A vicious, sinister voice drifted through the room, but Hugh Thompson only smiled. He sensed that this creature, though a ghost, was extremely weak—a curse. Hugh had considered this before: ghosts that kill through curses are inherently feeble, unable to harm directly. They must accumulate power bit by bit through their curse, then unleash it in a burst to pose any real threat.
"So, you trapped this girl's soul, using a curse to slowly strip away everything she has. Heh, how despicable—such a method."
Hugh Thompson took out a stack of yellow talismans and scattered them around the room. Then he produced a compass. At that moment, the paintings Cynthia Mu had arranged in the room began to whirl through the air, wild winds rising all around. Yet Hugh remained utterly calm. He took out a bagua and hung it on the western wall of the house.
Next, he dipped a brush in cinnabar and wrote several characters, then took more yellow talismans and affixed them to the western wall.
"I've completely blocked the flow of yin energy. If you don't want to die, you'd better hand over the child's soul."
As Hugh spoke, the chaos in the room faded away. Ghosts of this type, to kill, must harbor deep resentment toward their target. Only then can they use a curse to slowly inflict harm. Once cursed, unless the ghost withdraws it, only the purest power can break the curse.
For instance, in some great temples, monks chanting in unison can generate the power to break such curses—but only if their faith is truly strong. Alternatively, one might use advanced Taoist techniques, but Hugh Thompson lacked such mastery.
At Longshan Temple, Hugh had seen how commerce had tainted the place; the monks there lacked the strength to break curses. He had considered Putian Temple, but reaching it would take at least half a month—there wasn't enough time. Cynthia Mu's condition was deteriorating rapidly.
After setting everything up, Hugh Thompson left. Cursed ghosts are fragile; they must replenish their yin energy or faint sha energy daily to survive in the living world. But now, Hugh had completely blocked the flow of yin energy.
Without yin energy, Victor Xiang can't replenish himself. The sun in the living world will destroy any lingering yin energy, preventing its accumulation. Only threats remain as an option now.
The next day, Hugh Thompson entered the room, greeted by waves of agonized sobbing.
"Not feeling so good, are you? If you don't want to die, you'd better return the child's soul. Otherwise, when you finally show yourself, I'll catch you and take you back—and death will be the least of your worries."
Hugh continued his threats, his face twisted in anger.
"Never! It's all her fault, that woman! If not for her, I'd have had my revenge long ago—I would have killed them all!"
A surge of intense resentment flooded the room. Hugh Thompson was anxious; he desperately wanted to save Cynthia Mu, and this was the only way. If the ghost couldn't bear it and emerged from the painting, maybe then there would be a chance.
He had already prepared a container for the ghost—a small jar, inscribed in advance with talismanic seals.
Three days passed. Victor Xiang endured, and so did Hugh Thompson. Tension mounted. Just then, Mark Zhang arrived. As soon as he entered, he saw the room filled with paintings. Hugh said nothing, only telling Mark to leave.
"Officer Hu, please tell me. I don't know how to save that child, but I want to know—whatever it takes, as long as it saves her."
Reluctantly, Hugh explained bits and pieces to Mark Zhang. But he'd already come up with a solution: transfer the curse, let Cynthia Mu wake up for a while and absorb some yang energy, or else her body couldn't hold out.
A curse is like a virus; once transferred, it floods into the soul of the recipient.
Transferring a curse isn't difficult: you just need to find the body of the one who cast it. Take a piece—bone or flesh—and swallow it.
Though not a true transfer, this method allows Cynthia Mu's body to share the burden of the curse's power.
Once Mark Zhang understood, he acted quickly. He found Victor Xiang's grave, dug up the body at night, took some bones, and returned home to heat and crush them.
"Why risk your life to save this child? You could die."
Hugh asked, but Mark Zhang only shook his head.
"She's incredibly gifted at painting. I have no children of my own; I've watched her grow up since she was little. I've always believed she could become a top artist someday."
That was all. Mark Zhang didn't say much more. He opened the small bottle and drank its contents in one gulp.
A strange transformation occurred. Hugh watched as a painting shimmered with pale white light—a dim dragon depicted upon it. Hugh obtained the painting and soon extracted Cynthia Mu's soul.
Mark Zhang fell unconscious, and Victor Xiang was sealed in the jar by Hugh Thompson.
With Cynthia Mu's missing soul restored, she regained consciousness and clarity. At last, the ordeal was over.
Yet when Cynthia Mu learned her beloved teacher was dying for her sake, she broke down in tears, desperate to save Mark Zhang.
But Mark Zhang was already suffering from multiple organ failure—nothing could be done. He was an ordinary man, and most of the curse's power had shifted into his body.
With special permission, Hugh Thompson released Cynthia Mu from the psychiatric hospital and arranged for her transfer to the city jail.
Cynthia Mu gained her freedom and kept vigil by Mark Zhang's side, praying for him. Then Hugh Thompson noticed something: Mark's organ deterioration had started to stabilize.
After much deliberation, Hugh handed Cynthia Mu a sketchpad and paintbrush.
"Paint. Pour everything you have into your art—maybe there's a way out."
It was a last-minute idea, but it just might work. Cynthia Mu began painting her teacher, Mark Zhang, over and over again.
Something strange happened—Mark Zhang's condition began to improve, and Cynthia Mu's paintings filled with vibrant energy.
With each repeated portrait, Cynthia Mu made Mark Zhang appear more lifelike, more real. She poured her soul into the art, painting nonstop for two months.
In one painting, Mark Zhang smiles, and beside him, a girl holds a paintbrush. Both are smiling happily.
In the hospital room, Mark Zhang held Cynthia Mu's final painting. Today was the day of farewell—Cynthia was about to join an organization called the Ghost Burial Squad.
"Please, Officer Hu, take care of this child."
Hugh Thompson nodded. Cynthia Mu stood before Mark Zhang, silent and reluctant to part.
"Whenever you have time, keep painting, Xiaoqian. Come back and visit me when you can."
Tears streaming down her face, Cynthia Mu nodded, bowed deeply, and left with Hugh Thompson.
Life in the Ghost Burial Squad was hard for Cynthia Mu at first. Many there, like her, possessed special powers and dealt with ghosts. Most were silent at the beginning.
After learning much and spending a long time there, Cynthia Mu remained stoic, but gradually came to see it as her home.
Time flew by. Cynthia Mu would occasionally return to visit her teacher, continuing to paint. But now, she painted talismans. In the Ghost Burial Squad, she was the fastest and most powerful at making talismans, often saving teammates from deadly ghost attacks.
In July 1998, the Ghost Burial Squad held a wedding. Leo Liu married a girl. Leo painted a portrait for the bride, but in the memory, though I saw the ceremony, something was off—the wedding had only Leo Liu as the groom, and the bride was invisible. In the painting, Leo joyfully held empty air. It was eerie.
When assigned to the Outcast Village case, Cynthia Mu sent her teacher a letter, saying she had a difficult task ahead and might not visit for months. She and her colleagues set out for the Outcast Village at midnight.