Chapter One: Merriment in the Park

"Fatty, my love letter never got any response. I'm guessing Jiang Ningzhi just threw it away!"
He took a swig of liquor, his face clouded with frustration. But instead of comforting me, that damned pig just made things worse. "You? What makes you think you deserve her? She ranked first in the entire county in the entrance exams this year. The principal of No.1 High School even said he'd give her a ten thousand yuan reward if she enrolled! I say you better give up. High school is full of handsome guys!"

Fatty wore a look of schadenfreude. Seeing his smug expression, Song Nianqiang wanted nothing more than to slap him a few times, but with only three yuan left in his pocket and this meal depending on Fatty to pay, he decided to let it slide.

"Yeah, yeah! Come on, brother, let's drink. And if you don't get me dead drunk tonight, you'd better watch out—I'll beat you up!" Song Nianqiang threatened. Feng Yingcai shot him a look of disdain. "You? Drink with me? When have you not ended up under the table?" With that, he poured Song Nianqiang another cup. "Eat up!"

The two of them feasted and drank until the table was a mess and empty bottles piled around their feet. Eating at a street stall was cheap—they had a whole table of dishes and a case and a half of beer for just over a hundred yuan. Both were tipsy, swaying as they walked. Song Nianqiang felt as if he was stumbling into potholes, every step unsteady.

"Where to next?" Feng Yingcai slurred, pulling out his phone to check the time. It was already past 2 a.m., and the streets were nearly empty. The alcohol made Song Nianqiang restless and hot all over. He staggered to his feet with a boozy belch. "Let's go! Off to the park for some action!"

Arm in arm, the two staggered toward the park. In truth, it was a cemetery, but after the reforms, it had been leveled and turned into a park. No one visited at night, as there were rumors of ghosts haunting the place—one man supposedly saw a ghost here while relieving himself in the dark.

As a model youth under the glorious banner of the motherland, Song Nianqiang scoffed at such tales—though the liquor certainly helped his bravado. Normally, even wild horses couldn't drag him here after midnight. Yet tonight, luck was not on his side, for he really did run into a ghost—a green-faced specter with disheveled hair, barreling straight at him, sending a cold sweat down his spine.

People say a good scare will sober you up, but Song Nianqiang proved otherwise; his head was still spinning. Fortunately, his schoolyard brawling instincts kicked in. He grabbed a tree branch off the ground and swung it hard at the ghost.

To keep the spirits below in check, the park was planted with peach trees, and during the day, children would break off branches to play soldier. The branch Song Nianqiang wielded was a length of peach wood.

Alcohol emboldens the timid. After nine years of schooling, Song Nianqiang didn't believe in the supernatural—textbooks had taught him better. He assumed it was just a petty thief, so he staggered forward and, without thinking, laid into the figure he'd knocked to the ground.

Drinking always left him weak and drowsy, and Song Nianqiang could feel sleep overtaking him. He dropped the peach branch, staggered over to the already-snoring Feng Yingcai, adjusted his posture, and settled in to use him as a pillow.

The ghost he had just beaten was a grave spirit, usually docile and quiet. But Song Nianqiang and Feng Yingcai, with their drunken tempers and loud voices, had disturbed its peace, so it came out to play a little prank. It hadn't expected to run into such a hardheaded mortal and ended up beaten so badly it couldn't move. Fortunately, it was the darkest hour, between 2 and 3 a.m., when yin energy was at its peak. At midnight, the yang energy of the living was still strong, with many people still out drinking.

It took a long while before the grave spirit could recover. Being beaten with peach wood and surviving was already a miracle. Ghosts are notoriously vengeful, so it bore a grudge against Song Nianqiang and tried to possess him. But before it could leap onto him, a flash of golden light reduced it to wisps of blue smoke.

Yet this didn’t destroy the ghost. Instead, it triggered a strange evolution, placing it in a peculiar state—freed from the cycle of reincarnation, though too weak for revenge at the moment.

A little past five in the morning, as Song Nianqiang slept, two middle-aged men arrived at the spot. Without a word, they produced a compass, set out some silk threads, and placed a cup of water on the lines, chanting incantations.

Soon, a faint shadow appeared in the water. One man spoke in a deep voice, "What happened here last night?" The shadow in the cup flickered and proceeded to recount in detail how Song Nianqiang had thrashed the grave spirit.

After listening, the man nodded, poured the water onto the ground, and turned to his companion. "So it was that kid. I just don't understand how he's still sleeping here safe and sound." His tone was tinged with confusion and resignation.

He couldn't fathom how a teenager with no formal training could defeat a ghost. The other man walked over, crouched down, and picked up a pendant hanging from Song Nianqiang's neck—a large wolf fang inscribed with the words "Safety Amulet," old and simple in design.

Song Nianqiang had worn this pendant since birth, never taking it off in seventeen years. "This explains it," the man said, pointing at the wolf fang he'd just revealed.

"Looks like our job is easy. We've found our target! Let's pay his family a visit; I'm sure his mother won't refuse." With that, the two men, dressed in high-end clothes, left chatting and laughing, leaving Song Nianqiang and Feng Yingcai snoring away.

By the time the sun was high, couples began to fill the park, and the noise finally woke Song Nianqiang. Squinting at the blazing sun overhead, he knew it was going to be another bright day.

"Fatty! Get up! Your mom’s here!"

With that, Song Nianqiang quickly darted aside, knowing full well how dangerous it was to wake Fatty. Sure enough, at the mention of his mother, Fatty shot up, eyes still closed, and started pacing about.

Had Song Nianqiang not dodged in time, he’d have been flattened under Fatty’s hefty frame. Hospitalization would be a certainty.

"Damn it! You tricked me again!" Realizing his ears weren’t stinging, Fatty quickly caught on. With a roar, he lunged at Song Nianqiang, startling the nearby couples, who all turned curious eyes on the two friends.

"What are you looking at? Got nothing better to do? There are plenty of hotels around!" Fatty, ever the fearless rich kid, barked at the onlookers. Normally, couples would quietly slip away at such a scene, but today was different.

A bespectacled guy, older and taller than the two, approached with a haughty demeanor. A beautiful girl trailed behind at a cautious distance—clearly not yet his girlfriend, or he wouldn’t be looking for trouble.

In a show of arrogance, the bespectacled youth stood before Fatty, looming over him, and demanded, "Hey, I want you to apologize to my girlfriend!" He gave Fatty a shove for good measure.

"Uh… Hahaha!" Song Nianqiang and Fatty exchanged glances and burst out laughing. When Song Nianqiang finally stopped, clutching his belly, he grinned, "She’s your girlfriend? Go on, kiss her if you dare. I bet you’re just hoping she’ll say yes!" Then, he and Fatty faced each other, hands on their hips, thrusting out their pelvises and making exaggerated sounds, their expressions utterly comical.

Caught up in the fun, Song Nianqiang suddenly kicked at the bespectacled youth. He was no stranger to fighting—he’d trained for three years with a man he called "Uncle," who never revealed the truth about Song Nianqiang’s father. Inspired by TV parkour, Song Nianqiang was quick and explosive, though he longed to find his father someday and demand to know why he’d abandoned them.

The kick wasn’t particularly strong, the same force he’d use on Fatty, but to his surprise, the bespectacled youth doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"If you’re not dead, get up!" Fatty hated it when people played weak, so he grabbed the youth by the collar and hauled him upright. Though still shorter, Fatty’s presence was intimidating.

"Smack!" A loud slap sent the expensive glasses flying. "Listen up, punk—quit the act!" Fatty shook his hand, clearly stinging from the blow, while the youth nodded furiously, holding his face.

"Alright, let’s go eat," Song Nianqiang cut in, smoothing things over. Before leaving, he threw an arm around the youth’s shoulders and said kindly, "If you ever need anything, come find me. Brothers get to know each other through a good scuffle. How about it? My treat today!" Mixing a slap with a sweet word was a lesson Song Nianqiang had learned from many fights.

To his surprise, tears welled up in the youth’s eyes, startling Song Nianqiang. "Hey now, what’s with the tears? Come on, brother’s got stuff to do." With that, he gave a kick to Fatty, who was boasting to the girl, and they left together. Whether the youth would ever win the girl was none of Song Nianqiang’s concern, though he had to admit the kid was pretty good-looking.

But not in his wildest dreams could Song Nianqiang have guessed that today’s actions would create a lifelong headache—a major complication that would follow him for years to come. Of course, not even a good beating could make him foresee that.