Shoe sole…
I clutched my face; the stinging pain lingered, as if some evil technique had been used—one that struck not flesh, but soul. The ache grew sharper, stirring a mix of fury and helplessness. Black mist seeped from my pores, clinging to my skin like shadowy vines.
"Calm down," Zhang Daoxuan said quietly, appearing behind me. His hand pressed lightly on my shoulder, heavy as a mountain, pinning me in place. A chill seeped into my body, soothing the turmoil. "You're no different from the dead now. Control your emotions—don't let rage turn you into a vengeful spirit. Even the celestial immortals can't save you then."
His touch was deceptively light, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. I gradually stilled, the black mist receding.
"That's no way to treat someone who's already half-dead," Zhang Daoxuan muttered, his eyes narrowing to slits. A faint, icy glint flickered in their depths. He stomped his foot lightly on the ground—a sound like a bell striking, vibrating through the room.
Zhang Xinya and I exchanged a glance; neither of us felt a thing. Clearly, that strike had been aimed only at the dead.
"Go!" Zhang Daoxuan snapped, hoisting me up and hurling me toward the child on the couch.
I reacted quickly, bracing my hands on the couch to avoid crushing the baby. My vision blurred as I plummeted downward, and in that moment, the child's eyes—two swirling whirlpools—swallowed me whole.
Darkness.
I fell through an endless void, disoriented, until a figure flashed past. A child—smiling, laughing—glimpsed in the blackness before the world split open.
When I landed, I was inside the child's body. Through their eyes, I saw the room clearly: a figure in a black burial robe, wearing a straw hat, stood by the door. Gaunt, pale, with prominent cheekbones, he clutched a black cloth shoe, hobbling as if injured.
That was him. The one haunting the child.
Rage flared in me—anyone who slapped me with a shoe sole deserved a punch. But I forgot: I was in a baby's body.
The child's limbs were soft, unsteady. When I tried to stand, I wobbled and tumbled to the floor with a loud thud. Pain shot through me—like falling from a second-story window.
By then, the old man had reached the door, scrambling to escape.
"There!" I yelled, pointing with a chubby finger. But my words came out as gibberish: "Yiyiya!"
Zhang Daoxuan understood. With a flick of his wrist, a yellow talisman shot from his sleeve, slamming into the door like an arrow. It burst into flames, a fiery explosion that made the old man yelp.
He hesitated, then turned and fled, moving so fast he vanished through the window in a blur.
Zhang Daoxuan watched, then turned to me. "He's gone."
I grumbled, frustration burning. "This baby's body is useless. I couldn't even point straight. Now he's escaped—how do we catch him now?"
"Maybe not," Zhang Daoxuan said calmly. "Describe what you saw."
I recounted every detail: the old man's appearance, his haste, the way he'd fled.
"That's it," Zhang Daoxuan said, sighing. "He's not a ghost."
"Impossible!" Zhang Xinya interjected. "He ran through the window—what else could he be?"
Zhang Daoxuan explained, patient as ever: "Ghosts, spirits, fiends—they're all real, but they're not the only ones. There's another kind: spirits."
He leaned forward, his tone softer. "Ghosts cling to the living out of attachment or regret, often turning vengeful. But spirits… they're different. They're born from unyielding devotion. When a soul's love for the living is so pure, it transcends ghosthood, becoming something closer to a guardian. That's what you faced."
I frowned. "A guardian? But why hit me?"
"Because you're not the one it's guarding," Zhang Daoxuan said. "It's protecting the child. But spirits pay a price: once they form, they can never enter the cycle of rebirth. They vanish when the child turns twelve, leaving only darkness. That's why it fought so fiercely—you threatened its purpose."
He glanced at the black mark on my face, a scorch-like stain. "That's why it left that mark. Spirits don't harm the living—they protect them. But they're not invincible."
"So we shouldn't get involved?" Zhang Xinya asked.
Zhang Daoxuan shook his head. "This spirit's devotion is too strong. There's more here than meets the eye. We need to find out why it's here."
He called the couple into the room, describing the old man's appearance. Zhang Wei fetched a photo from his bedroom—yes, it was the same man, though younger.
"That's my father," Zhang Wei said, slumping. "He passed away a year ago. We treated him well—why is he haunting our child?"
Zhang Daoxuan's gaze sharpened, something unreadable in his eyes. "Let's not jump to conclusions. If he's willing, I can help him appear. This is family business—let them speak first. Maybe there's a story we're missing."