Three days later, I returned to school.
This experience had matured me—I was no longer the pure and hapless fool I used to be. Even though I still got drunk with my roommates and belted out off-key renditions of Boundless Oceans, Vast Skies, my mindset was entirely different.
Xiao Xiang had left, Xiao Ying had vanished, and Zhu Wantao, overwhelmed with guilt, transferred to another school. Rumor had it that he later developed lung cancer and passed away before graduation—a form of karmic retribution, perhaps.
Reflecting on Xiao Xiang and Xiao Ying's departure, it seemed like an inevitable choice. Even though Feng Lan's death wasn't their fault, the conspiracy had been set into motion because of them. How could they stay at this school and face the spirits of the dead in peace?
I couldn't help but wonder if the ghosts of Li Dezhi and the Queen of Spades had made it to the underworld.
Liu Bin told me that the deaths of Li Dezhi, Liu Yan, the Queen of Spades, and Yu Zixin were all classified by the police as accidental. However, insider whispers suggested that the police had internally identified the incidents as supernatural and sealed the case in confidential files. Yu Zixin's death was no longer pursued; otherwise, I wouldn't have escaped unscathed since I was the last person to interact with her before her death.
As for Old Zhang, that conniving geezer, he vanished as if he had evaporated into thin air. Liu Bin heard that the old man's original target wasn't An Shengzhe but the elder Mr. An. The elder An had trusted Old Zhang deeply, which led to the sudden decision to have An Shengzhe and Yu Zixin engaged.
Days went by, turning into months. Although Xiao Xiang's absence left me feeling empty, I still had the mischievous ghost girl for company. Despite her bad temper, she was quite decent otherwise—almost like one of the guys. We got along without any awkwardness, though our banter during moments like showering or using the bathroom often ended with me either hitting my head on the wall or slamming into the toilet.
Under her strict guidance and supervision, I learned several Taoist techniques and progressed to the fourth level of spirit communication—a name I coined myself: "The Bedroll Technique."
This fourth level was considered intermediate mastery. I could communicate with low-ranking underworld messengers from temple shrines and ask for their help with tasks. They were eager to oblige, hoping for offerings in return. Since I was stuck on campus and couldn't use the skills for much else, I often had them help me cheat during card games. Within a month, I went from being broke to a comfortably well-off small-time tycoon. Ha!
Before long, we graduated. In the past six months, there had been no news of Xiao Xiang or Xiao Ying. Over time, their memories faded until I could barely recall what they looked like.
After leaving school, my buddies and I were dumbfounded. Life at school had been fun and carefree, but integrating into the bustling, materialistic society felt like having our wings clipped. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't soar. A college degree wasn't a ticket to a job; not every graduate was needed, nor was every graduate employable.
Going home felt humiliating. We'd grown up sheltered under our parents' wings—did we really need them to worry about our jobs after graduation? Liu Bin, Kong Mingfei, and Lei Chen lowered their standards and found work as cleaners at a cleaning company. Though the work was exhausting and poorly paid, at least it kept them afloat.
I was about to join them when the ghost girl vetoed it. She insisted that I was a gifted spirit communicator and could easily earn a living without a regular job. "Why work like a dog?" she argued. I thought to myself, Gifted? More like a beggar with a few tricks.
When I asked her what I should do instead, she grinned mischievously and said, "Don't worry. Opportunities will come knocking on their own."
So, I waited—for pie to fall from the sky. While Liu Bin and the others went out to work every day, I lay in bed dreaming.
The four of us rented a shabby, 10-square-meter room—not much bigger than our school dorm. Fortunately, we were used to living together, so it didn't feel too uncomfortable. The only downside was our formidable landlady, who was like the infamous "Landlady" from Stephen Chow's movies. Her lion's roar could scare the wits out of us.
At the end of the month, it was time for her to collect rent again. I figured I'd better not lie in bed waiting for pie. It was safer to slip out and avoid the lioness.
But luck wasn't on my side. When I opened the door, I found the landlady standing there with a stern face, exuding an aura of gunpowder.
I stuck out my tongue and tried to close the door, but she held it open with one hand.
"Little rascal, time to pay the rent!"
Her lion's roar left me shell-shocked, my skin practically peeling off. Covering my ears, I said, "Ma'am, could you keep it down? If wolves hear you, you might survive, but I'd be torn to shreds!"
"Cut the nonsense. Hand over the money!" she snapped, glaring at me. Her stare made my legs tremble.
"They're not home, and I don't have enough money on me," I said with a pained expression.
"Get the rent together by noon," she ordered. "I need it to take my daughter to the doctor." With that, she stomped downstairs.
I froze. Her daughter had been lively just days ago—what happened? The old lady had it tough. Widowed early, she raised her daughter alone. Her daughter, now 18 and in high school, was a rebellious teenager who often argued with her mother and disappeared for days with friends. At night, we'd often hear the landlady's earth-shattering yells from downstairs.
"What's wrong with Moxi?" I asked curiously, following her down the stairs. Her daughter's name was Moxi—a strange name that sounded like "Missy."
"Moxi went to Henan with some friends for two days. When she came back, she was like a different person—barely speaking and trembling at the slightest noise, hiding under the covers and refusing to come out," the landlady sighed.
The ghost girl snickered. "She's possessed. Cure her, and you'll get the rent waived."
Was this the opportunity she mentioned? Damn, I felt awful treating someone's misfortune as my "lucky break." I quickly said, "Ma'am, from what you're describing, Moxi might be possessed. I learned some exorcism techniques from my granduncle back home. Let me take a look at her."
The landlady hesitated, gave me a skeptical look, and finally said, "Alright, but keep your voice down. Don't scare her."
They lived just downstairs, but we'd never been inside. The landlady tiptoed to unlock the door, peeked inside, and beckoned me to follow. The furniture was old but meticulously clean. Moxi was still in bed. Through the door crack, I saw her curled up under a thick blanket, her head completely covered, with only a tangle of black hair spilling onto the pillow. In the middle of summer, she was buried under that quilt like it was winter.