Chapter Forty-Seven: The Hanged Ghost

“There’s absolutely no way. The Ghost Bell rings without wind and remains still even when there is a breeze. Whenever it chimes, it means something unclean has come to our door,” Li Jianguo said grimly.

Upon hearing this, Cui Yue’s nerves tightened like a drawn bow. He gripped the bench in his hand, ready for whatever might come. The people at the table were all on edge, barely daring to breathe. But after a long wait, the Ghost Bell outside the door fell silent, and everything inside and out seemed as usual, as if nothing had ever happened.

After a while observing, Li Jianguo finally relaxed, instructing Cui Yue, “Next time, once the ritual is finished, make sure to take down the Ghost Bell and store it away. This time, we nearly scared ourselves half to death.”

Cui Yue simmered with resentment, thinking to himself, “Who would ever follow you again? I’m done with these tricks and cons of yours.”

Seeing that nothing had happened, Lü Ergou pulled Li Jianguo back to the table for another round of heavy drinking.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through Cui Yue’s chest, right at his heart, as if pricked by a needle. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and his head grew suddenly heavy—he nearly collapsed face-first onto the table.

Li Jianguo chuckled, “Serves you right for trying to show off with the drinking. I’m not carrying you home.”

Cui Yue endured the pain until it finally eased a little, letting out a chilly breath. Just then, his vision flickered, and he saw a drop of water fall into his bowl of wine, sending ripples across its surface.

Assuming the old tiled roof was leaking, he paid it little mind and instinctively looked upward.

God! Help!

There, hanging from the beam, was a gray figure with feet dangling in midair, long hair obscuring a grimy face twisted like a demon’s. A vivid red tongue lolled from its mouth, extending over three feet, and drool dripped steadily from it—one drop, then another—falling precisely into Cui Yue’s bowl.

The ghoul stared straight at Cui Yue, contorting its face in grotesque mockery.

Cui Yue’s hair stood on end. He leapt from his bench with a shout.

Li Jianguo and Lü Ergou both jumped in fright, staring at Cui Yue in confusion.

“Cui Yue, what’s gotten into you?”

Cui Yue couldn’t get a word out. Trembling, he raised a shaking finger toward the beam, forcing out two words through clenched teeth.

“There’s... a ghost...”

The words jolted the others out of their drunken haze, sending chills down their spines.

Lü Ergou squinted up at the beam. All he saw was a web of cobwebs—nothing else. He grumbled, “Brother, are you seeing things? There’s nothing there.”

Li Jianguo, however, broke out in a cold sweat at the mention of “ghost.” Though he saw nothing himself, he trusted Cui Yue implicitly—after all, Cui Yue was born with the Sight, able to perceive what others could not.

Before they could react, a strange cackling laugh split the air, the sound squeezing through clenched teeth.

Li Jianguo’s heart sank. He spun around to look at the heated brick bed, but the bedding was in disarray and Old Lü was nowhere to be seen.

They all followed the sound of the laughter, looking up—oh, heavens!

There sat Old Lü, somehow perched in the grand armchair at the center of the table. His face was mottled purple and blue, and the hair that had been pure white just moments before was now half black, half white—unnervingly strange. His bulging eyes stared unblinking at everyone, and bizarre laughter rasped from deep in his throat.

Ting-ling... ting-ling...

Suddenly, the Ghost Bell outside erupted, ringing madly with no wind, the sound frantic as a storm.

The group was still reeling from Old Lü’s disappearance when, without warning, he appeared right behind them with eerie silence, terrifying them all.

No one was more horrified than Cui Yue. Through his eyes, the hanged ghost clung to Old Lü’s back, its wild hair cascading down, that ghastly red tongue swaying over his chest—a sight both repulsive and terrifying.

Lü Ergou, caught off guard, saw his father’s pallid face and strange eyes and collapsed under the table in terror. Recovering, he scrambled out and grabbed Old Lü’s leg, sobbing loudly.

“Dad! Dad, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me! Weren’t you feeling better this afternoon? Why are you acting like this again?”

Cui Yue thought, “This isn’t an illness—it’s a full-on possession! The hanged ghost is right there, scaring me out of my wits, and you still can’t see that tongue nearly poking into your mouth!” The sight made him want to retch.

Suddenly, Li Jianguo shouted, “Careful!”

He moved to pull Lü Ergou away—

But Old Lü moved with shocking speed. Where moments ago he’d been expressionless, now he raised his large hand and, with a single swing, struck Lü Ergou hard. The blow landed with a dull thud.

Lü Ergou let out a wretched scream, flying across the room like a rag doll and slamming his head against the brick bed, instantly losing consciousness.

Cui Yue was stunned at Old Lü’s ferocity—how could a man of such age move with such strength? Lü Ergou went flying with one slap; if he had to face the old man himself, he would surely die.

Li Jianguo roared, “Cui Yue, what are you waiting for? Do something!”

Cui Yue grabbed the bench and swung it at Old Lü, but the old man casually caught it and smashed it in two. Staring at the splinters in his hand, Cui Yue began to question reality. Had Old Lü mastered some iron-palm technique?

As Cui Yue stood dumbfounded, Old Lü let out a savage howl and lunged. His large hands closed around Cui Yue’s throat, his face twisted in a mask of fury.

Caught off guard, Cui Yue desperately tried to pry the hands away, but they were as unyielding as iron. The grip only tightened, his face flushed red, his eyes bulged, on the verge of bursting.

Seeing the deadly intent, Li Jianguo acted swiftly. Wielding his peach-wood sword, he lunged at Old Lü’s back.

But Old Lü seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. As the sword came down, he released Cui Yue and struck the blade with his palm.

Cui Yue collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, tears and snot streaming down his face in agony.

Old Lü roared again, swinging his massive hands wildly, barreling through the room.

Li Jianguo nearly lost his grip on the peach-wood sword. Steadying himself, he barely had time to react before Old Lü charged, head lowered like a battering ram.

Unable to dodge, Li Jianguo was knocked so hard he nearly flew out of the courtyard, his sword tumbling to the ground, one shoe sent flying.