Absorbing Moonlight, a Midnight Shock

Hogwarts's mushroom hotpot was ultimately inauthentic. After Harry and Ron finished eating, neither of them saw little people holding hands and dancing, nor did they see their dearly departed great-grandmothers waving at them... If this had been Yunnan mushrooms, the two of them would have seen their lives flashing before their eyes.

Still, the hotpot tasted quite good. The house-elves' cooking was beyond reproach.

After finishing their employee-benefit meal, Zhang San returned to the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron. According to school rules, students could only gather in their own House's common room. Wandering into other dormitories was not permitted.

When Zhang San arrived at the Gryffindor common room, he received an enthusiastic welcome from his classmates. He was both a foreigner and nonhuman, and everyone looked at him as though he were some rare species.

Zhang San had long grown accustomed to such looks—the Taoist masters from the Chinese condolence delegation had looked at him the same way.

"Hey, Third! You finally decided to come to the common room." Fred and George were inseparable, and they came up to Zhang San with their arms around each other's shoulders and waists.

Zhang San drifted back several yards. "Sorry, seeing you two makes my eyes blur. My apologies, you really do look too much alike."

"Want to play a thrilling game of wizard chess?" Fred Weasley asked.

This really was one of the few things he could play. The pieces in wizard chess could move on their own at the player's command, and they could even hack at each other across the board. More advanced pieces were even more humanlike: when a player made a terrible move, they could complain, go on strike, or turn around and start cursing the player out.

However, Zhang San was not very good at chess, so he politely declined Fred's invitation.

Fred shrugged regretfully. Ron seized the opening to hand over a flyer. "Third's temple opens tomorrow. Everyone can go burn incense over the weekend. Each stick only costs one silver Sickel, and burning incense once gets you ten game tokens for free."

"That expensive? One silver Sickel can buy a Dungbomb at Zonko's Joke Shop!" George Weasley exclaimed in surprise.

Zhang San found George's wording rather regrettable, and he was equally helpless about his own pricing. The price of one stick of incense was actually the same as a Dungbomb... So the Weasley twins had nothing but Dungbombs in their heads.

"Trust us, one silver Sickel is worth every penny. My temple has some seriously awesome games, and ten game tokens will give everyone a happy time," Zhang San hawked forcefully.

Harry Potter backed him up from the side. "That's right. Ron and I tried them out all afternoon. If it hadn't gotten so late, we wouldn't have wanted to come back."

The Gryffindors were immediately intrigued by Harry Potter's words. They surrounded Harry, Ron, and Zhang San, all talking at once as they asked what the game tokens could be used for.

Ron was an excellent speaker. With endless enthusiasm, he went on and on about how fun the games were. Seeing Ron's glowing face, Zhang San knew he had chosen the right temple attendant.

Although Ron was often jokingly called Hermione's accessory, he had many admirable qualities. The guy was fiercely loyal and truly stepped up when something happened. He was not a born hero, but an ordinary person who was kind and upright.

Having had their interest piqued, the Gryffindors all decided to visit the temple tomorrow. Just as Zhang San had said, it was only one silver Sickel. It would not make them rich to have it, nor bankrupt them to lose it. Why not spend it and broaden their horizons?

The news of the underground arcade's opening only needed to be spread in the Gryffindor common room. The enthusiastic Gryffindor lions would carry the news to every corner of Hogwarts. Students from Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff would soon hear about it as well.

For once, Zhang San did not go through Hogwarts's corridors that night to catch students sneaking around after curfew. He no longer cared about the little bit of negative emotion those unlucky night wanderers carried. Once the arcade opened, the resentment of students who lost all their game tokens would be enough to support several Evil Sword Immortals.

The moonlight was especially beautiful that night, and Zhang San prepared to cultivate by absorbing moonlight essence. Absorbing negative emotions could indeed raise his cultivation quickly, but taking in too much would destabilize a ghost cultivator's state of mind.

A ghost cultivator's training required a balance between three forces: moonlight essence, earthly yin energy, and negative emotions. Negative emotions increased cultivation, earthly yin energy stabilized the soul, and moonlight essence cleansed impurities.

The third quarter of the Rat hour was when moonlight essence was at its strongest and yin energy at its heaviest. It was the only time a lowly ghost like Zhang San could draw upon the power of moonlight.

The moon in the sky needed no summons from Zhang San. A beam of moonlight descended on its own and wrapped around his ghostly body. A chill that penetrated the very source of his soul made his entire ghostly form tremble. Every thread of moonlight essence that seeped into his soul felt like an icy steel needle piercing his body.

Zhang San was clearly already dead, yet the pain originating in his soul still tortured him half to death. He had never expected absorbing moonlight to be this agonizing. He had thought it would feel as comfortable as soaking in a bathhouse.

No wonder ghost cultivators of the past became more deranged the longer they cultivated. Absorbing negative emotions felt good, but having their souls purified by moonlight brought only pain.

On top of that, people who had only just turned into ghosts tended to be muddleheaded. Driven by instinct, naturally formed ghost cultivators all headed down the crooked path of imbalance and never returned.

The more filth accumulated from absorbing negative emotions, the greater the pain when moonlight essence cleansed the soul. Thus, ghost cultivators fell into a vicious cycle. Many simply gritted their teeth, hardened their hearts, and thought, To hell with moonlight essence. I'm not cleansing myself anymore!

That was why records of ghost cultivators were either about them bringing disaster to a region or leaving countless lives in ruin. The disciplined ghost cultivators stayed quietly out of sight, while the ones who went around stirring up trouble were lunatics with broken brains.

Zhang San had suffered plenty after going up Mount Longhu, otherwise he could never have developed the best martial arts skills among his peers. To be honest, if his senior brother did not use the Golden Light Incantation or lightning magic, and they fought with fists alone, he simply could not beat Zhang San.

He could endure the hardship of martial training, so he could barely endure the pain of having his soul cleansed by moonlight as well. He had not yet reached the point of no return. As long as he maintained a balance between moonlight essence and negative emotions in the future, it would not hurt this badly.

Negative emotions were good, but Zhang San needed to absorb them in small amounts, selectively, and according to a plan. The moment he sensed too much filth in his soul, he would wait for the moon to appear and absorb moonlight essence.

As long as he was careful enough, Zhang San would not go down the wrong path and ultimately perish in the Ghost King Tribulation.

Because the process of absorbing moonlight essence was so painful, Zhang San had no ability to control his volume. Thus, despairing screams rang out beyond Hogwarts Castle.

Ghosts were beings of energy, so their howls naturally disturbed magical power. As a result, every wizard living in the castle could clearly hear Zhang San's screams...

As a result, no one slept well. By early the next morning, the resentment filling the castle nearly made Zhang San weep with joy. Oh my God, had he arrived in heaven?

Dumbledore found Zhang San with dark circles under his eyes. Every strand of his gray-white hair and beard radiated resentment—worthy of the greatest white wizard in history; the resentment on him was truly pure.

"Mr. Third Zhang, I think we need to talk..." Headmaster Dumbledore said wearily. "You must understand how cruel it is for a centenarian not to get a good night's sleep."

Zhang San nodded frantically, looking weak, helpless, and well-behaved. He turned his gaze toward his good friend Harry Potter, his translucent face plainly saying: Save me, save me, save me!

Harry Potter decisively turned toward the Slytherin table and said to Malfoy, "Malfoy, if you've got the guts, let's play Street Fighter II!"

Zhang San: ...

In the end, he had trusted the wrong person!