The vast library housed only a dozen or so scattered visitors. It had two floors—the second floor contained a wealth of city records, from the city's founding to its present prosperity, with every five years' worth of documents neatly arranged on the shelves.
These records could only be consulted on site and were not allowed to be taken out. Gloves were required during handling to avoid damaging the older materials. Ma Yongjie led us to a shelf containing documents from over thirty years ago.
Many of the documents there had been repaired, with some available as photocopies. Most were news reports from that era. Ma Yongjie pointed to some files in the middle of the shelf, picked up a photocopied folder, and handed it to me. Dean Ding, looking bored, immediately found a spot to sit down, acting as if this had nothing to do with him. I glanced back at him.
"Come and help us look, too."
Dean Ding shook his head.
"Reading is the thing I dread most. You handle it."
So I started to read. These were a few reports from the newspaper back then.
The first report described a bizarre and mysterious incident in a place called Riverside, just outside the city. It told of a pork vendor who, one day, went to sell meat in a small county town that was not yet part of J City. Business was good, and he ended up having a couple of drinks at a small restaurant.
On his way back to town driving a farm tractor, the muddy roads caused him to flip into the river—he nearly drowned. Strangely, when the pork vendor came to, he was already home, his clothes still damp. The next day, he went to check and found the tractor still in the river. The story quickly spread around the area; people said the pork vendor had been saved by a ghost, and rumors abounded.
I couldn't help but smile. Reading these reports felt just like reading little stories. Then I started on the second one.
The key now was to find the reporter who wrote these stories. Back then, such tales probably weren't allowed to be published, which explains why the series stopped. I checked the newspaper and found only a few words: the paper had gone bankrupt, more than thirty years ago.
Even if we know all this, it doesn't mean it was the Hundred Ghosts from the Grudge Realm.
I muttered, but Ma Yongjie just smiled.
To cause so much chaos in that era—ghosts were already extremely rare. The Underworld kept a tight grip on the world of the living. And have you ever seen a ghost that kind-hearted?
Ma Yongjie had a point. A ghost not harming people is the best you can hope for, let alone one that helps. After all my years dealing with ghosts, I've learned that the weak ones just drift through life, and the strong ones are always looking for a substitute or trying to drain people's vitality. There's no way one would be kind enough to save anyone.
None of the people in those stories had real names—just nicknames like Butcher Wang or Little Li. But many of the stories felt real, not like something made up just to sell newspapers.
The only way was to find the person who founded the newspaper. But after all these years, they’d be in their seventies or older, maybe even gone. The trail ended there.
Now, my only option was to take these copies of the papers and ask around in Lakeside District. It was just past five o'clock, so I decided to go. After all, my goal here was to track down the Hundred Ghosts of the Grudge Realm.
Leaving the library, the sunlight had already turned yellow. Ma Yongjie led us straight to Lakeside District on the west side of J City. Strictly speaking, Lakeside District was made up of the old Lakeside County and lots of new buildings. Most of the original county's structures had probably been demolished and rebuilt.
In the library, I’d even looked up old black-and-white photos of Lakeside County. There used to be a tall building there—a seven-story tower at the center of the county. The sixth and seventh floors were hexagonal, like a theater.
All the calligraphy competitions or theater performances in the county were held there. But that building must have been torn down long ago. Maybe the old folks around here would remember.
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Around eight o'clock, we entered Lakeside District and grabbed a quick meal at a small shop. Then we started showing the photocopies of the newspapers to people. To my surprise, someone knew about the building and even told us its exact location.
Following the lead, we reached the center of Lakeside District—a commercial street that looked nothing like it did before. Everything had been rebuilt. We walked the streets, asking many people, but no one knew the exact spot of that building. Still, I realized this was the old county center.
We spent the night investigating on the streets, asking plenty of elderly folks until after ten o'clock. Most said they didn’t know. The investigation was proving incredibly difficult.
I even went to an old street, where many buildings were already worn down, but most were only about twenty years old. Events from thirty years ago—hardly anyone remembered.
Let's go get something to eat.
Ding Dacheng smiled, sniffing the air. I nodded and glanced around. There was a barbecue stall by the road, so I went over and ordered some food. The stall was run by an old man and a young man—probably his grandson. Business didn't look good, but the old man was very welcoming, chatting with us. The young one, though, looked resentful. I glanced at him; there was a dark shadow over his head. He probably wouldn’t have much luck for years to come.
Looking at the old man—over seventy, still helping his grandson at night—I felt a bit sorry, so I ordered a lot of food. The old man kept saying we couldn't finish it all, but I told him not to worry, since Ding Dacheng could probably eat a whole elephant.
It's not good to draw too much attention.
Ma Yongjie muttered as he sipped his drink. I stared at the mountain of skewers in front of us. Ding Dacheng started eating, wolfing down one skewer after another. The taste was decent, but nothing special.
No one was watching us anymore. Maybe thanks to Ma Yongjie, they didn’t dare follow.
After twenty or thirty skewers, I was stuffed. Still, I tried asking the old man about the newspapers. As soon as he saw them, he started talking.
Miss, that was a huge deal around here back then.
I looked at the old man in surprise—he seemed to remember. But his grandson scowled and said,
Don't talk to customers about that stuff. Always going on about ghosts and gods—it's bad luck.
Seeing his grandson get angry, the old man fell silent. I looked at the young man, confused. He was full of resentment, and I sighed helplessly.
Sir, do you know who founded that newspaper?
I kept probing, then said I was a producer from a film company, collecting local stories for a movie. I even offered a small interview fee. The grandson was thrilled, and Ding Dacheng kept eating.
But it was disappointing—the old man only knew a few things, and had no idea who started the paper. Still, there was a clue: he told us to visit his house tomorrow, and he’d take me to the elders’ club. Someone there might know, maybe an old cadre, though he had dementia—he might still remember.
After a whole day, I was exhausted. We found a random inn and checked in. I lay on the bed and quickly fell asleep. Ma Yongjie said he'd keep watch downstairs, while Ding Dacheng wanted to see if there was a ghost market nearby.
I slept soundly all night, just had a few dreams. Early in the morning, I got up, ready to head straight to Old Sun’s house.
Why are you only just up? Come on, let's go. I'm starving.
I sighed helplessly. Apparently, Ding Dacheng hadn’t found the ghost market last night, either.