Chapter Seven: Hair Flowing Down to the Waist

I had no idea what Wang Ying, that female ghost, was thinking. She actually left me a gap in the door, and I tiptoed toward it.

Through the crack, the scene was breathtakingly beautiful. A graceful silhouette greeted me, her long hair cascading down to her waist, rainwater flowing along those strands, the black locks plastered against her back, sliding over her slender waist, slowly dripping to the floor. Rising steam blurred my vision, making the moment seem dreamlike.

Can ghosts really bathe?

Aren’t ghosts supposed to be formless? Yet here she was, so vivid and real before my eyes! That figure, that skin—if she were truly human, how wonderful it would be!

Staring at that enchanting scene, I hesitated. I didn’t dare barge in, even though she had the face and body of an angel. But she wasn’t human. With her temper, if she got angry, she’d probably bite me. And what could I do if I entered? She’s a ghost, I’m a man; the fate of a human and a ghost together is to have one’s life force drained, ending in a miserable death.

But she was so alluring—even her back was captivating. What about her front? My mind conjured an image: proud breasts, a graceful stomach, and a lush patch below.

Turn around, if you dare, and let me admire you, I found myself silently shouting.

Suddenly, the door swung open. The showerhead sprayed water all over me. The icy blast jolted me awake.

“Filthy pervert! Have you no shame? How dare you spy on me bathing!” Wang Ying stood before me, her body wrapped in a snowy white towel, glaring furiously. Her chest, covered by the towel, heaved with her anger.

I cursed inwardly. How could I have gotten so distracted and let myself be caught? Hastily, I put on a smile. “Heh heh, wife, I’m your man. I just wanted to ask if you needed help scrubbing your back or massaging your shoulders?”

“My man? Didn’t I tell you, as long as you kill those three men I named, I’ll grant you any request. You can marry someone else, and I’ll gently play the role of your wife.” Wang Ying sneered coldly, approaching me. Her smile chilled me to the bone.

“Wife, what… what are you going to do?” I instinctively backed away.

“What do you think I’m going to do? You just tried to peek at me, so I have to teach you a lesson.” As she spoke, her eyes locked onto my underwear—not with a lovesick gaze, but with pure hatred, as if she wanted to castrate me.

“Wife, please, no.” Just as I was about to beg for mercy, there came a knock at the door and Wei Qi’s voice called out, “Da Chuan, Da Chuan, open up!”

I stumbled, suddenly snapping awake. Damn, it was a dream again.

Was it really a dream? It didn’t feel like it—I wasn’t lying in bed but sitting at the bathroom door, water beneath me, my underwear soaked. Inside, the bathroom was filled with cold steam, water trickling on the floor, and a snowy white towel lying abandoned.

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The knocking sounded again. “Da Chuan, Da Chuan, open the door!”

Climbing to my feet, I barely had time to process the dream. I glanced into the bathroom—empty. While opening the door, I realized that, aside from Wang Ying’s disappearance, everything else was real: my soaked underwear lay on the floor.

Strange—why does this female ghost only appear to me in dreams? Why doesn’t she show herself in my real life? The thought unsettled me. If Wei Qi hadn’t come knocking, who knows what Wang Ying might have done?

Once the door was open, Wei Qi stepped in, staring at me in surprise. “Dude, what’s up? Showering with your underwear on?” He shivered. “So cold, don’t set the AC so low… Wait, you haven’t even turned it on!”

“Brother Qi, it’s nothing. I just took a nap, woke up, and wanted a cold shower when you knocked.” I dared not mention Wang Ying’s presence to Wei Qi—she was too temperamental, who knows how she’d torment me.

“Enough, don’t call me Brother Qi—call me Uncle Qi. I’m friends with your second uncle.” Wei Qi grinned mischievously, pleased to exploit the relationship. But he wasn’t much older than me, maybe just a few years.

I could only smile wryly and accept.

“Come on! Let’s head to the lounge. Shang Xiaoyun is waiting downstairs, probably brought her friend along.”

As I dressed, I decided not to carry the soul urn my second uncle gave me. Wang Ying was too troublesome—I’d leave her behind and see what she could do. I stowed the white porcelain bottle in my luggage, then went downstairs with Wei Qi.

To our surprise, Shang Xiaoyun arrived alone, without her friend. She pulled us into an upscale tea house. I expected her friend to be waiting, but there was only Shang Xiaoyun, who accompanied us for tea.

She ordered tea, a nutrition set, and even some wine, then sent the tea master away, leaving the three of us alone. I’d heard from my second uncle that tea houses were mostly for the wealthy, who pretended to be cultured, but I never expected there to be nutrition meals and alcohol as well.

Shang Xiaoyun drank with us herself. Wei Qi, a natural drinker, quickly grew tipsy. I wasn’t much for alcohol, but couldn’t resist her enthusiasm, so I drank my share—half a bottle of white liquor. The burning sensation made me feel lightheaded.

“Master Wei, Master Wang, there’s something I’ve kept from you both. I’m sorry!” Shang Xiaoyun’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes warm as she looked at Wei Qi, suddenly speaking.

Wei Qi froze, and I was stunned by her sudden admission.

“Sister Shang, what do you mean?”

“Sigh! Actually, the one who needs the ghost marriage isn’t my friend’s husband, but my own.” As she spoke, her face reddened further, gripping her glass uneasily.

Unbelievable! Is this some kind of madness? Are women these days really crazy enough to arrange ghost marriages for their own deceased husbands? Does this mean she wants to remarry?

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Wei Qi’s face fell immediately, his breathing deepening. He glanced at me, then swiftly took out the card Shang Xiaoyun had given him and tossed it onto the table. “Here’s your money. We can’t take this job.”

My second uncle had warned me: ghost marriages are strictly regulated. If one party is problematic, the resentment of the spirits can increase. Take Wang Ying, for example.

“Da Chuan, let’s go. We can’t do this, no matter how much she pays,” Wei Qi pulled me up as I sat there stunned.

Shang Xiaoyun panicked, grabbing Wei Qi’s hand tightly. “Master Wei, I was wrong, I truly was. Here’s the truth: my husband was a real estate developer. He had money and got involved with a bar girl. He died suddenly in bed with her. She died, and I’m not that old, so I want to remarry. That’s why I want to arrange a ghost marriage for her, so my husband won’t object if I remarry.” As she spoke, her eyes grew red.

Hearing her story, I felt sympathy for her. Her wealthy husband found another woman and died. It’s reasonable for her to find a new husband—after all, in modern society, loyalty and chastity aren’t encouraged anymore. Moreover, she even considered her late husband’s feelings, arranging a ghost marriage for his mistress. In my view, she wasn’t overstepping.

Wei Qi smacked his lips and pulled his hand from Shang Xiaoyun’s grasp. “Sister Shang, arranging ghost marriages is even more complicated than human ones. If you offend even one of the spirits, you’ll suffer. What’s more, your husband’s grave is in the Dulong Burial Site—a fierce location. No matter what kind of woman is paired with him, he won’t accept it. If he refuses, the woman’s resentment will grow and she’ll take revenge on those arranging the marriage—including the three of us.”

Shang Xiaoyun’s face paled, changing from red to yellow, then to ghastly white as sweat poured down. “Master Wei, are there really ghosts in this world?”

“If you believe, they exist. If not, they don’t.”

“I believe, I believe. Master Wei, what should I do next? I’m willing to pay whatever it takes.” As she spoke, she began rummaging in her bag, probably looking for money.

Wei Qi hurriedly stopped her, saying, “Sister Shang, this isn’t about money. Let me go back tonight and plan carefully.”

Seeing that Wei Qi was still willing to consider the matter, Shang Xiaoyun grew excited, inviting us to continue drinking. Wei Qi was indeed skilled—and truly a drunkard—drinking over a pound of white liquor by himself.

After eating and drinking, Shang Xiaoyun ordered a pot of pu-erh tea. As soon as it was brewed, she said she had something to attend to outside, leaving the two of us to sober up with tea. Wei Qi agreed, since Wang Ying was in my room, and I had no desire to return. So we sat alone in the tea house’s private room, sipping tea.

Before I could finish my cup, a soft knock sounded at the door. I quickly got up to open it.

Two girls in white gauzy dresses walked in. They weren’t unattractive, but clearly wore makeup. Their dresses were sheer, slightly transparent, with black underwear faintly visible beneath. The girl in front gave me a sweet smile, pressed a finger to my chest, and squeezed past me into the room.

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