Chapter Fifteen: The Haunting in the Mansion (Fourth Update—Seeking Everything)

After a jostling hour-long ride in the car, followed by another half hour on foot, they finally reached their destination. Song Nianqiang glanced around at the scenery, exclaiming, “No wonder—this place is essentially an enormous graveyard. Building a house here is just asking for trouble!”

A solitary courtyard stood there, the nearest neighbors a good three hundred meters away. The woman, anxious and expectant, was already waiting for them at the gate. The night before, she had followed Song Nianqiang’s instructions and placed the talisman given by the fat man at her bedside. To her surprise, it worked—she and her family enjoyed the most peaceful night’s sleep they’d had in ages.

So, at dawn, she hurried out to wait for their arrival. When she finally saw them, she rushed toward them like a drowning person spotting a lifeline, her gratitude palpable. “You’re finally here! Please, come inside!”

Upon entering, Song Nianqiang noticed another man pacing anxiously. He was thin and sallow-skinned—a man worn down by the burdens of family life, a sight all too common in modern China.

“You’re finally here! Please, check if this house is truly haunted!” the man cried, fraught with distress. Who would not be, after waking to find their hair mysteriously missing in the night? Song Nianqiang settled onto a stool and replied with certainty, “I can say with a hundred percent confidence—your house is indeed haunted.”

“Oh, heavens! What are we to do? Please, you must help us. Money is no object!” Their family was ordinary, but three thousand yuan was not a significant sum to them. This house, if not abandoned for so long, would fetch well over a million. If not for the neglect, they would have sold it long ago.

“In that case, if you trust me, spend tonight elsewhere. After this night, everything will be resolved,” Song Nianqiang assured him, fully confident. This was just a minor spirit; no elaborate exorcism was needed. A simple negotiation and a new burial site would suffice.

Whether the ghost would agree was another matter, but Song Nianqiang was prepared to offer assistance regardless. Hearing their house was truly haunted, the couple dared not stay another night. They nodded and hurried off without even packing, leaving it all in the hands of their unexpected saviors.

“They really were frightened out of their wits. But it’s nothing—just a common house ghost,” the fat man said, surveying the surroundings with a deepening frown. “Nianqiang, come look at this!” He pointed to a barely noticeable spot.

“What is it?” Song Nianqiang walked over. There, beneath the incense table, embedded in the ground, was a stone stained with chicken blood—a detail of great significance known as “fierce energy against the immortal.”

Normally, houses with incense altars were off-limits to ghosts. The altar produced a kind of spiritual energy, or in modern terms, a magnetic field that repelled spirits. For a ghost to force entry would mean annihilation. But a chicken blood-stained stone beneath the altar changed everything.

The baleful energy from the stone could pierce the altar’s protection, dispersing the spiritual field and allowing ghosts easy access. By day, the ghost could hide within the stone, emerging at night to cause mischief.

“We’ve found it! Let’s get it out.” The solution was unexpectedly simple—Song Nianqiang had anticipated far more trouble. He fetched a shovel, dug out the bloodstained stone, and tossed it into the courtyard, letting it bake under the noon sun—a fitting punishment for the ghost.

“Fatty, the talisman!”

After leaving the stone to roast for a while, Song Nianqiang figured that any longer and the ghost would be completely destroyed. But since their goal was relocation, not eradication—after all, exorcists avoid killing spirits unless absolutely necessary—he wrapped the stone in a talisman paper from the fat man and placed it back on the table. Now, all that remained was to wait for midnight.

The two sat in the courtyard, chatting idly. When hunger struck, they nibbled on compressed biscuits; when thirsty, they fetched cool water from the well. Time slipped by unnoticed, and soon it was midnight. Unlike the county seat, the village emptied by eleven, and after midnight, not a soul stirred. In rural areas, darkness—and with it, the presence of spirits—lingered longer than in the city.

“Let me out!” came a shrill, ghostly wail from the chicken blood stone—a young woman’s voice by the sound of it. Song Nianqiang, unimpressed, poked a hole in the talisman, allowing the ghost to emerge halfway.

“Did you hear me? Let me out!” The spirit, now half materialized, was surprisingly aggressive. But house ghosts were weak. With his current skills, Song Nianqiang could dispatch it with a single Thunder Incantation. “We’ll select a new resting place for you. Are you willing to leave here?” he asked, standing just a short distance away.

“No! I was here first—why should I move?” The ghost was stubborn. Song Nianqiang had no patience for argument and called out, “It’s your turn, Fatty. Just get it to reveal its burial site.”

“Ha! Leave it to me—I’m an expert with minor spirits!” The fat man had recently devised a new type of talisman—it wouldn’t destroy a ghost, but would inflict tremendous pain, like standing naked under the blazing sun, yet stopping short of annihilation.

With a sly grin, he produced a talisman painted with a burning sun and waved it before the spirit. “Do you know what this is?” he taunted, but the ghost only continued to screech.

“That’s enough—I’m about to go deaf. Get it to talk,” Song Nianqiang urged. Fatty wasted no more words; he slapped the talisman onto the bloodstained stone. Instantly, golden light poured forth, enveloping the stone completely. The ghost’s mouth gaped in a silent scream, writhing in agony, but no sound escaped to reach them.

Once the talisman’s power had faded, Song Nianqiang asked, satisfied, “Are you ready to talk now?” The ghost, battered and weak, nodded feebly. Fatty produced another talisman, this one a temporary shelter for spirits, and gestured for it to enter.

“First, tell me—where are your bones buried?” Song Nianqiang asked as he peeled off the talisman. “Under the willow tree in the backyard,” the ghost gasped, its voice barely more than a sigh. Song Nianqiang detected no deception—there was indeed a large willow out back.

But as he removed the talisman, the ghost suddenly lunged at him. “You refuse a peaceful offer for punishment instead!” Song Nianqiang intoned, forming hand seals with blinding speed. A bolt of blue lightning flashed before the ghost, halting it in its tracks. Even so, it was struck by the edge of the spell and collapsed, barely clinging to existence.

“Ungrateful wretch! I almost wish I could finish you off!” Fatty grumbled, striding over and pressing the talisman shelter onto the spirit. With a puff of green smoke, a ghostly visage appeared on the talisman’s surface.

“Problem solved. When the family returns tomorrow, they can dig up the bones and be done with it.” Song Nianqiang dusted off his hands and pulled out his phone to play a game. They would not sleep tonight; in the exorcist’s world, it was taboo to rest in a client’s home. After all, something strange was bound to have happened for them to be hired, so spending the night was not only inauspicious but also risky—it was better not to invite any lingering spirits into one’s own body.

By eight the next morning, the sun was already blazing. Even at dawn, the heat was oppressive. The family returned, accompanied by their son and his heavily pregnant wife.

“The ghost has been captured, but you must relocate its remains. They’re under the willow tree in the backyard,” Song Nianqiang instructed, leading the way. As he approached the willow, he felt a cold, ghostly chill sweep over him. This was indeed the place.