Volume One: The Graveyard of Eight Coffins Chapter Six: The Ghost of the First Month

Fresh air swept in from outside the door, and I dashed out immediately. Once I was out of the house, my worry for Third Uncle overwhelmed me, so I turned back for a glance.

I had no idea where I’d thrown the flashlight—it was lost somewhere—and inside the house was pitch-dark. But under the moonlight, I saw what looked like a thin mist rising within the room, and in the fog, a figure appeared, stark and clear.

Though only a silhouette was discernible, I recognized it at once. It was the very same shadow we’d seen behind the second-floor curtain before entering the house.

Before I could see more clearly, the door slammed shut once again with a heavy bang.

Realizing Third Uncle was still inside, I rushed over and pulled at the door, but it was already locked.

Anxious and desperate, my mind blanked out completely as I stood there, finally realizing just how important Third Uncle was to me.

Earlier, Third Uncle had sounded so casual about inspecting this haunted house, as if we’d just walk in and collect our money. I hadn’t thought much of it. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine something would go wrong the very first time we entered.

Judging by the urgency in Third Uncle’s voice when he shouted earlier, he must have run into danger. I had managed to escape, but with him still inside, the odds didn’t look good. Heaven knows what might have happened to him…

I didn’t dare dwell on the worst possibilities. I just pounded and kicked at the door with all my strength, shouting his name, hoping he might hear me from inside. Even the slightest response from him would have eased my mind.

At this point, my worry for Third Uncle far outweighed my fear of the mysterious shadow inside.

But aside from the frantic noise I made at the door, there was nothing but silence from within.

Luckily, the nearest neighbors to this abandoned building lived some distance away. Otherwise, with all this commotion, someone would surely have called the police by now.

Call the police?

Yes, call the police.

As the thought struck me, I hurriedly took out my phone. I was new to Shenzhen and didn’t know anyone—this was the only option I could think of.

My hands were trembling so much that it took real effort to dial 110. Just as I was about to press “call,” a hand suddenly reached out and snatched my phone away.

“Ah… Who’s there?” I jumped in fright, realizing only then that someone had silently come up behind me.

I spun around instinctively and, illuminated by the moonlight, saw Third Uncle standing right behind me.

“Third Uncle… You’re okay…” My legs nearly gave out under me, and I almost collapsed to the ground, overcome by a desire to cry.

Third Uncle forced a wan smile. “I’m fine. Are you alright?”

His voice was soft as a mosquito’s buzz, and I noticed his face was deathly pale, his body swaying unsteadily as if he could barely stand.

I quickly helped him over to the roadside and sat him down.

“Third Uncle, what on earth happened? How did you get out?” I asked anxiously.

He took a few deep breaths, gritting his teeth. “Things turned bad on the second floor. After I shouted a couple of times, I jumped out the window. Damn near broke my neck, but thank god I’ve had some training.”

I was exasperated. “What? You sensed danger and jumped out first? And I was here worried sick about you!”

Only then did I feel a little foolish for my childish thoughts. Third Uncle was always shrewd—if I could escape, how could he possibly be trapped inside?

He grimaced. “I had to preserve my strength, didn’t I? If something happened to you, how could I rescue you otherwise?”

It made sense, thinking it over. Still, the whole affair was a mess. We’d entered the haunted house with such fanfare and confidence, only to end up fleeing like a couple of bedraggled rats.

“So what now?” I asked.

“Let’s go back first,” Third Uncle replied, looking utterly drained. Even standing required him to hold onto my arm.

But as soon as he pulled my arm, a jolt of pain shot through my shoulder.

“Ah…” I gritted my teeth at the agony. It felt as if my arm had been wrenched loose at the shoulder.

Startled, Third Uncle asked, “What’s wrong?”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I pointed at my shoulder, barely able to speak. “It hurts… it hurts…”

He quickly undid my shirt and exposed my shoulder.

Turning to look, I saw a distinct handprint on my left shoulder.

It was a red mark, barely larger than a one-yuan coin—a baby’s handprint by the size. I rubbed at it, but the mark seemed embedded in the skin itself and wouldn’t fade at all.

“Stop rubbing it. Let’s get back first,” Third Uncle said, and said no more. He pulled me away from the residential area.

The place was rather remote. We waited over ten minutes before flagging down a cab that took us back to the basement.

All the way, Third Uncle was lost in thought, silent.

I had a bad feeling about the handprint, but dared not ask. Recalling the moment as I was running out the door, I distinctly remembered the sensation of a hand gripping my shoulder—was that when the mark was left?

Back in the basement, Third Uncle began rummaging through his heap of odds and ends.

I recounted my suspicion about the handprint’s origin. He nodded, and finally, after searching through a pile of empty bottles, he found an earthenware pot.

He filled it with water, poured in some rice grains from a bag, and set it to cook.

I saw that the rice grains were of several colors, much like those he’d used before for rituals.

This time, Third Uncle explained, “These are the five sacred grains: glutinous rice, millet, sorghum, mung beans, and black beans. Their colors—white, yellow, red, green, and black—represent the five elements. Born of the earth and blessed by heaven, they ward off evil and protect dwellings…”

He rambled on, but I only remembered that he liked to use these grains, and that their effects were indeed remarkable.

When the grains were half-cooked, Third Uncle scooped some up and asked me to bare my shoulder.

Only then did I realize the mark on my shoulder had darkened—what had been pink was now a deep, dark color.

Third Uncle’s expression changed. He muttered, “Why so fast?”

With that, he flipped the spoon over and slapped the steaming grains directly onto my shoulder.

Caught off guard, I yelped instinctively, expecting the hot grains to scorch my skin.

“What are you hollering for?” Third Uncle snapped.

But halfway through my cry, I realized I didn’t feel any pain at all.

Except for the black beans, the other grains on my shoulder began to darken visibly at an astonishing rate.

Soon, all the colorful grains had turned into a charred, black mass.

Third Uncle, now wearing a leather glove, scraped the grains off and applied another spoonful. He repeated this several times until the grains no longer changed color.

At last, the small handprint on my shoulder faded, becoming a dull red patch that was barely noticeable unless you looked very closely.

Third Uncle sighed in relief and collapsed onto his bed, gasping for breath.

I noticed that after all this time, his face was still pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

Finally, I had a chance to ask, “Third Uncle, what’s going on? What did you see on the second floor?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Damn, don’t mention it. I really misjudged the situation—completely messed up… If something had happened to you, how would I ever face your father?”

“Enough of that. I’m fine, aren’t I? What did you misjudge?”

He rummaged through the empty bottles until he found one with half a bottle of liquor still left, drank deeply, and said, “Didn’t they say Li Ximei and Old Lady Chen died in that house? Ghosts are just like people—who you feared in life, you’ll fear in death. Li Ximei was killed by Old Lady Chen, so naturally, her resentment toward that old woman would be immense. To break the curse on this haunted house, you’d have to deal with Li Ximei first. Based on my experience, I thought Li Ximei had become a Bloodied Phantom.”

I was puzzled. “A Bloodied Phantom? What kind of ghost is that?”

Third Uncle explained, “A Bloodied Phantom usually refers to a female ghost who died in childbirth with the fetus still inside. Such ghosts are full of malice and extremely troublesome. Among all vengeful spirits, they rank among the more dangerous. Even practitioners with skill would avoid them if they could.”

I eyed him skeptically. “With such a formidable ghost, and you still dared to meddle?”

He straightened his back immediately. “Li Yang, I know you doubt me. But the name Li Dongbin isn’t just for show—”

I waved him off impatiently. “Oh, cut it out. Don’t bring up your Li Dongbin nonsense. Did you forget how we barely escaped?”

He flushed, rubbing his hands awkwardly. “Didn’t I just say? I misjudged the situation.”

“So it wasn’t a Bloodied Phantom?”

He nodded. “I’d only heard bits and pieces about that abandoned building. Based on the rumors, I thought Li Ximei’s child was stillborn—killed in the womb by Old Lady Chen with a spade. But I was probably wrong. The child was likely born alive.”

I spread my hands. “And what difference does that make?”

Looking dispirited, Third Uncle replied, “It makes a huge difference. There’s another kind of ghost called a ‘Postpartum Phantom.’ And to be fair, it’s a common mistake, even among those in our line of work—people tend to mix up Bloodied Phantoms and Postpartum Phantoms. While Bloodied Phantoms are fierce, they’re nothing compared to Postpartum Phantoms. If both mother and child die, but the baby was stillborn, you get a Bloodied Phantom—a two-in-one ghost, but the baby was unborn. Such spirits are fierce, but that’s the extent of it. With a Postpartum Phantom, it’s different. The mother gives birth to a dead child and then dies herself, or dies first, then gives birth to a ghost child. So, though the name is Postpartum Phantom, there are actually two distinct ghosts: the mother and the child.”