Chapter 44: Little Ghost 12

The loud crash of a vase shattering—

Jiyue closed his eyes and covered his ears.

So loud.

[Oooooh! This plot point is finally here!! There are some deviations but they still ended up fighting!!] The system was extremely excited. [Quick, say that line, "Stop fighting, you two!"]

Jiyue lowered his hands and thought over the plot for a few seconds first.

The development of this small world still differed subtly from the original novel. The male lead and his brother fighting—actually it happened because the brother had tried to save him by poaching his corner.

[What touching friendship! Chen Zheqin is willing to sacrifice his own chastity!]

'It feels a bit like we're repeating the last world's path.'

[Yeah! My program alerts analyzed it the same way! But it's a bit better than last world!]

Since that was the case, the plotline had to be set right, otherwise this world would surely collapse too.

He silently made up his mind.

Over there, Zhong Xian had fought until his eyes were red, just as the original novel described—like he'd lost his reason, grabbing his former friend's collar and slamming fist after fist down, dull thud after dull thud.

Was he pained by his brother's betrayal, or furious that his "girlfriend" had slept with someone else?

[That's the question of the century!]

Either way, the answer had nothing to do with this fierce ghost.

Jiyue closed his book and stood up.

"Please stop fighting."

He didn't know what tone the ghost in the original had used, but most of what he said came out in this register anyway.

His voice wasn't loud, and it wasn't very clear amid the mixed noises in the room, yet the moment he spoke, the two men across from him both stopped.

The vase had been smashed against the TV wall, broken into several white porcelain shards, water spilled everywhere.

Zhong Xian stood by the table, chest heaving, veins bulging on the back of his hand, knuckles clenched white, staring at Jiyue's face.

Chen Zheqin had a bruise on his face, at his cheekbone. He hadn't fought back the entire time, only wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

Both men, without prior agreement, looked toward the central figure of this story.

Jiyue stood beside the sofa holding his book, light shining down from overhead, his face lit pale and glaring, his damp long hair hanging down his back, still dripping.

He was like a lake without ripples, saying calmly: "Zhong Xian, it's not what you think. Nothing intimate happened between him and me."

"So he seduced you, is that it?" Zhong Xian's chest was still heaving, his voice hoarse.

Jiyue shook his head. "They just wanted us to break up, nothing more. It was only a way to provoke you."

Zhong Xian seemed to smile—who knew whether he believed it or not—the expression lingering at the corner of his mouth for a second before vanishing. He turned his head to look at Chen Zheqin leaning against the wall. "You can go."

Chen Zheqin observed Zhong Xian's behavior. He had no intention of taking his anger out on Jiyue. Confirming this, he cast his gaze back to Jiyue—but the ghost didn't look at him, instead walking over to Zhong Xian's side to look at the wound on his hand.

Zhong Xian wrapped an arm around Jiyue, and the two embraced.

Chen Zheqin watched this human-ghost couple, holding each other like survivors of a disaster.

He seemed to be the superfluous one.

Closing the door, he could faintly hear conversation inside, low voices, the words indistinct.

Chen Zheqin stood outside the door, leaned against the wall, and smoked a cigarette. Just a verbal explanation like that? He could imagine how Zhong Xian would seek proof and comfort from Jiyue—in bed.

His thought remained the same—they had to break up.

If Jiyue wanted a man, he could replace Zhong Xian. That was fine.

Chen Zheqin walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the first floor. As the doors closed, he took one last look at that tightly shut door.

He knew Jiyue wouldn't be coming out tonight.

[They're fighting over you now. Later, when they find out you're a boy, their faces will be priceless. Chen Zheqin will definitely say he should have just checked your sex from the start, and Zhong Xian will naturally break up and leave while vomiting.]

[The reason these people haven't uncovered your past identity is largely because they got the gender wrong! So you can't be deceived by appearances!]

The system chattered on and on in his mind. No one responded.

Jiyue was pressed into the sofa, forced to sit on Zhong Xian's lap, circled by a pair of arms, his chin pinched and tilted up. When the kiss fell, it carried the coolness of alcohol and a trace of tobacco's bitterness.

His teeth were pried open; the tip of his tongue went a little numb.

Jiyue was always cold toward people—not out of resistance to socializing, he just simply didn't like engaging with others. When kissing a man, he was a different sight entirely: face flushed, eyelashes trembling like a startled butterfly, body gone soft, unbearably sultry.

Nothing of that frigid air could be seen at all.

Zhong Xian kissed him while asking, "Xiao Yue... is there something you're hiding from me?"

His eyelashes fluttered, blocking Jiyue's view; he vaguely saw Zhong Xian's eyes watching him sharply.

It was true that nothing had happened between him and Chen Zheqin. As for things he was hiding—there were far too many, no place to begin.

It's just...

Hearing this, Zhong Xian seemed to believe him?

Was the matter over?

[Ohoho, he believes whatever his girlfriend says? Is the male lead really this easy to fool? I don't buy it!]

[He might be hinting for you to obediently confess—about you tugging back and forth with that brown-haired guy downstairs in the complex, about that blow—!]

[Hm, or maybe the male lead just has no choice but to believe. After all, life has to go on. If you want life to run smoothly, you've got to...]

In the few minutes he'd been spacing out, his pajamas had been lifted up.

Before Jiyue could react, he instinctively caught that restless hand.

Zhong Xian stared at him, complicated emotions churning in his eyes. "Why don't you want to do it? You just don't want to do it with me, or you'd rather be fucked by my friends? Or... do you have some other difficulty?"

Breath fell hot against the side of Jiyue's neck, his tone gritted.

"Not before marriage."

Jiyue quietly repeated the line from when they'd first moved in together. He'd said the same thing back then.

Zhong Xian pressed his forehead against his shoulder, exhaled irritably, and said, "Forget it. Go back to the bedroom."

Jiyue slid off his lap and slipped away in his slippers.

But at the door, he stopped, still mulling over that question—what exactly was Zhong Xian busy with? If he asked now, he'd surely say something like "what a coincidence, my sixth cousin died" again.

Thinking of this, Jiyue quietly cracked the door open a sliver.

Just to observe what the man was doing.

He saw Zhong Xian still sitting on the sofa, back against the cushions, head tilted up staring at the ceiling. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he picked up a piece of clothing—Jiyue's pajamas.

Then, he unzipped his pants.

The sound of panting came urgent as wind...

...My... my teddy bear pajamas!

Jiyue, somewhat angry, slammed the door shut with a bang.

[Hahaha!] The system burst out laughing. [You can't go out and argue with him right now about not doing that to your pajamas—but you might get fucked!]

Jiyue stormed in circles around the bedroom, but it was useless. He could only throw himself onto the bed, close his eyes, and sleep.

[Remember to lock the bedroom door.]

'Why.'

He never locked his door.

[The male lead's emotions are intense tonight. He might come in at midnight and do it to your face, or just straight up do that to you!]

'...'

With a cold face, Jiyue picked up his phone. The beautiful straight-passing guy had sent him a string of messages.

[Baby, why are your boyfriend and Chen Zheqin fighting? Did your boyfriend finally find out his good brother wants to steal his wife? Hehe, he hasn't noticed I exist, right!]

[Hope something happens to both of them (hands clasped in prayer)]

[I saw Chen Zheqin leave with injuries on his face. Wow, did he lose the fight? I want to join the battle!]

[Why aren't you replying, are you comforting your boyfriend? Must be hard, right? With such an emotionally unstable boyfriend, why not switch to someone like me—young, stable personality, won't vanish and get his home stolen by a brother (covering mouth laughing)]

?

Jiyue expressionlessly scrolled through the messages and replied with a middle finger emoji.

[Right, the next plot point is dealing with Fei He—that white-haired sunglasses guy from before. His personality is more extreme than the other male lead's friends. Watch out for a second kidnapping!]

He counted the current plot points along with the system. After dealing with Fei He, it would be about time for the grand finale where he gets sealed away.

[Yeah! After tonight, once Zhong Xian enters sage time, he'll slowly realize his brothers' warnings were right—this little sister is a ghost!!]

Who knew how much time passed; the sounds in the living room gradually subsided.

Jiyue pillowed his head on the blanket and slowly fell asleep.

A pair of man's hands pushed open the bedroom door.

Someone walked in, stood before the bed, silently gazing at that sleeping face.

Then he slowly withdrew, leaving through the front door.

Jiyue woke and sat up at once.

[Where's Zhong Xian going in the middle of the night? Don't tell me he's going out to beat up Chen Zheqin!]

[I actually thought he'd do it to your hand or face!]

["In the cozy bedroom, Jiyue slept, a horror thriller novel slipping from his hand. He still loved mystery novels so much. His pale face had a soft curve in the moonlight. Zhong Xian couldn't hold back, and undid his (), #@￥#%#..."]

'Stop.'

Jiyue hurried to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain. Zhong Xian had just walked out of the building, steps quick, heading toward the parking lot.

The car lights came on; the Land Rover pulled out of its space, its body quickly vanishing around the corner of the complex gate.

Jiyue stared at the disappearing taillights for a few seconds. He was definitely going to do something—not beating up Chen Zheqin; that didn't matter.

Something worth the world's protagonist doing over and over was very likely more important than the main plot.

Jiyue changed clothes and hurried downstairs after him.

In the dead of night, the complex was empty. Zhong Xian's car was long gone.

Jiyue stood at the building entrance, glanced toward the parking lot, and considered hailing a cab to check out the coffin shop first.

There were a few parking spaces by the complex entrance, sparsely occupied. As he walked over, a beam of light suddenly stabbed at him—the other party had turned on their high beams, turning everything before his eyes white.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes and could only barely make out that the car was black, driving toward him.

The window rolled down, revealing a man's face—bruise at the corner of his mouth, a band-aid still stuck on his cheekbone, cold and hard features.

"Where do you want to go?"

Chen Zheqin's voice came from inside the car.

[Ehh, he's still downstairs? A lover waiting to steal someone?]

Jiyue guessed he must have seen where Zhong Xian went. He walked closer and asked, "I'm going to the coffin shop. Can you give me a ride?"

"Get in."

Chen Zheqin nodded.

------------

The coffin shop's owner sat down at the table. Seeing Zhong Xian push the door open and enter, he slid a package across the table.

A black coarse-cloth package, tied with thin hemp string.

The sealed room had not a single window, yet the candle flame on the table jumped a few times on its own, the thin string on the package swaying lightly at the same time, as if an invisible ghost had breathed on it.

The moment Zhong Xian sat down, a cold wind swept past him, a bone-piercing chill; the midsummer heat outside was utterly absent here.

"I'll confirm with you one last time. You're sure you want to do this?"

"I'm sure."

"If I remember correctly, I told you before—he's not a 'girlfriend.' He's the same sex."

"I already know."

Zhong Xian said it very calmly.

Anyone who had once lived in this world couldn't possibly leave no trace at all. Three days ago, he had gone to Jiyue's hometown from when he was alive, searching for the place his "girlfriend" had lived. Jiyue's lifespan had been barely over a decade, and the traces he left were pitifully few—but he had found some remaining things.

Speaking of this, he smiled, immersed in the memory. "I saw his childhood photos. Very cute."

The shop owner had been in this trade too long; he'd seen too many people with obsessions like this, and each time he felt pity.

Reviving a ghost didn't necessarily succeed, yet the price was the living person's money, health, and lifespan.

A ghost in love with a living person, and a living person trying to forcibly revive a ghost—which of the two was crazier?

He untied the thin string and spread the black cloth open, revealing several items inside.

The candle flame jumped again.

"Three days from now," the shop owner said.

-------

The car turned into the old town district, the road narrowing. Jiyue looked out through the window. The coffin shop was just ahead, deep in the alley across the intersection. A dark Land Rover happened to be pulling out, its taillights flashing once before disappearing into the darkness.

Who knew whether he'd noticed that his friend's car was parked nearby.

Jiyue hurriedly got out of the car. Night wind poured in from the alley mouth; he pressed down his cap brim and quickly walked to the coffin shop's door.

—"Shou'an Ju" (Peaceful Rest Residence).

A black-lacquered wooden plaque, the characters traced in gold, most of the gilt already peeled away.

Two iron chains were wound around the door handle, the lock mottled with rust. A PVC light sign, unplugged, stood gray and dusty beside the door.

All around was silent; a fallen leaf drifted past his feet.

Just like a scene from an old Hong Kong ghost movie...

Jiyue slowly floated inside.

The interior was bitterly cold, the air carrying a stale, decaying wood smell mixed with the ash scent of burned joss paper.

He passed through the front hall, wound around a few unpainted coffins, and at the end of the corridor there was a door. Just as he reached it, the door opened.

A middle-aged man stood inside, unremarkable-looking, the sort you'd lose in a crowd. Seeing Jiyue, he showed no surprise at all, as if he'd long known someone would push that door open tonight.

"Looking for who?"

The middle-aged man scrutinized his visitor, tone flat.

"Hello, sorry to disturb you." Jiyue took off his cap. "Did someone named Zhong Xian just come here?"

The middle-aged man glanced at him and said knowingly, "So you're the ghost he talked about."

"May I ask, what does this shop do?"

"It handles business and transactions for the people and ghosts of the yin and yang realms."

"What business did Zhong Xian come here for?"

"His request—I won't tell you."

Jiyue was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Is Zhong Xian planning to scatter my soul?"

The middle-aged man shook his head. "You can go now."

Nothing more could be asked. He had no choice but to leave the coffin shop and get in the car.

Chen Zheqin didn't ask what he'd found out, just started the car and drove off.

"You also know what this shop does, don't you?"

"I don't know. I can't get in."

Chen Zheqin said.

By the time the car drove back to the complex, the horizon was already paling with the first light of dawn. He gazed from afar toward the building—windows tightly shut, deeply dark.

Jiyue floated down from the car, walked a few steps toward the building, then stopped and looked back.

Chen Zheqin was still sitting in the car, the window slowly rolling down, gazing at him directly.

"If you want to break up with him and be with me, contact me."

He gave Jiyue a phone number.

The slip of paper was handed out through the window. Jiyue took it, his fingertips touching the other's fingers.

Chen Zheqin's gaze paused. He rarely had physical contact with Jiyue in the real world.

His body was soft, fair, smooth as if soaked in milk.

His personality, mysterious and cold.

Chen Zheqin recalled Jiyue's behavior today.

Facing his overtures—Jiyue hadn't refused.

Thinking of this, his Adam's apple moved slightly.

[Tsk tsk tsk, the male lead's good brother still hasn't given up on being the side piece!]

Jiyue took the number and saved it, planning to ask him if Zhong Xian ever went missing.

He floated a lap upstairs and found Zhong Xian still hadn't come back.

When he woke from a sleep, dawn was near, and there still wasn't a single living person at home.

He hadn't died out there, had he?

Jiyue recalled that strange coffin shop, a place handling human-ghost business. He thought it over and decided to return to the underworld to ask the village elders.

Back in the village, the moon hung high.

Pushing open the door, he found a heavy stack of gold ingots newly placed on the table.

Jiyue silently put the ingots away. From time to time he received offerings burned from the human world—he didn't know who offered them. Perhaps the descendants of his younger siblings?

The village elders were under the big tree at the village entrance, bragging about their lives. Seeing him appear, they exclaimed in surprise, "Xiao Yue, didn't you go off to date? Which young man is it? Is it the one from yesterday?"

What yesterday?

Jiyue: "I want to know something. Some coffin shops conduct human-ghost transactions—is that true?"

The elders all nodded. "Yes, those shops connect the human world and the underworld. Ordinary people can't get in."

"What kinds of transactions do they usually do?"

"Letting living people take a look at the gates of the underworld, channeling spirits so ghosts can visit their families in the human world, exorcising ghosts, casting curses... and some other stuff? Can't remember clearly. Anyway, they do everything!"

Oh?

Jiyue stroked his chin, looking curious.

He returned to the human world and floated back to the complex. By then, dawn was near.

Jiyue took one of Zhong Xian's belongings and was about to try entering his dream—then remembered the flickering look in Chen Zheqin's eyes tonight in the car when their gazes met.

This man definitely knew something.

So he dug out a wristwatch instead.

He closed his eyes, gripped these objects, and formally entered the dream.

The scene changed abruptly—

"Zheqin, remember to pick up those batches of brocade from the cloth shop. They were ordered for the young mistress's qipaos."

Chen Zheqin agreed.

On the road he ran into the housekeeper, Mama Lin, who handled affairs of the inner quarters at the manor and dealt with the young mistress and the madam. She went on about how fine this year's Sichuan brocade felt—the young mistress would surely love it.

Chen Zheqin listened absentmindedly. He knew this was a dream; it had been like this lately.

Mama Lin laughed. "You men are all like this. Go on, get to work! Take it straight to the house later and let the young mistress have a look—see how many summer outfits to have tailored? I'll be off first."

After collecting the fabric from the cloth shop, Chen Zheqin carried the bolts of brocade back. The dark satin was cool and smooth, like the long hair that hung at Jiyue's shoulder.

Back at the manor, the madam was standing in the front hall, putting on pearl earrings while talking to the young master. "Xiao Yue just won't go out with me, cooped up at home all day, or else sneaking out to play at midnight. His heart's gone wild—Zhong Xian's led him astray!"

The young master leaned against the doorframe, playing with a Swiss army knife, and curled his lip. "He's got a fiancé. Leave it be."

"Xiao Yue's fiancé isn't even home." The madam finished with her earrings and adjusted them in the mirror. "Studying abroad in France, only comes back a few times a year. The engagement was arranged to ward off ill fortune back then—better to break it off sooner rather than later."

Chen Zheqin came in carrying the fabric, greeted the madam and young master, went upstairs, and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The bedroom was large, the walls lined with pearwood bookshelves piled with thick books of every kind. A freshly changed brocade carpet covered the entire bedroom floor.

Behind the curtains, the silhouette of the room's owner could vaguely be seen. He lay prone on the bed flipping through a thick book, wearing a tender-green qipao, short-sleeved, revealing two forearms white enough to glow—like scallions mixed with tofu—legs crossed and swinging idly.

Only when he heard the sound did he turn his face, long hair spilling down past his shoulder, black as ink, his half-hidden profile, eyes like clean blue glass—beautiful as a fine-brush painting of a beauty from an academy.

Jiyue was the master and madam's first child, born frail, raised with extraordinary preciousness.

"This brocade was just fetched. Mama Chen said to bring it for the young mistress to look over; if you don't like it, we'll exchange it." Chen Zheqin walked in and set the bolts of cloth on the table.

"I don't care." Jiyue glanced at it, then lowered his head to his book again.

He stopped in his steps, and from the corner of his eye saw Jiyue put the book away and sit on the sofa.

A maid came in with a tray and cleared away the half-eaten starfruit on the table.

The maid said to Jiyue, "The nail polish Young Master Zhong sent back from France last time—the young mistress still hasn't used it. Don't you like it? The color is lovely." As she spoke she fetched it from the cabinet and set it on the small table.

Chen Zheqin stood by the table, glimpsing the youth tuck his feet under the qipao's hem, only a few toes exposed, white as jade.

Jiyue raised his head and looked at him. "Anything else?"

"No."

This was a dream. Chen Zheqin knew clearly it was fake.

He quickly recalled the yellowed pages he'd found in the archives: Republic of China Year 23, outpatient records of St. John's Mission Hospital. Jiyue, fifteen, cough and fever, diagnosed with pneumonia.

In the sex column it read: male.

More than one medical record, every single one without exception said male.

...Who exactly are you?

Chen Zheqin asked the question over and over in his heart.

A rich family's daughter—or a rich family's son?

Zhong Xian, do you know he's male?

[Ooh, imported nail polish from the Republican era? Did you ever wear it?]

'No.'

Jiyue picked up the bottle of nail polish curiously and held it to the light.

The liquid in the bottle was a thick, viscous red, like congealed blood.

He unscrewed the cap, drew out the brush, and brought it close to sniff. A pungent industrial smell rushed up, making him frown.

The maid left with the tray, glancing at Chen Zheqin on her way out. Noticing how this man stared at the young mistress without blinking, she couldn't help growing wary—a groom, how dare he look at the young mistress like that?

Chen Zheqin didn't notice the maid's gaze, watching Jiyue from afar.

The qipao's slit reached above the knee. Jiyue drew up his leg, hugging his knee, and carefully applied a stroke to his toenail, head lowered.

He was very pale, nearly bloodless; at a glance, that bit of red was like a plum blossom in the snow.

The qipao slowly slid down with his movements, the satin gliding over his skin, slipping down his thigh bit by bit, revealing a stretch of glowing white thigh. He was entirely unaware, only concentrating on applying the second stroke.

Chen Zheqin abruptly stepped forward, bent down, seized the youth's ankle, and pulled to part his legs the other way.

He wanted to know what sex Jiyue really was.

In a dream, being a bit rough was fine.

It was only a dream.

[OMG... what is this guy doing? So vulgar! Is he trying to play some Republican-era young mistress and servant forced play?!]

The nail polish fell onto the carpet without a sound, the bright red bleeding into the fibers like a drop of blood.

Jiyue was baffled—he'd just been painting his nails.

His brow knit tight; not understanding what madness possessed this man, he kicked him away with one foot.

"Get lost."

Chen Zheqin took the kick to his ribs; it didn't hurt much. His gaze shifted to rest on those legs—thighs pressed together, clamped tight, squeezing out cream-soft flesh, not even a hand could slip in.

[These people are getting more and more outrageous in dreams! Do they think any kind of play goes in a dream?! Our Xiao Yue is here to investigate a missing-husband case, not to let you play with his legs and look at ()!]

"I have something to ask you," Chen Zheqin said to him.

Jiyue also had some questions he wanted answered from the dream-Chen Zheqin's mouth. A sleeping man was always a little less guarded; maybe he could get something out of him.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Xiao Yue, may I come in?"

Zhong Xian's voice came from behind the door, asking as he turned the handle.

Chen Zheqin swept his gaze around the room. The window was too far—no time. His eyes fixed on the row of pearwood bookcases, one cabinet door ajar. He darted inside and hid.

The instant the cabinet door closed, the bedroom door opened.

[What?! Nothing was even going on, and now it looks like the young mistress really is carrying on an affair with the servant behind her fiancé's back!]

'...'

Zhong Xian walked in and locked the door behind him. From the corner of his eye he noticed the bottle of red nail polish toppled on the carpet, a small dark-red wet stain spreading.

"Why'd it fall on the floor?" Zhong Xian bent to pick it up, then looked at the feet exposed beneath Jiyue's qipao hem—fair toes curled against the white satin, only a single nail dabbed with red.

He smiled. "You don't know how to apply it? Let me help you."

With that, Zhong Xian sat down beside Jiyue and caught hold of one of his calves.

His hand had a layer of callus at the base of the thumb, scraping against his leg like sandpaper. Jiyue frowned and struggled a little.

"I don't need your help."

[Mmhmm? I doubt this guy actually wants to help you paint your nails! Let me guess—he wants to fuck you!]

Zhong Xian didn't let go. Slowly he closed his grip, tightening around the youth's ankle until red marks were pinched into the skin.

Like holding a silverfish just pulled from the water—the latter struggled a few times, failed to break free, and the qipao's hem slid upward.

"Is there something you're hiding from me, Xiao Yue? Better to confess it to me."

Zhong Xian spoke slowly, his eyes drifting beneath the qipao's hem, to the spot hidden in shadow.

For instance—your sex?

The light inside the cabinet was dim. Chen Zheqin saw all of it through the crack in the door.

The satin-sheened green qipao, the struggling legs...

Breath pressed down in his throat, growing heavier and heavier.