The Impala cruised down the interstate. Sam curled up in the back seat, the glow of his laptop screen lighting his face, his brow slightly furrowed-a new anonymous tip had just appeared on the hunters' encrypted channel.
"Route 666, Missouri. Three Black drivers died under mysterious circumstances in three months." Sam closed the laptop and sat up straight. "The police called them robbery-murders, but not a cent was missing from the victims' vehicles. All that was left was a pile of black ash."
Dean raised an eyebrow and jerked the steering wheel, taking the Impala off the highway exit and turning toward Missouri. "A highway ghost? Interesting. My money's on a vengeful spirit. Old roads like that are prime places for obsessions to build up."
Bai Haorui woke from a deep sleep, and a voice sounded in his mind: "Mission triggered-eliminate the vengeful spirit on Route 666. Rewards: a Malignancy-Breaking Talisman and twenty-four hours of yin energy tracking."
"Route 666 already has a 'Devil's Highway' legend," Sam added. "Supposedly, it has something to do with racial conflicts in the last century. Let's head to Red Rock Town first. The latest victim's family lives there."
Red Rock Town was even more desolate than they had imagined. The asphalt on the main street was riddled with potholes, and an old bar's neon sign flashed "Open," but there wasn't a single customer in sight. When the three followed the address to Ruth's house, the wooden door stood ajar, and muffled sobbing drifted from inside.
They pushed the door open. Ruth, a Black woman, was crying as she clutched a memorial portrait of a man. Several elderly Black neighbors sat around her, smoking in silence. At the sight of three strangers entering, Ruth stopped crying and rose warily. "Who are you?"
Sam took out his FBI credentials, keeping his tone as gentle as possible. "We're investigating the serial killings on Route 666. We'd like to know whether Terry mentioned anything unusual before the incident."
At the mention of her husband, Ruth's tears welled up again. "He was a long-haul trucker. The day before it happened, he called and said an old black truck without plates kept following him. Its headlights looked like ghost lights. I thought he was so tired he was hallucinating, so I told him to pull over and rest. He said he was almost there and could hold out a little longer..." She shook her head, choking back sobs. "Then the next day, the police called. They said his truck had crashed into the canyon guardrail, and he was missing."
Bai Haorui walked over to the wrecked truck parked in the yard-the police had temporarily returned the vehicle to the family. Scratches covered its body, and a little black ash remained on the driver's seat. He took out three Five Emperor Coins and gently placed them on the steering wheel. The copper coins instantly gave off a gray-black, bluish glow and trembled faintly.
"It's a vengeful spirit." Bai Haorui turned back with certainty. "This yin energy is full of hatred, and its targets are Black people. It isn't killing at random."
Dean scoffed. "A ghost that picks its victims by race? Just how much does it hate Black people?"
"It's not picking. It's an obsession." Bai Haorui put away the Five Emperor Coins. "It must have been an extreme racist when it was alive, and even death couldn't undo that knot. We need to find out where it came from first."
The three split up: Sam went to the police station to check old files, while Dean and Bai Haorui headed to the old gas station at the edge of town to ask longtime residents for information.
The officer on duty at the Red Rock Town police station was a middle-aged man with a beer belly. At the mention of the "Route 666 murders," he waved a hand. "They were all robbery-murders. Nothing to investigate. Get going, and stop interfering with my work." He began shooing Sam out. When he turned away to answer the phone, Sam slipped into the records room and searched the dusty filing cabinets for traffic case records from the 1970s.
A file marked "Closed" caught his attention-on August 15, 1977, a Black driver named James and his family of four had been rear-ended by a black truck on Route 666. All four had died. The driver responsible was named Carl Miller. In the photograph in the file, the man had vicious eyes and a Nazi symbol tattooed on his arm, a typical racist. Stranger still, the stated reason for closing the case was "Insufficient evidence; no charges filed," yet the attached scene photographs clearly showed the truck's skid marks.
Meanwhile, Dean and Bai Haorui found Joe, the gas station's manager, who was in his seventies. Wearing a greasy baseball cap, the old man was dozing behind the counter. He looked thoroughly annoyed when Dean tapped him awake.
"What do you want to buy? No hot food left. Just beer and instant noodles." Joe rubbed his eyes, looking the two of them over.
Dean pulled out his wallet, bought three bottles of beer, two packs of cigarettes, and a case of instant noodles, then slapped the money on the counter. "We'd like to ask you something-was there a crash on Route 666 in 1977 where a Black family was killed?"
Joe's gaze flickered, and his hand paused as he took the money. After a long silence, he sighed. "You're here about those murders, aren't you?" He opened a beer and took a drink, his voice hoarse as he recalled the past. "Carl was the son of a rich man in town. Sheriff Tom-that's the current sheriff Marcus's father-took money from his family and destroyed the evidence of the truck's skid marks. He insisted on calling deliberate murder an accident. James and his family died horribly. The two kids were five and seven. Both died right there."
"What happened to Carl afterward?" Bai Haorui pressed.
"He disappeared." Joe shook his head. "Three months after the case was closed, he drove into the desert canyon and never came out. Some said he went over a cliff and died. Others said James and his family's ghosts came after him. They still haven't found his body."
After leaving the gas station, they met up with Sam outside the police station. Sam shared what he had found in the file, while Bai Haorui took out his ink line. "Let's check the canyon stretch."
Steep rock walls flanked the desert canyon stretch of Route 666. Night deepened, and the wind passing through the canyon made eerie, sobbing sounds. Bai Haorui stretched the ink line toward the road. The instant it touched the ground, it began trembling violently, even making a faint sizzling sound, as though resisting some kind of yin energy. He closed his eyes, took out the Five Emperor Coins, arranged a Three Talents Formation, and began chanting. The outline of an old black truck instantly appeared in his mind, along with a vague address-an abandoned warehouse beside the highway.
"Found it." Bai Haorui opened his eyes. "Its lair is in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. Carl's remains and the truck should both be hidden there."
The three immediately headed to the police station and found the current sheriff, Marcus. The Black sheriff was tall and powerfully built, with resolute eyes. When he saw Carl's file, his face instantly turned pale, and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.
"You know your father covered for Carl back then, don't you?" Dean asked bluntly.
Marcus remained silent for a long time. The air in the office seemed to freeze. At last, he raised his head, his eyes filled with guilt. "When I was fifteen, I accidentally overheard my father talking to Carl and learned that he'd destroyed the evidence. I've lived with that guilt all these years. Especially when Black drivers started getting killed one after another, I knew... Carl's ghost had come back."
"Where's Carl's body?" Sam pressed.
"In the abandoned warehouse's basement." Marcus took a rusty key from a drawer, his voice low. "My father told me before he died. He cut Carl's brake lines, then hid him there with the truck because he was afraid someone would find out. I've always wanted to do something, but I was afraid of exposing my father's scandal."
On the way, Marcus made a phone call. Half an hour later, a young white man in a shabby jacket arrived at the warehouse, clutching a yellowed diary-he was Carl's grandson, Todd.
"I'm ashamed of what he did." Todd's eyes were red as he handed the diary to the three, his voice trembling. "I don't like Black people either, but I'd never kill them like he did."
Bai Haorui opened the diary. Faint black energy clung to the edges of the pages, which were filled with vicious racist remarks. On the last page, dark red ink spelled out: "I'll make every nigger pay. They'll never know peace."
"This diary has been steeped in his resentment and become part of the curse. We'll have to burn it too." Bai Haorui closed the diary, his gaze grave. "Dean, paint your face black and drive the Impala to lure the ghost truck here. Sam, get holy water and gasoline ready in the basement. Once the truck gets close, burn the remains and the diary. I'll set up an Expelling Evil Formation around the warehouse and purify the vengeful spirit."
"Paint my face black?" Dean's eyes widened. "You're serious? This handsome face can't take that kind of abuse."
"What else?" Bai Haorui raised an eyebrow. "That old ghost only kills Black people. Without a disguise, it won't even bother with you. Relax. You can wash it off with makeup remover afterward."
Dean rolled his eyes but dug black paint out of the trunk anyway. Sam went to the church in town to borrow holy water, then piled gasoline and firewood in the basement. Bai Haorui took cinnabar, black dog blood-the black dog blood had come from the town's slaughterhouse-and a stack of yellow talismans from his backpack, then began preparing a mixture. The dark red cinnabar mixed with the thick black dog blood, giving off a pungent smell.
"Does this stuff have to stink so much?" Dean leaned in for a sniff and immediately backed away three steps. "You sure it'll work?"
"A lot better than your holy water." Bai Haorui slapped his hand away. "This mixture is an extreme yang substance. It can directly break down a vengeful spirit's yin energy." He soaked the ink line in the mixture and snapped out an Expelling Evil Formation in the shape of the character 国 around the warehouse, then covered the walls and main doors with Malignancy-Breaking Talismans. "Once the truck enters the formation, the ink line will automatically glow red and trap its yin energy."
Marcus tightened his grip on his service pistol, his gaze firm. "I'll clear passing vehicles off the highway, then turn myself in to the state police. I have to make amends for my father's mistakes."
At eleven that night, the desert canyon stretch of highway was deserted, with only the Impala's headlights cutting through the darkness. Dean had painted his face pitch-black and put on a black jacket. He deliberately slowed down, while rock music Black people liked played on the car radio and echoed over the empty road.
"Come on out and die, you old ghost." Dean raised an eyebrow at the rearview mirror. "Or I'm heading back to bed."
The moment he finished speaking, an old black truck appeared in the rearview mirror. It had no plates, its dim headlights resembled ghost lights, and its engine roared harshly as it followed close behind the Impala. Dean slammed on the gas, sending the car surging forward, and began weaving down the highway. The ghost truck stayed on his tail, ramming the Impala's rear now and then with a deafening crash.
"Damn it, this ghost-modded truck is fast!" Dean shouted into the radio. The car shook violently as he gripped the steering wheel. "Bai, Sam, are you ready over there? This bitch keeps hitting my baby's ass! I'm going to kill him!"
"Bring it to the warehouse. Everything's ready!" Bai Haorui's voice came through the radio.
Dean floored the accelerator, and the Impala shot toward the abandoned warehouse like an arrow loosed from a bow. The instant the ghost truck followed it into the Expelling Evil Formation, the ink line blazed with dazzling red light. As though it had hit an invisible wall, the truck suddenly spun out of control and slammed into the warehouse doors with a deafening crash.
"Now!" Bai Haorui leaped onto the truck's hood and smashed a bottle filled with the cinnabar and black dog blood mixture against the windshield. Black liquid streamed down the glass. The truck let out a piercing screech, and thick black mist poured from its body, with vicious curses faintly audible within.
Bai Haorui drew his peachwood sword and thrust it hard into the truck's steering wheel-the central point to which the vengeful spirit was attached. The instant the sword touched the wheel, the black mist let out an agonized shriek and writhed wildly.
In the basement, Sam ignited the gasoline, and flames instantly engulfed Carl's remains and diary. As though drained of its power, the black mist grew thinner and thinner. The truck's engine began smoking, and its body gradually turned transparent.
Dean got out of the Impala, pulled out the holy water, and hurled it at the transparent truck. "Disappear!"
The holy water sizzled against the truck's body, as though burning something evil. The black mist dispersed completely, and the truck turned into a heap of ash that the wind scattered through the Expelling Evil Formation.
After making sure everything was over, Marcus walked to the roadside and called the state police. "I want to turn myself in," he said, his voice calm and firm. "In 1977, my father protected a racist named Carl and destroyed evidence of his deliberate murders. I've concealed the truth all these years. Now I'm willing to face all the consequences."
After hanging up, Marcus turned and bowed to the three. "Thank you for ending this thirty-year curse and freeing me as well."
Bai Haorui's phone screen lit up, and a system notification appeared: [Mission complete. Rewards: Malignancy-Breaking Talisman, Constitution +0.5]. He put away his peachwood sword, walked over to Dean, and raised an eyebrow with a smile. "Well, baby, did my dog-blood formula work?"
"Yes, yes, it worked." Dean wiped his face with makeup remover as he complained. "Next time, a formula that doesn't stink so much would be even better." He paused, then added, "Seriously, though, your tools really are more targeted than holy water."
"Of course." Bai Haorui chuckled. "With our three swords united, we're invincible in the exorcism world."
Sam shook his head with a smile and took out his notebook to record it. "Taoist Malignancy-Breaking Talismans plus cinnabar and black dog blood are effective against vengeful spirits."
"Remember to add, 'Even more effective when combined with an ink-line Expelling Evil Formation.'" Bai Haorui leaned over and drew a circle in the notebook with a pen. "Does this count as writing an evil-expelling secret manual? How about putting 'To practice this art, you must first castrate yourself' on the first page? That'd definitely fool plenty of rookie hunters."
Sam closed the notebook helplessly. "Let's not. It would mislead people."
Just then, Todd came to see them off and handed them an old photograph of Carl. "Thank you."
Dean took the photograph and casually tossed it to Bai Haorui. "Keep it as a souvenir, Great Immortal Bai."
Bai Haorui glanced at Carl's vicious face in the photograph and stuffed it into his backpack. The three climbed into the Impala, and its engine roared to life again as they drove down the highway. In the darkness, the streetlights along Route 666 lit up one after another, as though bidding these three unusual hunters farewell.
"What will the next case be?" Sam asked softly, watching the night scenery fly past the window.
Dean grinned and slammed on the gas. The Impala's headlights illuminated the darkness ahead. "Whatever it is, we can handle it."