Chapter 109: Cui Xiaobo

By the time the three of them emerged from the Harmony Hotel, it was already past eight in the evening. At that moment, Bozi’s child was just finishing school, so Bozi led the two of them back home.

Bozi’s residence was in a community called Heshengyuan, on the third floor of the first row of buildings. After parking the car in the garage, Bozi brought them upstairs. After knocking three times on the door, a voluptuous woman in her early thirties came out. Seeing Bozi return, she gave a weary smile. Recently, she had been overwhelmed by troubles caused by her son.

“Sorry, she hasn’t been sleeping well lately. She’s been very worried about our son,” Bozi said apologetically to Song Nianqiang, then took the lead and stepped inside. Once inside, Song Nianqiang noticed that the decor was quite ordinary, much like any typical household—simple and unpretentious.

“You should go rest in your room for a while. I’ll keep watch,” Bozi said with genuine concern for his wife. Song Nianqiang noticed the love and care in every detail and quietly nodded. His wife whispered to him softly as she retreated to her room, “Sorry, I’ve been feeling unwell lately. Please make yourselves at home.”

“Bozi, your wife is remarkable. Despite everything that’s happened at home, she’s holding up well,” Song Nianqiang spoke sincerely. In this vast world, finding a woman who can both take responsibility and let go with ease is rare. At the very least, Song Nianqiang couldn’t do it himself. Although Jiang Ningzhi was outstanding, she lacked the decisive strength required to take charge.

“Don’t tease me. Lately, we’ve both been tormented by that ungrateful kid. Every night, we have to stay up, watching over him, fearing something might happen. It’s been a week, and we haven’t had a single peaceful night’s sleep! Ah!” Bozi’s voice was filled with exhaustion and frustration.

“Ha, no worries. Didn’t we come here to help? Let’s see what’s been clinging to your child!” Just as he finished speaking, the doorbell rang. Bozi hurried to open it, and soon a boy with a sullen face stepped inside. Song Nianqiang immediately sensed something was off—the boy’s forehead was darkened, his limbs numb. It was clear he was possessed by some unclean spirit.

However, the boy’s mind was still lucid; his consciousness seemed intact. Song Nianqiang was curious. According to the records in "The Hundred Ghosts of China," there are indeed spirits that, upon possession, allow the person to retain basic mental clarity. Such entities are extremely rare and seldom encountered. If this boy was truly possessed by one of those spirits, Song Nianqiang was eager to find out where this little devil had been.

“Boil a pot of red bean soup and add a few drops of rooster’s blood. Then bring it to him. Remember, you have only one hour. He must drink the soup before ten o’clock. Otherwise, the only chance to cure your son will be tomorrow,” Song Nianqiang whispered to Bozi after glancing at the boy.

Bozi’s eyes lit up at these words, thinking to himself, “Finally, there’s hope!” He spoke a few words to his son, then brought out the prepared meal before hastily going downstairs. Now, his son sat at the dining table, mechanically eating, his expression utterly numb.

Song Nianqiang sat opposite him, watching with keen interest. Meanwhile, the stout man lounged on the sofa watching TV. Recently, the stout man had become lazier; he would never engage his mind unless absolutely necessary. And right now, there was no need for his input.

“What’s your name?” Song Nianqiang asked after observing the boy for a while.

“Cui Xiaobo,” came the mechanical reply, as if he were a machine executing some command.

“Have you been anywhere recently?” Song Nianqiang continued. Upon hearing this, Xiaobo’s lifeless face twitched slightly, as if in pain, but the expression vanished almost instantly, unnoticed by Song Nianqiang.

“No,” he answered mechanically. Having finished eating, Xiaobo got up and walked back to his room. Song Nianqiang was at a loss. Since they were guests, he couldn’t act rashly. So, he watched as Xiaobo entered his room.

As the door opened, the stout man on the sofa shivered and quickly turned to stare at Xiaobo’s room, his eyes filled with astonishment. Song Nianqiang also sensed something unusual. The instant Xiaobo opened the door, both men felt a dense, chilling yin energy emanating from within.

How could there be yin energy here? The answer was obvious—the boy’s room must harbor something, or perhaps the prolonged presence of the boy had naturally generated this yin aura. Either way, Song Nianqiang had to investigate.

But entering required the owner’s consent. Resigned, Song Nianqiang waited for Bozi’s return. Fortunately, within five minutes, Bozi came back, carrying a live rooster.

“Prepare the things I gave you first. I suspect there’s something unclean in your son’s room,” Song Nianqiang remarked casually. Bozi’s expression immediately tensed. He took every word seriously, and upon hearing this, his face turned grim.

“Did you feel a sudden cold breeze when he opened the door? But it’s not the kind of cold from the natural world!” Bozi’s lips trembled as he spoke. He had noticed it before but never paid much attention.

“You know about it!” Song Nianqiang was surprised and glanced at Bozi. Confirmed by his nod, Bozi felt despair creep over him. “Brother Qiang, you have to save my son! He’s my only child!” His face crumpled with worry.

“Don’t worry. First, make the red bean soup, then force your son to drink it! He must finish it before ten o’clock!” Song Nianqiang instructed. Then he and the stout man discussed their next move. The ghost they faced tonight was roughly identified, but its exact nature remained unknown.

“I’ll get started!” Bozi left with a heavy heart. Soon, the clucking of the rooster came from the kitchen, but otherwise, all was silent. Bozi had clearly done this before.

“Fatty, how should we handle this?” Song Nianqiang furrowed his brow.

“I have no idea!” the stout man shrugged. Song Nianqiang nearly wanted to kick him but then the stout man added, “We still can’t be sure what kind of ghost it is. When Bozi calls his son out, we sneak into the room and inspect. That’ll tell us what we’re dealing with!”

Song Nianqiang’s eyes brightened. “Good thinking, Fatty. Let’s do that!” The two then settled on the sofa to watch TV. About ten minutes later, at 9:33 p.m., Bozi brought out the red bean soup and knocked on his son’s door.

“Xiaobo, Dad made some red bean soup. Come out and have a bit,” he called.

Xiaobo hadn’t yet lost all control of his mind, so after a moment, the door opened. He emerged, his expression even more vacant, his face now almost entirely shrouded in black energy.

“Let’s go!” Seeing this, Song Nianqiang and the stout man swiftly slipped into Xiaobo’s room. Xiaobo noticed their movement, his face flickering with a struggle, but ultimately his own will remained dominant as he walked toward the dining table.

Inside Xiaobo’s room, Song Nianqiang and the stout man were puzzled. The room was ordinary, nothing unusual, yet the chilling yin aura was overwhelmingly dense—stronger even than any Song Nianqiang had encountered in a mass graveyard.

“Could it be a third-class spirit?!” Song Nianqiang suddenly thought of a possibility, but the idea terrified him. A third-class ghost was far beyond what he could handle. Facing one meant certain death for him.