The Storyteller cried out in grief and rage, but was still beheaded. After death, his unresolved resentment transformed him into a vengeful ghost, wandering everywhere in search of the ghost who had caused his demise.
Yet the Storyteller searched everywhere nearby, but could not find the ghost responsible for his tragic death. Unable to vent his rage, resentment accumulated within his ghostly soul, and gradually, the Storyteller changed—he began devouring ghosts or humans to release the hatred festering inside him.
But that hatred could never truly be vented. The Storyteller’s mind grew unstable, and he wandered day and night, searching for any trace of that ghost. The once peaceful county town became a ruin—everyone knew it was haunted. Many exorcists had been summoned, but without exception, all met a gruesome end at the hands of the Storyteller.
"Do you understand now, Rachel Lan? Why do ghosts harm people?"
I swallowed hard. Hearing the story up to this point, I still had no idea what the Wraithlord wanted to ask me. The tale itself was strange—ghosts are usually unreasonable, but this level of absurdity was a first for me.
"So, what grudge existed between the ghost who killed the Storyteller and the Storyteller himself?"
"None!"
I gasped, startled, and stood up, staring at the Wraithlord, completely unable to grasp the meaning behind this story.
The Wraithlord laughed.
"The reason ghosts harm people is that, when a person dies and becomes a ghost, the balance of good and evil within them is utterly overturned—only evil remains. That’s why people always say ‘evil ghost, evil ghost,’ and insist all ghosts are evil. But why is that?"
I swallowed, and the Wraithlord continued speaking.
"Although ghosts are born from humans, the moment a person becomes a ghost, they have no connection to humanity anymore. Would you consider a fish on the chopping board your kin? Would you feel pity?"
I looked at the Wraithlord in confusion.
"So ghosts and humans are entirely different beings, but in some way, there’s still something that links them?"
The Wraithlord nodded.
"You could see it that way. Low-level ghosts can never suppress their primal urges, so they harm people. Especially those who seem to live comfortably and happily—such people are the perfect targets for ghosts, objects of envy and hatred."
"Are you trying to tell me that the Storyteller was killed by that ghost because he was happy, and the ghost acted out of jealousy and hatred?"
The Wraithlord shook his head and went on.
Many ghosts, in fact, don’t actively provoke humans, because most are extremely weak. Low-level ghosts far outnumber Wraiths, not to mention Green Wraiths—among hundreds of millions of ghosts, only one Green Wraith might arise, and among millions, only one Wraith.
Most ghosts who actively approach humans do so because those humans are born able to see ghosts. In that moment, I understood—the Storyteller was killed because he could see ghosts.
"But it still seems unreasonable to kill someone just for that. That ghost really was..."
The Wraithlord interrupted me and explained that the Storyteller wasn’t born able to see ghosts. Ghosts dislike being seen because their existence is miserable—once human, now reduced to wandering spirits, living in suffering. When someone sees them, it fills them with sorrow and inferiority; naturally, they want to cling to or seek help from the person who sees them, and the more malicious ones might torment that person endlessly.
I immediately recalled my childhood, when ghosts would torment me, making all sorts of bizarre requests, hoping I could help them. I did help some, but instead of gratitude, those ghosts only became more demanding.
"Think carefully—why did the Storyteller anger that ghost?"
"Because he saw the ghost and started spouting nonsense?"
The Wraithlord nodded, then continued.
The Storyteller’s most lucrative gig was telling ghost stories at night. Most of the tales he told were just recycled versions mixed with his own embellishments, sometimes even adding lurid details about men and women, using ghosts as a gimmick.
That ghost targeted the Storyteller because he saw him, which made the ghost feel deeply inferior and resentful of the Storyteller’s nonsense. So the ghost took him to see real ghosts, especially since in many of the Storyteller’s stories, ghosts met tragic ends—captured by exorcists and the like.
When confronted by that ghost, the Storyteller couldn’t understand anything and didn’t realize he had offended the ghost without meaning to.
"That’s all?"
I muttered in confusion, and the Wraithlord laughed.
"There are many taboos in this world. For instance, why do people say not to talk about ghosts at night? Everyone knows, yet they still love to discuss such things after dark. Ghosts are unreasonable beings, composites of jealousy, hatred, and rage. They embody all of humanity’s negative emotions. Even now, the Storyteller is still searching for the ghost who killed him, seeking revenge—but he hasn’t found it yet."
I gasped, stunned, staring at the Wraithlord as he continued.
After becoming a ghost, the Storyteller killed both people and ghosts. Both feared him like a madman. One day, he met a powerful monk, and several exorcists subdued the Storyteller.
The monk tried to enlighten the Storyteller, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t purify this ghost. The Storyteller had died unjustly, and his resentment and obsession were extraordinary. So the monk broke the seal and began to speak with him.
After learning everything, the monk explained the cause to the Storyteller—why the ghost had haunted him—and gradually unraveled the knot in the Storyteller’s heart.
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In fact, the Storyteller had realized long ago, just after dying, that his old bookstall was nothing but a place for him to trick the ignorant with his nonsense. That’s why his business was always mediocre—neither good nor bad. The educated and wealthy never came to his stall, and at night, he’d fill his stories with lurid details, constantly belittling ghosts, which eventually enraged the ghost who killed him.
The monk urged the Storyteller to let go of his obsession. Even if he found and devoured the ghost who killed him, taking revenge, his hatred, anger, jealousy, and suffering would not lessen—in fact, they would only grow. Better to let go and end his torment early.
But the Storyteller didn’t listen. His obsession was already deeply rooted. Seizing an opportunity, he escaped. He became more restrained, stopped killing indiscriminately, and continued searching for the ghost who killed him. Over the years, he found some clues—after mastering ghost aura, he remembered the unique aura of that ghost. For centuries, he searched, but in the end, he still hadn’t found it.
"So he’s still searching even now?"
I stared at the Wraithlord in astonishment. He smiled and nodded.
The Storyteller later joined the Hall of Bloodbane, becoming a subordinate of Yin Choujian. Among the Green Wraiths, he was considered quite formidable, but even now, he cannot let go of his obsession.
I swallowed again. Just thinking about the Green Wraiths under Yin Choujian, each one is truly something else.
"What are you really trying to tell me? Can you just say it clearly?"
I asked again. The Wraithlord laughed.
"What do you think about humans and ghosts, Rachel Lan? The two stories I told you are classic examples of human and ghost tales."
I looked at the Wraithlord, completely lost, as he stood up and laughed.
"Let me tell you one more story."
"Stop."
I raised a hand, beginning to understand what the Wraithlord was trying to do—wasn’t this just brainwashing?
The Wraithlord laughed, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"It’s not brainwashing. I just want to show you the greatest difference between humans and ghosts. It’s not simply good or evil, nor a matter of individuality. What you lack is a deeper understanding of humans and ghosts. If you want to progress, you must recognize this distinction. In the first story, and in the second, everything that happened was rooted in good and evil, just as I told you at the beginning."
With that, the Wraithlord began to explain. In the three lifetimes of the same soul, the father’s first life was carefree, but the latter half was actually very bitter.
After becoming wealthy, the father bought many boats and hired many boatmen because their wages were low. More boats meant more profit, so he exploited the boatmen for gain. The boatmen, though not stupid, were powerless and had to settle for meager wages under the father’s rule.
This is how evil thoughts were born. The father couldn’t marry the woman he loved when he was young, and he saw the dock bosses exploiting workers, so he developed these evil intentions. Later, when he was in debt, the boatmen came to collect, but in the end, the father couldn’t repay and let his son escape. So, while his early life seemed smooth, he had already planted the seeds of disaster for the future.
"Every decision you make in life, you must pay for yourself. No one can escape this. Zhang Qingyuan died only because he was paying for a decision he made long ago."