Chapter 327

I and Pangzi didn't dare hesitate at all, rushing down the mountain.

The Cat Immortal's affair is certainly important to me, but it's nothing compared to Mengxue's safety.

At this moment, I couldn't help but recall what happened that day in front of Zhou Yu's tomb—Zhengyang collapsed for no reason; at first I thought he was pretending to be pitiful, but now it seems the matter is far more complicated than I imagined.

That night of inviting the Pen Immortal, I felt a bone‑chilling chill. The next day, Zhengyang, who clearly looked sturdy, suddenly became extremely frail, collapsing at the slightest breeze.

Could all this really be related to inviting the Pen Immortal? But I clearly remember seeing no spirits at all, and Pangzi said it was just Zhengyang's trick. So why did Mengxue say over the phone that the Pen Immortal killed three people?

It seems the only way to get answers and dispel our doubts is to return to the ancient castle.

After coming down the mountain with Pangzi, we didn't go straight to Yao Yirong's castle; instead we went to town to buy cinnabar and yellow paper.

What's the use of yellow paper and cinnabar? Naturally to draw talismans for Pangzi. After the yin is placed, I'll be weak and powerless for at least a day, so the only one I can rely on now is Pangzi.

Since Pangzi didn't bring any magical implements on this trip, we had to draw the talismans ahead of time to prepare.

Pangzi finished drawing the talismans, handed me a few sheets, and then we all ran straight to Yao Yirong's castle.

Upon reaching the castle, we pushed the door open, but the moment we did, the gate slammed shut with a bang.

The castle instantly plunged into total darkness; although it was morning, inside one couldn't see a hand in front of one's face. Inside and outside the castle were like two worlds—one side heaven, the other hell.

Following my memory, I groped inside the castle and found the red candles placed on the hall table; we each lit one and held them in our hands.

The faint firelight finally allowed my and Pangzi's vision to recover somewhat.

The hall remained the same old‑fashioned hall, unchanged. Yet Pangzi and I dared not be careless—this was utterly bizarre. In broad daylight with the sun blazing, the castle was pitch black; even if the structure were completely sealed, it couldn't block all sunlight.

"Mengxue, Mengxue, where are you? Ying ge, a word!" Pangzi bellowed at the top of his lungs, hoping to contact everyone inside.

But it was all in vain—Pangzi's roar only produced an empty echo in the hall.

"Let's go up and have a look." I guarded the candle while scanning the hall for a while, then pulled Pangzi straight up the stairs.

I remembered the castle had five floors, and Mengxue and the others should be on the third floor.

But when I counted the floors and led Pangzi to the third floor, upon entering we saw something unbelievable.

In the dim light I saw the matchbox we had left on the first floor, and the supposed third‑floor furnishings were exactly the same as the first floor's—the offering table, the statue, unchanged. In my memory the third‑floor walls should have a painting, a rectangular table, and a plum‑shaped chandelier.

Pangzi and I weren't willing to accept that, so we ran up the stairs again, but no matter how we walked we kept ending back on the first floor, going in circles—let alone finding Mengxue and the others.

"Hai Sheng, this seems off," Pangzi said, tugging at my sleeve.

I rolled my eyes—this was obvious even to an idiot.

"Could we have encountered a ghost wall?" Pangzi asked again.

I nodded: "Possibly. Try spitting a couple of mouthfuls of saliva into the air."

A ghost wall is a bewildering array set up by yin spirits; once someone falls into it, no matter how they walk or how many flights of stairs they climb, they'll keep circling in place.

The best way to break a ghost wall is to spit saliva into the air, because saliva contains a person's essence and yang energy. Elders often say not to spit casually on the ground when walking at night, precisely because saliva carries yang energy. If you walk the streets at night and casually spit near a grave, you might hit a wandering wild ghost, hurting it; if the ghost gets angry, it will naturally follow you home.

Pangzi kept puffing and spitting mouthfuls of saliva into the air until his throat was dry, at which point I hurriedly called him to stop.

"All right, all right, let's go?" I called him to stop, then stepped onto the stairs again.

After reaching the third floor, I waved at the person behind me: "Pangzi, this time we shouldn't get lost again…"

Before I could finish, my mouth felt as if stuffed with feces and I choked completely. Because when I reached back with my hand, I touched nothing. Looking back, I was nearly scared out of my wits—Pangzi that coward had vanished……

How could that be?

Pangzi was just behind me a moment ago—how could he disappear? A guy over a hundred pounds gets lost on the stairs; what's going on?

A gust of wind blew down the stairs, extinguishing the candle in my hand; I staggered back two steps in fright and hit the heavy wooden door behind me.

With a creak, the heavy wooden door behind me swung open on its own.

Heart pounding with apprehension, I turned to look inside the room—and froze.

The room was brightly lit, golden lamps adorning every corner, an ancient sandalwood‑style carved wooden chair, exquisitely elegant.

You are like the bright moon, I like the mist; the mist follows the moon's hiding, leaving dew in the empty sky.

You skillfully play the zither, I skillfully dance; when the music ends and people part, my heart feels blocked.

All because of a single glance from you, I think of you morning and night.

My soul follows you to the ends of the earth, my belt gradually loosens without me noticing the hardship.

Longing is painful—who can I confide in? Far away, I do not know where you are.

I lament that youth fleeps like morning dew; when will I build a nest with mud for your house?

After thirty-six bright moons, I will dance the Rainbow Skirt Dance for you.

The unspeakable sorrow and chill within the poem's voice made one's mind involuntarily picture a woman standing beneath the moonlight, stroking her zither and sighing softly.

I followed the sound to its source and found the owner of the poem's voice.

She was a woman dressed in theatrical costume, her back to me, holding a yellowed scroll in her hands.

Before hearing her voice, my heart was filled with fear and unease; but after hearing this passage of poetry, my heart suddenly calmed, I forgot where I was, and even forgot why this woman had appeared here.

I vaguely recalled that she was reciting a Han dynasty Yuefu poem, but I had never encountered such an emotionally charged reciter. A strong curiosity stirred in my heart; even though my reason told me she might be a ghost, I could not help but tiptoe forward and ask, "Who are you, and what place is this?"

The owner of the poem's voice turned around, letting me see her clearly—a very beautiful woman, more beautiful than any I had ever seen; yet when she frowned at me, I involuntarily felt a pang of heartache.

Suddenly I recalled a poem by Li Bai: "The beautiful woman rolls up her pearl curtain, sits deep, knitting her brows." Seeing tear stains wet, I do not know whom she resents. I think the image of this frowning, wistful woman in the Immortal Poet's brushwork is none other than the one before me.

She turned, frowned at me for a moment, then gave a playful smile: "Are you not afraid of me?"

Her voice was pleasing to the ear, like a sutra, capable of cleansing the soul. Even though I now have no magical power and am in an unknown environment, my heart feels no trace of fear.

I shook my head and continued asking, "You still haven't told me who you are—how did you end up here?" This was the first time I felt curiosity toward a female ghost; I began to believe what QingSongShu said—that every ghost has an unknown story, that they were once human with human joys and sorrows. Seeing her for the first time, I involuntarily wanted to learn about her past; this feeling of familiarity seemed as if we had known each other before, especially those eyes—at first glance, they felt as if I had seen them somewhere.

She shook her head, her eyes seeming to sink into long memories; then she sighed softly and said, "If you truly wish to ask who I am, then call me Murong Jiaojia—this name was given to me by one of the masters of the manor."

"Jiajia..." my heart felt as if struck by lightning; in an instant, an image surged in my mind—my sister, whose name was also Jiajia.

Memories surged like a tide: my sister climbing onto my bedhead to scare me; later she donned my master's Daoist robe, accompanying me to school every day and beating off those who bullied me.

I remembered my master once saying that if we were fated, I would surely meet my sister again... Could this be the fate my master spoke of?

My heart grew ever more excited, my pulse beating uneasily; I stared at Murong Jiaojia for a long, long time, hoping to find on her the likeness of my sister, but after gazing at her for ages I saw no such likeness—yet I became clear-headed. I knew my sister had already been sent off to reincarnate; she was merely a ghost resembling my sister, a spider lily alike in past and present lives.

Just, this Murong Jia Jia who looks exactly like my sister—could she be the one who killed Zheng Yang and the others? Thinking of this, my heart suddenly tightened. Even though this Murong Jia Jia isn't my sister, I still don't want to believe she's the one who murdered Zheng Yang and the others; I don't want us to become enemies.

The woman before me named Murong Jia Jia paid no attention to me; she was just answering my second question to herself.

"I also don't know how long I've been here; I only remember that when I woke up, a group of brown-haired, blue-eyed people rushed into this residence carrying something strange. Later I learned that the strange thing they were carrying was called a gun. They entered the house, looting whatever they saw and killing anyone they encountered, and they almost burned down the residence with fire."

"Later, another group of people came to reside in the house, young and old. The master of the house liked to play with a copper coin, which people at the time called 'Yuan Big Head'."

Eh…… Eight-Nation Alliance, Yuan Shikai? I was startled. Looking at it this way, Murong Jia Jia has indeed been in this residence for quite a long time!

They couldn't see me, and I spent year after year in this lightless residence. Spring came and went, flowers faded and bloomed, and the people in the residence kept changing in batches.

"After that, an old man came to reside in the house; he loved to paint and write. One day, I inadvertently wandered into his dream. After waking, he painted a picture in my likeness and gave me the name Murong Jia Jia."

"What happened after that?" I asked softly, sitting beside her.

"After that, a young man moved into the residence. He wore the same clothes and spoke the same words as those brown-haired, blue-eyed people earlier. He brought a scroll painting into the residence, but the painting sealed a qi-eating female ghost. Every night, the female ghost would appear on time beside the young man. Unable to resist the temptation, the young man nightly coupled with the female ghost, and eventually even his vital essence was drained dry, turning him into a desiccated corpse. After some days, a Daoist came to the residence; after several struggles, the Daoist sacrificed himself, using his own soul as a curse to seal the female ghost."

After saying that, she paused, then continued: "Not long ago, you all moved in, and a tall, big-built boy took down that painting. He dripped blood on it, undoing the Daoist's soul curse. The night before last, the female ghost escaped from the painting, entwined with that boy, and coupled with him."

"What do you mean? What did that boy look like, and how is he now?" I asked anxiously.

"He's already dead—not only him, but two other men died last night as well." She whispered, biting her lip: "After that, you and Pangzi broke into the residence, and by accidentally stumbling through the Luo Goddess Eight Trigrams Formation, you entered my room and saw me."

Luo Goddess Eight Trigrams Formation—it wasn't Cao Zhi's dream lover; who created it during the Three Kingdoms period? How could it be laid out in this residence?

What the hell is this all about? I don't have time to figure out what's going on; now I'm even more worried about Meng Xue's safety. According to what Murong Jia Jia said, that female ghost seems to still be sucking people's vital essence. By last night, three people had already died, and I don't know if it will continue tonight.

I got anxious, threw out a line: "I'll come look for you tomorrow," and bolted out the door.

Murong Jia Jia called out from behind: "You won't be able to find her that way; you can only go around in circles where you are."

I turned around, doubtful, and asked her: "Then how should I go about finding her?"

Murong Jia Jia pursed her lips and smiled, saying: "Leave this place, and for every ten steps you walk, chant an asterism incantation. After completing all twenty-eight chants, you will naturally find her location."

"Oh," I said, though I didn't understand, I subconsciously chose to believe her.

A moment later, I turned again, scratched my head, and asked: "Um, how can I find you again?" Although it's a simple question, I don't know why, but after asking it, my face also turned red.

Murong Jia Jia chuckled and said: "There's a small copper door at the very bottom of this residence; if you open it and walk backward according to the innate Eight Trigrams numbers, you can return to this room."

I fled the room in panic, and behind me came her giggling laughter; within the laughter I heard two words—"idiot".