"Ethan, you've probably peered into a lot of people's memories before, haven't you?"
Simon Wang stood up and asked. I looked at him in surprise and nodded.
"Uncle Ming, how did you know?"
"Anyone with Instinct can do that, Ethan. For the next part of the story, I want you to see for yourself, with your own eyes, what's right and what's wrong. I can't make a judgment lightly, after all, this is where Mona Ouyang began creating 'Horror Stories.'"
I let out a sound of surprise and looked at Simon Wang. He stood up, smiling as he spoke.
"This part of the story is imprinted in 'Horror Stories' itself. It has existed from the very beginning. As the scribe, I've come to know it only after years of writing. There's still some time now, Ethan. Go and see it for yourself."
I nodded seriously. Then Simon Wang took out a calligraphy brush and wrote the character 'break' in the air. This time, the character seemed especially powerful. As soon as it appeared, the space around us cracked open.
"Just to be safe, Ethan, you might feel a bit uncomfortable."
As he spoke, Simon Wang wrote the character 'lock' again. The red character shot toward my body. All at once, I felt a buzzing sensation, as if invisible ropes had bound me. My limbs could still move, but it felt extremely uncomfortable.
Then the cracked space in front of me, about the size of a door, shimmered with multicolored light. Simon Wang pointed inside and spoke slowly.
"Go inside, Ethan. This 'Horror Stories' book was born from that encounter between Dream and Ouyang Weng."
I nodded and strode in. Dazzling lights surrounded me, so bright I couldn't open my eyes.
"Don't go. Broken Village is deadly."
It was a boy's voice—soft, but with a sharp edge, almost androgynous.
Gradually, I could see my surroundings. As I opened my eyes, I saw a platform with a table on it. Behind the platform hung a painting of a fierce ghost, and above the painting were three large characters: Human-Ghost Residence. On the platform, I saw a man of about forty, his hair neatly tied with a hairpin, pale-faced and well-built, looking up in surprise.
The man before me was likely Ouyang Weng. He wore a gray-blue robe and held a paper fan. He looked weak, but his whole demeanor radiated resilience, especially his eyes, which were bright and spirited.
All around were square tables, each with candles and plates of food—mostly fruit.
"I said, don't go."
That strange, ambiguous voice sounded again. I quickly turned my head and saw, on the railing of the second floor, a youth in white. He was stunningly handsome, fourteen or fifteen, his features sharp as if carved, with a touch of softness. His lips curled in a carefree smile, but his eyes shone with a piercing light that made him impossible to ignore. His jet-black hair draped casually over his shoulders.
Beneath his sword-like brows were narrow, peach-blossom eyes, full of emotion. Just a few glances and I almost lost myself in them. I felt as if I'd seen those eyes before—in Mona Ouyang, with that same seductive look and smile.
"Are you a ghost too? Why haven't you left yet? The gathering is over—come back tomorrow night."
Ouyang Weng spoke, snapping open his paper fan. With a swoosh, the youth floated down, walking over step by step. His movements were so graceful that, from behind, he could be mistaken for a girl.
"I've decided—I'll call myself Mona Ouyang."
Suddenly, I stared at the youth in shock. He was Mona Ouyang. I gazed at him in astonishment.
"Oh, may I ask, young man, are you also from the Ouyang family...?"
Mona Ouyang burst out laughing. The sound was crisp and melodious, like jade beads falling on marble steps—clear, pleasant, both strong and gentle.
"Not at all. It's just a whim of mine. Your story is wonderful, Ouyang Weng."
"Thank you," Ouyang Weng bowed in thanks and stepped down from the platform. It seemed to be his first close encounter with a ghost, and he couldn't help but reach out.
"It's warm."
As Mona Ouyang spoke, he reached out and grabbed Ouyang Weng's hand. Ouyang Weng's face changed dramatically.
"You're clearly a ghost. How do you have a human's warmth?"
"I'm not like the other ghosts, Ouyang Weng. Back to what we were discussing—you really shouldn't go. That Broken Village outside the city is no good place."
"You know about it?"
Ouyang Weng asked, and Mona Ouyang nodded.
Broken Village outside the city has existed for centuries. Beyond it lies a stagnant pond, full of ancient trees, and the village itself is just past a nearly collapsed bridge, deep in the mountains.
A hundred years ago, it was already haunted—no one dared approach, and the roads were overgrown. People and animals rarely set foot there. Only by accident would someone enter Broken Village, and after encountering ghosts, rumors of hauntings began to spread wildly.
"Oh, I see. Then I really should go and have a look. After all, I love ghost stories!"
Ouyang Weng spoke, his face showing excitement, but Mona Ouyang shook his head.
"They may have invited you to tell stories, but I fear they intend to keep you there, telling stories for the rest of your life!"
As soon as Mona Ouyang finished speaking, Vivian Ouyang burst into laughter.
"That's all for tonight, young Ouyang. I'm just a storyteller—it doesn't matter if my audience is human or ghost. As long as someone wants to listen, that's enough. In this world, I have no other wish but to share my stories every day."
"Suit yourself. But the long story you started yesterday—I haven't finished listening yet. I'll help you out a little. Once you finish this story, do as you please."
As Mona Ouyang spoke, he flicked his sleeve and disappeared into the wall.
Ouyang Weng began coughing violently, hunching over in pain. His wife, pale-faced, came out from behind the screen painting to support him.
"Dear, let's go back to the countryside. If this keeps up..."
"Don't say such things. I'm happy with my life now—no need to watch anyone's mood."
I glimpsed a deep sorrow in Ouyang Weng's eyes.
The scene shifted to the next morning. Human-Ghost Residence hadn't opened yet. I wandered outside for a long time before hearing that, ever since some powerful people arrived, much of what Ouyang Weng said was forbidden. He had to cater to their interests when telling stories, or they'd shut down his teahouse.
It was nothing like what Simon Wang had described before. Ouyang Weng was troubled; often, the teahouse was occupied by the powerful, and several times he wanted to close it, but he was powerless to do so.
By evening, I stood at the teahouse door, now lit up, waiting. The street was cold and deserted. Mona Ouyang, dressed all in white, drifted over from the distant road.
With a creak, the teahouse door opened. Ouyang Weng was already prepared and waiting. Mona Ouyang entered and sat at the front.
There was a look of confusion in Ouyang Weng's eyes.
"Why is it that tonight..."
"No need to wait, Ouyang Weng. The ghosts won't be coming tonight. I just want to quietly hear the rest of your story. Now, it's peaceful."
As Ouyang Weng spoke, he opened his fan and began telling the story. He wasn't fazed by having only one listener—he spoke with passion, saliva flying, his voice strong and stirring.
Mona Ouyang lay on the table, sometimes laughing loudly, sometimes clapping his hands.
For three days straight, one spoke and one listened. They seemed like friends, chatting during breaks and even sharing a drink.
On the fourth night, as the story was ending, a chill pushed open the teahouse door. I saw the White-Faced Ghost Simon Wang had mentioned before—the one who'd invited Ouyang Weng to Broken Village for storytelling. He looked fierce, with many ferocious ghosts behind him.
"What do you mean by this? Our boss may tolerate you here, but aren't you getting a bit too bold?"
Immediately, the fierce ghosts surrounded Mona Ouyang. Mona Ouyang remained calm, only smiling.
"I'm in a good mood tonight. I don't feel like starting a massacre. Get out."
Mona Ouyang suddenly shouted harshly. In an instant, I saw all the fierce ghosts on the scene, including the White-Faced Ghost—his whole body glowing green, looking like a Blue Wraith—show fear on their faces.
"After I finish hearing this story tonight, whether Ouyang Weng wants to go or not is none of my concern."
The White-Faced Blue Wraith seemed about to attack, but suddenly the doors and windows burst open with a powerful gust. I looked outside—the street was pitch black, clouds covered the moon, and not a single ray of light could be seen. A mass of ghostly green light sped toward us.
As it drew closer, I saw a burly man with three eyes. He was massive, with two thick chains hanging from his hands, his body red and covered in thick hair, looking fierce.
Wraith Zero? I couldn't help but remember the powerful ghost under Mona Ouyang's command I'd seen in the dream world. Even John Chou said he was formidable—could it be him?
"Everyone, go home." The three-eyed Blue Wraith spoke, and all the ghosts in the room vanished.
"You're quite special—just like a fierce ghost I met in the south. His name is John Chou. Do you know him?"
Mona Ouyang slowly raised his head and smiled.
"No, I don't know him. John Chou, huh? I'd love to see just how formidable he really is."