Chapter 195: Chapter Twenty-Six: We Are Not Deserters

I never expected that at such a crucial moment, something so damned would happen.

I hid behind a tree and saw the black shadow gripping a knife and charging toward Song Lin; without thinking, I grabbed a talisman and rushed over. But as soon as I lifted my foot, I lost my balance and fell flat on my face like a dog eating shit, giving Mother Earth a fervent embrace and gulping a big mouthful of mud.

As soon as I turned around, I saw Pangzi grabbing my foot, and Pangzi had somehow turned into a dwarf, with his lower half missing.

"Hai Sheng, I fell into a pit!" Pangzi widened his eyes, looking pitiful.

I: &%&&…………

"Sigh..." I rubbed my forehead and sighed, then turned and yanked Pangzi up. As the saying goes, you fear not a godlike opponent but a piglike teammate—I finally truly understood that.

"I didn't mean to do it—I was just nervous a moment ago, didn't watch where I was going and fell into the pit… then I instinctively grabbed you!" Pangzi gave an embarrassed smile and waved his hand to explain.

I massaged my throbbing temples: "Your timing for falling into that pit is really spot on."

"Actually, I didn't do well enough! Next time I'll definitely be more timely and accurate!" Pangzi said, head down, face flushed, bashfully.

My veins bulged with rage, and I couldn't help but want to go on a rampage and beat him up.

"Oh no, Brother Lin!" Pangzi let out a low cry, pulling my thoughts back from speechlessness; we almost didn't think, instinctively grabbing our talismans and running toward the bonfire.

"Wait, don't move!" As soon as I pushed aside the grass, I immediately reached out to stop Pangzi; under his puzzled gaze, I pointed ahead at where Song Lin was and said, "Don't move, look!"

At the bright bonfire, Song Lin, face ashen, was confronting the black shadow swooping down. The darkness was too thick for me to see the shadow clearly; from its silhouette I could only tell it was a tall, sturdy man in military uniform.

This military spirit must be Old Madman's father, Yuan Zheng, who became a deserter in the Huang'an Campaign. Even as a ghost he retained his military bearing, being extremely brave; in just one exchange he cut down all the ghosts playing Japanese soldiers with a single stroke.

Yet what struck me as odd was that Yuan Zheng only attacked those ghosts portraying Japanese soldiers; the other six, including Song Lin, who were playing National Army roles, remained completely unharmed.

This made me suspicious, and I promptly stopped Pangzi. At that moment an idea rose in my mind: perhaps Yuan Zheng had something he wanted to say to Song Lin.

"Why aren't you going up, Brother Lin should be safe, right!" Pangzi urged anxiously.

"Wait a moment, trust me, Brother Lin won't be in danger!" Although I don't know what Yuan Zheng wants to say to Song Lin, I am certain Song Lin is safe. Yuan Zheng targets only those portraying Japanese soldiers, harming no one playing National Army—and that's why I stopped Pangzi.

Yuan Zheng has appeared on the stage repeatedly, causing trouble—what for? Is it an unresolved obsession, or does the ghost retain hatred for the Japanese from among the vengeful spirits?

Hiding in the grass, Pangzi and I poked our heads out, staring intently at the bonfire where sparks flew. The ghosts possessing the paper figures trembled at Yuan Zheng's aura. Even though Song Lin tried to stay composed, seeing Yuan Zheng's ghostly killing intent advancing step by step, he couldn't help but break into a sweat.

Amid the flickering firelight, I saw Song Lin's legs shaking. Yet despite the suffocating aura of Yuan Zheng, Song Lin gritted his teeth and held firm, refusing to show even a hint of fear.

Yuan Zheng held a notched broken blade—a blade whose edge was dulled and snapped off halfway. He wielded this very broken sword, stepping slowly toward Song Lin.

His steps were slow, yet he bore the calm composure of a soldier; his tall frame struck the ground with each step, a thudding that gave a suffocating sense of oppression.

Yuan Zheng reached Song Lin's front; his blade flashed, and from our angle it looked like he was slashing down at Song Lin. In an instant we were terrified, our throats tightening. Almost instinctively, Pangzi and I charged at Yuan Zheng.

But what happened next sent us tumbling head over heels onto the ground.

Yuan Zheng actually dropped to one knee before Song Lin; the broken blade wasn't meant to slash him but traced an arc and stuck into the ground—yet because of some later issue, it misled Pangzi and me.

Seeing Yuan Zheng kneel, Pangzi and I forced ourselves to stop; after stumbling we scrambled up, eyes locked on the two figures at the bonfire's center, not daring to blink. I wondered what trick Yuan Zheng's ghost was up to.

The bonfire scene presented this strange spectacle.

Song Lin stood rigid, not daring to breathe loudly; his heaving chest showed his tension. Meanwhile Yuan Zheng knelt on one knee in a proposal pose. Those who didn't understand thought Yuan Zheng was proposing to Song Lin.

A "shasha" sound arose, like something brushing the sand, or like a child drawing characters in the dirt with a twig. Pangzi and I were somewhat baffled, even our thoughts felt sluggish for a while.

Yuan Zheng has haunted Hu Jia Village for decades just to write? Could it be that in life he was a calligraphy master, and his inability to display his skill before the world left him regretful in death? As a living person he never fulfilled his dream; now as a ghost he must at least be flamboyant.

When that thought entered my mind I immediately dismissed it. Unreliable, extremely unreliable—after all these years I've never seen a ghost so salty it's egg‑painful.

Perhaps Yuan Zheng had something he wanted to say in life but never got the chance; his vengeful spirit has lingered around Hu Jia Village for over a century just to utter those unsaid words.

Right, Song Lin is currently playing the regiment commander from the Huang'an Campaign, Yuan Zheng's former superior. It's said that after sending off those deserters, the commander soon died in battle. And according to that aunt's earlier account, Yuan Zheng and those deserters had long disappeared; even after the commander's death, Yuan Zheng never got to meet him face to face.

Thinking of that, I calmed myself and fixed my gaze on Yuan Zheng, who knelt on one knee using the broken blade to write on the ground. But we were some distance from the bonfire; we couldn't even see his appearance clearly, let alone the characters on the ground.

Yuan Zheng remained kneeling on one knee, left hand holding the blade as he wrote on the ground; this eerie atmosphere lasted about ten minutes. Then he slowly rose, bowed his fist to Song Lin standing before him, turned and walked into the valley, fading slowly into the wind—his silhouette stood tall and steady, like a straight, unyielding pine.

At the moment he vanished, Pangzi and I immediately ran toward the bonfire.

After using the command flag to disperse those terrified wandering souls, Pangzi and I helped Song Lin sit on a ordinary large stone. Just then I suddenly sensed a special atmosphere in the air.

This atmosphere was mournful, making one want to cry. Unlike last time, the lingering scent in the air, besides oppression and sorrow, also conveyed four words to me—"no regrets."

This meant… Yuan Zheng's wish had been fulfilled, his resentment dispersed, and he would no longer haunt the Yangjian.

I walked over slowly, squatted down to look where Yuan Zheng had knelt, and saw the ground bearing six names written crookedly—Zhang Liushu, Niu San, You Xiaosheng… only Yuan Zheng's own name was missing.

Then, a sudden gust of wind swept through the air, blowing sand wildly; from the direction where Yuan Zheng had vanished came a wailing, eerie howl—like a feral ghost wailing, or a grieving person sobbing.

As the mournful wind howled… a sorrowful, penetrating voice rang out in the valley, only five words, yet each syllable pierced the ears and sank into the heart.

"Regiment commander, we are not deserters."

This voice was Yuan Zheng vomiting his heart's blood, tears mixed, surging forth from his heart.

When the roar erupted, I staggered, blown to the ground by the biting gale; my hands unintentionally landed on the characters Yuan Zheng had written. Then a wave of weakness spread through my body, and as a flash of light crossed my vision I again fell into a dazed sleep.

"Damn it, why is this fate acting up again?" That was the only thought in my mind before I passed out.