There wasn't a soul in the hospital. The corridor was pitch dark. Two ghosts—one old, one young—supported me as we made our way to the fourth floor.
"Young man, you'd better not go up there. Tonight's the Ghost Festival. Hospitals are full of heavy malevolent energy—ghosts come and go. I just saw a few ghosts playing with the elevator!"
The old ghost spoke, but I had no intention of turning back. I'd already dealt with the Ghost Syndicate before. The memory of that night—when they took a fragment of my soul—still burned inside me.
"By the way, old man, do you know anything about the Ghost Syndicate?"
I stopped on the fourth floor. Before, I'd never wanted to learn more, but now I found myself chatting with a ghost.
"The Ghost Syndicate folks are powerful. They collect ghosts with heavy resentment, raise them, and then use those ghosts to make money—doing jobs for rich people in the world of the living. I've lived a long time and seen it plenty. Those people are scarier than the ghosts themselves."
It made sense. Those three seemed to know John Chou's origins, and they weren't afraid of him—they subdued him with ease.
I started to hesitate. First, I didn't know any Taoist arts. Second, even if I went up, what could I actually do?
When I reached the sixth floor, I stood at the stairwell entrance.
"If you leave now, there's still time. I only dare to bring you this far. If they catch us, neither of us will make it out alive!"
Afterwards, I asked about the room where tonight’s victim was staying—611. I was in 608, just next door. I stepped out, unwilling to stand by and watch as these people, more despicable than ghosts, ruined an innocent life.
After encountering more and more ghosts, I understood one thing clearly: Lily Wu and Nathan Li were definitely under the control of the Ghost Syndicate.
Walking down the hallway, I saw only a single incandescent bulb glowing at the far end. Just then, a scent drifted toward me—someone was burning incense.
I moved forward anxiously, leaning on my cane. The sixth floor housed the luxury wards—complete with a sofa, living room, bathroom, and shower. Not many people stayed here.
Arriving at the door of room 611, I saw a bowl of white rice placed beside it, with three incense sticks halfway burned down. Glancing at the timer in the hallway, it was already 11:30—half an hour until midnight.
I knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" a woman's voice called from inside. I was a little surprised, but continued knocking.
Suddenly, the door was yanked open. A beautiful woman stood there, wearing nothing but a sheer red nightgown. Her figure was striking—her chest, round and pale, barely concealed beneath the thin fabric.
"Who are you?"
I quickly looked away.