The Cousin Arrives (Chapter Eleven)

The yellow blur gradually became clearer, taking the shape of a person—indeed, it was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen.

He wore his hair parted and was dressed in a long gown; surprisingly, he was a specter from the Republican era.

He Lingyu once had a tenant who was also a ghost more than seventy years old, named Liu Xiaoman. Her appearance and intelligence were that of a seven or eight-year-old girl. A few months ago, she moved on, finally reincarnating.

"Why haven't you reincarnated yet?" He Lingyu asked curiously.

The boy was less fearful, hearing her gentle tone, and replied softly, "Master, I still have unresolved matters and do not wish to reincarnate."

He Lingyu recalled how Liu Xiaoman had also refused to leave, lingering where her mother had abandoned her, waiting for her mother's return—a wait that lasted over seventy years.

Could this boy, too, be a pitiful child waiting for his parents to come for him?

"What is your name, and why are you here instead of in the underworld?" He Lingyu asked.

"My name is Yang Xu. My parents passed away early, and I depended on my elder sister. To support my studies, she sang in a nightclub. One day, while digging a cellar at home, I unearthed a jar of gold ingots. Overjoyed, I wanted to share the news with my sister at the nightclub. As I was about to leave, I heard her knock at the door. Recognizing her voice, I didn’t hide the jar of gold but opened the door directly.

Outside, besides my sister, there were two burly men. Seeing the gold in the yard, they tried to snatch it. I impulsively intervened, and in the struggle, one of them stabbed me twice. As I was dying, I saw my sister also wounded, stumbling to my side.

Afterward, I waited in the underworld but never found her. Worried, I wanted to search for her in the world of the living. I encountered the Bridge of Forgetfulness, which is repaired every three thousand years, and that year happened to be the third millennium. I was assigned to help rebuild it. By the time I returned, everything had changed.

Our old house was occupied by strangers, the nightclub where my sister sang had become a cinema, and eventually, all the houses in the alley were demolished and rebuilt. The cinema was leveled, and a tall building erected in its place.

But I never found my sister again..."

Yang Xu's voice broke with sobs. He Lingyu sighed, "But if you wander the mortal world day after day, with no connections in the underworld, it will be difficult to secure a good reincarnation."

Yang Xu shook his head, his expression resolute, "If I can't find my sister, I'd rather remain a lonely wandering ghost than reincarnate."

He Lingyu nodded and pointed to the nearby house, "Is this your old home?"

"Yes, this is my ancestral house. That jar of gold must have been buried by my forebears," Yang Xu replied.

He Lingyu asked, "You’ve wandered here for years; you must know this area well?"

"Yes, I know it very well," Yang Xu affirmed.

"How about this? Help me with something, and afterward, I'll help you find your sister." He Lingyu rarely sought trouble, especially without compensation; this time, her curiosity was piqued more than her compassion. She, too, wanted to know where Yang Xu's sister had gone.

"Alright, I agree!" The fear had vanished from Yang Xu's face, and he stood tall. He Lingyu saw clearly that he was a handsome young man.

Well, good looks could win him a meal.

Late at night, in the detention center.

Afeng was not a serious offender. In the cell next to his was a petty thief, a frequent visitor of the facility. The thief suffered from chronic insomnia and relied on melatonin to sleep; lacking it here, he stayed awake and started chatting with Afeng.

"Hey, judging by your voice, you’re young too, right? How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. What about you?"

"I'm twenty-two, two years younger than you. By the way, your voice sounds unfamiliar; I haven’t seen you here before. Is this your first time?"

"Yes. Do you come here often?"

"Of course, I end up here once or twice a year. I know this place inside out. The guards are decent; they never hit anyone. The food is good, plenty of oil. The braised eggplant dish is amazing—better than any restaurant outside."

Just then, a guard, hearing voices, walked over. Through the iron bars, the thief grinned, revealing crooked teeth. "Hello, sir, we were just saying how delicious the braised eggplant is here. Will there be braised eggplant tomorrow?"

The guard knew him well; this kid had been a regular since he was fifteen.

"Keep it down, don’t make a racket," the guard snapped, then walked away.

The thief smirked, "See? I know everyone here. By the way, you’re locked up here, so it’s probably not a big deal. When you get out, let’s meet up somewhere?"

"Sure, let’s get together."

Afeng couldn’t sleep either. He had too many things weighing on his mind, sometimes affecting his rest.

Leaning against the wall, he listened to the thief's chatter next door, finding it rather amusing.

Life offered many experiences—like being in a detention center, or chatting with a thief—things he’d never known before.

But this was good. The thief was a regular at the police station, with a record—a person likely to commit crimes.

Years ago, that junkie was the same kind of person: to feed his addiction, he stole, robbed, and was even forced into rehab. That’s why Afeng chose him as a scapegoat. No one—not even the police—suspected anything.

This time, the driver owed a million in online loans, filled with hatred for the world. He wanted revenge and drove aimlessly, hitting people at random; after killing a pedestrian, he killed himself.

Who would suspect that someone bent on revenge had been manipulated? No one would, just like with the junkie—they were all the same type.

The thief next door was one of these people, so Afeng was glad to have made a new friend.

He closed his eyes. Every night, as he drifted toward sleep, the thief would start a new topic, waking Afeng again and again, until he finally gave up trying to sleep. Still, he kept his eyes closed, responding to the thief in fits and starts.

Suddenly, he heard a strange sound in his ear—not breathing, but more like an electric current.

Afeng’s eyes snapped open. The small room contained only him; nothing that could produce such a sound.

Could it be tinnitus? He wondered if it was from staying up too late.

He closed his eyes again, but the sound returned, growing louder and louder, overtaking even the thief’s voice next door.

He opened his eyes once more, and suddenly felt cold—from head to toe, his whole body chilled, as if plunged into winter.

Instinctively, Afeng reached for his chest, but found nothing. He remembered: on the day he was transferred here, all his personal items had been handed over for safekeeping.

His wallet, watch, and that protective amulet were now stored in a special locker in the detention center, to be handed back when he left, or transferred to the next department.