Who wants to mess with you?
The hanged ghost saw Lan He and didn’t even bother to retaliate, instead howling like a ghost and trying to escape. Lan He quickly caught him and dragged him back without a word, first beating him up, then using a chain to strangle his neck. “Look at you, trying to play dirty. Weren’t you just trying to trick people?”
The hanged ghost never imagined that even after dying by hanging, he would be strangled again…
He rolled his eyes upward, trying to look at Lan He, and clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture, “Great lord, it’s all a misunderstanding. I didn’t know it was your territory.”
Lan He dragged him in front of Song Futan. “That bird just suddenly started chirping, and I almost… cough, I was just surprised. I thought it must have learned it from this guy!”
The sound was identical. But with Song Futan, it was understandable—he was always being watched no matter where he went. But why would Old Qin get involved?
“Why did you mess with that family before? Did you strangle someone there? Is that where you hung yourself?” Lan He asked.
Usually, hanged ghosts only cause trouble where they died, but Old Qin mentioned that he had lived in that house for most of his life, and there had never been any incidents before. Why suddenly now? And this ghost didn’t seem recently deceased.
“The one who keeps birds?” The hanged ghost dared not move. “Great lord, I didn’t die there, but that old man stole my money, so I went to strangle him, but he kept stealing.”
Talking about this, the hanged ghost was still a bit upset.
“Stole what money?” Lan He asked.
“Money that fell from the sky,” the hanged ghost said. “Recently, from time to time, there’s been paper money scattered on the street, so I come out to pick it up. But you see, he’s a living person, and he still fights me for it…”
Lan He and Song Futan found it strange. It wasn’t the Ghost Festival, so why would there be paper money on the streets? On the Ghost Festival, people do scatter money to appease wandering spirits.
Lan He thought of something and asked, “Was it burned?”
The hanged ghost nodded, “Yes.”
So, it wasn’t real paper money, but already in circulation in the underworld.
Lan He asked again, “Was there incense?”
The hanged ghost replied, “Uh… I never found any.”
“I see, you can go now.” Lan He slowly loosened the hanged ghost. After all, he had already given him a beating. “In the future, stay away from him.”
The hanged ghost gave an embarrassed smile. “May I ask who you are?”
Judging by the chains, he should be an underworld official, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform, and his face was unfamiliar. There had never been such a figure in the capital before.
Lan He flicked his hat, held it in his arms, and coldly introduced himself, “Eastern Peak Underworld, Since I’m Here.”
—If it weren’t for the title, his tone would have sounded even more impressive.
But the hanged ghost wasn’t picky about that and was still shaken. “I must have hurt my eyes when I hanged myself, not recognizing the great lord!”
So it was the famous lord who caused a stir in the underworld. Although he only took office this year, he quickly made a name for himself. The hanged ghost had even seen his “Mulian Play” and felt it was an honor to be strangled by him… He bowed his hands and retreated a few steps before floating away.
After seeing him go far, Lan He said, “I think it must be Hu Si. She stole a lot of money and food from the Four Major Families and scattered it on the streets, which brought these normally docile ghosts out.”
Once they’re out, there’s bound to be all sorts of disputes, and cases like Old Qin’s are bound to happen. Anyway, the more chaos in the capital, the happier she is. And lately, everyone has been looking for her. By causing trouble, she can distract many people.
Song Futan also thought of this, “We can hold more rituals to attract the wandering souls away.”
Hu Si could scatter money and food, and so could the many in the capital who deal with the underworld. At least they could gather a significant number of souls at the various temples and Taoist monasteries.
“Yes, we should talk to Old Bai about it… And also, you should go talk to Teacher Qin?” Lan He said.
Song Futan nodded.
……
Old Qin was originally sitting in his room, thinking of soaking his feet in hot water to see if he could sleep better tonight, when he heard that young screenwriter Xiao Song was back, calling at the door, so he hurriedly put on his slippers and went out.
Wondering why he had returned, Old Qin opened the door and noticed that the alley’s streetlights were out. “Oh, is it too dark to walk? I’ll find you a flashlight. It’s not safe to walk towards the west exit in this darkness.”
This alley had a history of hauntings, especially near the west exit, where the turns were many, and at night, people always felt it was unclean. Before they installed streetlights, many people in the alley avoided going to the west exit at night.
Even now, older people don’t like walking that way. If the lights go out, they prefer to take a detour rather than go through that area. The older generation often says that the darker the place, the more likely it is to hide unclean things.
“No problem, I just wanted to ask you a question. You’ve been having a lot of dreams lately—what have you been dreaming about?” Song Futan asked.
Old Qin was taken aback, then sheepishly replied, “Well… it’s a bit embarrassing to say, but maybe it’s because I’ve been thinking about it during the day. At night, I keep dreaming about picking up money outside—a whole lot of it, and I always pick up the big bills. It makes me so happy. But after a night of looking down, my neck and back are sore, and I feel like crying but can’t. Why are you asking about this?”
Song Futan said directly, “You’d better stop picking it up from now on. You’re competing with ghosts for that money.”
—It wasn’t that he was being blunt or intentionally realistic, but this matter had to be explained clearly. Once pointed out, the problem would be solved.
Old Qin was speechless.
He wasn’t angry; instead, he began to mutter, “I see… I see…”
“Alright, I’ll be going now.” Song Futan nodded slightly and walked boldly into the darkness, unafraid.
“Oh, thank you!” Old Qin snapped back to reality and shouted, “Be careful on the way.”
So young, not afraid of the dark at all.
“You probably won’t dream tonight.” Lan He, who was floating a few inches off the ground beside Song Futan, was invisible to Old Qin. He chuckled, thinking that floating like this made him about the same height as Xiao Song.
In the pitch-black alley, with Lan He by his side, Song Futan felt more at ease and less weary of the darkness.
“My script is almost done. You can come and read it next week at my dad’s studio,” Song Futan said.
“Great,” Lan He said curiously, “By the way, you still haven’t told me—what’s the script about?”
Song Futan hesitated, then said, “…Ghosts.”
Hearing this, Lan He remembered that Xuang Guang had never written about such topics before, even though it was now known that he often saw ghosts. “Ghosts? What kind? Is the Eastern Peak Underworld in it? Did you draw from real experiences?”
Song Futan remained silent.
When he was writing, he didn’t know that Xiao Lai was alive. Now, he was both anxious about Lan He’s reaction when he found out and a little expectant. “…Yes, it’s based on real experiences.”
“Great, don’t spoil it for me—I want to read the script!” Lan He was a bit excited. “Besides, I don’t want Director Song to think I talked to you about the characters in advance. That would be cheating—I want to interpret them on my own!”
Song Futan couldn’t help but laugh.
He walked Lan He to the entrance of the apartment complex, where Hu 79 happened to be taking out the trash—Lan He lived alone, and once he left, it was just her and that introverted hedgehog, essentially just her. Unlike the old days at the Yang family house, where it was always bustling with people coming and going.
So, even though she didn’t need to take out the trash herself, Hu 79 used the opportunity to stroll around, eavesdrop on the neighbors’ conversations, and maybe tease a cat or dog.
“You’re back. When are you guys going to Miaogan Mountain?” Hu 79 asked. She was thinking that as long as they weren’t going to Miaogan Mountain, she could still tag along for some fun.
“Not sure yet. Heard it might be later,” Lan He replied.
“Oh…” Hu 79’s eyes fell on the birdcage. “Is that little bird for me?”
Lan He said, “It’s Xiao Song’s. It’s for decoration, not eating.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to eat it,” Hu 79 grumbled. “Let me play with it for a few days. I’m so bored. I asked you to leave your phone so I could play some card games, but you wouldn’t.”
Lan He said, “I’m afraid you’ll spend money on games using my phone, and it won’t be easy to get a refund. The news only mentions that minors who spend money on games can get refunds, not hundred-year-old women.”
Hu 79 was speechless.
“Then just let me play with the bird!”
Lan He looked at Song Futan.
Song Futan asked, “Do you know how to take care of a spirit bird?”
Hu 79 didn’t answer but patted her chest confidently. Lan He thought to himself, “As expected of the Hu family in the capital, they even know how to raise birds.”
“Okay, but it might pick up foul language, so be careful.” Song Futan handed the cage to Lan He.
Hu 79 reached out to lift the curtain on the cage. “What…”
The bird looked at her and said, “Go die…”
Hu 79 was stunned.
“I’ll straighten you out!” she exclaimed.
“I’ll bring it over next time we record,” Lan He said as he got out of the car, waving to Song Futan. “Goodbye.”
“…Goodbye.” Song Futan waved back. Somehow, saying these words now felt particularly meaningful.
Lan He also thought to himself how different “goodbye” felt now. In the past, it meant not knowing when they would meet again. Now, it truly meant there would be many more reunions to come.
Lan He, holding the birdcage, led Hu 79 into the elevator. Someone outside called out, and he quickly held the door.
“Thanks,” said a resident who had recently moved in, leading an Alaskan Malamute into the elevator. The Malamute, a large sled dog, enthusiastically sniffed at Lan He and his birdcage as soon as it entered.
“Sorry about that, don’t be scared, it’s just overly friendly…” The owner tugged the dog aside, but the dog was reluctant and resisted.
“It’s fine, I’m not afraid of dogs,” Lan He said, even reaching out to pat the Alaskan’s head.
Hu 79 shot a glare at the Malamute.
“Woof…” The Alaskan whimpered, crouching weakly by its owner’s side, resting its head on their leg.
The owner was speechless.
Amazing—when had this bold dog ever shown such a submissive attitude before?
He couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have a dog at home too?”
“No,” Lan He replied, glancing at Hu 79, who was squatting bored at his feet, even smaller in size than the Alaskan. Although foxes belong to the canine family, Hu 79 had previously complained about people mistaking them for dogs.
The owner said, “I thought you had a dog, and it must be a really fierce one, otherwise it wouldn’t be so scared just by smelling you.”
Hearing this, Hu 79 squeezed further to the side, while the Alaskan whimpered and shrank even more.
Lan He remained silent.
… She seemed quite proud, just hearing the word “fierce,” huh!
—
Since “Yan Jing’s Chronicles of the Four Seasons” wasn’t being recorded these days, Lan He stayed home folding paper ingots and making incense. But instead of offerings, he was preparing to burn them later to attract wandering souls and keep them from causing trouble in the city.
Thanks to the reminder from Lan He and Song Futan, Old Bai and other underworld officers had informed all major religious sites in the capital to hold large-scale rituals, chanting scriptures day and night to attract the souls.
Even their neighbor, Ying Shao, and his two junior disciples were out finding spots to offer sacrifices to the lonely souls.
In addition to folding ingots, Lan He also kept his promise by doing what he could—joining his colleagues to maintain order among the ghosts during these activities.
The city’s exorcists were lucky enough to meet the legendary, unique figure of the underworld—an unearthly officer who wore a ghost mask, bore the title “Since I’m Here,” had no interest in incense but loved gourmet food, and was rumored to have a good relationship with a recently famous northeastern shaman.
More importantly, he had a high reputation in the underworld, and many ghosts feared him. Even well-known underworld officers like Old Bai and Yan San treated him with great respect.
This led the exorcists to speculate that Lan He might have some background down below—in the underworld—at least his home… no, his grave, must be well-equipped. That’s why he didn’t care for money and only asked for food—what a luxurious condition!
Most of those who dealt with the underworld wanted to maintain a good relationship with the underworld, so they eagerly offered him earthly delicacies.
Lan He took this opportunity to sample all kinds of food and would take Old Bai and the others to places he found particularly delicious.
Through this experience, Lan He got to know some colleagues, whether they were from the local underworld or the city’s temple officers. Previously, he had mostly only interacted with Old Bai and Yan San.
“Let’s all go to Tianchang Temple tonight. Yesterday, they made crystal shrimp and crab dumplings for me—they were so delicious!” Lan He called out to a group of underworld officers, and they linked arms and headed to the temple he mentioned, their red lanterns forming a continuous line.
Although underworld officers didn’t need to eat often and preferred incense to food, it didn’t hurt to enjoy some good food now and then.
—
Cheng Haidong had just finished his work, took off his heavy gear, and slapped a medicated plaster on his waist as he headed home. His remote and expensive house wasn’t far from the filming location. Taking a taxi felt like a waste, and besides, no one might even pick him up. Walking was tiring, so he wondered if he could find a shared bike to ride home.
Finally finding a bike, Cheng Haidong wobbled along the empty streets, riding at a slow pace due to his exhaustion. He watched the traffic light ahead turn green.
“Moving bricks, hey ya hey, moving bricks, hey ya hey,” Cheng Haidong sang a few lines, only to see the traffic light turn red. He thought to himself that the traffic light timing was really unscientific—how could such a short time be enough? Fortunately, there were no people or cars around.
But as he rode a bit further, Cheng Haidong realized that it wasn’t a traffic light at all… or rather, it was a red light, but it was a red lantern. And on that lantern were the words: “Underworld.”
“…Damn.” Cheng Haidong shivered. As his courage slowly faded, he saw that behind that red lantern were more than a dozen others, swaying as they floated. Upon closer inspection, the ones holding the lanterns were a large group of ghost officers dressed in black, white, and occasionally blue!
Looking closer, the words on their lanterns varied—some read “Underworld,” others “Eastern Peak Underworld,” and some even “City God Temple”…
Cheng Haidong had encountered ghosts before, so he swallowed hard, trying to remain calm, taking a page out of his friend Lan He’s book. Unfortunately, his physiological response betrayed him—his legs trembled so much that he could barely pedal, nearly toppling over with the bike.
The clattering noise attracted the attention of the ghost officers, who all turned their deathly faces towards him, causing Cheng Haidong to freeze in place.
At that moment, a ghost floated out from among the group, face covered, with a hat bearing the words “Since I’m Here.” It came right up to Cheng Haidong.
Cheng Haidong immediately recognized him—wasn’t this the Lord of Impermanence who had saved him once before?
Wow, I really am the chosen one! Cheng Haidong thought to himself.
“Master Lan, it’s me!”
“I know it’s you,” Lan He replied.
It had been a while since Lan He last saw Cheng Haidong—they’d both been busy. Who would have thought they’d run into each other here? Lan He had planned to just pass by unnoticed, but Cheng Haidong’s noise caught his attention. “Did you really want to attract us by making such a commotion when ghost officers are passing by?”
Cheng Haidong awkwardly replied, “It was an accident…”
“Alright, since we’ve met before, you should hurry on your way. Otherwise, if you run into any of my brothers, you’ll be out of luck when you go back.” Lan He urged him. When a living person comes into contact with ghost officers, they almost always have bad luck, especially when there are so many of them.
“Thank you, sir.” Cheng Haidong scratched his head. “By the way, there seem to be a lot of large-scale rituals happening in the capital lately. Are you guys busy because of that?”
Lan He paused. It seemed that some citizens had noticed the unusual frequency of rituals recently, but this wasn’t something Cheng Haidong needed to know—it might scare him. So, mimicking Old Bai, he coldly replied, “More people willing to spend money on rituals, that’s all. Nothing unusual.”
“Oh… It’s just that I’ve never seen so many ghost officers gathered together.” Actually, it was only the second time he had seen ghost officers, but he had never heard of such a scene in the legends.
Cheng Haidong, still feeling like the chosen one, wondered why the NPCs weren’t giving him more hints. Wasn’t anything big about to happen?
Lan He said, “You’re overthinking it. We’re just having a team-building event, going hiking.”
Cheng Haidong was speechless.
Lan He added, “Now go, and don’t look back.”
Cheng Haidong’s legs were still shaky as he pushed his bike forward, muttering in confusion, “Even the Lord of Impermanence goes hiking for team-building…”
—
The large-scale rituals happening all over the capital had indeed caught the attention of some people, including Cheng Haidong, who had noticed that strange incidents seemed to be increasing lately. Even the bell at Juehui Temple had rung once—could it be related?
But for most people, such speculation was just another eerie tale to be casually discussed. Not everyone was as unlucky as Cheng Haidong, who witnessed a group of ghost officers crossing the street for team-building.
On this day, Lan He had an appointment to visit Song Qiyun’s studio to meet Song Futan. Before leaving, he habitually told Hu 79 and Yi Ping to behave while he was away. He wasn’t worried about the bird—Hu 79 was feeding it well. His main concern was reminding Hu 79 not to steal Yi Ping’s glasses and telling Yi Ping not to keep pricking Hu 79’s heart…
Due to the nature of his work, Song Qiyun didn’t spend much time at his studio each year, and neither did Song Futan.
When Lan He entered the office, only Song Futan was there.
“Director Song isn’t here yet? I thought I was late.” Lan He sighed in relief when he saw him. Although it wasn’t his first time meeting Song Qiyun, discussing the script still felt special, and he was a bit nervous.
Seeing Lan He peek in like a small animal before quickly running inside, Song Futan’s eyes softened with amusement. “I was waiting for you.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Teacher Xuang Guang.” Lan He was usually more carefree in the underworld, and since Song Futan was the only living person who knew his true identity, he often let it show in front of him.
Playfully, he handed over a resume, introducing himself, “I’m Xiao Lai from the Eastern Peak Underworld, 250 years old this year, skilled in soul-reaping, paper-folding, and fighting…”
Song Futan played along, asking, “So, what’s your dream?”
Lan He replied, “To visit Eastern Peak one day…”
Song Futan: “…”
Lan He: “Pfft, hahaha!”
Song Futan also started laughing. “You really haven’t been to the Eastern Peak?”
Your dream as Xiao Lai of the Eastern Peak Underworld is to visit the Eastern Peak. Song Futan felt an urge to ruffle Lan He’s hair.
“Really, I’ve just realized that I’ve never been to the Eastern Peak, neither the one in the underworld nor in the mortal world,” Lan He said with a smile. In truth, if the opportunity arose, he’d quite like to visit.
It was said that Teacher Xuang Guang wasn’t fond of going out, so who knew if he was interested in traveling…
Actually, we could go together, Song Futan thought, his heart skipping a beat. But Lan He had been busy lately…
At that moment, Song Qiyun had already opened the door and entered. “Lan He, you’re here.”
Lan He immediately stood up. “Director Song.”
“Relax, you can sit down. Why are you so nervous?” Song Qiyun said in a very casual manner. “Take it easy, no pressure. We’re just looking over the script—it’s not even the official preparation stage yet, nothing’s been finalized. And I don’t know if Futan told you, but this role is hard to cast, yet you happen to fit it perfectly, so there’s no need to be tense.”
This wasn’t even the casting phase yet; it was just that due to the uniqueness of the project, they had to lock in Xiao Lai before anything else could proceed.
Lan He glanced at Song Futan. He remembered Song Futan mentioning that the role suited him well. “Um… I’m just worried I might not be up to it.”
“I don’t think so,” Song Qiyun said with a smile. “I think you’re very similar to Xiao Lai!”
Lan He was confused. “Huh?”
Song Qiyun explained, “Oh, Xiao Lai is the name of the protagonist. I think you have a similar vibe to him…”
Lan He: “…”
Xiao Lai?? Lan He looked over in a daze, only to see Song Futan gazing out the window, his face out of sight. But Lan He had a strong feeling he was probably smiling.
Song Qiyun then spilled the beans. “We originally planned for Xiao Lai not to have dimples, but after Futan saw you, he changed his mind and said it was okay for him to have them.”
Lan He: “…”
‘Okay for him to have them?’ He always had them!
Lan He finally pieced it together and muttered under his breath, “Teacher Xuang Guang, you didn’t tell me you were writing about ‘Xiao Lai’!”
Song Futan coughed lightly, uncharacteristically embarrassed. “You said you wanted to read it yourself. I was going to tell you last time.”
Lan He was initially stunned, but now, after the surprise, he felt like laughing. Xiao Song had used him as the prototype for the protagonist! He even directly used the name Xiao Lai, no wonder he said the role suited him.
It was likely that when Song Futan first started writing, he didn’t know Lan He was still alive. After his soul separation, he had become a character in Xuang Guang’s work. The thought of it was both intriguing and amusing.
So Song Futan used this name because he left a strong impression on him from the start…
Song Qiyun, unaware of the exchange, was busy flipping through the printed script, hearing only murmurs between the two of them. Finding the script, he began to introduce it: “Luo Ping, one of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou, was known as half a talent and half a ghost, excelling in painting ghosts. He once created a painting called ‘The Amusement of Ghosts.’ The story’s protagonist, Xiao Lai, unintentionally enters the world of the painting, coming to the underworld and experiencing various ghostly events.”
The story is about ghosts but reflects the human world. The ghosts all resemble people, while the only human behaves more like the ghosts people fear—eccentric, out of place, even absurd.
Song Qiyun handed the script to Lan He, glanced at Song Futan, and curiously asked, “Why are you grinning like that?”
Song Futan: “…”
Song Qiyun might have exaggerated, but he just felt that his son had been smiling way more and way more broadly than usual today. Was he really that excited about finding Xiao Lai?
Song Futan shook his head, his momentary embarrassment dissipating as he focused on watching Lan He, who had already opened the script.
Lan He read through the script carefully, pausing longer when Xiao Lai first appeared. His fingers gripped the edges of the paper, tightening unconsciously.
As Lan He read Song Futan’s description of Xiao Lai in the dawn’s light, his heart began to race inexplicably. The author writes from the heart—was he getting closer to the world within Song Futan’s heart?
Lan He quickly glanced at Song Futan. Both he and Song Qiyun were watching him. “Hmm? What do you think of Xiao Lai?”
Lan He, feeling a bit shy under Song Futan’s gaze, replied, “I’ve just reached his introduction… he seems okay.”
Song Qiyun immediately said, “How can he just be okay? Lan He, I have high expectations for you. You need to approach Xiao Lai with the right mindset—feel the writer’s intention, and appreciate his charm!”
Song Futan: “…”
Lan He: “…”
Author’s note:
Lan He: …Well, thanks?