright weird—lumpy, bumpy, shifty-eyed, like natural-born thieves.

But right now those five lumps marched in a row, heads held high, chests out, arms akimbo, looking for all the world like a parade of hunchbacks with the moral high ground.

They strode right past the wild-haired Old Zhao, heading for the backyard of Wen Yan’s villa.

One of them reached out to knock on the door, and the guy behind immediately smacked him upside the head.

"Are you stupid? We’re here to make trouble! If you knock, how’s that ’trouble’?" said Weirdo No. 2, exasperated.

"Oh, you’re right." No. 1 Lumpy grinned, then went to walk through the wall.

"Are you an idiot? We’re here to raise hell—you gotta kick the door in!" No. 3 chimed in at once.

No. 1 thought it over—made sense.

He took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and kicked the backyard gate hard.

The next second—there was a flash—a heavy blow knocked No. 1 flying, screeching as he rolled backwards like a bowling pin.

The other lumpy weirdos, lined up behind, were knocked over like dominoes, sprawled all over the place.

Looking up, they seemed to see two generals with Great Maces and glaring eyes step out from the back of the door, turning to glare at them with fury.

And there was a Yellow Talisman, radiating evil-repelling light, flashing in and out of view behind the door.

The five took off to a safer distance. No. 5 cautiously crept off to the side, stuck his head through the iron fence, peered inside—and his eyes bugged out.

"They actually stuck an empowered Door God on the back of the rear door! And they put an Evil-Repelling Talisman on it too!"

"Hiss..."

"Monstrous bastard!"

"This guy’s evil!"

"Definitely did it on purpose!"

Old Zhao, who’d been standing silent, couldn’t take it anymore.

"Are you guys going to make trouble or not?!"

"Can’t kick open the door, forget it."

"Yeah! If we don’t kick down the door, how’s that ’trouble’ supposed to go, Old Zhao, are you dumb?"

"Let’s go, let’s go."Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn N(o)vᴇl(F)ire.nᴇt

The lumpy weirdos marched off, chests out, arms up, and headed back home.

Old Zhao stayed outside, shaking with fury at them.

He glanced at the villa behind—shadows lined up inside by the window, not one daring to step outside.

"A bunch of wimps!"

Old Zhao gritted his teeth, slipped off to the side, shrunk himself down, slipped right through the iron fence and into the backyard, then stuck to the wall like a lizard and climbed up the drainpipe to the second floor.

He was cunning enough—he spotted the Evil-Repelling Talisman stuck inside the window. He gently pushed the window screen, inch by inch scraping away until he finally dislodged the talisman, which fluttered to the ground.

With a smug grin, he slipped through the window into the bedroom.

Besides the bed, the bedroom didn’t even have a nightstand yet. Wen Yan was sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world.

Old Zhao circled the bed twice, and seeing Wen Yan had no reaction at all, grinned even wider.

"So I thought we’d gotten a real expert... turns out he’s just an ordinary guy! Let’s do a little possession!"

Old Zhao spread his arms and lunged for Wen Yan.

But the next second, he shot straight through Wen Yan’s body, landing face-first under the bed.

He froze for a beat, quickly crawled out from under the bed.

And as he looked up, there was Wen Yan—sitting up, sleep-eyed and not looking great, staring right at him.

Just as he’d gotten back to the sweet spot of sleep, Wen Yan had felt that all-too-familiar chill and instantly woke up.

Judging by the chill, Wen Yan could tell instantly this guy was nowhere near a peak-state Feng Dongmei. Even weaker than that shriveled mummy phantom he’d met at the funeral home the first time.

About one-tenth the chill of a mummy.

So basically—a weak chicken.

Before Wen Yan could say anything, Old Zhao puffed up, morphing into a ferocious and terrifying deathly visage.

"Kie-kie-kie-kie..."

Wen Yan rolled his eyes. He hadn’t even activated the Blood Warm Jade’s yang energy—just surged a little yang into his right hand and slapped Old Zhao so hard his head flew off.

"Laugh at your grandpa, will ya!"

Old Zhao’s head hit the floor, sizzling and sparking, making him wail in agony.

Wen Yan came over, his right hand crackling with yang energy, grabbed Old Zhao by the hair, and lifted him off the ground.

"What are you hollering for? Don’t people need to sleep? Don’t you work tomorrow? Keep it up and I’ll blow your head up!"

Old Zhao instantly shut up, looking more than a little wronged.

"But... it’s weekend tomorrow—no work..."