"What? Sir, this... this is opium! If you make me smoke this stuff, aren't you trying to ruin me?"
"You really won't smoke it?" said the Red Mask Agent. Huang Mingfa immediately nodded.
"This stuff is a pest brought in by Westerners. So many people have gotten hooked on it—I know once you get addicted, all you can do is lie around smoking all day. Sir, please, forget it. This stuff will ruin your life."
"Suit yourself. Come with me downstairs," said the Red Mask Agent.
Huang Mingfa grinned with sycophantic eagerness and trotted after him, following him down to the basement. There was a burning furnace inside, with several branding irons beside it. Huang Mingfa swallowed hard, trembling.
"Sir, what do you mean by this?"
Cao Wanzhi wore a strange smile, holding the photo and handing it to a wealthy man. The man looked just past forty, but in the photo, he appeared much younger, barely in his thirties.
"Ah, Master Cao, your photography skills are truly uncanny. In this photo, I look as if I'm alive."
With a cry, Huang Mingfa collapsed to the ground, shouting and screaming. It took a long time for him to calm down, and even then, he was breathing heavily, not daring to look at the Red Masked Man's face.
"The final step is to destroy your own face, to erase the last trace of your existence in this world."
Huang Mingfa stared at the burning furnace and the several branding irons glowing red inside. He kept shaking his head, shrinking into the corner of the wall as the Red Mask Agent watched.
"Hurry up, time waits for no one. Since you met Cao Wanzhi today, he could come looking for you at any moment, you know? Why do we have to torment Cao Wanzhi like this? Because he's special. We have a deal with the man you saw last night—the one wearing the bamboo hat. They need Cao Wanzhi's soul to forge a ghost. So you just happened to get caught up in this. If you still want to see tomorrow's sun—"
As the Red Masked Man spoke, he took a branding iron from the furnace and stepped toward Huang Mingfa, who was huddled in the corner, trembling and so scared he'd wet his pants.
At that moment, two men wearing black masks came down from above. As soon as they entered, they knelt on one knee, waiting respectfully. One of them was carrying a medical kit.
"Don't worry. Since you've passed the trial I gave you, I won't go back on my word. But this last step is a rule every member of The Immortality Society must follow. Now, hurry up."
Cao Wanzhi's voice was calm and flat, but I knew very well—Cao Wanzhi was already a ghost. And from his body, I could feel his ghostly power growing stronger by the day.
In the days that followed, Cao Wanzhi left early and returned late every day. He became more and more selective about his clients, mostly choosing the wealthy and powerful. The prices kept rising, so ordinary folks couldn't afford his photos anymore. But the rich loved coming to him.
The photos Cao Wanzhi took now looked almost alive—stunningly beautiful.
One night, about half a month later, Cao Wanzhi was still up late, sorting through a pile of photos and carefully hanging them on the wall. Just then, the door swung open and the man from the Ghost Syndicate walked in.
The Red Masked Man snapped his fingers. The two men in black masks stood up and took their places on either side. The Red Masked Man then left the basement, while Huang Mingfa had completely broken down, crying and screaming nonstop.
"Gentlemen, how about this—I..."
"In ten minutes, we'll deal with you and toss you straight into the furnace."
Just as Huang Mingfa was about to try more smooth talk to fool the two masked men, one of them spoke up. He slumped to the ground, his face ashen, staring at the blazing furnace.
After a long while, Huang Mingfa began to tremble. It was as if he saw hallucinations, clawing at his own body, nearly unable to bear the pressure. Just then, the crisp sound of leather boots echoed—The Red Masked Man returned, holding a pocket watch.
"You have thirty seconds left."
With that, the two men in black masks went over and dragged the limp Huang Mingfa to the furnace. He was drenched in sweat, begging for mercy nonstop.
"Nineteen, eight, seven... six..."
"I agree! I agree! I'll do anything, ah..."
At last, Huang Mingfa shouted, crying as he moved away from the furnace and sat on the ground, looking relieved. The Red Masked Man walked over, handed him the branding iron.
"Sir, about the opium—give me some, give me more."
A long line formed at the entrance of the photo studio. People from all over wanted Cao Wanzhi to take their picture—most were from wealthy families, and Cao Wanzhi accepted them all.
In just a few months, Cao Wanzhi took hundreds of photos, sticking each one on the wall. I had no idea what he was planning. One night, the Red Mask Agent arrived, smiling as he came to see Cao Wanzhi.
The Red Masked Man nodded, then walked over to the furnace.
Cao Wanzhi still spoke in that deep, raspy voice.
The Red Masked Man spoke, his eyes making it clear he wasn't joking.
The Red Mask Agent spoke. Cao Wanzhi lifted his head, revealing a strange smile.
I couldn't help but say it. My understanding of the Immortality Society—they far exceeded my imagination. Before joining, you endured inhuman torment. After joining, you became a monster in human skin, more vicious than any ghost.
Huang Mingfa started smoking, coughing so hard tears streamed from his eyes, but he kept puffing away. After a long while, he seemed to start hallucinating, caught between ecstasy and agony. Then he picked up the branding iron and pressed it against his own cheek.
A sizzling sound filled the air, the stench of burning flesh spreading. Again and again, the sound rang out. Huang Mingfa was nearly unconscious, his eyes wild with madness, repeatedly pressing the red-hot iron to his own face.
Not until his face was completely disfigured did Huang Mingfa finally faint, closing his eyes. The black-masked man carrying the medical kit stepped over and began treating him, administering medicine and first aid.
"Congratulations. You are now a new member of The Immortality Society."
After the treatment, the two men in black masks took Huang Mingfa onto a carriage and left. No one knew where they went.
This chapter isn't over yet ^.^, please click next page to continue reading!
"Who would have thought, by accident, we'd end up creating a monster. Heh, interesting."
The Red Masked Man stood by the window, sipping coffee, gazing at the hazy, gray sky in the distance.
"Are you satisfied, sir? This photo."
Walter Cao wore a strange smile, holding the photo and handing it to a wealthy man. The man looked just past forty, but in the photo, he appeared much younger, barely in his thirties.
"Ah, Master Cao, your photography skills are truly supernatural. In this photo, I look as if I'm alive."
"You're too kind, Master Lu."
Walter Cao replied, and at that moment, Master Lu asked another question.
"Why didn't I see your two apprentices?"
"Their skills weren't good enough. I've let them go."
Master Lu chuckled and had someone bring Walter Cao his payment. Walter left, satisfied.
"By the way, Master Cao, I remember it used to take a whole day to develop photos. Today was so fast—just the time it takes to drink a cup of tea."
"Technology's improved lately. I bought some new equipment."
Walter Cao's voice was calm and flat, but I knew very well—Walter Cao was already a ghost. And from his body, I could feel his ghostly power growing stronger by the day.
In the days that followed, Walter Cao left early and returned late every day. He became more and more selective about his clients, mostly choosing the wealthy and powerful. The prices kept rising, so ordinary folks couldn't afford his photos anymore. But the rich loved coming to him.
The photos Walter Cao took now looked almost alive—stunningly beautiful.
One night, about half a month later, Walter Cao was still up late, sorting through a pile of photos and carefully hanging them on the wall. Just then, the door swung open and the man from the Ghost Syndicate walked in.
"Sir, we're closed for the night. If you want a photo, you'll have to come back tomorrow."
Then the man from the Ghost Syndicate took out a small jar, aiming its mouth at Walter Cao.
"It'll be much better if you come in quietly, unless you want to suffer."
A strange smile appeared at the corner of Walter Cao's mouth, then twisted into something grotesque.
"It should... make a good photo."
Walter Cao spoke in a deep, slightly hoarse voice, counting. Meanwhile, the man from the Ghost Syndicate assumed a horse stance and began chanting.
"Heh, a good photo," Walter Cao repeated in that raspy voice. I couldn't help but get goosebumps.
Then, with a click, I was shocked to see the man from the Ghost Syndicate vanish. At that moment, Walter Cao was holding a photo—in the image, the Ghost Syndicate man was still sneaking around, looking cautious, completely unaware he'd been trapped inside the photo by Walter Cao.
"Keep searching. You'll never get out, not in this lifetime."
Walter Cao spoke, raising his hand. The photo in his hand spun through the air, then slowly disappeared.
With a bang, the door to the photo studio, which had been pushed open, slammed shut.
A long line formed at the entrance of the photo studio. People from all over wanted Walter Cao to take their picture—most were from wealthy families, and Walter accepted them all.
In just a few months, Walter Cao took hundreds of photos, sticking each one on the wall. I had no idea what he was planning. One night, the Red Masked Man arrived, smiling as he came to see Walter Cao.
"Sir, we're closed. If you want a photo, please come back tomorrow."
Walter Cao still spoke in that deep, raspy voice.
"An incredible monster has finally been cultivated, hasn't it? Heh, these past few months, I've let you do so many things. Do you want to know why?"
The Red Masked Man spoke. Walter Cao lifted his head, revealing a strange smile.