Chapter Nine: Lost Soul

Wenzai’s grandmother and second uncle looked at me with some hesitation, most likely believing that my days were numbered and I ought to stay home and recuperate, hoping to prolong my life.

I turned to Wenzai and said, “I’ll go too. I feel much better now anyway.”

What a joke! I definitely had to go and see for myself whether this Nameless Elder truly possessed any skill. If by chance he was merely bluffing, or happened to stumble upon my situation by accident, or was no more than a charlatan with limited abilities, then his words could not be trusted. Besides, if my time was so short, I should seize every moment to see more of this world, not wait for death holed up at home.

Wenzai seemed somewhat guilty; if not for him urging me to come along, things wouldn’t have turned out as they had. So he said nothing more.

Our group hurried to the hospital in a rush.

Wenzai had already informed his eldest uncle in advance. The uncle had no objections whatsoever, instead sounding anxious on the phone, urging us to come as quickly as possible.

When we arrived at the hospital, Wenzai’s eldest uncle was already waiting at the entrance, surrounded by several others—all parents of the children we had seen on the night before Mid-Autumn.

Wenzai introduced the elderly Mr. Chen to his uncle, who greeted him with utmost respect and urgency. “Sir, please, come see my child. He’s been unconscious for two days, burning with fever, and his face is deathly pale! If you can cure him, I’ll pay whatever you ask!”

The other parents chimed in: “Please, see my child too! He’s been feverish for two days, talking nonsense at night. I beg you!”

“My child as well, please save him!”

I hadn’t expected this scene—the parents pleading with the Nameless Elder right at the hospital entrance. But my doubts faded when I saw the children’s conditions.

The entire group surged into the hospital, heading for the wards. The doctors and nurses didn’t stop us. Nowadays, medical disputes are dreaded most. A group of children suffering unexplained fevers, with the hospital unable to diagnose or treat them, had already stirred dissatisfaction among the parents. To obstruct their attempts at “self-rescue” would surely provoke a commotion.

We arrived outside Xiaochao’s ward. Mr. Chen asked the other parents to stay outside while we entered.

The ward housed three children; the other two lay in their beds as well, their parents following us in, standing by their respective children’s beds, eyes trained on Mr. Chen.

Seeing Xiaochao’s appearance, I couldn’t help but be shocked. His face was pale, dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his cheeks seemed sunken. The memory of Sixth Brother and Sister Yan’s deaths flashed through my mind. I almost wanted to pull open his shirt to check for a black mark on his chest.

Adding to this, his breathing was weak and he lay motionless, looking gravely ill, as if he could stop breathing any moment. No wonder Wenzai’s uncle was so anxious.

Looking at the other two children, though awake, they too were listless, weakened, dazed, as if not entirely conscious.

Apparently, after seeking medical help in vain, the parents had pinned their hopes on supernatural forces.

Mr. Chen, upon seeing Xiaochao, furrowed his brows, seemingly already forming an opinion. He approached the bed, placed a hand on Xiaochao’s forehead as he had done with me, murmuring quietly.

After a while, he withdrew his hand, brows knit tightly—it was clear Xiaochao’s case was difficult.

He cast a conflicted glance at me; my heart skipped a beat. Piecing together the events, I understood his look. He had said earlier that extending my life was unpredictable, and would severely sap his vitality. If Xiaochao’s case proved daunting, it would likewise drain him. He had to choose between the two. Naturally, he would choose Xiaochao.

“Sir, what’s wrong with my son? Is there any hope?” Aunt asked anxiously.

Mr. Chen sighed, “His condition is quite troublesome.”

Aunt trembled, “What exactly is wrong with my son? Please, I beg you, you must save him!”

“He can be saved, but it’s very difficult. Let me first check the other children.” With that, he moved to the next bed.

Wenzai’s uncle and aunt remained, sighing deeply, hearts broken.

The parents at the adjacent beds, having heard Xiaochao’s diagnosis, grew ever more worried, fearing their own children suffered the same fate. They pleaded with Mr. Chen, offering any amount to save their children.

He repeated the ritual, hand pressed to forehead, murmuring, then moved to the next bed without a word.

His expression didn’t change much, so it seemed that child’s illness wasn’t as severe.

After examining the last bed, he said nothing, proposing to check the remaining children first.

Following the parents through all the wards, he inspected each child and then gathered everyone in the corridor, announcing the first step: all children should be taken out of the hospital and returned home, with further instructions to follow.

Though puzzled, the parents clung to hope and hurried to arrange discharge.

All residents of the city village, they brought their children home and then gathered at Wenzai’s grandmother’s house.

Mr. Chen no longer kept secrets, explaining everything. The children’s symptoms stemmed from playing “Lost Child” on the night before Mid-Autumn—a ritual meant to summon spirits, but twisted by someone with ill intent, transforming the chant into an invocation for vengeful ghosts who died unjustly. Thus, the evil spirits were summoned.

As Xiaochao had stood in the center as the vessel, and with the parents bursting in unexpectedly, the spirit was never sent away, making his case far more severe than the others. To save him, they must first identify the exact ghost summoned, which would complicate matters.

The other children had merely brushed against the spirit, losing their souls. Their cure would be to call back the frightened souls; once returned, their illness would vanish.

Hearing this, the other parents breathed a sigh of relief.

“What concerns me most is—who could be so malicious as to teach children such a deadly invocation?” Mr. Chen declared indignantly.

The parents were furious as well. Whoever was behind this, whatever their motive, was certainly up to no good!

“I asked our child,” a voice suddenly spoke, drawing everyone’s gaze, “He said it was an old woman, terribly ugly, dressed in ragged clothes, not one of us.”

Everyone assumed it must have been some wandering madwoman causing harm, and curses flew as they vented their anger.

At these words, Wenzai’s grandmother’s face changed, her voice trembling, “Could it be… the Ghost Hag?”

The Ghost Hag! Memories long buried resurfaced—my grandfather’s wary gaze, the villagers’ helpless hesitation—all flashing before my eyes. Who could have guessed that after more than a decade, in a distant place, I would hear again the name that was nearly a nightmare of my childhood!