Chapter 18: White-Bodied Little Ghosts

In sleep.

Time suddenly reversed to the past.

Warm sunlight bathed the old street, willow fluff drifted in the air, and elderly people sat in groups under the sun chatting.

Wu Xian squatted in front of the inn, surrounded by several half-grown children.

They were playing card-slapping.

The toy used in this game consisted of circular cards printed with game or anime characters; usually, out-of-print cards held higher value. Both sides took turns slapping their own cards to flip the opponent’s card—whichever card was flipped over, the player won it.

They had been playing for over an hour.

Upon being discovered, the two little ghost children stirred, their palms began wildly slapping Wu Xian’s body, and icy pain surged in from each tiny palm print.

Wu Xian froze.

“Qi Zhiyong once said the stronger the evil spirit, the stricter its restrictions. These little things probably only managed to slip into the room silently because they’re so weak—they may even be lower than wandering ghosts.”

Especially Qi Zhiyong was the most exhausted.

“Good! Good!”

Ha!

Wu Xian bit down hard on his tongue—the searing pain jolted him awake from the dream.

“How dare these things attack me so brazenly?”

Wu Xian sneered, raised his coin sword, ready to cut them down like melons—but just as he was about to kill one of the little ghosts, his motion halted.

“Something’s wrong!”

Wu Xian scanned everyone’s faces and realized only he bore palm prints—everyone else’s faces were perfectly clean, as if he alone had been attacked by the little ghost children last night.

…

Pitch-black eyes, devoid of emotion, stared at Wu Xian.

Snap!

The last card flipped over.

Let these little things live a while longer—see how things develop.

But under the covers, Wu Xian saw two pale, aged faces again.

“Shit!”

Wu Xian stood up from the ground and went straight to the bathroom to check the mirror.

“These little ghosts are too weak.”

Wu Xian immediately grasped the key issue.

Today and yesterday differed in one thing: the marked room had no living occupant—the big door ghost had made a wasted trip.

He stepped outside and immediately looked toward Room 408—Yue Mei’s door had been kicked open, the room ransacked as if looted ten times over, no props or deity statues left inside.

Three little ghost children shoved against Wu Xian’s body; each touch brought a piercing pain.

Wu Xian had looked like he was dying on his first day.

The more Qi Zhiyong thought about it, the more suspicious Wu Xian seemed—his gaze made Wu Xian feel uneasy.

“Give it back! Return what you took from us!”

According to yesterday’s experience.

In the dream, Wu Xian sensed something odd—why were they demanding back what had been taken, rather than the cards they’d won?

Wu Xian seized the opportunity, yanked back the covers, face dark with fury, raised his sword to strike.

The oppressive, endless night was nearly over—half an hour remained until dawn; the dazed little ghost children fled from Wu Xian’s room.

Five children grabbed him and began whining, pushing and shoving around him.

The two little ghost children did the same—their tiny palms touched something hot and long.

His body bore over thirty small bruises, all left by the little ghost children—cold to the touch, sharp with pain when pressed.

The two little ghost children emitted silent but piercing screams.

I haven’t even moved yet, and you’re this scared?

He kept staring at everyone’s faces, finally settling on Wu Xian’s dark circles.

The first thing Wu Xian saw upon waking was six eyes.

“Let’s play.”

He looked around and noticed fresh muddy palm prints by Shi Ji’s door—but this time, Wu Xian merely glanced, making no further move.

Fortunately, these handprints caused only pain—they didn’t hinder Wu Xian’s movement.

“Give it back! Give it back!”

The little ghost children asked weakly: “Play what?”

The scene was genuinely frightening—Wu Xian quickly ducked under the covers, not because he was cowardly, but because he needed the blanket to buy time to think how to respond.

Yet he had somehow survived, still alive and often providing crucial clues—and the person Qi Zhiyong had offended the most was precisely Wu Xian.

Feeling around in someone else’s bed risks touching things you shouldn’t.

Wu Xian shook his head: “Looks like I still have to stir up trouble.”

As is well known.

Wu Xian bet it couldn’t!

Coin sword!

When encountering the supernatural, it heats up—capable of slaying evil spirits!

“Ha!!!”

If so, a new question arises: can the big ghost communicate with these little ghost children?

As Wu Xian gradually woke, the children’s voices turned menacing, the entire environment darkened, becoming dark and profound, buildings twisted and warped.

One failed attempt to kill someone brought forth little ghost children—what if it happened twice, three times? Would the blessed land’s difficulty increase with each escape?

It probably would.

Wu Xian stood up, hands on hips, laughing wildly, took the cards and prepared to leave—outside the dream, he too wore a satisfied smile; this joy was something he had longed for since childhood but never had the chance to experience.

Cold moonlight streamed into the room; three pale, tiny figures stood by Wu Xian’s window.

The survivors in the inn were still the same people from last night.

His ferocious appearance terrified the little ghost children—they trembled, cowering in the corner, faces filled with helpless and grievous fear.

Suddenly, he was startled.

Wu Xian’s side held a plastic bag full of cards, while the children’s hands held only a few cards left.

Wu Xian opened the door and stepped calmly into the corridor.

They shouted with voices both ancient and childish, unnerving in their tone.

Dawn broke; the door opened.

Perhaps precisely because of this, the big ghost changed its tactics, personally releasing these little ghost children to test which remaining rooms still held living occupants!

He had stayed tense all night, fearing the big ghost, only to face a horde of white-bodied little ghosts—now he racked his brain, utterly unable to understand why he alone had been attacked last night.

This proves that Yu Yinghua’s palm prints did not mark people, but rather rooms or doors—so long as you leave the marked room, you’re safe.

…

“It seems my guess was correct.”

But everyone’s dark circles showed that no one had slept well last night.

“Numerology, neurasthenia—interested?”

“If you don’t return it, die!”

These three figures had the bodies of toddlers but the faces of elders—wrinkled, horrifying, their pitch-black eyes without sclera radiating chilling malice.

Could he have been manipulated?

Information about the palm prints and the attacks also came from Wu Xian.

Perhaps the big ghost judges whether a room is occupied by observing the losses of the little ghost children!

So Wu Xian sheathed his coin sword and offered a gentle smile.

But the appearance of the little ghost children added a new variable.

Then I don’t need to fear you!

Strange…

“Aaaah!”

A sudden scream interrupted Qi Zhiyong’s thoughts.

Little ghost: Yi Jian Zhi—Yi Jian Ding Zhi, Volume Thirteen: Li Yu and the Ghost

The Wuwei Lord ordered Li Yu to welcome the new prefect to the western city. After traveling more than ten miles, hearing it was still far, he returned home. Suddenly, about a hundred children emerged from beside the road, all aged four or five, shouting and rushing forward, surrounding and attacking him. Li Yu was not afraid at first, and fought back; each punch sent dozens tumbling to the ground—but as soon as they fell, they rose again, scattered and reformed. This happened four times. Some leapt onto his shoulders to snatch his headband and pull his hair. Li Yu grew desperate, could not escape, struck and advanced. An old man in a cloth robe and straw sandals appeared out of nowhere, shouting fiercely: “This official constantly recites the Lotus Sutra. If you harm him, won’t you bring misfortune upon me?” He commanded them to retreat. The children dispersed. The old man vanished. Li Yu reached his door but could not walk; the gate guards carried him home. At home, he fell into unconsciousness. His sons lifted his clothes and saw blue bruises covering his entire body. They summoned his soul at the spot, called monks to chant sutras. Over half a year passed before he could finally walk with a cane. The old man was suspected to be the Earth God. This occurred in the twenty-eighth year of Shaoxing.

(End of Chapter)