Chapter 8: Corpse Control Arts

Upon hearing this, my heart began to race again. I glanced behind me, but seeing nothing, I asked Ms. Chen’s husband, "Did your eyes play tricks on you?"

The matter was finally concluded, though whether it had any real effect, I couldn't say. I had merely been fumbling through the dark, guided by what I had read in *The Art of Ghosts*.

To my surprise, Ms. Chen later conceived, and the child survived without incident. Her husband was both shocked and overjoyed; he repeatedly showered my home with gifts and constantly invited my family to dinner, insisting that the child call me godfather, claiming I had given the child his life. My parents firmly declined, though they kept the gifts he had sent.

That was all later, however. After that incident, I became even more obsessed with *The Art of Ghosts*. When I first got the book, I thought its contents were nonsense—how could there be ghosts in this world? But after going to Ms. Chen’s husband’s ancestral home, I realized that such things were real.

In the blink of an eye, nearly half a month passed. During this time, I stayed home, buried in *The Art of Ghosts*, occasionally experimenting with its contents. The book contained records of folk rituals to summon spirits, such as the "Plate Immortal" or "Pen Immortal." These methods were incredibly sinister; while they could indeed summon ghosts, ordinary people were warned never to dabble in them. As the saying goes, it is easy to invite a spirit but hard to send one away. If you don't know how to dismiss them, disaster will strike, and you may meet an unnatural end.

This period was otherwise peaceful. I was content, spending most of my time visiting Ms. Chen’s house when I wasn't reading. Her husband would always respectfully address me as "Little Master," though I disliked the title and insisted he call me by my name.

Little did I know, danger was quietly creeping toward me. A single moment of carelessness almost cost me my life. In truth, ever since I had visited Ms. Chen’s husband’s house, someone had been watching me.

Half a month later, at night, I finally finished the entire book. Closing the last page, I let out a sigh of relief. Having spent so much time on the bed reading, I felt the need to get out and walk, lest I become completely disconnected from the world. I tucked *The Art of Ghosts* under my pillow, ruffled my hair, and headed out. For some reason, I walked until I reached the old town district.

The old town was currently undergoing demolition. The buildings on both sides were in ruins, and most of the streetlights had been removed, leaving only a few flickering. The area felt like a ghost town, pitch-black and oppressive. Most importantly, a number of people had died there recently during the demolition process.

As soon as I arrived, I snapped to my senses. Muttering about my bad luck, I turned to leave. Just then, a cold gust of wind blew from the direction of the old town. It was June, yet the wind sent a chill through me. I shivered and stopped involuntarily.

For some reason, I suddenly didn't want to leave; instead, I felt a desire to go inside. I had finished the entire *Art of Ghosts*—though I hadn't memorized most of it, I had some impressions. If there were truly ghosts here, this was the perfect place to put my knowledge to the test.

I turned back. Another gust of cold wind blew directly into my face, making my teeth chatter. Hugging my chest, I slowly walked into the streets of the old town. Once inside, everything plunged into darkness; I could only vaguely make out the shapes of the streets and the ruins. It was deathly quiet, save for the occasional wail of the wind and the sound of cats scrambling over broken bricks and tiles.

After walking about a hundred meters, I suddenly saw a flickering light in the distance. I stopped and squinted. A figure was squatting by a small fire, continuously tossing paper into the flames. Burning paper in this ghostly place in the middle of the night—it was clear this was no ordinary person. The atmosphere grew even more sinister, and I couldn't help but take a few steps closer.

As I drew near, I heard the person muttering in disjointed, rhythmic tones. Still too far to understand, I continued forward. When I was only about ten meters away, I finally heard it clearly:

"In life, no one treated you as human; in death, you cannot even become ghosts. You might as well follow me; I shall grant you flesh and honor you as immortals."

The voice was that of an old woman, raspy and grating. I froze. It was clearly a spell. Though I didn't know much, I could tell it was a deeply malicious one. Frowning, I walked straight toward the figure.

I was ten meters away, and in a few strides, I reached the fire. The old woman was quick; she whipped her head around and shouted, "Who’s there?"

The firelight illuminated her face. Her skin was as wrinkled as tree bark, but her eyes glittered with a sharp, terrifying intensity. I stopped, suddenly afraid to get any closer. I felt a palpable sense of danger radiating from her. Standing two meters away, I pointed at her and scolded, "What kind of evil business are you meddling with in this old town in the middle of the night? I advise you to stop immediately!"

The old woman looked at me and suddenly cackled. The sound was so raspy and aged that I instinctively wanted to retreat.

"Little brat, I wasn't going to look for you, yet you come seeking your own death. Good, very good."

As she spoke, she suddenly moved, kicking the entire pile of paper into the fire. Then, she fixed her gaze on me, her eyes gleaming, and began to chant rapidly under her breath.

I started to feel that something was wrong. "Wait," I said hurriedly. "What do you mean 'looking for me'? Do I even know you?"

"You killed my husband," she shrieked, stopping her chant.

I was stunned. I asked myself, I had never harmed anyone in my life—how could I have killed her husband? Before I could think further, I heard a loud *crack* from somewhere nearby. I whipped my head around to see something crawling out from under the pile of demolished rubble. No, not something—a corpse.

*Corpse control?*