The night in Thanh Hà Town was colder than usual this year.
The drizzle had continued from afternoon until the third watch, coating the stone road in a thin layer of water. On both sides of the road, old houses sat with their doors tightly shut, the lanterns beneath their eaves swaying in the wind.
Not a single person was in sight.
Only the sound of rain.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip...
Then a sobbing voice rang out.
“Hoo... hoo...”
The cry of a woman.
Very faint.
But in the stillness of the dead of night, it was clear enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine.
An old woman in the last house on the street immediately pulled her blanket over her head.
She didn’t dare look toward the door.
Because she knew.
The crying had come again.
It was the seventh night.
Seven nights in a row.
People in town said that anyone who heard crying outside their door after the third watch would die within three days.
And three days ago...
The first victim had been buried.
Two days ago...
The second person died.
Last night...
The third person died too.
None of them had been sick.
None had suffered any injuries.
The next morning, their families had simply found them dead in bed, their eyes wide open and their mouths gaping as if they had been trying to scream something.
The strangest thing was that all three had a layer of black mud beneath their fingernails.
As if, before they died, they had used their hands to dig through the earth.
No one knew why.
And no one dared investigate.
Until tonight.
A young woman in pale-blue Daoist robes entered the town.
She wore a simple Daoist hat, an old peachwood sword strapped to her back, and a gray cloth pouch hanging at her waist.
Rainwater trickled from the brim of her hat.
The girl raised her head and looked at the weathered wooden sign.
“Thanh Hà Town.”
Hạnh Nhi read it softly.
She looked down at her drenched cloth shoes and sighed.
“I’ll have to buy another pair.”
She reached into her money pouch.
Inside were three small silver coins.
Hạnh Nhi fell silent for a few seconds.
Then she put the money away.
“Never mind.”
“Drying them should be enough.”
A peddler who had just finished packing up his stall heard her and gave her a strange look.
“Miss, what are you doing coming into town at this hour?”
Hạnh Nhi turned toward him.
“Someone invited me here to deal with an evil spirit.”
“You’re a Daoist?”
“Yeah.”
The peddler glanced at the peachwood sword on her back, and his expression immediately changed.
“Miss, if it’s that thing, you’d better not go.”
Hạnh Nhi raised an eyebrow.
“That thing?”
The peddler looked around.
Only after making sure no one was nearby did he lower his voice.
“There’s a ghost.”
Hạnh Nhi was silent.
“A female ghost.”
“Yeah.”
“Every night during the third watch, she stands outside people’s homes and cries.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone who hears her crying will die.”
“Yeah.”
The peddler grew a little annoyed.
“Aren’t you scared?”
Hạnh Nhi thought about it.
“I am.”
The peddler was surprised.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Then why are you still going?”
Hạnh Nhi pointed at her stomach.
“Because I’m hungry.”
The peddler: “...”
Hạnh Nhi smiled as naturally as ever.
“Living people are much scarier than ghosts. Ghosts only take your life. Living people take your money too.”
With that, she turned and walked into town.
The peddler watched her from behind.
Only after a long while did he mutter:
“What kind of Daoist is this poor...”
Hạnh Nhi arrived at the Trần family home close to midnight.
The person who opened the door was a man around fifty years old.
The moment he saw her, he immediately bowed his head.
“Daoist master, you’ve finally arrived.”
Hạnh Nhi stepped inside.
“You’re Trần Minh?”
“Yes.”
“The deceased was your son?”
Mr. Trần nodded.
“Trần Khải. Twenty-seven years old.”
Hạnh Nhi asked no further questions.
She walked straight to the room where the dead man had once lain.
The room still reeked of incense.
A memorial tablet sat on the table.
Hạnh Nhi stood before it and stared for a long time.
Then she reached out and picked up a pinch of incense ash.
She gently rubbed it between her fingertips.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Where did this ash come from?”
Mr. Trần looked bewildered.
“We burned it in our house.”
“No.”
Hạnh Nhi raised it to her nose and sniffed.
“It smells like earth.”
Mr. Trần’s face went pale.
“Earth?”
Hạnh Nhi didn’t answer.
She sat down beside the bed.
There was a streak of black mud beneath it.
Very small.
But it stretched from beneath the bed all the way to the door.
Hạnh Nhi took a yellow talisman from her pouch.
She held it between two fingers.
Then she softly chanted:
“Heaven is clear, earth is bright.
Yin energy is murky, yang energy is pure.
The Three Realms have a gate.
Let all evil spirits reveal their true forms.”
The candle on the table suddenly trembled.
Whoosh!
The flame went out.
The room sank into darkness.
Mr. Trần backed away in terror.
“Daoist master...”
“Don’t speak.”
Hạnh Nhi raised a hand.
She was looking beneath the bed.
A drop of water fell onto the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
But the roof wasn’t leaking.
Hạnh Nhi slowly rose to her feet.
“Mr. Trần.”
“Yes?”
“On the night your family member died, did you hear crying?”
Mr. Trần trembled.
“Yes.”
“And afterward?”
“My son said someone was standing outside the door, calling his name.”
“How did they call him?”
Mr. Trần swallowed.
“Khải...”
“Khải...”
“Khải...”
Hạnh Nhi frowned.
“Only his name?”
“Yes.”
“They didn’t say anything else?”
“No.”
Hạnh Nhi looked toward the door.
After a moment, she asked:
“Was this door open that night?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Locked from the inside?”
“Yes.”
Hạnh Nhi fell silent.
Then she lowered her head.
Right beneath the crack under the door...
There was a footprint.
A woman’s footprint.
Soaked through.
But the footprint itself wasn’t what sent a chill through Hạnh Nhi.
It was the direction it faced.
The footprint led from outside in.
Not from inside out.
Hạnh Nhi slowly straightened.
“Mr. Trần.”
“Yes?”
“Does your house have a basement?”
Mr. Trần’s expression changed.
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Hạnh Nhi looked at him.
Her gaze was so sharp that Mr. Trần didn’t dare meet her eyes.
At last, he lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Behind the kitchen.”
“Take me there.”
The basement door had been locked with three layers of chains.
Hạnh Nhi looked at the chains.
“When did you lock it?”
“Three years ago.”
“Why?”
Mr. Trần was silent.
Hạnh Nhi didn’t press him.
After a while, he finally said:
“Three years ago, my wife died.”
“An illness?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“She... killed herself.”
Hạnh Nhi looked at him.
“Where?”
Mr. Trần pointed down toward the basement.
The air around them suddenly turned cold.
Hạnh Nhi took three ancient coins from her pouch.
She placed them in the palm of her hand.
“Stand behind me.”
“Don’t turn around.”
“No matter what you hear, don’t turn around.”
Mr. Trần nodded repeatedly.
Hạnh Nhi removed the last chain.
The basement door slowly opened.
Creak...
A gust of cold air rose from below.
The smell of damp earth.
The smell of incense.
And another, very faint smell.
The smell of burned hair.
Hạnh Nhi walked down.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
When she reached the last step, she stopped.
A small room lay before her.
There was an altar table in the middle of the room.
There was no memorial tablet on it.
Only an ancient mirror.
Hạnh Nhi looked at the mirror.
Her pupils immediately contracted.
On the mirror’s surface...
It reflected neither her nor Mr. Trần.
Instead, it reflected a woman standing behind her.
Long hair covered her face.
She wore white.
Both arms hung limply at her sides.
Hạnh Nhi didn’t turn around.
She only watched the woman in the mirror.
“So you finally decided to show yourself.”
The woman in the mirror slowly raised her head.
Her hair parted to either side.
A pair of pitch-black eyes stared straight at Hạnh Nhi.
Her mouth opened.
No voice came out.
Only black blood trickled down.
Hạnh Nhi took out a talisman.
“I’ll give you one chance.”
“Leave the Trần family home.”
“I’ll perform exorcism rites for you.”
The woman smiled.
It was a twisted smile.
Then a whisper came from inside the mirror.
“He...”
“Is... not... human...”
Hạnh Nhi froze.
“Who?”
The woman raised her hand.
Her finger pointed straight behind Hạnh Nhi.
Hạnh Nhi looked into the mirror.
Her expression immediately turned cold.
Because in the mirror...
Mr. Trần was no longer standing behind her.
Instead, there was another man.
A man Hạnh Nhi had never seen before.
The man was smiling.
In his hand, he held a peachwood sword.
It was exactly like hers.
Hạnh Nhi tightened her grip on the talisman.
“Who are you?”
The man in the mirror did not answer.
He only slowly raised the sword.
Then he drove it straight into his own chest.
Thud!
Hạnh Nhi recoiled in shock.
The mirror cracked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
At that very moment, Mr. Trần’s voice sounded behind her.
“Daoist master.”
“What are you looking at?”
Hạnh Nhi didn’t turn around.
Her hand tightened around the talisman.
Because that voice...
Was no longer Mr. Trần’s voice.
It was a woman’s voice.
And from outside the basement door...
A cry rang out.
“Hoo... hoo...”
Hạnh Nhi gently closed her eyes.
“Just as I thought.”
She took out a red talisman.
The corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“Not a female ghost.”
“It’s ghost possession.”
The oil lamps in the basement went out all at once.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And just before the darkness completely covered the room, Hạnh Nhi heard a very soft laugh.
“Mao Mountain Daoist...”
“You’re too late.”