Chapter Twelve: A Ghost?

Ghost, there’s a ghost—a female ghost!

The instant he saw that woman’s face, a single phrase flashed through Feng Yuan’s mind, and terror surged through every inch of him, raising the hairs on his skin. He regretted it then; if only he’d listened to the old man and stayed away from the backyard, nothing would have happened. Now, he’d run into a female ghost and would likely be killed.

But though Feng Yuan was frightened, he didn’t panic. Instead, he remained remarkably calm; he didn’t turn tail and flee, because Hu Xiao was still behind him. If he ran, what would happen to Hu Xiao? Besides, could a person outrun a ghost?

Looking at the female ghost before him, Feng Yuan wondered anxiously what to do next—would she devour him?

Should he try to greet her, forge a connection?

“Hi, good evening—have you eaten?”

No, he couldn’t ask that. If she said she hadn’t, and was waiting for him as her meal, that would be awkward beyond belief.

At that moment, Hu Xiao tugged at Feng Yuan’s sleeve, confused. “Young master, why are you staring at this painting? Is it that beautiful?”

“Painting?”

Feng Yuan was momentarily dazed. He widened his eyes for a closer look—heavens, it really was a painting, a half-length portrait of a woman hanging on the wall, so lifelike it seemed real. His lantern, held high, illuminated the woman’s face, the glare so intense that he could see nothing else, only her face, as if a woman had suddenly emerged from the darkness.

Hu Xiao, standing farther away and unaffected by the lantern’s harsh light, could see the painting’s full outline.

So it was just a painting. He’d scared himself.

Relieved, Feng Yuan let out a long breath and wiped his face, discovering it was covered in cold sweat, his back chilled and his inner clothes soaked.

“Young master, are you all right? Why are you sweating so much? Did the painting frighten you? It does look a bit scary,” Hu Xiao asked, watching him.

“No… no, I wasn’t scared. How could I be? I was just closely studying the painting’s technique, and got so absorbed that it drained me mentally, triggering a series of bodily reactions… Forget it, you wouldn’t understand.”

Feng Yuan rambled, refusing to admit he’d been terrified. That would be far too humiliating.

“Oh?” Hu Xiao replied. She nodded, then said, “Young master, shall we go back? This place is frightening; I’m a little scared.”

“All right, let’s go back.”

That painting had startled Feng Yuan enough to make him not want to stay. The place was indeed unsettling, frightening even him, the famously bold Feng Yuan. Better not to come here again.

He glanced at the woman’s portrait, turned, and prepared to leave.

Just then, as he turned away, the woman in the painting suddenly winked at him—quickly. Feng Yuan caught it out of the corner of his eye and was instantly startled.

It couldn’t be—this was a painting, how could it wink?

Feng Yuan immediately raised his lantern higher, staring intently at the woman’s eyes, searching for anything amiss, but saw nothing. He must have been spooked earlier, his eyes playing tricks on him, an illusion.

With that, Feng Yuan grasped Hu Xiao’s hand, lantern in hand, and headed out. As they turned, the woman in the painting winked again, her smile shifting to a cold sneer. A swirl of black smoke rushed from her mouth and, with a sharp hiss, shot straight into the back of Feng Yuan’s head.

Feng Yuan, walking ahead, felt a sudden chill at the back of his skull and stopped abruptly.

“What’s wrong, young master?”

“Noth…nothing,”

Feng Yuan rubbed the back of his head, feeling the icy sensation, and glanced behind him, but saw nothing.

He frowned; something about this place was off. It wasn’t safe to linger. He hurried Hu Xiao along, making for the first courtyard. Yet all the way, Feng Yuan felt uneasy, as if a pair of eyes were watching him.

Unable to resist, he looked back toward the second courtyard, but saw only darkness.

Perhaps he’d simply been scared earlier, a trick of the mind. Feng Yuan thought to himself, then dismissed it.

Once inside the first courtyard, Feng Yuan felt dizzy. Whether from fright or fatigue, he couldn’t tell.

“Xiao Xiao, I feel a bit dizzy. I’ll go to bed first. You should get some sleep too—early to bed and early to rise is good for the health,” Feng Yuan said to Hu Xiao.

“Master, I can’t sleep; I’m afraid. Can I stay by your side and attend to you as you sleep?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Go on now—that’s an order,”

Feng Yuan said sternly. Hu Xiao, seeing he wouldn’t agree, pouted and reluctantly went to her own room.

Once she’d gone, Feng Yuan returned to his room, closed the door, and, without bothering to bathe, went straight to bed. His head was heavy and uncomfortable, and he had no energy for anything else.

Whether from exhaustion or dizziness, Feng Yuan fell asleep almost instantly.

He didn’t know how long he slept before he suddenly heard a woman’s voice whispering his name at his ear.

“Feng Yuan, are you asleep?”

A gentle female voice sounded beside him, accompanied by a cool breeze that slipped into his ear, chilling him as if someone were blowing softly.

Feng Yuan, dazed in his sleep, heard the voice and felt the cold wind in his ear. He shuddered violently, instantly wide awake, and opened his eyes.

“Who’s there?”

Feng Yuan sat up in bed, alertly scanning the room. Wind swirled inside, the candlelight flickered, but no one was visible.

“Was it a dream?” he wondered, frowning. His head throbbed, so he lay back down and drifted off again.

Not long after, the gentle female voice returned.

“Feng Yuan, are you asleep?”

“Who are you? Show yourself!”

Hearing the voice once more, Feng Yuan sat bolt upright, shouting. He quickly scanned the room, but as before, it was empty—only the flickering candle and the whispering wind, nothing else.

“Could it really be a dream? Why does it feel so real?”

He muttered, propping his chin in his hand, brow furrowed as he pondered. He’d had vivid dreams like this before—after watching ghost films, he’d often felt as though someone was wandering in his room at night.

He must have been scared by the portrait in the second courtyard, and that’s why his dream felt so real.

With that thought, Feng Yuan relaxed—just a dream, nothing supernatural.

He lay back down and closed his eyes.

After a while, the gentle female voice sounded again at his ear, “Feng Yuan, are you asleep?”

In his drowsiness, Feng Yuan heard but ignored it, continuing to sleep. Surely this was a dream.

“Feng Yuan, are you asleep?” The voice persisted, but he paid it no mind.

“Feng Yuan, are you asleep?” For a third time, the voice echoed, but again he ignored it.

Then the voice fell silent.

But at that very moment, suddenly, Feng Yuan felt an icy hand grip his throat…