Chapter 0045 The Niche Tower at the Crematorium
That remark truly scared me. I quickly asked what to do. Frank Fang said, "You have been constantly trying to send that urn back for Sun Xicai, so the ghost of this Mo Yang man is very displeased with you. Later, you tried to transfer it into an amulet, intending to send it back to Thailand for an Arjan master to suppress the spirit, so its hatred for you is even deeper. Now that it is possessing Sun Xicai, it can manipulate him to oppose you, cause trouble secretly, and set traps for you to fall into."
I immediately asked, "What is its ultimate goal? The more miserable I am, the happier it is?"
Frank Fang chuckled. "Ghosts aren't as twisted as people, enjoying endless torment. A ghost's interaction with a person is simple: either it helps you, or it kills you. You are clearly the latter."
"Ah? Then, what should I do?" Hearing that, my face turned white with fear.
Frank Fang pondered. "Based on your analysis, Sun Xicai has just been possessed by the spirit and is still in the initial stage, still retaining some of his own will. You can ask your cousin's wife to break up with him and encourage him to stay away from the amulet shop as much as possible. That way, the negative energy you're absorbing might slowly dissipate, but there's no guarantee."
I smiled bitterly. "I'm not my cousin's wife's actual brother; I don't have that authority." Frank Fang said then to sever the partnership with both of them and hire other people to work at the amulet shop.
I sighed. "Brother, you might have been in Thailand for too long and don't understand Chinese customs. China is a society based on personal relationships. Wang Jiao and I have the connection through my aunt's husband. If I drive them out, there will inevitably be conflict between my family and my aunt's family. If I knowingly ignore Sun Xicai being possessed, Wang Jiao will sooner or later blame me, and the relationship will still be ruined. Most importantly, running an amulet shop in China is a unique business, and many internal details are inconvenient for outsiders to know, so having relatives manage the shop is the best choice."
Frank Fang sighed. "In that case, there's nothing more to say. You had better seize this opportunity to bring Sun Xicai to Thailand and see if we can find a way to exorcise the spirit from his body." That was exactly what I wanted to hear. I quickly agreed, planning in my mind what kind of excuse I could use to persuade Sun Xicai to take a trip to Thailand.
My mind started replaying the scene in the poor village: the children who couldn't even afford clothes, their faces covered in mud, yet their black eyes were still so innocent and kind. What I dared not imagine was whether they would grow up to become people like Grandpa Hong, Wang Hong, and Bai Laosan.
I lay in bed for a long time. It was past midnight, but I couldn't sleep at all. I felt a continuous wave of panic. At first, I thought I was hungry, so I made a packet of instant noodles, but I couldn't eat it. Pacing back and forth in the living room, I felt extremely irritable, unable to sit or stand still, feeling trapped somewhere, unable to escape no matter what.
I repeatedly splashed cold water on my face and head in the bathroom, but the discomfort intensified, becoming uncontrollable.
I opened the door and rushed out of the house. Downstairs, I came to the roadside. The streetlights were bright, illuminating the street as if it were daytime, and cars sped back and forth. I saw a middle-aged man sitting in the middle of the road, holding his head, seemingly crying. The cars flew past the man as if they didn't see him, which looked very dangerous.
I hailed a taxi, got in, and gasped for breath. Not only was I panicked, but I also felt short of breath and my shoulders felt heavy. The driver started the engine and drove slowly for a few dozen meters. Seeing that I wasn't saying anything, he couldn't help but ask, "Buddy, where are we going?"
I was uncontrollably anxious and uncomfortable. Grabbing the handle above the car door, I said, "I don't know." The driver was stunned. "You don't know? You don't know where you want to go?" I nodded.
The driver laughed. "Well, there must be some place. Are you in a bad mood? Do you want to go to a bathhouse for some fun, or should I find a foot massage parlor for you?"
Suddenly, I felt an intense urge to go somewhere desolate, so I blurted out, "The funeral parlor." The driver froze, thinking he hadn't heard clearly, and asked again. Even I didn't know why I said the funeral parlor; it was as if my mouth was beyond my control. I said again, "Wenguantun Crematorium."
The driver looked back at me but didn't say anything, accelerating toward the Shenyang Funeral Parlor.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived. I paid and got out of the car. People familiar with Shenyang know that the Wenguantun Crematorium is a desolate place. There are no streetlights around it, only dirt slopes and barren land, and no residential homes, only a few shops specializing in funerary supplies with their lights on. The funeral parlor is open 24 hours a day; its gate is always open. I walked into the yard. Several cars were parked there, and quite a few people were walking around, as if aimlessly strolling. From the direction of the distant mourning hall, a faint light and sad music could be heard; someone was holding a wake.
While I was feeling lost, I saw a figure in the shadows waving at me, then slowly turning and walking toward the Niche Tower (Ossuary). I subconsciously followed. Upon reaching the entrance of the Niche Tower, I went up the stairs to the second floor. The lights were on in the lobby. The attendant, who managed the tower, was sitting at the desk inside the door, leaning back in his chair, sound asleep. The radio on the desk was playing a storytelling program by Shan Tianfang.
I vaguely saw a figure slip into the tower, so I quietly walked into the lobby and entered the Niche Tower. The Niche Tower at this crematorium is not a pagoda-shaped building but a two-story concrete structure. Inside, there are rows of wooden shelves divided into countless small compartments, each about the size of a 15-inch computer screen, large enough to hold an urn, with a small lockable glass door on the outside. Many compartments were empty, meaning they were still unused. Standing in the dark hall, I didn't know what I should be doing. I saw a figure in the darkness slowly turn into a certain row of shelves, so I followed.
Arriving between the two rows of shelves, there was no one there. I took out my phone, turned on the flashlight, and shined it around, row by row. Each small glass door had a sticker with a name written on it. Suddenly, I saw a sticker on a glass door that read "Zheng Yonggui." There was a number above the name and the date of death below it. I remembered the date clearly: November 19, 2005.
This was surprisingly the niche for Zheng Yonggui, the eighty-one-year-old Mo Yang man. There was no urn inside the small compartment, so it seemed Sun Xicai had indeed discarded it completely. But I noticed there were three photos inside. I carefully took the photos out and saw dozens of curved, uneven nail clippings scattered on them. If I hadn't looked closely, I wouldn't have noticed them. The three photos were: the first was me organizing the shelves in the amulet shop; the second was me chewing on a chicken head at a roadside barbecue stall at night; and the third was surprisingly me urinating in the bathroom of the amulet shop! All three photos were taken without my knowledge. But who took them, and why were they placed here?
I picked up a nail clipping. I was not at all surprised that such things and photos appeared together, as I had become very familiar with Katha (Black Magic) in the past year. Photos, fingernails, hair, clothing... these are all materials used by a Katha master to curse someone. If my guess was correct, these nail clippings should be mine too.
Suddenly, I recalled the gold-plated nail clipper I saw at the amulet shop before going to Bijie, Guizhou. At the time, I wondered why Sun Xicai had such a high-end item, and it was conspicuously placed on the shelf, seemingly intentionally for me to see, predicting that I would pick it up and try to clip my nails. Could Sun Xicai have secretly collected my nail clippings?
Recalling the several strange events that occurred during this period, especially the nightmare at my cousin's house where the phrase "I'll wait for you in the tower" was explicitly mentioned, it likely referred to this Niche Tower. But why would it want me to come here?
As I was thinking, I noticed a shadow flash past the wooden shelf. Startled, I felt fear in my heart. I was debating whether to go check it out or leave immediately when the wooden shelf in front of me suddenly began to tilt. I thought I was seeing things until the entire row of shelves was about to crash down on my head, and I knew it was real. I instinctively reached out with both hands to support it, but the entire row of shelves had hundreds of compartments, plus the weight of the shelf itself. It was impossible to hold up. I quickly retreated backward. The shelf was seven or eight meters long. It was too late to completely dodge it, so I crouched down and covered my head with my hands.