Rachel Lan appeared deep in thought, her head lowered, one hand propping up her chin.
"What's wrong? Is there some strange smell coming from me?"
"You stink, Ethan. Go take a shower," Vivian Ouyang said, waving her hand dismissively.
I sniffed around myself. Sure enough, there was a nasty odor, especially on my hands—I had just handled that beggar's clothes and the bag of dangerous items, now left in the bathroom.
I stared blankly at Rachel Lan and smiled. When it comes to meddling, father and daughter really are alike.
It’s true. That man told me that if I could stand the stench of his clothes, even ghosts wouldn’t notice me.
"Ethan, that beggar who gave you the clothes—did you ever ask him how he knew you needed them for a ghost ritual?"
I let out a sound of surprise. I hadn't asked.
Vivian Ouyang then called Miles Mao for advice, since Rachel isn't a ghost, just a soul, but in this summer heat, heading out under the sun might not be wise for a soul.
There's no mistake. It was Father.
"Huh?" I looked at Rachel Lan in surprise, and Vivian Ouyang stood up as well.
"Rachel, your father has been gone for nine years. Are you sure?"
Rachel Lan nodded.
"I'm certain. It's the scent. We of the Hades Circle can recognize our own by smell, and each person has a unique scent. As soon as Ethan came back, I smelled it—it was Father's scent. Besides, he's always meddling in other people's business."
I stared blankly at Rachel Lan and smiled. When it comes to meddling, father and daughter really are alike.
It’s true. That man told me that if I could stand the stench of his clothes, even ghosts wouldn’t notice me.
"Take me to him. I want to see him."
Now that Rachel had said all this, I did feel like I'd seen that man somewhere before—his high nose bridge, those eyes that, despite their coldness, still held a trace of gentleness, much like Rachel’s. If he shaved his beard and cut his hair, he really would look like Rachel’s father.
Vivian Ouyang then called Miles Mao for advice, since Rachel isn't a ghost, just a soul, but in this summer heat, heading out under the sun might not be wise.
After that, I went up to the second floor, grabbed an axe, and chopped open a door. Miles Mao had the key, so there was no other way. Inside, I saw several urns lined up, each with a yellow talisman attached—three full rows.
"Little brother, will you let me out?" a woman's voice called out, startling me. I looked over—it was coming from one of the urns.
"Let me out, little brother. I'm quite pretty! Don’t you want to see?"
I didn’t have time to deal with her right now.
"Shut up," I snapped, rummaging through drawers and cabinets. Sure enough, I found an oil-paper umbrella inscribed with cinnabar talismans—the Soulbinding Umbrella. It could temporarily contain Rachel Lan’s soul.
I slammed the door shut.
"Hey, little girl, that guy's not someone you want to mess with," came an old man's voice from behind me.
Those must be ghosts Miles Mao had subdued.
I went to Rachel Lan, opened the umbrella, and instantly a ghostly light flashed—Rachel was sucked inside. I closed the umbrella, then Vivian Ouyang and I left together.
An hour later, we were back under the overpass.
"Ha, that lunatic is back again!" a beggar said. Suddenly, a bunch of beggars crowded around, trying to sell me their filthy clothes.
"Does anyone know where the beggar who sold me those clothes is?"
The beggars stared blankly, looking listless and uninterested.
"Whoever knows gets this money," Vivian Ouyang said, pulling out a wad of hundred-yuan bills from her wallet.
We found out that Rachel Lan’s father begged at various crowded places every day—train stations, bus stations, shopping streets.
Vivian Ouyang then drove around the city, using her spiritual skills to search.
By dusk, we were back under the overpass, but Rachel Lan’s father still hadn’t returned.
There was nothing we could do. Miles Mao and the others had already called several times, saying they’d found almost everything and were calling us back for dinner.
We gave some money and left our phone numbers with a few beggars under the bridge. If Rachel Lan’s father came back, they were to tell him his daughter needed help.
When we got back to Miles Mao’s place, it was already past eight. They hadn’t eaten yet, waiting for us.
"Damn it, Ethan, that bag of clothes you found stinks like hell! Why’d you leave it in the bathroom? I went in to take a leak and nearly threw up."
As soon as we got home, Miles Mao started complaining.
We were all starving and started eating. The whole table was covered with dishes—Mason Yu had cooked them all, and they were delicious. He really knew how to cook.
After dinner, the three of them put the items they’d collected on the table.
"Check out this knife," Dalton Fang said, pointing at a butcher’s knife on the table. It was rusty in many places, but the edge still looked sharp.
"Hey, monk, what happened to you today? Why are you covered in dust?" Miles Mao asked. Sure enough, Dalton Fang was still covered in dirt.
"Ha! You have no idea. I dug this butcher’s knife out of a grave today..."
We all looked at him in disgust.
"Damn it, monk, you dug up someone’s grave? That’s a huge sin against karma! You’re supposed to be a Buddhist, how could you do something so filthy?"
Miles Mao spoke, disdainfully raising his middle finger.
"Bullshit! I did it for Miss Rachel. You know what? This knife belonged to the famous old butcher of Sanqian Town. He died a few years ago, spent his whole life slaughtering pigs and sheep. It took me ages to track it down from a buddy of mine. What do you know? He started butchering at age eight and did it his whole life."
Miles Mao smiled, shut his mouth, and walked over to Dalton Fang, patting him on the shoulder.
"Monk, you’ve got it tough. If you kick the bucket early, I’ll make sure to chant for your soul."
"Bullshit, you—"
The two were about to start a fight, so we hurried to pull them apart. Then everyone started laughing.
"Thank you," came Rachel Lan’s faint voice.
"Hey, almost forgot—we need to let Miss Rachel out."
"Don’t," Mason Yu interrupted.
We all looked at him.
"Here’s the thing: for now, keep Miss Rachel’s soul inside this. If Black and White Impermanence show up, even if we can’t beat them, we can stall for time. Taoist, you’ll need to hide the umbrella carefully later."
"See this ink line? See the color?"
We looked closely. It was an ink line tool, already faded, its edges worn smooth.
"The thing I found is just as good as the monk’s. Ever heard of Hongcheng Construction Company? I’ve done a lot of spiritual work for them. The boss told me about this—an old master who spent his life building houses. I had to beg and plead, and finally he lent me his ink line tool. It’s been his treasure for decades."
"Alright, alright, that’s enough. We’d better get ready soon."
Mason Yu said this, and we all looked at him in confusion.
The trowel he’d found looked ancient. It was wooden, pale yellow, cracked but seemingly repaired.
"How did you get this?" Vivian Ouyang asked.
Of the three items, this was the oldest. Miles Mao looked at it in confusion.
"Damn, this thing is older than my grandpa. Where did you get it?"
Mason Yu hesitated, stammering.
"Mason Yu, this thing doesn’t look modern—it’s ancient, isn’t it?" Vivian Ouyang suddenly remarked.
I let out a sound of surprise—an artifact? The thought popped into my head instantly.
"It’s... it’s from the city museum. I... stole it."
Suddenly, I felt my head swell with anxiety.
"That’s a crime, you know. You’re a cop—aren’t you worried?"
Mason Yu lowered his head and sighed.
"Officer Shi helped me. Don’t ask any more—look at the time." Mason Yu said, head down.
Then we started prepping. Miles Mao took out all the ritual implements and began setting up the altar at the door. I helped him by going upstairs to fetch the Three Pure Ones statues.
"Hey, Ethan, you’d better fix my door later."
I looked awkwardly at the door I’d split open with an axe.
"Stinking Taoist, let us out!" As soon as I entered the room upstairs, the ghosts in the urns started clamoring.
"Keep it up and tomorrow I’ll move you out into the sun for a whole day." Instantly, the noisy ghosts fell silent.
"You keep all these ghosts in your house—aren’t you going to help them pass on?"
"Sigh, Ethan, you don’t know. Most of these ghosts have harmed people; their resentment is strong. With my abilities, catching them is hard enough. As for sending them on, that’s a job for the monk."
After a long stretch of busy work, by past eleven, we’d finished setting everything up. Now the question was: who would wear the beggar’s clothes, and who would wear the maternity dress? The five of us were all stumped.
"Don’t look at me. I’m only sensitive to spirits. You four men aren’t really going to make a weak, defenseless woman handle this, are you?"
The four of us looked at Vivian Ouyang and could only shake our heads helplessly.
"Rock-paper-scissors? Whoever wears the beggar’s clothes has to wield the butcher’s knife and, at the crucial moment, swing it a few times."
Miles Mao suggested.
The four of us exchanged glances, focused our energy, and hid our hands behind our backs, each trying to guess what the others would play.
I started thinking—maybe I should just play rock. Suddenly, I saw the other three exchange glances.
"Rock, paper, scissors..." Dalton Fang called out. Without thinking, I instinctively played rock.
The three of them all played paper. I stared at them wide-eyed as they grinned mischievously.
Suddenly, I realized what was going on. The three of them often played mahjong together and usually won the others’ money. I’d heard Vivian Ouyang mention it before.
"You guys..." "Come on, Ethan, a bet’s a bet," Dalton Fang interrupted. I sighed.
"Hurry up and go, Ethan. Try out the smell first—otherwise you’ll puke when you put it on later."
Resigned, I turned to go to the bathroom and get the beggar’s outfit, while the other three eyed each other with hostility.
"Alright, now it’s fair—just the maternity dress left. Let’s see who lucks out."
I smiled helplessly, listening to Miles Mao.