John Chou advanced step by step, his face cold and severe. His eyes were devoid of all feeling, like a judge passing sentence—every movement radiated accusation, every glance pressed down with suffocating indifference.
I sat on the ground, head bowed. My cheek throbbed from the punch, but the pain in my heart was worse. I hated myself—how could I let it come to this? In that instant, memories surfaced, bitter and raw.
The anger that had burned inside me was gone, leaving only emptiness. I felt hollow, as if my heart had been gouged out, a chaos of regret and shame swirling inside. Was this all I had left?
"People have seven emotions and six desires. That's what makes us human. But you? Brother, what are you now—what's left in your heart? Or have you lost it all?" [Footnote: In Chinese folklore, 'seven emotions and six desires' refers to the full spectrum of human feelings and cravings, considered essential to one's humanity.]
I stared at John Chou, numb and defeated, shaking my head. "I don't know... Maybe I don't feel anything anymore."
"You see everything, but you still pretend you don't. Why do you keep lying to yourself?"
I couldn't grasp what John Chou was saying. My mouth opened and closed, desperate for words—anything to defend myself, but nothing came. His words echoed, heavy and cruel.
"Didn't you say it yourself before? People die, and that's the end. So why are you so afraid now? Why do you tremble?" His words stabbed at my memories, dragging me back to that moment of weakness.
Suddenly, John Chou thrust out his hand. A streak of crimson appeared—blood, or something worse—pulsing in his palm. My breath caught; fear twisted inside me. Was this my fate?
"What are you doing, John Chou?" Yuna Ji's voice rang out from above, sharp and urgent. In a flash, she was beside him, gripping his wrist. The crimson light flared, wild and unstable, casting shadows that clawed at the walls. I shrank back, helpless.
"Let go, bitch. You think you can stop me? Get out of my way!"
I stared blankly at John Chou, paralyzed by uncertainty. I didn't know what he was about to do, but my gut twisted with dread, cold sweat prickling my skin.
"If you use that trick on him, do you want him to end up like you?"
"Hmph, my affairs are none of your business, bitch. Stay out of it!" His voice was edged with venom, daring her to challenge him further.
In an instant, John Chou was engulfed in a blaze of crimson light. A powerful gust of energy hurled Yuna Ji away, and I could barely keep my eyes open against the force.
"I am but a fool, defying the living. Yet lust brings disaster, crossing three paths, witnessing the wheel of fate turn..." [Footnote: This incantation draws on Taoist ritual language, referencing cycles of reincarnation and spiritual trial.]
Step by step, I retreated, terror gripping my heart. John Chou was wrapped in crimson light, his voice roaring like something from the depths of hell, shaking me to the core.
"What are you trying to do? You..."
"Brother, you have to cross this on your own. If you don't, there's no future for you—in this Ghoul Path..."
Suddenly, John Chou pressed his hand, now blazing with crimson light, against my forehead.
"Ah!"
I screamed, and in an instant, it felt like something was sucking me in. An immense force pulled at my flesh, piece by piece. I stared in terror.
With a crash, the ground split open. I reached out as I fell, looking up at John Chou, whose eyes were icy as he stood with his hands behind his back.
I shouted as I kept falling, but even after a long descent, I still hadn't reached the bottom. I forced my eyes open.
All around me were frames of memories—scenes from my past. I stared, stunned, until a beam of light surged up from below and I sank into it, dizzy and disoriented.
My consciousness returned. I found myself in a corridor, bathed in cold moonlight. I couldn't tell how deep it was—an ornate European hallway that seemed strangely familiar.
A faded red carpet lay on the floor.
"Wuuu..." A child's sobbing echoed. I walked over, and suddenly, a blinding light flashed—a grandmother appeared, carrying an oil lamp. Just as I tried to speak, she passed right through me, as if she couldn't see me, and went straight into the room where the crying came from.
"What's wrong, child?"
I hurried in after her. The room was simple, furnished with nothing but a bunk bed.
"Grandma, I'm scared. There's an uncle who comes into my room every night."
The little boy curled into a ball, covering his ears and shutting his eyes tight.
Then I noticed a shadow at the window. I walked over, but suddenly, I stumbled back in fright—a ghost with a bloodied face and deathly pale skin was grinning wickedly.
"Hey, kid, come out. I'll play with you," the ghost said. But the grandmother seemed unable to see it. After comforting the boy for a while, she left.
Scenes shifted like a carousel. Days passed before I realized this was Willow Orphanage. The little boy was haunted by the ghost every night. There were only about twenty children in the orphanage, of all ages.
Willow Orphanage was set in the midst of ruins, though the building itself was mostly intact. The boy had no friends and spent every day alone, always able to see strange things.
They were all ghosts.
Another night came. The boy sat alone in his room when the window was knocked on again—it was the same ghost.
"Listen, kid, a powerful figure has arrived in this area. You'd better warn everyone to get out fast."
Finally, the boy looked up, his eyes vacant as he stared at the ghost.
"Since you can see me, I'll give you a friendly warning. If you don't run now, once that guy finishes with the others around here, it'll be your turn. When he's hungry, he'll eat every last one of you."
The next day, the boy desperately tried to warn everyone. The old grandmother who cared for him at Willow Orphanage just shook her head helplessly—no one would believe his talk of ghosts.
Screams, wails, cries—the entire orphanage was filled with them. A massive ghost rampaged through, grabbing children and devouring them without mercy.
I rushed forward, trying to stop it, but nothing could be done.
Only the little boy survived. That afternoon, he ran away alone. Watching his lonely figure, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow.
Scenes shifted again. Suddenly, I widened my eyes—the boy, now wandering the city, was adopted by a kind couple.
"From now on, you'll be called Ethan Zhang. Call me Mom," said a gentle man in his thirties and a kind woman of similar age—my parents.
Was I really just picked up off the street? No matter how hard I try, I can't remember this part of my life. I don't know why.
As a child, I lived at the Zhang Estate for several months. From time to time, I still saw those filthy things. Eventually, unable to bear the terror, I spoke to my parents.
They took me from hospital to hospital, but every doctor said I was fine—maybe it was congenital delusions.
Every night, as a child, I always ran into those things. If I was lucky, they'd leave me alone, but the mean ones found new ways to torment me.
Things around the house would get broken for no reason, and I was always nearby. At first, my parents didn't blame me, but as time went on, I was scolded. I tried desperately to explain it was those things.
One stormy night, I met a creature with two pointed ears. It told me that if I pretended not to see them, things would gradually get better.
For the next two long years, I endured, pretending not to see those filthy things. And just as it said, things slowly improved—I became more cheerful, almost unable to see them at all.
But then, something strange happened in our neighborhood. Many kids I used to play with disappeared. The police came, but found nothing.
One evening at dusk, I was playing in the yard with a little girl from next door. We were all alone.
Then I saw it again—a ghost hiding in the bushes, tongue lolling, sharp teeth, red eyes, skin deathly pale, staring at the girl.
I kept pretending I couldn't see it. The next day, the girl vanished mysteriously. I was left alone.
Dozens of children had disappeared without reason. Parents were distraught, but though I knew the truth, I said nothing.
Soon, even adults began to disappear. Finally, my parents moved us out. With my cousin's help, we bought a good house at a low price.
We had just moved to a new place, and again I saw something foul—a pitch-black ghost. It slipped into a family's house. The next day, there was a funeral.
A year or two passed. Just as my vision of them was fading, one night, a knock came at the window. I jolted awake from my sleep.
"Found you... heh heh..." Suddenly, I saw the ghost who'd taken the children, his face twisted in excitement.
I fell ill—fever, coughing, weakness. We tried countless hospitals, to no avail. My parents prayed to every god and Buddha they could, until they met an old Taoist priest, said to be my father's childhood friend.
"Little Zhang, your son's fate is far from ordinary, full of twists and hardship. I can't do much, but I can pray for him and inscribe a golden talisman, hoping it helps him survive this calamity."
Afterward, the priest held rituals for seven days and nights. Gradually, my pulse steadied and I came back to life.
Once I recovered, I couldn't see them anymore. It was as though I'd forgotten everything.
From then on, I became timid, avoiding trouble and turning a blind eye to most things, just wanting to live my own life. The only time I stepped in was when my cousin was being beaten.
"So, brother, what do you think? Do you understand now?" John Chou's voice echoed beside me.
I turned, staring at him in a daze.
You could see it clearly. You knew there was already something wrong between you and Lily Wu, but you did nothing. Those children—if you'd just tried, maybe you could've saved them. But you pretended not to see. Even now, you're just waiting for my business to pass so you can run away again, turning a blind eye to it all.
"Stop it..." I clutched my head, pain splitting through me.
Those three from the Nether Syndicate are truly vile, but you—aside from cursing at them, you just watched from the sidelines. For someone so useless, it's a miracle you've survived this long. Heh...
"I told you to shut up..."
I said weakly.
What's wrong? Am I wrong? Every time you see a ghost, all you think about is running away. Last night, you didn't run—only because you didn't want people to think you were a coward, right?
John Chou's words were like needles, stabbing into my heart.
"Stop it..." My head felt like it was about to explode. Memories flooded back—all those years ago, leaving the orphanage, all I could think about was escape.
Running from everything, ignoring it all—easy, wasn't it, brother? You can keep running now, too, and spend your whole life as a coward...
"I said stop!" I shouted, eyes wide. Everything around me vanished, and a murderous aura drifted around my body.
Come on, brother. Prove to me you're not useless. Prove you're not a coward.