Fourth month of the Year of the Metal Ox, three moons before the Hungry Ghost Festival
The morning sun cast long shadows across the dusty path as villagers hurried about their business. Among them walked Dong Wenxu, his weathered face creased with pain, each step a testament to years of bending over rice paddies. The small village bustled with life, merchants calling out their wares, children darting between carts laden with produce.
Dong was a simple farmer, known throughout the village for his kindness and honesty. For generations, his family had tilled the same modest plot of land, the earth beneath his callused feet as familiar as his own heartbeat. His small home sheltered five souls: himself, his devoted wife Lihua, their two daughters—the eldest, Mei, now fourteen and blossoming like spring peach flowers, eleven-year-old Jing with her curious eyes, and their son, little Bao, only nine but already eager to help his father in the fields.
"Dong sir! How fares your back today?" called Old Zhang, his neighbor of many years, hurrying to walk alongside him.
Dong's face tightened with a grimace. "Worse with each passing day, I'm afraid. I can barely bend anymore. I walk like a bamboo stick in the wind." He attempted a laugh, but the sound caught in his throat, transforming into a pained sigh.
The two men walked toward the center of town, where the market hummed with activity. The scent of steamed buns and fragrant tea filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of vegetables and the sharp tang of pickled radishes.
"Have you heard the whispers about the Lotus Sect?" Old Zhang asked, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "They say they're healing the sick. For free."
Dong scoffed, his eyes darkening with bitterness. "Such gifts aren't meant for poor farmers like us. I haven't enough coins for proper herbs, let alone treatments from a sect."
"No, no, you misunderstand," Old Zhang insisted, grabbing Dong's sleeve with surprising strength. "They ask for nothing. Remember old Cao Yufeng?"
The name stirred something in Dong's memory—a bent figure, older than the ancient oak by the village well, coughing blood into a rag. "The one they sent to die at the temple?"
Old Zhang nodded eagerly. "The very same! Yet now he works in his garden, strong as an ox! I've seen it with my own eyes."
Hope, that dangerous emotion, flickered in Dong's chest. "Truly? Did the heavens answer his prayers?"
"It was the Lotus Sect. They choose the sick and suffering, and they heal them without asking for a single coin."
By now, they had reached the market. The two men settled on low stools in a humble tea house, where the conversation continued as others joined them.
"I myself received their medicines," declared a thin man with a pockmarked face. "My cough vanished like morning mist in the summer sun."
Dong leaned forward, wincing at the pain that shot through his lower back. "How might I receive such blessing? My family depends on my strength, and it wanes with each passing day."
The man smiled, revealing several missing teeth. "Seek out Sun Yitao at the Golden Leaf Tea House. He places names on the blessed list."
Without finishing his tea, Dong hurried to the Golden Leaf, the grandest tea house in their modest town. Its curved roof gleamed with polished tiles, and painted lanterns hung from the eaves. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of jasmine and expensive oolong.
A waiter with disdainful eyes looked Dong up and down, taking in his mud-stained clothes and calloused hands. "What business have you here, farmer?"
"I seek Sun Yitao," Dong replied, standing as tall as his pained back would allow. "I was told he might help me."
The waiter's thin lips curled. "Master Sun is occupied. Wait outside if you must."
For two hours, Dong stood beneath the merciless sun, hope and desperation keeping him rooted to the spot. Sweat trickled down his neck, soaking the back of his simple cotton shirt. People passed by, some casting curious glances, others ignoring him completely.
Finally, the waiter beckoned him inside and led him up a narrow staircase to a private chamber. Dong's heart hammered against his ribs as he knocked gently on the ornate wooden door.
"Enter," called a melodic voice.
The room beyond was like nothing Dong had ever seen. Delicate paintings adorned silk-covered walls, and the furniture gleamed with polish. In the center sat a young man dressed in robes of the finest quality, his face handsome and unmarked by labor.
"Welcome, my good sir!" Sun Yitao exclaimed, his smile dazzling in its warmth. "Please, honor me by taking a seat."
Dong lowered himself awkwardly onto a cushioned chair, feeling out of place among such luxury. A servant appeared silently, pouring fragrant tea into a porcelain cup so thin light shone through it.
"You seem troubled," Yitao observed, his eyes filled with what appeared to be genuine concern. "How might I ease your burdens?"
Something in the man's manner melted Dong's caution. The kindness in those eyes, the gentle tone—it was as if the heavens themselves had sent this man to answer his prayers.
"My back," Dong confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "Years in the fields have bent it like an old tree. I... I heard the Lotus Sect offers healing to those who cannot pay."
Yitao's face lit up. "Indeed! Helping those in need brings the greatest joy to our humble sect. The heavens have blessed us with knowledge of healing, and it would be selfish to keep such gifts to ourselves."
Relief crashed over Dong like a wave. "Then... you'll help me?"
"Of course! We must simply follow certain protocols. A brief investigation to ensure your need is genuine. Many wealthy merchants pretend poverty to steal medicines meant for the truly suffering." Yitao's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It breaks my heart to see such greed."
"I understand," Dong said quickly. "I have nothing to hide. My home, my family, all is as humble as I appear."
"Excellent! Might we visit your home today? Once verified, we can begin your treatment without delay."
The two men walked through the village, Yitao's fine clothes drawing curious stares. When they reached Dong's small home, with its thatched roof and simple wooden walls, Lihua emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. Behind her peeked their three children, eyes wide at the sight of the finely dressed stranger.
Dong noticed something shift in Yitao's expression as his gaze lingered on Mei, his eldest daughter. The look vanished so quickly he almost believed he had imagined it.
"Your family is a blessing from heaven," Yitao declared, bowing slightly to Lihua, whose eyes remained wary. "I can see true need here. Return to me tomorrow, and we shall place you on our list for treatment."
That night, Dong could barely sleep, his heart light with hope despite the grinding pain in his back. Lihua lay beside him, her breathing betraying her wakefulness.
"I don't trust that man," she whispered into the darkness. "His eyes... they reminded me of a hungry wolf."
"You worry too much," Dong chided gently. "The entire village speaks of the sect's generosity. This is our blessing, sent by heaven itself."
The next morning, Dong returned to the tea house. Yitao received him warmly, presenting several documents covered in elegant characters.
"Sign here, good Dong," Yitao instructed. "Just formalities, acknowledging your need and our commitment to help."
Dong hesitated only briefly before marking each paper. The characters were complex, beyond his limited reading abilities, but Yitao's friendly demeanor dispelled any concerns.
A week later, Dong found himself among a group of hopeful villagers, all led to a temple nestled in the foothills beyond the village. The Lotus Temple was a vision of serenity, whitewashed walls surrounding a courtyard where lotus flowers floated in clear pools. Incense perfumed the air, and monks in white robes moved with quiet grace.
The chief priest welcomed them with open arms. His face was weathered but kind, his eyes bright with wisdom.
"Welcome, suffering ones," he intoned. "The Lotus Sect opens its heart to you."
For seven days, they lived in the temple's simple quarters. Each morning began with meditation as the sun rose, filling the courtyard with golden light. The monks taught them to sit in silence, focusing on their breath, imagining their pain flowing out with each exhale.
Before each meal, they were given a small mound of brown powder.
"Our sacred medicine," the priest explained. "Mix it with your food and drink. It carries the blessing of the lotus, purity emerging from the mud of suffering."
The powder was bitter at first, but Dong soon began to crave its taste. By the third day, colors seemed brighter, sounds more musical. His back still hurt when he touched it, but somehow the pain mattered less. By the fifth day, he felt as though he were floating several inches above the ground, his body light as a feather.
During evening ceremonies, the monks would chant while walking among them, touching their foreheads.
"Your pain is illusion," they would whisper. "It exists only because you believe it does. Let go, and be free."
And miraculously, Dong believed. When the monks touched the spot where his back had burned for years, he felt nothing but pleasant warmth. Tears of gratitude streamed down his face.
"Thank you," he sobbed. "Thank you."
When Dong returned home after the week, he was transformed. His steps were light, his smile constant. He spent hours in meditation, sometimes laughing at nothing, sometimes staring at a single point for so long that little Bao would wave his hand before his father's eyes.
Lihua watched with growing unease. This was not the man she had married. His eyes held a distant look, as if part of him remained at the temple. When she spoke, he sometimes took several moments to respond, as if her words had to travel a great distance to reach him.
One crisp morning, visitors arrived at their humble home, three men in the white robes of the Lotus Sect. Dong fell to his knees at the sight of them, bowing so low his forehead touched the earth.
"Blessed ones! You honor my unworthy home with your presence!"
The leader smiled benevolently. "Rise, good Dong. We bring joyous news from the heavens themselves."
Dong scrambled to his feet, his face alight with fevered excitement. "Any word from the divine realms is a treasure beyond price!"
"Your land has been chosen," the monk declared. "The soil here is blessed, perfect for growing the sacred lotus that produces our healing powder."
Dong's eyes widened with wonder. "My humble plot? Truly?"
"Indeed. And more! Your family has been selected for the highest honor protection within our temple walls. The women and child especially must be shielded from worldly corruption."
From the doorway of their home, Lihua listened, cold fear gripping her heart. She pulled her daughters behind her, one hand reaching for Bao.
"No!" she cried out. "We are not going anywhere! This is our home!"
Dong whirled on her, his face contorted with rage she had never seen in their fifteen years of marriage. "Silence, woman! You speak against the will of heaven!"
The monks maintained their serene smiles. "Perhaps the lady needs time to understand the blessing being offered."
"She will understand," Dong assured them, his voice hard as stone. "I will bring them to the temple tomorrow. This I swear."
After the monks departed, Dong's rage exploded. His hand, once gentle, struck Lihua across the face. The children screamed, but he seemed not to hear them.
"Ungrateful woman! Do you know how many pray for such honor? Prepare yourself and the children. Tomorrow you join the blessed ones at the temple."
That night, as Dong's breathing deepened into sleep, Lihua shook their children awake. Her cheek still throbbed where he had struck her, but her voice remained steady.
"Take only what you can carry," she whispered. "We must leave before dawn."
"What about Father?" Bao asked, his young voice trembling. "We can't leave him!"
Lihua's heart twisted. "He will join us later. Now we must hurry."
The night air bit at their skin as they slipped from the house. Lihua led her children down the narrow path that wound past the rice paddies, heading toward the distant home of her sister in the next village.
They had barely reached the edge of their fields when a roar shattered the night's silence.
"LIHUA!"
Her blood turned to ice. Dong stood at the door of their home, his figure dark against the faint light from within. In his hand glinted the blade of a kitchen knife.
"I'll save our children from your wickedness!" he howled, lurching forward.
Lihua pushed her children ahead. "Run! Don't look back!"
Their feet pounded against the dirt path. Behind them, Dong's enraged voice grew closer. Lihua could hear his labored breathing, the thud of his footsteps gaining on them.
Suddenly, a whistling sound cut through the air. Dong made a strange, gurgling noise. Lihua turned to see her husband standing motionless, moonlight gleaming on the shaft of an arrow protruding from his throat. As if in slow motion, he crumpled to the ground.
From the shadows emerged Old Zhang, a bow in his weathered hands. His face was grim, eyes filled with sorrow. He looked nervously toward the village. "You must leave now. Go far away. They'll look for you when Dong doesn't bring you tomorrow."
As they were about to escape further into the night, several men with covered faces suddenly appeared on the path ahead. Yitao stepped forward, his friendly smile replaced by a cold sneer. The moonlight cast eerie shadows across his handsome face.
"Where do you think you're going, ladies?" Yitao called out, his eyes lingering on older girl. "It's dangerous out here. Let me take you somewhere... safe." The way he said the last word made Lihua's skin crawl.
Lihua pushed her children behind her. Her hands trembled as she pulled a small knife from her belt. "Stay away from us!"
Yitao laughed, the sound echoing in the night air. "Such spirit"
Before Lihua could react, he lunged forward with surprising speed, twisting her wrist until she dropped the knife. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the blade and pressed it against her throat.
"I don't need all of you," he said coldly, his eyes fixed on the girl. "Just her."
"No! Leave them alone!" Lihua cried, feeling the cold metal against her skin.
Yitao smiled at the girl. "If you want your mother and siblings to leave safely, come here."
She stood frozen, her young face pale with terror. Her small body shook uncontrollably, but she slowly stepped forward.
"Please don't hurt them," she begged, tears streaming down her face. Her voice was barely a whisper.
Lihua screamed, thrashing against Yitao's grip. "No, Run!"
Yitao threw Lihua to the ground and grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her roughly to his side. His eyes roamed over her face with open hunger.
"What a beauty," he murmured, stroking her cheek. The girl flinched at his touch.
Lihua scrambled to her feet and charged toward them. "Let her go!"
Yitao stepped back, dragging her with him. He gave a small nod to his men.
It happened so quickly. The masked men surged forward with swords drawn. Lihua barely had time to push her younger children behind her before the blades fell. Their screams cut through the night, then fell silent.
The girl watched in horror as her family crumpled to the ground. "NO!" she shrieked, suddenly fighting against Yitao's grip with all her strength. "You promised! You said you wouldn't hurt them, you monster!"
She kicked and clawed at him, her young face transformed by rage and grief. "Monster! MONSTER!"
Yitao's face hardened. His hand shot out, striking her hard across the face. The girl's head snapped back from the force of the blow. Her eyes rolled back, and she slumped against him, unconscious.
Without a word, he lifted her limp body and carried her away, leaving the bloody scene behind.
Dong wasn't the first victim of the Lotus Sect, nor would he be the last. Their operation worked like a well-oiled machine.
On the surface, the Lotus Sect appeared to be a religious group focused on healing and herbs. But behind this mask lay a dark empire built on drugs and human suffering. The brown powder they distributed created intense addiction. It made people forget their pain and feel happy all the time, but at the terrible cost of their free will.
People would do anything for more of the powder. They signed away their lands, their homes, even their families. The once-proud farmers continued working the same fields, but now they labored for the sect, receiving nothing but small doses of the powder that kept them enslaved.
The beautiful women and girls they took served the highest ranking members of the sect or were given as "gifts" to powerful nobles. The sect's influence reached into every corner of the kingdom. They owned vast lands, controlled markets, and had headquarters in every major city.
Even the royal family supported them secretly, enjoying the wealth and pleasures the sect provided. Everyone whispered about the Lotus Sect, but no one dared speak openly against them.
And through it all, the true leader of the sect remained hidden in shadow, pulling the strings of their vast network while never showing their face.
Seventh Moon of the Year of the Metal Ox, 15th Night.
The seventh moon hung low and bloated over the capital, its light gauzy as funeral silk. It was the Hungry Ghost Festival 'Zhongyuan Jie' when every alleyway smelled of burnt offerings and desperate prayers. Families gathered to leave offerings - plates of fruit, cups of wine, and stacks of paper money, all to feed and appease the wandering spirits who had no families to remember them. People whispered that during this month, the hungry ghosts walked among the living, searching for nourishment or, sometimes, revenge.
The dim glow of lanterns flickered against the carved wooden panels of the Xie Manor, casting elongated shadows along the silent corridors. Inside a secluded chamber, two young girls hurriedly changed their clothes, their hushed whispers barely audible over the rustling of silk.
"Hurry up and wear this," the older whispered urgently, holding out a servant's plain cotton robe. Her fingers trembled slightly with excitement as she glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps.
"What if Father finds out?" the younger sister asked, her voice tight with worry. She took the rough fabric reluctantly, clutching it to her chest instead of putting it on. "He'll be so angry."
"Don't worry, he won't," the older sister replied, her eyes bright with determination. "And just think about all the sweet candies and lanterns and all the fun things we can do at the festival! Even if we get caught—" she squeezed her sister's shoulder reassuringly, "—it will be worth it. I promise I won't let him scold you too badly."
Finally convinced, they changed into the servant clothes, giggling nervously as they helped each other with the unfamiliar ties. Together, they tiptoed toward the gate, wincing at every creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.
As they carefully pulled the heavy gate open, ready to taste freedom, both girls froze. The younger sister's scream tore through the night, high and terrified.
"Ghost! A ghost!"
The older sister stood paralyzed beside her, mouth open in shock. Hanging from their family gate was A grotesque paper effigy hung from the manor gates, its tattered limbs swaying in the night wind. A crude face had been drawn on it in dark, clotted blood, its expression eerily resembling Lord Xie himself. Its gaping mouth had been stuffed with lotus seeds, an ominous sign of mockery.
The household erupted into chaos. Servants rushed out with lanterns, their faces pale with terror. Lord Xie stormed from his chamber, his robe barely fastened, his face dark with fury.
"Who dares to disgrace the House of Xie?" His voice thundered through the courtyard. "I will have their heads displayed on these very gates!"
With a furious kick, he sent the effigy sprawling to the ground, its lifeless eyes staring up at him mockingly.
"What are you all standing around for?" he barked. "Find the wretch who did this! Bring me his head!"
As the servants scrambled to obey, his sharp eyes landed on his daughters, still clad in servant attire. His gaze darkened.
"Sneaking out, were you?" He advanced toward them, his voice dangerously quiet. "Or were you the ones behind this insult?"
"No… no, Father! We-- " The elder girl stammered, bowing low, her hands trembling.
"Quiet!" Lord Xie snapped. "Go back to your chambers. No meals for three days!"
He called a servant with a sharp gesture. "Miang! Lock them in their rooms. Not a single grain of rice for three days."
As the girls were led away, wiping their tears, another servant approached Lord Xie cautiously, keeping his eyes downcast.
"My lord," he murmured, "you have a message from Lord Jin. The council is waiting for you at the opera house."
Lord Xie sat among the highest members of the Lotus Sect. His fingers were in everything the sect did, especially taking land from poor farmers.
The idea to use women for pleasure? That was mostly his doing. He looked down on women like they were less than human. Even his own daughters felt his cruelty. They lived in fear of his anger, walking carefully around their own home, trying not to catch his attention.
"Worthless girls," he would mutter when they brought him tea or helped him dress. "Better to have sons who can build power."
Lord Xie exhaled sharply, adjusting his robe. "Prepare my garments and bring wine."
Within moments, two maids attended to him, preparing his bath with fragrant herbs. They helped him dress in embroidered robes of deep vermilion, his fingers adorned with rings of jade and gold. He took a slow sip of wine before stepping into his grand carriage, oblivious to the murmurs of resentment that whispered through the servant quarters.
The journey to the opera house was smooth until the carriage jerked to a sudden stop, nearly spilling wine down his expensive robes.
"What is happening?" he demanded, but no answer came from his guards.
"Did you hear me?" he called out louder, anger rising in his chest. Still nothing.
"You useless fools, I'm talking to you!" he shouted, his face growing hot with rage. The silence that followed made his skin prickle with unease.
Cursing under his breath, he climbed out of the carriage only to find himself in a dark, empty alley. His servants and guards had vanished into thin air. Cold fear crept up his spine as he looked around at unfamiliar walls closing in on him.
A shiver ran through his body, but he fought to keep his voice steady. "Those worthless dogs—I'll have them whipped for this!" he threatened the darkness, trying to mask his growing fear.
"Why not?" a quiet voice asked from the shadows.
Lord Xie flinched. "Who's there?" he demanded, his voice less steady than he would have liked. "Do you know who I am? These tricks won't scare me!"
The sound of a flute drifted through the air, its notes eerie and unsettling. Lord Xie felt goosebumps rise on his skin as the melody seemed to surround him.
When he tried to run, a dark figure appeared in front of him. Lord Xie's eyes widened, and he backed away.
"W-who are you?" he stammered, his earlier confidence gone. "W-what do you want?"
The figure spoke softly. "Your Death."
Before Lord Xie could react, a blade flashed, and his throat was cut. As he collapsed, a second figure stepped out from the shadows.
"You got blood on my boots... again," the newcomer said with a sigh.
The first figure turned, face expressionless. "It was your idea."
The second man gave a short laugh. "I should really stop drinking," he muttered. "Come on, let's move him and go."
He bent down, grabbing the corpse by the arm, only to realize his companion had already turned to leave.
"Oi, what now?" he called after him.
The figure glanced back with his usual indifferent stare. "I killed him. You carry him."
The second man let out an exasperated chuckle. "Just admit I'm stronger than you."
He muttered curses under his breath as he hefted the body over his shoulder, following the dark figure into the night, leaving only a trail of blood in their wake.
Within the grandeur of the Opera House, the nobles and dukes of the empire reveled in luxury. All were esteemed members of the Lotus Sect. Draped in silk and adorned with jade, they sipped fine wine and exchanged pleasantries, their laughter rich with arrogance. Among them sat their sons, the young lords of noble lineage, brought here to learn the ways of power and ambition. Some spoke of poetry, others of martial prowess, each vying to outshine the other in wit and skill.
Tonight, young lords awkwardly mingled while their fathers plotted and schemed. The sons had been brought along to show off and to start building connections that would help them later in life. They were trying hard to impress each other some reciting poetry, others bragging about their fighting skills or debating complicated ideas.
"Young Master jian, don't you want to join our little contest? Or do you think we're not good enough for you?" one young noble called out, pretending to be friendly while actually challenging him.
Jian Yu, barely looked up from his tea. "Yes," he answered flatly, leaving everyone to wonder which question he was answering.
A hush fell over the group before uneasy laughter followed. At twenty years of age, Jian Yu was already a name known throughout the noble circles, arrogant, disciplined, and above all, untouchable. Born to a lineage of wealth and power, With his perfect complexion and expensive clothes, Jian Yu perfectly captured the attitude of someone who knew he was better than everyone else. Like most nobles, he measured his importance by how far above others he stood.
He knew why his father had dragged him here. Being the most talented young noble at the gathering made his father look good.
"Aren't you all bored of this?" he asked suddenly, standing up. Several others quickly agreed, eager to be on his side.
As Jian Yu walked toward the exit, several young lords followed him like ducklings after their mother. Among them was Young Master Gong sichen, who had been trying desperately to become Jian Yu's friend for years. No matter how many times he was ignored, Sichen kept trying always there, never acknowledged.
This wasn't about friendship. Every year, the Lotus Sect held a competition for young nobles, with winners getting membership, a position that brought wealth, influence, and respect. Part of the competition required working in teams, and being on Jian Yu's team practically guaranteed success.
Meanwhile, in the next room, the fathers were playing their own version of the same game. They raised their wine cups in false modesty while bragging about their sons and secretly calculating how to get ahead.
"It's all thanks to good fortune," Lord Jian said smoothly when someone complimented his son's talents, though his eyes gleamed with obvious pride.
"Where's Lord Xie? I sent for him earlier," one lord asked, looking toward the door.
"That's just like him showing up late so everyone notices his entrance," another replied, causing knowing laughter. Despite their jokes, Lord Xie was important in the sect, and many hoped to get on his good side to help their sons' chances.
While the adults continued drinking inside, the young lords wandered through the festival lit streets. Common people were out despite the late hour, their faces glowing in the lantern light as they burned offerings and told scary stories to wide eyed children.
Suddenly, a scream cut through the night, followed by more screams and the sound of running feet. The young nobles, curiosity winning over caution, hurried toward the commotion.
What they saw made even Jian Yu's calm expression falter. Hanging from the roof of a building was what first looked like a festival dummy but turned out to be something much worse, a paper body with Lord Xie's actual severed head attached to it. His eyes were frozen open in terror, blood still dripping down onto the paper body below.
People panicked. "Ghosts! The hungry ghosts have come for revenge!" some cried, falling to their knees while others ran away in fear.
Then, as if by magic, burning papers began falling from the rooftops like fiery snowflakes. When one young lord caught a piece, his face went pale. "These are land contracts," he said quietly. "They have Lord Xie's official seal on them."
Each burning page represented a farmer's stolen property contracts Lord Xie had used to take their family lands. Now these documents were falling from the sky like fiery accusations, lighting up the night with evidence of his cruelty.
In that moment, as both nobles and common people stared at the gruesome display, the line between the living and the vengeful dead seemed very thin indeed.
On the roof across the street, two figures lounged casually, watching the panic they'd caused. One passed a wine jug to the other, spilling a bit down his chin.
"Damn, that's good stuff," he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Where'd you get it?"
"Stole it," his companion replied, barely paying attention. His eyes never left the chaos below, his body tense despite his relaxed posture.
The first man snorted with laughter and took another swig. "Look at them running around like headless chickens "
"It's the White Ghost!" someone screamed from below. "Bai Gui has come for revenge"
The name rippled through the crowd. Some people ran, while others actually stopped, their faces showing a strange mix of terror and hope. For months now, stories had spread about this White Ghost who targeted corrupt officials, especially those connected to the Lotus Sect.
For months now, whispers of "Bai Gui" had spread through every village and city like wildfire. The White Ghost, they called him, a phantom with flowing silver white hair who moved faster than the eye could follow and vanished into shadows as if he were made of smoke.
His name was spoken in hushed tones in teahouses, in farmers' huts, and even in the guarded mansions of the wealthy. To the common people crushed under the Lotus Sect's cruel rule, he was a flicker of hope in endless darkness. To the nobles who served the sect, he was the nightmare that kept them awake at night, wondering if they would be next.
Three months ago, Bai Gui had done the unthinkable. An entire Lotus Sect headquarters, Inside, guards lay unconscious but alive, while the sect leaders were gone without a trace. Their bodies appeared days later, hanging from the city gates with the word "CORRUPT" painted across their chests in their own blood.
No one knew who he was or where he came from. Some said he was the vengeful spirit of someone destroyed by the sect. Others believed he was a former sect member who had turned against his brothers. The most frightening rumor was that he couldn't be killed at all, a guard had claimed to stab him through the heart, only to see him smile and disappear into the night.
What everyone agreed on was how he moved, like water flowing uphill, defying nature itself. He could leap from rooftop to rooftop without making a sound. He could stand before you one moment and be gone the next, leaving only the fading notes of his flute to prove he had been there at all.
The Lotus Sect had placed an enormous bounty on his head, enough gold to buy a small kingdom. Yet no bounty hunter had managed to claim it. Some who tried were found later, shamefully bound and left at sect doorsteps. Others simply disappeared.
Young Master sichen, always eager to appear important, stepped forward with a forced laugh. "Ghosts? Really? You peasants will believe anything!" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his nervousness.
A few other young lords joined in his mockery, their laughter too loud, too forced.
An old man near the front of the crowd spoke up. "If it's not a ghost, then who else would dare go after a Lotus Sect lord? Who else could get away with it?"
"You'd need more than skill, you'd need magic to escape their guards," someone else added.
Sichen's face reddened. "This 'White Ghost' is nothing but a coward! A common criminal hiding behind superstition!" He pointed dramatically at the gruesome display. "He knows he can't face the Lotus Sect openly, so he sneaks around like a rat!"
Sichen's voice grew louder as the crowd's murmuring increased. "I'm telling you, there's no such thing as—"
The first notes of a flute cut through the night air, soft yet somehow heard by everyone. The crowd went silent, heads turning, searching for the source.
That's when they saw him.
Every eye turned as a tall, spectral figure emerged from the shadows. Draped in dark robes, his face was hidden beneath a pitch-black scarf that revealed nothing save for a pair of piercing, unyielding eyes. His long, grey hair cascaded like a veil, the only feature that betrayed his identity. In his hand, he clutched a finely crafted bamboo flute, its notes both mournful and resolute.
For a second, nobody moved.
"It's him! It's really him!" a woman cried, promptly fainting into her husband's arms.
Young Master Sichen's face turned from red to ghostly pale. His knees wobbled, and he grabbed the sleeve of another lord to steady himself. "I... that's just... it can't be..." he stammered.
Jian Yu, standing apart from the others, narrowed his eyes. Unlike his peers, he didn't seem frightened, just curious. He took in every detail of the mysterious figure, from the quality of his black clothing to the way he balanced effortlessly on the narrow roof edge.
Another young lord, desperate to save face, stumbled forward. His hand shook as he drew his sword. "C-come down and fight me like a man!" he yelled, trying to sound brave while practically wetting himself. "I bet you bleed just like everyone else!"
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then a laugh, a very human laugh, warm and rich echoed across the square. Without warning, the White Ghost leapt down, moving so fast he was almost a blur. Before anyone could blink, the young lord was flat on his back, his sword lying useless beside him, and the White Ghost was tapping his flute against the boy's throat like a warning.
"Next time," the White Ghost said, his voice surprisingly normal, "bring better wine as an offering."
Before anyone could recover, the White Ghost backflipped onto a nearby cart, then seemed to melt into the shadows between buildings. The haunting flute music started again, growing fainter until people weren't sure if they were still hearing it or just remembering it.
"He'll come for all the corrupt lords," a child whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "My father says Bai Gui punishes the wicked."
Young Master sichen, still shaking, tried to regain his composure. "Th-that was just some trick... just some... some..."
But nobody was listening to him anymore. Even the other young nobles were looking at each other with the same unspoken question: whose father would be next?