Seven ghost children stood in a line, golden bat patterns embroidered on their pitch-black burial clothes. Beneath their little red melon caps were pale little faces, vermilion cinnabar dots between their brows, their black pupils staring ahead.
Their deathly pale little hands rested on the shoulders in front of them as they hopped along together, like a slender centipede emerging from the mist.
"Brother Ying... we've run into something evil this time..."
Hua Shanrong looked miserable. He knew plenty of urban legends: ghost minibuses driven by headless drivers, haunted alleys you could never escape, faces floating up in washbasins... Quite a few people in Hong Kong and Kowloon had vanished that way.
He had never expected his own turn to come today, and it made him all the more anxious.
"Relax. Treat strange things as nothing strange, and they'll lose their power."
Chen Ying looked at the mist ahead.
Needless to say, it was essentially the same in both directions. For some unknown reason, he and Hua Shanrong had stumbled into this eerie scene.
"Staying here won't help. What if those kids think you're handsome and want you to play ball with them?"
Chen Ying knocked Hua Shanrong's hand away and said, "We might as well look ahead. Even ghosts have to listen to reason. They can't just kill people at random."
"Brother Ying, do ghosts listen to reason too?"
Chen Ying did not answer. Instead, he strode into the mist.
Firefly-like light shone beneath the stone paving slabs. White paper lanterns hung high, the windows were tightly shut, and dark wooden shop signs looked as solemn as funeral couplets.
A tea shop owner whose face was covered in moss held a teapot thick with verdigris, filling the cup of a headless customer.
A faceless woman in a bright red cheongsam crouched before a stall, picking through its wares, while the stallholder, rotten all over, carefully counted a handful of white paper.
A Daoist with three heads crouched before a fortune-telling stall, carefully handling a fortune-stick cylinder. Every bamboo stick used for divination was a dried-up finger, and the Three-Headed Daoist carefully arranged their order.
The pawnshop appraiser was nothing but a skeleton now. Holding an abacus, he stood at the entrance studying the passersby.
Drowned female corpses crowded before the rouge shop, their hair tangled like waterweed, water dripping steadily from their bloated bodies as they jostled to squeeze inside.
All manner of stalls lined both sides of the street, selling everything from old books and bronze mirrors to hearts, livers, and arms. No one hawked their wares; only all manner of sinister spirits walked among them.
"You two, come have a bowl of noodles."
The proprietor nearest Chen Ying spoke. He was a stooped old man with an enormous iron pot embedded in his back, its weight bending his entire body at the waist.
His face was sallow, most of his skin rotten. A few strands of damp beard clung to his face, looking as though they might fall off at any moment.
Chen Ying felt his body disobey him, inexplicably walking toward the old man's noodle stall.
Hua Shanrong could not even open his mouth. Following Chen Ying step for step, he sat down at the table with him, moving like a marionette.
"Customers, my little shop has fine broth and fine toppings. There's human-bone broth and pork-bone broth. For toppings, there are ears and noses, hearts and livers, and fingers. Which would you like?"
As the proprietor spoke, he stirred the soup pot beside him. Jade-green broth churned within, its flavor truly whetting Chen Ying's appetite.
"Mmph, mmph, mmph."
Hua Shanrong could not even open his mouth. He could only stare at Chen Ying in astonishment.
Chen Ying slowly exhaled.
Who knew where the benches at this stall had come from? The moment he sat down, half his body went numb, and he lost all feeling below the waist.
"Do you have plain noodles?"
The stallholder raised his head. His eyes were completely clouded white as he looked at Chen Ying.
"No."
"Never mind, then. I don't have any money anyway."
Chen Ying could feel a power awakening inside his body, like a sleeping tiger roused from its slumber by an ape.
"No money? That's all right. Didn't you bring ingredients with you? Give him to me, and I'll pay you."
The proprietor pulled a stack of rectangular white paper from his sleeve and waved it.
The paper money looked much like the white paper the old roast-pork-rice ghost on the little building's ground floor had pinned beneath his bowl.
If I'd known, I would have taken a few sheets.
Hua Shanrong desperately wanted to open his mouth, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not. All strength had left his body, and he could only do his best to signal Chen Ying with his eyes.
Shit, thank goodness Brother Ying can still talk. Brother Jesus, Brother Heavenly Venerable, Brother Guanyin, whichever of you can save this little brother, I'll drape myself in red and green and properly repay the gods.
As he prayed silently, he heard Chen Ying ask beside him.
"Really? How much could he sell for?"
"Ten notes at most. Even if you sell him in pieces, no one will pay more than me."
"Sell him in pieces?"
"There are people in there buying hearts, lungs, eyes, and thighs. A heart will fetch two notes at most, and a pair of eyes just one. Chop him up every which way, and you'll only get seven or eight."
"You certainly know your business, uncle."
"Not at all. I'm just worried you've only just died and those old ghosts will take advantage of you."
The noodle stall proprietor set a bowl of noodle broth before Chen Ying.
"You new ghosts are such a nuisance. This bowl of broth is on the house."
Chen Ying looked at the clear noodle broth, then at Hua Shanrong beside him.
The fighting in the street had all but stopped. Fat Bear's men had been cut to pieces. Apart from a few unlucky souls lying on the ground at death's door, the rest were either dead where they had fallen or had slipped away in the chaos.
Fire Dragon felt pleased, but also somewhat worried.
With Wo On Sing suffering such a crushing defeat, his own name would surely grow even more prominent. Su Xiong's men dared to fight and kill. Under that great tree's shelter, things would surely be smooth sailing from now on.
He worried that such wholesale slaughter would definitely draw the cops' attention. And with so many dead and injured, someone was bound to seek revenge.
After turning it over in his mind, he decided the most pressing thing was to cling tightly to Su Xiong's coattails.
He hurriedly looked around for Sha Wei.
Though the fellow had only just risen through the ranks, he already had a fearsome reputation in the underworld. It would not hurt to pay his respects to him first.
He spotted Sha Wei holding a compass, its scarlet needle spinning endlessly as he searched for something.
"Brother Sha Wei, checking the feng shui? I've got a few girls who are good with their hands. How about calling them over to liven things up? We'll have hot pot tonight and celebrate properly."
"No need. I don't like women."
"Huh?"
Fire Dragon froze at his words.
"Fussy and useless. Out here in the underworld, our brothers matter most. Am I right?"
"Brother Sha Wei... you mean we should find a few handsome boys with big, perky asses..."
"Can you trust a pretty boy? Your best brother is your blade."
Sha Wei gave him a cold look.
"Master Xiong said to go see him over in Tianxin once you've finished up here."
"Of course, of course."
The compass's red needle spun rapidly, then finally pointed in one direction.
"Found it at last. It really does take a wrongfully dead ghost to open the way. I have something else to do. Don't come looking for me."
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