Chapter 29: Are You Selling Ghosts or Running a Tech School?

Harbor City, an international metropolis that flourished around a natural deep-water port, may not rival the small third-tier town Feng Xue knew in his era, but a single glance revealed traces of old Shanghai’s glamour from those cinematic dramas.

Ten miles of glittering vice, flowers, snow, and moonlight—but on the streets, you still found rickshaw pullers, laborers toiling for meager wages, and beggars crouching in corners.

Compared to Pingan County’s idyllic, almost otherworldly simplicity, this city, barely dozens of li away, gave Feng Xue a starkly different sense of reality.

A reality that felt exactly how the old world ought to have been.

With the startup capital he’d traded his watch for before departure tucked in his arms, Feng Xue suddenly felt glad he’d made the decision; waiting until he arrived to exchange it might have fetched a higher price, but retrieving it afterward would’ve been far from easy.

Though he carried Bai Xiao, his great weapon, Feng Xue still had no confidence facing those so-called Wu Xiu—after all, fear stems from the unknown.

Fortunately, his purpose in Harbor City was simple: Feng Xue ignored the gaudily dressed young women calling out from the roadside and waved at the rickshaw drivers waiting near the brothel.

At his signal, two or three drivers nearby immediately rose—but as they noticed others doing the same, they paused, hesitating.

No words were exchanged; as if bound by unspoken agreement, one driver stepped forward while the other two returned to their idle stances.

“Where to, sir?” The rickshaw driver approached with a smile. Feng Xue didn’t waste time—he named the address the Ninth Aunt had given him:

“Qinfeng Road, No. 42.”

…

The scenery along the way was unremarkable. Feng Xue paid the fare and arrived before a cramped-looking antique shop.

The tiny storefront was squeezed between a brothel and a gambling den; from the street, it looked like a half-man trapped between two burly giants—weak, pitiful, helpless. Unless you deliberately looked, you’d never even notice it existed.

Yet this reclusive aesthetic perfectly matched Feng Xue’s ideal aesthetic. Ignoring the noise on either side, he slipped into the narrow alley-like recess and pushed open the plain wooden door.

“Ding ling ling…”

The door’s opening rang a clear copper bell. The middle-aged man seated calmly behind the counter set down his book, lifted his eyelids slightly, and said:

“Welcome. What might you be seeking?”

Feng Xue’s gaze swept over the cramped shop—paintings, jade carvings, jewelry—but he spoke directly:

“Ninth Aunt sent me.”

The moment he heard “Ninth Aunt,” the lazy shopkeeper snapped alert, a smile spreading across his face. A premonition of being fleeced rose in Feng Xue’s mind—but remembering the seven watches still in his possession, he calmed and continued:

“I’m looking for…”

“I know, I know. Everyone who comes through Ninth Aunt’s referral wants the same thing. This way!”

The shopkeeper gave Feng Xue no chance to speak—he opened a small door at the back of the shop. As it swung open, a faint chill spread through the air.

Feng Xue activated his over-the-shoulder view but saw nothing noteworthy—except the eighty-thousand-plus days of Yu Shou glowing on the shopkeeper’s forehead, confirming he was indeed a master.

“I’ve met plenty of young masters like you—tired of women, now you want ghosts or female spirits for thrills…”

As the shopkeeper walked, muttering, Feng Xue felt Bai Xiao’s trembling against his fingers and grimaced slightly. He offered a half-explanation:

“I just need a ghost for my cultivation technique. Since I can choose, why not pick one that’s pleasant to look at?”

“Ah yes, yes, every customer says that. Just don’t get yourself killed and drag your family to my door!” The shopkeeper spoke with utter indifference, leading Feng Xue down a corridor-like passage lined with small doors, glancing at each as he asked:

“So, specifics—do you want a refined, scholarly spirit, or a spoiled, willful one? A wild-haired girl or a wealthy heiress? Don’t worry about appearance—anything that can attach to an object won’t be ugly.”

“Uh… shouldn’t you ask what kind of abilities I need?” Feng Xue blinked, stunned. Was this like picking a technician?

“?” The shopkeeper paused, studying Feng Xue carefully, then slapped his forehead.

“Damn, you’re actually here to cultivate magic? That’s rare… I’ll need to explain a few things.”

He led Feng Xue past the two largest doors and opened a small one, revealing sparse shelves behind.

“You can choose, but appearance doesn’t mean it’s the spirit’s true form. Take this scroll, supposedly the original work of a female poet from eight hundred years ago—”

The shopkeeper pulled a cord, lighting the dim room. He picked up an aged painting scroll and turned to Feng Xue.

“In truth, it’s a copy made four hundred years ago by someone practicing calligraphy—inspired on a whim. But the writing was so exquisite, it became beloved. Even after death, the spirit clung to it.”

“Later, someone acquired the copy, remounted and aged it, then claimed it was the poet’s original—and it entered circulation.”

“Subsequent collectors believed it was authentic. For four centuries, the scroll absorbed the collective belief of its admirers, warping the spirit upon it until it came to believe it truly was the poet—and even composed decent poetry, though nowhere near the original’s genius.”

“I acquired this scroll about twenty years ago. Its incense offerings ceased seventeen years ago, and only then did the spirit break free and return to the Netherworld. But the false identity it had internalized—the part it believed was true—remains embedded in the scroll. Most of the spirits I sell came into being this way.”

Here, the shopkeeper returned the scroll to the shelf and spoke solemnly:

“If you only wanted a ghost for amusement, I wouldn’t tell you this—such use only degrades the spirit’s purity, and beyond a threshold, it vanishes harmlessly. But if you truly intend to nurture a spirit, you must follow the proper rites. Mistake the path, and you’ll harm yourself and others.”

Feng Xue nodded slowly. But in his mind, another term surfaced:

“Xu Shen?”

Hearing Feng Xue say those two words, the shopkeeper nodded.

“Precisely. In outcome, a spirit ghost can be considered a Xu Shen—but unlike pure Xu Shen, born entirely from belief, spirit ghosts arise from ghosts. They possess human complexity, unlike Xu Shen, which rigidly follows its programming. Though they have advantages—unbound by karma, no karmic debt, superior intellect—they have flaws too. If you nurture a loyal Xu Shen, it will never betray you, no matter what. But a spirit ghost? Beware. Its core might be a treacherous villain disguised as a loyal soul.”

The difference between ghosts, spirit ghosts, and Xu Shen can be explained by virtual worlds and digital life.

Imagine the afterlife as a network.

A ghost is like a consciousness uploaded to the network—essentially human, minus the body, but gradually losing humanity over time.

An Xu Shen is an AI, its logic fixed at creation, incapable of exceeding its programming.

A spirit ghost lies between them: it’s an AI, but its underlying code isn’t simple algorithm—it’s a replication of a human’s personality. With proper training, it becomes a true digital life.

PS: Regarding the protagonist’s golden finger’s consumption—put it this way: according to Feng Xue’s lineage (irrelevant if you don’t care about the golden finger’s origin), this Feng Xue comes after the Paradox Feng Xue. Just as the Weird Tale Feng Xue’s golden finger stems from the Dream-Asking Feng Xue, this Feng Xue’s golden finger derives from the Paradox’s [Truth] Authority. And within the Truth Authority, there’s one ability called [Ball Division Paradox]. Understand now?





(End of Chapter)