“More or less. After all, there are many of us here and our yang energy is strong. Borrowing the Dragon Boat Festival’s power today, we suppressed him, and then used the water-soaked willow branches to sweep away the yin energy here.
Now, this Chen Ping has agreed not to torment you anymore.
Don’t be stingy either. Burn plenty of paper money and paper ingots, and every year during the Qingming Festival, set out some offerings for him. He shouldn’t cause any more trouble after this.”
Master He stroked his beard:
“Roosters love ghost blood the most. Wherever a ghost stops, it pecks with its beak, and the ghost won’t be able to flee.
Actually, it’s just like negotiating in ancient times—you start by laying out terms. If you reach an agreement, everyone is happy, both parties willing.
If the talk falls through, it’s not too late to throw hands.”
Manager Huang glanced at the smoke-filled, charred office, then looked at the crowd of onlookers holding up their phones to record, his face sinking into a bitter smile.
If things hadn’t truly gotten out of hand, he wouldn’t have resorted to such feudal superstition either.
Every morning, a layer of rotting dead sparrows lay beneath the company’s money tree.
Checking the surveillance cameras was useless.
The footage was even more terrifying.
In the dead of night, computers turned on by themselves, and keyboards clattered briskly as if being tapped by unseen hands.
The copier was even weirder—not only running on its own, but spitting out documents that didn’t even belong to their company.
After going through great trouble to hire a master who seemed capable, he still hadn’t completely resolved the matter.
In novels and TV shows, whenever a master encountered a harmful ghost, didn’t they always destroy it so thoroughly its soul scattered?
At the very least, chanting scriptures to deliver the soul should work, right?
What was this supposed to be?
Just getting a lukewarm assurance that he wouldn’t cause trouble anymore?
Manager Huang couldn’t help feeling a bit resentful.
Since the master was so formidable, why didn’t he just obliterate the ghost on the spot?
“What are you daydreaming about? Watched too many TV dramas, haven’t you?”
Master He was an old fox; how could he fail to see through Manager Huang’s thoughts?
He couldn’t help snapping irritably:
“You know how he died better than I do.
Those who suffer a violent death hold a breath in their mouths—a breath they cannot exhale upon dying, nor swallow down. Hidden in the throat, it gradually turns into ‘resentful energy.’
Especially with suicides, their resentment is inherently heavy, making their disturbances extraordinarily fierce.
It’s for the best that he agreed to live and let live. If I backed him into a corner, wouldn’t he fight me to the death?
When that happens, not only will your company lose several lives, but even my old bones might be broken in the process.”
When uttering the word “suicide,” Master He deliberately lowered his voice.
As if afraid someone might overhear.
Manager Huang nodded in agreement, though no one knew what he was actually thinking.
“Let me tell you, don’t think I’m just alarmist.
In this world, fooling people is easy, but fooling ghosts—especially difficult ones like this—is seeking death.”
Master He patiently gave a few more reminders and thumped his aching shoulder:
“In the future, tell your company’s employees to avoid spreading news about this person as much as possible, and refrain from discussing him.
After all, no one knows whether an invisible ‘friend’ might be listening right along with you when you talk about such things.
Furthermore, try not to disturb his peace. Cut down on overtime and staying up late in the company from now on.
Heaven divides day and night, just as it divides yin and yang. Daytime belongs to humans, and nighttime naturally belongs to ghosts.
If there’s truly no way around it and working overtime at night is unavoidable, pretend you know nothing about this. No matter what noises you hear, ignore them.
Keep reverence in your heart, and nothing bad will happen.”
—That sequence of actions earlier had seemed simple, yet it had drained a substantial amount of his physical stamina.
Going back this time, he would probably need to rest and recuperate for quite a while.
Manager Huang’s complexion worsened.
He could understand not discussing it.
After all, there was an old saying: talk of ghosts often enough, and you’ll run into one.
But what did he mean by no overtime?
For a company as large as his, could his employees no longer work overtime just because of this?
Yet upon careful reflection, avoiding overtime was better than losing human lives.
Were it not for the annual rent costing hundreds of thousands, Manager Huang would have urged the boss to relocate the office no matter what.
Even if ghosts truly didn’t harm people, knowing a suicide victim’s spirit was wandering the office year-round, living alongside them day and night—how could anyone not be terrified?
While you tapped away at your keyboard, he stood behind you, watching.
While you slacked off staring at your phone, he blew chilly air against your neck.
While you used the restroom, he would cling to the ceiling peeping down, letting out secretive, gloating chuckles.
Even sharing the same room, he might well be perched on your shoulders, greedily gulping down the breath of the living in deep drafts.
Hand in hand, cheek to cheek, intimately entwined with you.
Just thinking about it sent chills down Manager Huang’s spine, raising goosebumps all over his body.
A few very muffled cheers broke out from the crowd.
Probably employees from the advertising agency.
“It’s settled just like that? Feels kind of boring.”
“Bro, what did you expect to see? You won’t be satisfied unless a ferocious ghost jumps right into someone’s face like in a horror movie?”
“All this mumbo-jumbo with burning paper money and tossing rice feels like a scam.”
“But he advised against working overtime.”
“My God, what a living immortal!!”
“Why doesn’t a ghost come haunt our office? I work overtime every single day now, and my hair falls out in clumps, all right?!”
In the crowd, the onlookers chattered excitedly, debating with fervor.
They didn’t even realize work hours had already begun long ago.
“What are you staring at so intently? Did you see a ghost?
Want me to put in a good word with the master and have him take you on as an apprentice?”
Zhang Qiuyu nudged Nan Zhi with her elbow, joking.
“I was thinking about what toy to buy for my hamster. You know I got a pet recently, don’t you?”
Nan Zhi pulled her gaze away from the ceiling and answered lazily.
This matter wasn’t over.
She had seen everything with perfect clarity just now.
Master He’s ritual earlier had some effect, but not much.
Chen Ping had been quite afraid of the rooster and willow branches; initially, he had been driven into hiding inside the ceiling, refusing to show his face.
Yet later on, he seemed to no longer fear those things.
Not only did Chen Ping hound Manager Huang’s heels relentlessly, but by the end, he was perched directly on Master He’s shoulders.
A slightly plump, middle-aged male ghost straddling a white-bearded old man.
No matter how many times one saw such a bizarre sight, it was an absolute eyesore.
Nan Zhi closed her eyes in mild agony.
Fortunately, Chen Ping’s ghost seemed to take Master He’s words to heart in the end, rolling right back up into the ceiling.
A male colleague nearby curled his lip, seemingly disappointed:
“And here I thought there’d be real excitement. Turned out to be just an old man doing a shamanic dance.
Aren’t suicides supposed to turn into vengeful ghosts? If you ask me, the guy’s just a pathetic coward. Had no spine while alive, and now that he’s dead, he hurts people as a ghost—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Nan Zhi thought, Uh-oh.
Sure enough.
Chen Ping, his face covered in bloody grime, poked half his head out from the ceiling, two hollow, dark eye sockets staring unblinkingly at him.
In the next instant, the stairwell lights flickered erratically, and right above the male colleague’s head, the lightbulb directly facing him burst with a loud bang!
“Ah!”
“What’s going on?!”
“Holy crap!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa?!”
Screams instantly erupted from the crowd.
Rate on N.U.
