Director Xia gave Ximen Lian a few vague responses, just enough to brush him off. Fortunately, the so-called "Lord Ximen" wasn't too fixated on the origins of Director Qiu and Wang Ziheng. What truly plagued him was the cryptic "be prepared" advice that Wang had dropped earlier. Prepared for what? That part had never been explained. He had hoped to get some guidance from the old funeral director, but the man was nowhere to be reached.
In the end, Xia Ren offered a suggestion: "Bringing more salt with you probably won't hurt."
And so, Ximen borrowed RMB 5000 (≈ USD 700) from Xia Ren and made straight for the salt supply company, where he bought an entire truckload of coarse rock salt. On the way back, he picked up a bottle of sixty-proof baijiu, took a swig, and swallowed the black pill that Director Qiu had given him earlier.
Taking advantage of the afternoon sun at its strongest, Ximen drove out to Longshan Cemetery. There, he unloaded the whole truck of salt at the cemetery entrance, painstakingly piled it into a large ring, and sat cross-legged in the middle on a folding stool, patiently waiting for Director Qiu's arrival at six.
Luckily, Longshan Cemetery was located in a remote area. After the morning hours, few people ever came to pay respects. So even though his arrangement looked bizarre, not many saw it.
Time ticked by slowly. As the sun dipped westward, Ximen began to regret taking the pill so early. Now he finally realized—not being able to see the other side was far more terrifying. A gust of wind rustled the leaves nearby, and every flutter made him wonder: Is that old woman's ghost back again?
Just as he felt himself starting to panic at the sound of every leaf and breeze, six o'clock finally arrived. In the distance, an Audi approached. The car stopped, and both Director Qiu and Wang Ziheng stepped out. They first looked over the setup in the cemetery with strange expressions, then exchanged a somewhat awkward glance at the sight of Ximen crouched in the salt ring. Director Qiu sighed. "You've got some guts, I'll give you that. Building a giant salt pile in front of a graveyard? Who told you to do that? You might as well set up a stall selling white powder in front of a police station."
Ximen sheepishly climbed out of the salt circle, brushing grains off his pants. He cast a quick look at Wang Ziheng—he had a feeling he'd messed up somewhere. Nervously, he muttered, "Didn't you say to get ready? I didn't know what to prepare… last night salt seemed useful, so I just bought more…"
Wang looked him up and down and said flatly, "When I said 'prepare,' I meant eat a proper dinner. We've no idea how long this'll take tonight. If you pass out from hunger before we're done, what good will you be?"
Director Qiu shot Wang a deadpan glance, then turned back to Ximen. "It's a good thing your Heavenly Eye is currently sealed. Otherwise, with what's standing around us right now, you'd probably be too terrified to stay upright."
That single line instantly wiped out all of Ximen's curiosity. The graveyard no longer intrigued him—it paralyzed him.
Before entering the cemetery, Wang Ziheng retrieved seven or eight bundles of joss paper and a sack of nearly a thousand incense sticks from the car trunk. But instead of lighting them immediately, he pulled out something that looked like a lump of charcoal. With it, he drew a strange symbol on the ground just outside the cemetery gate. It looked vaguely like the Chinese character for chì (敕)—a word used in ancient command decrees.
After finishing the last stroke, he drew a large circle underneath the symbol. Then, he moved all the joss paper and incense into the circle, and only then did he light it.
The fire whooshed up instantly in front of the cemetery entrance. The joss paper crackled as it burned, and smoke curled upward in thick streams. As the fire began to wane, night fully fell. Just as the last few sheets of joss paper were about to be consumed, a strange wind blew out from the depths of the cemetery. It lifted the burning paper scraps into the air, where they spun wildly in tight spirals.
Strangely enough, not a single piece of ash escaped the circle Wang had drawn. Every ember, every scrap of scorched paper, danced only within its bounds.
Qiu and Wang had been standing silently by the whole time. Not until the gust died down did Director Qiu finally turn to the wide-eyed, speechless Ximen and say, "Alright. Time to go in and greet the lady of the hour."
Even with Qiu beside him, Ximen still felt a chill down his spine at the idea of entering the cemetery in the pitch dark. After some internal debate, he asked timidly, "Can't we… call her out instead?"
Qiu ignored him completely and stepped through the cemetery gates. Wang followed immediately behind like his shadow.
Watching the two disappear into the graveyard, Ximen started to panic. After hesitating for only a moment, he gritted his teeth and ran a few steps to catch up, staying close at their side.
Inside, the cemetery wasn't nearly as quiet as he had hoped. Strange noises echoed around them—rustling, shifting, the occasional low hum like something breathing in the dark. Qiu and Wang acted as though they heard nothing, heading straight into the heart of the cemetery. Ximen, teeth chattering, stumbled after them.
At first, a few dim streetlights illuminated the way, but the deeper they went, the darker it became—utter pitch black. There should have been a few night watchmen on duty, but tonight… no people, no shadows, not even a trace of life.
Just the thought of shadowy ghosts sent a chill down Ximen Lian's spine. After witnessing that strange scene at the cemetery gate earlier, even though he couldn't see anything right now, he could easily imagine what was lurking around him. The Lord Ximen's heart had leapt into his throat, while Director Qiu and Wang Ziheng acted like nothing was amiss, continuing their trek into the depths of the cemetery.
None of them carried flashlights or any kind of light source, yet Director Qiu and Wang Ziheng weaved effortlessly through the gravestones as if they could see everything clearly. In contrast, Ximen tripped over several headstones along the way, nearly falling flat on his face more than once.
When they reached the deeper western section of the cemetery, Director Qiu and Wang split up to search. The two of them each took different elevations of the terraced grave plots and began checking the names engraved on the tombstones. How exactly they managed to read those inscriptions in such pitch-black darkness was anyone's guess—but clearly, they managed.
This time, Ximen didn't hesitate. He followed closely at Director Qiu's side, sticking to him like glue.
And so, they continued walking, checking gravestones one by one. Just as they were nearing the far end, Wang Ziheng suddenly called out from above, "Qiu Tou, found it! Come on up!"
Ximen followed Director Qiu to where Wang stood, who was pointing at a slightly larger-than-average headstone. "Miao Shimei—that's the one. Just buried yesterday," Wang said. Then he turned to Ximen and added, "Hey, come take a look. See if this is the old lady who scared you senseless yesterday."
Though unsure what they planned to do next, Ximen mustered his courage and stepped up to the grave. It was too dark to see anything clearly, so he pulled out his phone and used the faint glow of the screen to illuminate the headstone. Barely visible in the light was a photo taped to the top—and sure enough, it was the very same elderly woman who had terrorized him both morning and night.
Recognizing the face instantly, Ximen shuddered, and his phone nearly slipped from his hand, crashing onto the stone below.
"Well?" Wang Ziheng asked impatiently. "Is it her or not? Spit it out already!"
Ximen took a few shaky steps back to Director Qiu's side, steadied his nerves, and said, "It's her. No mistake. So now what? You're not planning to dig her up, are you? Whatever beef she has with me, can't we settle it face to face above ground?"
"Uh-huh?" Wang raised an eyebrow at him, casting him a strange look—one that sent a fresh wave of dread through Ximen's heart. That expression couldn't mean anything good.
Wang didn't reply. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two small ceramic wine cups. He placed one upside down on top of the headstone and balanced the other one mouth-to-mouth on top of it. Then, without anyone seeing how, he produced a short, seven- or eight-inch stick of incense and made it stand upright in the hollow of the top cup—in midair.
After a few moments, the incense spontaneously ignited—without fire.
Though the stick was small, the smoke it gave off was thick and ghostly. The incense's curling tendrils slowly enveloped the entire headstone and mound of the grave, layering the air in a fog-like haze. Within that mist, a faint human shape began to emerge. Gradually, the outline became clearer—an elderly woman, her facial features slowly surfacing through the smoke.
And sure enough, the figure was none other than the old woman who had nearly driven Ximen insane.
At that point, Wang Ziheng stepped back, giving Director Qiu room to approach. The latter stepped forward expressionlessly, stood across from the smoke-shrouded figure, and began moving his lips silently. It looked like he was speaking—but no sound came out at all.
At first, the smoky figure seemed wary of Director Qiu, but after "hearing" what he said, she suddenly grew agitated. She raised a hand and pointed straight at Ximen, her mouth opening and closing rapidly, mimicking speech—clearly airing her grievances against him.
After listening silently, Director Qiu let out a long sigh, his expression tinged with discomfort. He turned and asked Ximen, "Did you take anything from her?"
Ximen froze. "N-no... well, I mean, I kinda forgot... I was doing her makeup, and I saw her gold teeth—thought it was a shame to cremate them. So I… pried them out."
Director Qiu shot him a glare. "Do you still have them? Give them here!"
Ximen was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. The gold teeth were in his pocket. Now that he realized those were the source of all this trouble, he regretted everything deeply. As he fished around in his pockets, he muttered bitterly, "All this for a few damn teeth? Seriously? I even checked—they're just gold-plated, not solid gold. Not worth squat. If I'd known this would happen, I'd have ripped out my own teeth instead…"
Grumbling all the while, he finally pulled out the gold teeth and, too afraid to approach the ghostly figure, handed them over to Director Qiu.
Qiu took them and glared at him. "What a mess… I came out to a graveyard in the middle of the night because you stole this nonsense?"
He squatted down and casually dug a small hole in the dirt before the headstone. He buried the gold teeth right there, pressing the soil down flat with a swipe of his hand.
Just as the teeth were buried, the smoky woman raised her hand again, pointing straight at Ximen. Her mouth flapped open and shut in another rapid-fire barrage of silent words.
Director Qiu's eyebrows instantly furrowed. He turned back and snapped, "She says there's more!"
"I swear to the heavens, I only took the dentures! And they're fake! Not even porcelain!" Ximen was starting to panic too. If you wanted to talk about people skimming from the dead, makeup artists like him barely saw any of the spoils. The big stuff—real gold and silver—usually ended up with the embalmers and the undertakers. And they never seemed to get haunted.
"She says you took their family's money," Director Qiu said, glaring.
"When did I—oh! You mean the envelope?" Ximen suddenly remembered. "Her son—the big shot—he gave me that envelope. It was for my hard work! I didn't take it, they gave it to me!"
The ghost woman in the mist had one hand on her hip and the other jabbing the air in Ximen's direction. Her mouth kept moving nonstop—clearly cursing him out.
Wang Ziheng, who had been quietly listening, suddenly burst into laughter. His voice had a sharp edge to it, and in this dark, eerie setting, the sound sent shivers down one's spine.
Director Qiu shot him a glare. Wang struggled to suppress his laughter, cheeks puffed out as he choked it back. Qiu then turned back to the smoke-bound figure and resumed "speaking" silently.
Ximen, completely baffled, couldn't figure out what was so funny. Seeing a chance while Qiu was distracted, he leaned over to Wang Ziheng with a sheepish grin and asked, "Big Brother Wang, you're the expert here—mind translating for me?"