21: The Gluttonous Infant Ghost

The people on the TV were laughing loudly. Upstairs, the couple dreaming of their son’s bright future were in the middle of a fight. The reason? They had found a love letter in their son’s schoolbag. They were shouting, throwing things, and the whole place was filled with the sound of crashing and banging.

Zhou Shurong didn’t hear the middle schooler’s voice—probably standing there with his head down, silently enduring the scolding.

Next door, someone was doing laundry, the washing machine rumbling like a tractor.

Zhou Shurong stared blankly at the television, thinking, This place is lively enough—perfect for a writer to live in. Inspiration is everywhere.

When he was alive, Zhou Shurong had bought a place in the city. Nice environment, convenient transportation, and very soundproof. One apartment per floor. The neighborhood had property management and a security team—very safe.

He had originally planned to move out in June to live with Qin Yan.

But then he died, and the plan went down the drain. He hadn’t even given Qin Yan the keys yet—and even if he had, he knew Qin Yan wouldn’t have moved. This place held traces of their life together. Qin Yan could cling to emotions in clothes, so of course he could do the same with a home.

Zhou Shurong kept staring at the TV, with nothing else to pass the time.

He thought he heard Qin Yan’s voice.

An illusion? This was the fifth floor.

He got up and moved toward the window. On the floor, there was a clear dividing line—light ahead, shadow behind. Zhou Shurong stopped at the edge of the light.

He looked outside, but all he saw was blue sky and white clouds.

He listened carefully again. Qin Yan’s voice was gone.

Around four-thirty, rehearsal ended early. Teacher Mi Zhou got a call—her mom had taken the train to visit and didn’t know how to get from the station, so she had no choice but to ask her daughter for help.

On the phone, she half-complained, half-acted cute: “Mom, you came without even telling me. Don’t move now, just stay where you are—I’ll come find you.”

When she was little and got separated, it was her mom who came to find her. Now the roles were reversed.

After hanging up, her sunburnt face was full of joy. She said to Qin Yan, “Let’s stop here for today, I’m going to pick up my mom. Tomorrow, during the kid’s nap time, we can practice again?”

Qin Yan nodded, a little envious. He walked her out of the neighborhood, and watched her until she got into a taxi.

“So nice,” he muttered after a while.

The plan had been thrown off again. It was only four-thirty. What now? Go home and lie around? So boring.

Qin Yan stood in the sunlight for three minutes, then finally decided to visit that Fushou Store.

Zhou Langxing had said the blind old man was crazy, and not to be trusted.

The failed ritual that night was proof enough. But Qin Yan couldn’t help wanting to take another look.

He remembered the way. After a fifteen-minute bus ride, he arrived at the destination.

Behind the counter sat a middle-aged woman, cracking sunflower seeds while watching TV.

Qin Yan looked at her for a long time.

“Boss.”

The woman snapped out of it, quickly covering her tablet and putting on a smile. With a Sichuan-Chongqing accent, she asked, “What do you need?”

“Boss, what do you sell here?”

She looked at him blankly for a second, a bit annoyed. Then she pointed firmly at the sign outside and said, “Didn’t you see the plaque? Old Yu’s Fushou Store! We sell paper money, incense, candles, funeral wreaths!”

Qin Yan looked at her calmly. “Don’t you sell secret formulas?”

“What secret—” Her expression suddenly changed. She realized this must be trouble stirred up by her father-in-law.

Qin Yan gave a faint smile, a little bitter. “So, you don’t?”

The woman wiped her face, muttering to herself that today she’d have to spend money to avoid disaster again.

Qin Yan hadn’t come to make trouble. He looked around the store—it was a bit run-down but preserved the unique style of old buildings. The windows didn’t let in much light, making it dim inside. The floor felt like thick, cool mud. A yellowed lightbulb hung from the beam above.

There were two shelves of goods—incense, candles, spirit money of all kinds. The candles ranged in size, the biggest as long as an adult’s arm, the smallest no bigger than a string.

As for the paper money, there were none of those brightly colored underworld bills. Instead, there were stacks of yellow paper neatly folded into squares, tied with red plastic string, with copper coin patterns printed on them. There were also bundles of “ten-thousand strings” money, stamped with red Daoist or celestial seals.

In addition, he saw gold and silver ingots, gold bricks, and funeral wreaths pinned to the wall.

The woman anxiously waited for the scam victim to start accusing her—but instead, the customer was calmly studying the spirit money.

She walked over. “Hey, handsome…”

Qin Yan turned. “Boss, why don’t you have paper money from the Bank of Heaven and Earth?”

Ah, finally a question in her area of expertise. She relaxed a little and said, “Oh, those are all machine-printed—with face values in the billions, or even ten trillion! Too ridiculous. They’re worthless in the underworld.”

“Are those gold ingots actually worth anything?”

“Of course! We fold each one by hand!” the woman said proudly. Though in her heart, she muttered that her father-in-law folded them the fastest and the best.

Qin Yan smiled. “Give me one of everything in the shop, except the wreaths.”

The woman was overjoyed—so he wasn’t here to collect debts after all. He was a big customer!

Once several bags were packed full, the woman looked at his slender frame—he looked like a scholar—and asked with concern, “Can you carry all this?”

Qin Yan laughed. “I am, after all, a grown man. Don’t underestimate me, boss.”

The woman waved her hands. “No, no, wouldn’t dare!”

Qin Yan didn’t bother waiting for the bus with his arms full. He hailed a cab and went straight home.

While waiting at a red light, he noticed a cigarette and convenience store. It reminded him that the peppermint cigarettes Zhou Shurong had left at home had run out.

After getting out of the cab, he tried buying some near the apartment—but couldn’t find them. The store owner said they’d never even heard of that brand.

Considering Zhou Shurong’s family background, it wasn’t hard to guess—some luxury items simply weren’t accessible to everyone. They were exclusive to a certain class.

Qin Yan stepped into the elevator, resigned. As the doors slowly began to close, someone ran up outside, reaching out and shouting, “Wait! Hold the door!”

He pressed the open-door button just in time.

The woman stepped in, caught her breath, then looked up with a smile. “Thank you.”

Qin Yan returned a small smile. “No problem.”

She glanced at the bags in his hand—one long candle was sticking out.

She thought to herself, It’s been a long time since I lit incense for my daughter.

The doors closed again. The elevator started to rise slowly. No one else got on—it was just the two of them.

Qin Yan felt the elevator cabin turn freezing cold. He couldn’t help but glance at the woman.

She was thin, pale-faced, lips almost colorless, dark shadows under her eyes—she looked like a sick person.

Afraid she’d notice and misunderstand, Qin Yan only took a brief glance.

He didn’t see it. She didn’t see it either—

A ghost baby had slowly crawled up Qin Yan’s leg, drooling as it babbled and gurgled, as if crying from hunger.

Qin Yan’s leg went numb, so he stomped it a little.

The fifth floor arrived. Qin Yan exited the elevator. The woman remained inside. The doors closed, and the elevator continued its slow ascent.

Zhou Shurong heard the key turning in the lock and rushed to the door to greet him—only to freeze.

“What kind of little ghost have you brought back?!”

The ghost baby was hugging Qin Yan’s leg, stretching its head toward the black bag he carried, trying to bite it. Drool dripped all over the floor.

Zhou Shurong caught the familiar scent of incense and understood.

Well, well, the wheel of fortune really turns!

Five full bags were set down on the coffee table. Qin Yan collapsed onto the sofa, tapping his sore left leg. “So sore, it hurts to walk!”

Zhou Shurong replied, “If you’re not sore, then who is?”

Qin Yan sprawled out on the couch with an expression of disbelief and suffering.

Meanwhile, the ghost baby had left Qin Yan and climbed up onto the coffee table. Zhou Shurong grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and studied her carefully. Her face was chubby, her body full of yin energy—not likely to feed off Qin Yan’s yang energy. She was following him just because she was greedy.

“Little one, this food is mine.”

“Yaa—” The ghost baby hadn’t been picked up in ages, and blinked wide eyes in surprise.

Surprise didn’t stop her from drooling at the smell.

Zhou Shurong frowned. “How long have you been dead? Has your mother stopped offering incense already?”

“Yaya eat—” The ghost baby flailed her tiny arms, but couldn’t reach.

She pouted, about to cry.

Zhou Shurong’s calm expression immediately crumbled. “Little ancestor, please—don’t cry!”