Chapter 118: Just Like an Old Friend

Do ghosts possess intelligence? Perhaps they do—at least they are far more agile than I am...

To say I’m not afraid would be to mock Zhu Zihao’s joke. If it were me myself, I would be nothing more than a socialist youth in my twenties. Though I no longer strictly adhere to atheism, you must understand what it feels like when an unknown thing clings to your back, playing hide-and-seek with you. What kind of feeling would that be?

“Wenbin, save me!” I shouted. “I can’t shake it off!”

I was naturally slender, barely over a hundred and twenty pounds at the time, like a bamboo pole, so my shadow was long and slanted. But the extra shadow was different—it was roughly twice as wide as mine, its head as large as a chamber pot, with the neck and head indistinguishably fused together.

For a moment, that shadow seemed familiar. Many years ago, there was someone who often liked to cling to my back and press me down hard. At that time, I would always try to grab his ears, but he would dodge left and right, just like now.

Seeing my distress, Cha Wenbin quickly rode over. I knew the disciples of the Maoshan Sect carried a heavy killing intent. Though the righteous path born from Maoshan had somewhat restrained its ferocity, in emergencies they still would use deadly moves. Sure enough, Cha Wenbin now held a copper coin sword just over an inch long, swiftly moving around behind me.

“Wait,” I called out.

He was about to stab at my back with the sword but paused at my shout. “What’s wrong?”

I told him honestly, “It looks a little familiar, kind of like a fat guy!”

Cha Wenbin approached cautiously, scrutinizing me up and down. The shadow had stopped moving; it now merged with mine, making my silhouette appear much larger. I heard him mutter, “It does look a bit like him.”

Then the shadow moved again. I saw an arm stretch out long and wide. The moonlight that night was bright, illuminating half the land with a pure white glow. I clearly saw the large hand at the arm’s tip, and more strangely, that palm kept making gestures—sometimes extending two fingers, sometimes clenching into a fist, then spreading open again, over and over.

Zhu Zihao said, “This is interesting. It’s teasing you, playing rock-paper-scissors.”

“Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Yeah, look, that guy’s playing scissors-paper-stone!”

Your imagination really runs wild. I was about to tell Cha Wenbin to strike—this was a deliberate provocation! Wait, no, we don’t call it that. In our place, this game is known as ‘rock-paper-scissors’.

“Rock?” I whispered. “Is that you? If it is, come out...”

The shadow froze, its palm still clenched in a fist. The atmosphere turned eerie. Cha Wenbin took a few steps back and quickly pulled out a small vial, preparing to open his ‘heavenly eye’.

I continued speaking into the air, “Is that you? I’m Xiaoyi. Where are you? Can you tell me what’s really happened?”

At that moment, the shadow’s hand shape changed again, forming a hollow circle. Cha Wenbin was ready—if he opened his eyes, he might see what it truly was. But just then, the wind picked up. Flying sand and stones swept across the Gobi Desert, and the dust was so thick it blinded us. Locals call this a ‘ground tornado’—a fierce gust that can scatter a flock but never lasts long.

When the wind died down, I was covered in dust, wiping myself off hastily. My mouth and nose were filled with grit. Looking at the ground again, only my shadow remained.

“Fatty?” I called out in all directions. “Where are you? Stop playing games, come out!”

Only deathly silence answered me; even the surrounding wandering spirits vanished. The Gobi Plain returned to its usual stillness. Cha Wenbin came to my side and said, “It’s gone. Strange... that wind must have blown away all those stray souls.”

“Was that him just now?”

“Too fast to tell.” Cha Wenbin was silent for a moment, then added, “I hope it really wasn’t him. It wouldn’t make sense. Even if he left this world, he shouldn’t appear here. At the very least, if he had gone somewhere else, and he can find you tonight, he should have come looking for us long ago. Hiding isn’t his style.”

“You’re right. Fatty’s not that kind of person. Even if he really became a ghost, he wouldn’t let me off so easily.” I looked back at the altar, already overturned by the ground tornado, and sighed. “Any other gains tonight?”

“Sort of. We’ve got something. Clean up and get ready—we head to the Jiang family’s old mansion first thing in the morning.”

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My mind was filled with that shadow. Was it really Fatty? If so, then he was truly dead... That was not the answer I wanted.

Early the next morning, Elder Hu Genglin was brought by the villagers. The old Jiang family mansion was easy to find. About three miles east of the Antique Beach lay a small river ditch, no wider than a pace. Along the banks, remnants of houses could still be seen. The locals mostly built with rammed earth walls, but the Jiang family used bricks. So finding brick walls pinpointed the mansion’s location.

“There’s an ancient locust tree at the gate, dead for many years. The locust faced the courtyard gate. Inside was the main hall; to the left were two rooms for the master, to the right two for the lady and madam. Behind were three rooms for the servants. The east side was the warehouse; the west housed livestock. In the courtyard center stood a persimmon tree with a well beneath it,” Elder Hu rambled as he guided us by memory.

“There, there,” he pointed across the river. “See that half wall? It’s been there for years. Back then, they used plaster mud, very sturdy. Most houses in this village have been leveled, but our old mansion still has two rooms standing.”

Approaching, the gate did have a blackened tree branch, long dead. The threshold stone remained, about ten centimeters high above the ground, carved with diamond patterns indicating the owner’s refinement. The well inside was nowhere to be found, likely buried under the Gobi soil. The persimmon tree was reduced to a stump, and the main house barely visible. The livestock house on the west was half intact.

“This house was originally quite good. I got old and moved away; since then many have taken bricks to build elsewhere—even the two-story office building of Nanhu Township government reportedly used bricks from our house.”

I looked around. Restoring this mansion would indeed be a grand project. Judging by the remaining walls, the estate covered nearly one and a half acres, showing how prosperous the Jiang family once was.

Cha Wenbin paced around measuring, nodding occasionally. I chatted with Elder Hu casually until Cha Wenbin returned.

“The main gate faces Dragon Head Mountain, aligned north-south, with favorable feng shui. No wonder the Jiang family once flourished. But there’s still a question I want to ask you, Elder.”

“Please, go ahead, young sir.”

Cha Wenbin pointed to a half-buried stone horse in the courtyard. “That’s been here a long time, hasn’t it?”

“That horse? Many years. I saw it when I joined the Jiang family. The master found it troublesome and tried to move it once. About ten strong men came, tried pulling with horses, then pushing by hand, but it wouldn’t budge. Later, a monk came begging for alms and said the horse couldn’t be moved, so it stayed.”

“Only one horse?” Cha Wenbin said. “There should be another one opposite it. Do you know where it went, Elder?”

“An old Jiang family servant once said that during the old master’s generation, there were more items in the courtyard. They said this place was once a royal palace, and that the Jiang family was built on its foundation, which is why they were so wealthy.”

“Is that a problem?”

Cha Wenbin nodded. “Yes. This kind of thing usually appears on sacred roads, typical Tang Dynasty tomb style. Look carefully at the horse’s reins—they have three strands. This is a burial horse, only used in tombs. The ancients never dared place such items in their own yards. Whether this was really a palace foundation is uncertain, but I suspect there’s a large Tang Dynasty tomb nearby.”

“Building a house on a tomb—wouldn’t that be bad?” I was puzzled. Such a Jiang family should have been overwhelmed by yin energy, unable to prosper. How could they become so rich?

“Not necessarily. The foundations for yin and yang residences can be inverted. A place suitable for the dead may still prosper the living. I have another question: did the Jiang family ancestors know some kind of secret arts?”

“Secret arts?” The old man looked confused. “Our Jiang family has always been merchants. I don’t know what you mean by secret arts.”

“I examined the foundation. The mansion Elder Hu mentioned was likely renovated by Zihao’s great-grandfather’s generation. Before that, there was another Jiang family house with a very different style and orientation—two foundation layers, facing different directions. The new house faces north-south toward Dragon Head Mountain, while the old house faced east-west, an orientation not suited for living.”

Cha Wenbin spoke delicately, aware that whoever designed the old house was beyond ordinary reasoning. This meant the old mansion had poor lighting and was damp and cold year-round, unfit for a wealthy family. But such a design had a clear purpose: to gather yin energy. Structures like ancestral halls or charitable shrines often used this layout. If it was for living, the purpose would be quite intriguing.

Elder Hu said, “I remember when the mansion was built, I’d already been here six months. Before that, the old Jiang mansion was different. The old master was still alive then; after he died, the new master demolished the old house and rebuilt. The old master and new master didn’t get along well, but the old master adored the lady. I recall the old master was ill, disliked sunlight, and kept himself shut indoors. We kids dared not get close; somehow just seeing him scared us.”

Cha Wenbin asked, “Scared? How so?”

“I can’t explain. He was strange, especially about food—which he cooked separately. He liked it half-cooked...”

He trailed off.

Good night—European time has arrived.