Anyone who had witnessed what happened tonight would likely never forget that figure — Wu Xionqi, dressed head to toe in white.

The Sixth, Gao He, died with a wailing cry. In the moments before his death, it seemed he had given up all thought of resistance. Perhaps in that final short span, he had already completely let go.

Second-in-command Bi Datong’s men rushed into the privy to find it already empty. Then the mortuary attendants came to report that Fourth-in-command Wu Xionqi’s body had mysteriously vanished.

“Assemble the men. Get more torches.”

Yu Chaozong called out in a loud voice: “No one goes alone. Form squads and scout the surrounding area.”

“Wait!”

Second-in-command Bi Datong came striding over and said: “Chief, if this is someone playing tricks, they may have already hidden themselves in your yard. Best to search the yard first.”

As he spoke, he made a point of glancing over at Li Chi and Yu Jiuling.

Yu Chaozong nodded: “Fair enough. Search it.”

The second-in-command immediately gave the word and led men pouring into the yard, but they searched every corner inside and out and found no trace of any ghost.

The various leaders each led their personal soldiers to fan out and investigate in all directions — groups of several dozen, with no one willing to fall behind.

About half an hour later, a man came to Bi Datong and bowed low before him: “It… it does seem like we’ve run into a ghost.”

Bi Datong said: “Speak plainly.”

The subordinate answered with a trembling voice: “We went and examined the blood footprints. There’s something very unusual about them. All the footprints show both feet landing together, as if whatever made them was jumping rather than walking normally. At first, just after leaving the mortuary, the distance between each set of prints was about three chi.”

He paused here, instinctively glancing at Bi Datong, then swallowed.

“But farther from the mortuary, the distance between the prints kept growing — from three chi to six chi, to nine chi… The greatest gap between prints was nearly two zhang.”

Hearing this, Bi Datong felt his scalp prickling in waves.

Even the best practitioner of lightness arts — how far could they jump with both feet together? And landing without a sound, and doing it in unbroken succession — this was something no living person could accomplish.

“Chief…”

Bi Datong said in a hoarse voice to Yu Chaozong: “It seems the Fourth died with grievances unresolved, and has become a revenant after death… We don’t know where it’s fled to now. What… what do we do?”

They were already a superstitious lot, and the evidence now strongly suggested that the thing was indeed the deceased Wu Xionqi. Bi Datong had a guilty conscience — the Sixth was already dead — and he knew exactly how the Sixth had killed Wu Xionqi, because it was Bi Datong himself who had signaled the order. So Bi Datong feared most of all that Wu Xionqi’s next target would be him.

“Have the men keep searching.”

Yu Chaozong said: “Whether it’s someone playing tricks or a real ghost, we need to find it. Tell everyone not to go out in small numbers and to carry bows and arrows.”

Bi Datong acknowledged the order, then tentatively said: “Chief, for the time being, I’ll just stay here with you.”

Yu Chaozong nodded: “Come. We’ll go back and keep vigil for Third Brother.”

Bi Datong readily agreed and followed Yu Chaozong back to the funeral tent.

In the camp, Thirteenth-in-command Li Zheng — who had been in Yanshan Camp for fewer than three months — was so pale with fright his face had completely drained of blood. Never mind encountering a ghost; his own face now looked like one. Surrounded by dozens of his own men, he was still terrified.

Strictly speaking, the Fourth’s death had nothing to do with him — but that made no difference when it came to fear. Ghosts killed people; did they stop to ask who you were?

“Chief,” one of his men said quietly, “why don’t we head back to our own camp? We’re not that close to these people anyway. We’ve got no reason to take risks here. The Fourth has become a vengeful spirit — there’s no point in staying here to die alongside the second-in-command.”

Li Zheng gave a sound of agreement: “We’ll make a show of circling the area and then leave. Order the men not to sleep tonight — have everyone gather in one place. I don’t believe that ghost would dare to come stir up trouble among several thousand men.”

“Yes, yes, yes…” the subordinates were more than eager to go, and immediately acknowledged the order, crowding around Li Zheng and heading off in the direction of their own camp.

Just then, the soldier at the front yelped and threw himself down to the ground, scrabbling backward without stopping.

“A ghost — a ghost!”

He kept shouting as he scrambled backward on all fours, every drop of color gone from his face.

Following where he pointed, everyone looked ahead — and saw a white-clad figure sitting on a stone at the side of the path, head bowed, long hair hanging down to conceal the face. The figure seemed to be holding a comb and was very carefully combing its own hair.

In the moonlight, this sight was enough to frighten a person to death.

“Lo-loose arrows!”

Li Zheng immediately called out.

His men scrambled to unsling their bows, aiming at the white-clad figure and preparing to fire. The arrows hadn’t been released yet when the white-clad figure sitting on the stone suddenly parted its hair to both sides. In the light of the lanterns along the path, everyone could see clearly — it was Wu Xionqi. The Fourth-in-command. Already dead.

Wu Xionqi asked them: “Can you tell me — is my hair properly combed?”

A cry rang out. Someone could not take the shock any further, threw down their bow and arrows, and bolted.

Li Zheng screamed madly for them to shoot. Someone finally released — but from terror, their hand shook, and the arrow sailed far wide of Wu Xionqi.

Wu Xionqi slowly rose, looking at them: “Do you also want to kill me?”

Li Zheng turned and ran in blind panic, unconcerned with direction. The group fled in utter rout, bows and weapons scattered across the ground behind them.

Wu Xionqi tilted his head and watched them run, as if puzzled by why they would do such a thing.

Before long, word spread of Thirteenth-in-command’s encounter with Wu Xionqi on the mountain slope. An atmosphere of panic gripped all of Yanshan Camp. Even those who absolutely had to relieve themselves didn’t dare go alone — they hauled an entire group along with them. And even with a group, no one dared to actually step inside the privy. They gathered at the entrance, unable to bring themselves to go in.

Most people didn’t dare go near the privy at all. Those who couldn’t hold it anymore simply went to find a tree and took care of business while keeping their back to the others.

Ninth-in-command Wang Liankui, with more than a dozen men protecting him, made his way to just outside the yard. He glanced sideways at the privy — the Sixth, Gao He, had been killed by the vengeful spirit in there. He wasn’t about to walk into that death trap.

Not far from the gate were several trees. He beckoned his men over, and they all went to stand among the trees. He unfastened his trousers and had just begun to relieve himself when something struck him very lightly on top of his head.

Wang Liankui raised a hand and felt the spot — something sticky. He held his hand before his eyes and looked: blood.

He looked up — and saw Wu Xionqi hanging upside down from the tree, hair loose and cascading down, face turned toward the ground, visible only in glimpses through the curtain of hair.

“AHHH!”

Wang Liankui let out a cry and dropped to the ground, scrambling sideways on all fours. The hanging Wu Xionqi dropped down, and with one slash, took off Wang Liankui’s head. Then he picked up the head and leaped away.

Not one of the dozen or so people around dared to move, let alone try to stop him.

Right before everyone’s eyes, the vengeful spirit had killed again and fled. The dozen or so men trembled like sieves, their very souls scared out of them.

“Two now.”

Chief Yu Chaozong looked at the people around him: “Everyone stay here in this yard and keep vigil. Bring more torches inside the yard, and put torches on the yard walls as well. No one leaves without cause.”

Even without him saying so, who would dare go out?

They endured like this, enduring for perhaps another hour or so. No one reported encountering Wu Xionqi again, and no one was killed. The sky was beginning to lighten, and everyone quietly breathed a little easier, thinking that once full daylight came, that thing surely wouldn’t dare to come and make trouble anymore.

Though the thought quickly followed — once the day passed and night came again, and that thing came out to kill once more, then what?

They endured until full daylight. And then, one after another, several leaders took their people and slipped away. They didn’t even dare to take their full contingents — they went back, hurriedly gathered a few things, and went straight down the mountain.

They were afraid that if they openly marched their troops away, they’d be noticed. If Bi Datong tried to stop them, they’d be stuck. But if they didn’t go now, what were they waiting for?

By the time the sky had fully brightened, Yu Chaozong instructed people to prepare some food and drink — everyone had been up the whole night without eating anything.

But at a time like this, who had any appetite? Every one of them had been frightened nearly to pieces.

Li Chi and Yu Jiuling came over. Yu Jiuling said he had been up all night and was truly exhausted, and that the two of them were going back to the guest room to sleep for a while. Yu Chaozong readily agreed, and even arranged for guards to be posted at the guest room door.

About another hour later, a number of people came running up from the mountain below, reporting that four of the leaders who had gone down the mountain had been killed — including Thirteenth-in-command, who had seen Wu Xionqi the night before. The critical detail: only the leaders had died; not a single one of their men had been touched.

One man was kneeling there still trembling, three of his seven souls clearly already lost, stumbling over his words as he said: halfway down the mountain, he had seen someone in the distance hanging from a tree, a rope around their neck, swaying back and forth. It was Fourth-in-command Wu Xionqi.

In broad daylight, the forest still looked gloomy and forbidding. And right ahead, there was a body hanging and swaying from a tree — enough to frighten anyone to death, one would think.

As they fled in a rout, somehow the leaders had died — no one knew how. In the chaos of escape, no one noticed anyone approaching. By the time they heard the cries of agony and looked back, the leaders had already bled out, their throats cut.

All four leaders had died the same way — a single strike, instant death.

“Chief!”

Before the messenger had finished his report, another man came running up the mountain, breathless, to stand before Bi Datong: “Wu Xionqi…”

“Where is he?!”

Bi Datong gave a violent start.

“In your… in your room.”

The man was Bi Datong’s subordinate. He spoke while shaking all over.

“In your room… the body is lying on your bed. Lying completely straight.”

These words nearly sent Bi Datong’s heart leaping right out of his chest. He looked left and right, hoping someone would come and offer him some protection right now — but everyone around him had been frightened witless, and no one came forward.

“Let’s all go together!”

Yu Chaozong rose and said: “Even if the Fourth truly died with grievances unresolved, I want to ask him — how many more people must he kill before he’ll stop?”

He rose and strode out with wide steps. Bi Datong needed his trusted aides to support him before he could even stand, his legs too weak to carry him properly.

Courage came with numbers; no one dared to go in small groups. Everyone followed, heading straight for the second-in-command’s camp. And crucially — now that the leaders had gone, those who remained didn’t dare stay behind either. What if that thing came back?

A short while later, the rear window of the guest room in Yu Chaozong’s stronghold opened. Li Chi swung through from outside and landed inside, then let out a long, slow breath.

Yu Jiuling saw him return and hurried over to help steady him: “The commotion you stirred up — even knowing it was you doing all of this, I was still scared half out of my mind. Genuinely scared. Scared so badly I almost wet my trousers.”

Li Chi smiled: “Was it really that frightening? All I did was go out and kill a few people.”

Yu Jiuling said: “You disguised yourself as Wu Xionqi and killed people — you could have just frightened them to death without doing anything else.”

Li Chi said: “Wu Xionqi? Who? Isn’t he dead?”

Yu Jiuling’s face went white: “Don’t you dare scare me like that!”

Li Chi asked with a look of genuine puzzlement: “I just went down the mountain and waited in ambush. I didn’t expect people to actually come down. Are you saying… Wu Xionqi came back?”

Yu Jiuling’s throat made a strangled sound, and he nearly passed out.

—