Chapter 110: The Belly Ghost!!

Chapter 110: The Abdominal Ghost!!

“Search carefully; maybe we’ll find something!”

At this moment, Song Nianqiang grew resolute, determined not to give up until he achieved his goal. He leapt onto Cui Xiaobo’s bed and thoroughly overturned it, but found nothing except a few erotic magazines and a Japanese adult film DVD.

The fat man then turned the computer desk upside down, picking up and inspecting every item, afraid to miss any clue. What was once a tidy room quickly became a mess resembling a chicken coop.

“There’s really nothing here!!!” Song Nianqiang refused to believe it. Even if he had to tear down the walls, he vowed to find some clue. His eyes scanned the room repeatedly, searching for anything that could harbor the ghost, yet found nothing.

Suddenly, outside the room, Cui Xiaobo let out a sharp scream, followed by a heavy thud. Song Nianqiang and the fat man exchanged glances and rushed out. They saw Bozi standing there, stunned, staring at the child on the ground foaming at the mouth, his facial muscles twitching uncontrollably.

“Bozi, don’t just stand there—quick, get the chicken blood!!!” Seeing Cui Xiaobo lying on the floor convulsing and rolling his eyes, Song Nianqiang shouted urgently. His yell also roused a woman who had been sleeping in the room. Upon seeing her precious son foaming at the mouth on the ground, she screamed and lunged toward him, but Song Nianqiang grabbed her firmly.

“Don’t go near him yet. If you believe in us as Bozi does, you must listen to us; otherwise, no divine power can save your son!” Song Nianqiang was desperate. Bozi trembled at the shout and hurried to the kitchen. His wife, hearing Song Nianqiang’s command, gradually quieted down, though tears streamed down her face.

“Ugh… ugh… ugh…”

Cui Xiaobo lay on the ground convulsing violently, seemingly close to death. Thankfully, Bozi returned in time, carrying the chicken blood. With quick reflexes, Song Nianqiang snatched it before Bozi’s shaking hands could spill it all.

He dipped a fingertip in the chicken blood, casually discarded the bowl, and swiftly approached Cui Xiaobo, pressing the chicken blood-soaked finger to his forehead. Miraculously, the blood slowly seeped into Cui Xiaobo’s scalp.

As the chicken blood absorbed, Cui Xiaobo’s body gradually calmed, eventually falling into a deep sleep. However, the ghost still lingered inside him, though severely weakened by Song Nianqiang’s intervention. According to the records in “China’s Hundred Ghosts,” such symptoms strongly indicated the presence of an abdominal ghost. Of course, it might have been another kind of spirit, but Song Nianqiang took a gamble—and evidently, he won.

The abdominal ghost, one of the most mysterious specters in ancient China, was never seen by anyone, and no one knew how it entered a person’s abdomen. This enigmatic spirit hid within the human belly, mostly causing harm, though a rare few were benign. Those possessed by an abdominal ghost could hear its voice until death.

This is only a rough description. The ghost’s nature remained a profound mystery, as no one had truly encountered it. Although Song Nianqiang and the fat man had temporarily subdued the ghost inside Cui Xiaobo, they were at a loss as to how to expel it.

“Let’s carry him back to his room and think of a solution!” Song Nianqiang faced a frustrating predicament. Though he had helped suppress the abdominal ghost within Cui Xiaobo, he found himself powerless to extract it.

“Fatty, it’s up to you to come up with something now!” With no other options, Song Nianqiang relied on the fat man. Hearing this, the fat man rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a clue, so why would I? Looks like we’ll have to get tough!”

Their only option was a brute force method—regardless of Cui Xiaobo’s survival, they would force the ghost out by sheer strength.

“If this worked, I would’ve tried it already! No need for your advice!” Frustrated, Song Nianqiang shot the fat man a glare and sank into a chair, deep in thought. The abdominal ghost was mentioned briefly in “Records of the Search for Spirits,” “Notes from the Thatched Cottage,” and “Stories Untold,” but none offered detailed guidance. Hence, Song Nianqiang’s dilemma.

“Damn it! I’m going all in! Summon the Ascended Immortal!!!” Song Nianqiang gritted his teeth, proposing a second plan. The fat man glared sharply. “Are you crazy? Do you want to die?!”

As their understanding of ghost-catching magic deepened, they grew increasingly wary of calling upon an Ascended Immortal. Their last encounter had been a stroke of luck; it could not happen twice.

Only those close to a master ghost hunter could summon an Ascended Immortal. Song Nianqiang’s current cultivation level barely allowed him to call upon deceased senior disciples or uncles. Though their spirits were strong, facing a third-class ghost would only result in them getting beaten down or even perishing.

So Song Nianqiang was stuck. “Nothing works, then what do we do?!”

He was genuinely anxious. Since entering this profession, he had never faced such a thorny problem. Naturally hot-tempered, his frustration now boiled over, leaving him short-tempered with everyone.

“Don’t panic! Let me think harder!” The fat man rarely showed seriousness, but now he tried to focus. Even so, he couldn’t come up with anything useful. However, his shout snapped Song Nianqiang back to reality. Sighing, he walked to the window.

Outside, rain poured, and the night was pitch black. Through the glass, Song Nianqiang clearly saw his own furrowed brow reflected back at him. He smirked bitterly—ultimately, it was his inadequate cultivation. If he were already a master ghost hunter, an abdominal ghost would be nothing more than a flick of the hand, reduced to ash.

“Crack!”

A lightning bolt tore across the sky, followed by a low rumble of thunder. The lightning struck inside their neighborhood, frightening Song Nianqiang. Gazing at his deeply furrowed reflection, a sudden spark of inspiration struck.

“A mirror! Yes! A mirror!”

Ignoring the fat man lounging on the sofa, Song Nianqiang hurriedly sought out Bozi and told him he needed a large mirror—at least bigger than Cui Xiaobo’s body.

Though confused, Bozi complied and quickly called a young man who ran a dance studio. The young man readily agreed to deliver it within thirty minutes.

Since they all lived in town and had cars, it might have arrived sooner if not for the rain. Hearing the mirror would arrive soon, Song Nianqiang nodded, then strode to Cui Xiaobo’s side, placing his hand on his pulse. The chicken blood still suppressed the abdominal ghost for now, but it was past ten o’clock, and the ghost was beginning to seize the upper hand. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to death for Cui Xiaobo.

“Fatty, the blazing sun talisman!” Song Nianqiang reached back, and the fat man quickly placed the talisman into his hand. Song Nianqiang waved it over Cui Xiaobo’s forehead and ignited it. As the talisman burned to ash, the sweat on Cui Xiaobo’s brow gradually vanished.

“Why isn’t it here yet?! Call again!” Song Nianqiang shouted at Bozi, who grew even more anxious and grabbed his keys to rush downstairs. But as he opened the door, he saw a disheveled ghost in white standing at his doorstep, water dripping from its soaked hair.

Bozi, however, was no ordinary man. In his youth, he had earned the nickname “Ghost Bold,” a title that spoke not only to his bravery but also his recklessness. Once, despite being slashed thirteen times over his body, he gritted his teeth and took down the gang leader responsible.

Another time, drunk at night, Bozi unknowingly ended up in a graveyard, where he spent the whole night hugging a corpse discarded in a mass burial site. The next morning, he kicked the corpse away, complaining it disturbed his sleep—an illustration of his fearless audacity.