Chapter Twenty-Eight: Suppression of Power

Chapter 28

“You…” Zhang Chuanshi hadn’t expected that, just as he opened his mouth, Paperman Zhang had already named the case precisely.

While he was still taken aback, Zhao Fusheng smiled and said, “I didn’t expect Paperman Zhang to be this old already.”

She had been misled by the records, assuming that forty years ago it was Zhang Xionwu who handled the major case at the Liu ancestral hall. Given Su Long’s age at that time, she had inferred Zhang Xionwu was likely in his prime, perhaps in his thirties or forties. Even if he were older, say in his fifties or sixties, forty years would mean his grandson ought to be a robust man by now. She hadn’t anticipated Paperman Zhang to have aged into such a state.

“So you knew I would come, and you’re aware of my identity. Yet you pretended ignorance earlier—what, did you want to use Zhang Chuanshi to give me a warning?”

Paperman Zhang’s brows twitched. He glowered and said, “I have no idea what you mean—”

But before he could finish, Zhao Fusheng, who had just been all smiles and seemed calm and gentle, suddenly cut him off sharply, “If you don’t know, then shut your mouth and listen!”

“You—”

She changed her tone as quickly as flipping a page, showing a volatile temperament reminiscent of a ghost handler’s unpredictable moods.

Yet the Zhang family’s status was special, with their unique secret arts and the craft of making “ghost lamps.” At critical moments, these skills might even save a ghost handler’s life.

Thus, even the most eccentric ghost handlers would show some restraint before the Zhang family, rarely daring to speak disrespectfully.

That eerie chuckling started up again. Thick black mist began to seep from his sleeves, and the ghostly eye, previously forced into hiding, now peered out again, staring excitedly at those outside.

“I advise you not to try anything,” Zhao Fusheng shook her head. “I can sense the ghostly aura on you, but you’re not truly possessed by a ghost.”

She hadn’t been in this world long and knew little about vengeful spirits. Yet judging by Paperman Zhang’s creation of ghost lamps and corpse slaves, his skill lay in using unorthodox arts, not true ghost handling.

It was as if he’d stolen a portion of a ghost’s power, but wasn’t a genuine ghost handler. After all, Fan Bisi’s words weren’t entirely trustworthy, but one thing was certain: those who controlled vengeful spirits wielded great power, but using such power often led to backlash.

In other words, ghost handlers rarely lived long.

Paperman Zhang was quite renowned and relied on inherited secrets. To have lived this long, he didn’t seem like someone who’d truly commanded a ghost.

“Wanan County was long abandoned by the authorities. You know perfectly well how I came to be the acting head of the Demon Suppression Division here.”

Zhao Fusheng advanced slowly toward him. Paperman Zhang’s expression darkened, his lips trembling. As she drew closer, he didn’t retreat, but the movement in his sleeves grew more intense.

That incessant, sinister laughter filled the air; ghostly malice surged, goading the suppressed vengeful spirit within Zhao Fusheng to stir restlessly.

She made no effort to restrain the ghost; as she approached Paperman Zhang, her shadow stretched behind her with each step, and the color drained from her face.

Paperman Zhang’s cheeks twitched, but he forced himself to stand his ground.

She halted before him.

The old man straightened his back, staring coldly at Zhao Fusheng. His wrinkled face tightened, and the hand hidden in his sleeve trembled, then shook uncontrollably.

Standing less than half a pace apart, Zhao Fusheng gazed down at Paperman Zhang, scrutinizing him without any pretense.

Zhang Chuanshi, off to the side, was so tense he barely dared to breathe.

From his vantage point, he could hear the eerie laughter from Paperman Zhang, and he caught sight of the eye in his sleeve, its face indistinct.

From Zhao Fusheng, too, a malice was beginning to awaken; black mist rose as if she had no intention of restraining herself.

“Master Zhao…” he called out nervously.

She was still considered a newcomer—she’d already used a ghost’s power when subduing the revived Zhao couple in the Demon Suppression Division. Zhang Chuanshi didn’t know how she’d ultimately suppressed the ghost’s influence and regained self-control, but if she lost all restraint again, the consequences would be dire.

Should she lose control, the spirit would instantly turn this place into a haunted domain, slaughtering all within.

“Don’t panic,” Zhao Fusheng’s mind echoed with the warning from the Investiture of the Gods: the ghost is about to awaken.

She didn’t need the Investiture’s reminder; she felt it keenly—the strange chill enveloped her once more, the same odd sensation she’d had when suppressing the Zhao couple.

Forcing a smile, she looked at Zhang Chuanshi. But her face was pale, her expression icy; the smile was more terrifying than reassuring, and Zhang Chuanshi shrank behind Paperman Zhang in fright.

“Paperman Zhang?” Zhao Fusheng called out. He stood unmoving, so she suddenly reached for his sleeve.

A wave of malice emanated from within, but it didn’t force her back. She pinched the edge of his sleeve and peered inside—her action startled whatever watched from within, which hastily retreated into the dark depths.

The ceaseless, cackling laughter vanished with this movement.

A soft snort.

Zhao Fusheng chuckled, releasing his sleeve. “With a vengeful spirit bound to me, I might not live long. If you have something to say, let’s speak plainly—no need to tear each other apart and lose face, don’t you agree?”

Her demeanor was nothing like what Paperman Zhang had expected. The Fan brothers had bought what they thought was a simple country girl from Nine Gates Village, but here she was, acting without restraint, threatening to unleash her ghost without regard for her own life.

Such madness subdued Paperman Zhang at once, forcing him to restrain his own arrogance.

“You’re right,” he conceded, his face twitching several times before his rigid posture finally slumped. “Our Zhang family has always cooperated closely with the Demon Suppression Division. It’s my fault for not being a better host and for neglecting you, Master Zhao.”

At first, Zhang Chuanshi had feared that with two such volatile personalities, things would end in disaster. He hadn’t expected Zhao Fusheng to subdue Paperman Zhang so thoroughly that he would immediately soften and bow his head.

“Yes, yes, the Demon Suppression Division and our Zhang family have always been on good terms—we’re all friends here, let’s talk things out…”

Sweat poured from Zhang Chuanshi’s brow, his lips trembling as he spoke.

Paperman Zhang forced a stiff smile. “Chuanshi, why haven’t you gone in to prepare some tea? I have matters to discuss with Master Zhao.”

“Yes, yes.” Zhang Chuanshi wiped his brow, then flicked the sweat from his hand, replying loudly with relief.

With that, he darted inside as though escaping for his life, leaving the two “lunatics” behind.

Zhao Fusheng smiled faintly, suppressing the hostility the ghost had stirred within her. For a long time she concentrated, calming her mind until the ghost’s influence finally ebbed; the restless spirit withdrew reluctantly into the shadows, waiting for its next chance.

Her body slowly regained warmth, but without the merit she’d once had, it happened painfully slowly.

Though she appeared calm, Zhao Fusheng was inwardly shaken by what had almost happened.

But she had no choice.

Paperman Zhang was nothing like the Fan brothers, who were ordinary men cowed by the soul register of the Demon Suppression Division. Paperman Zhang was no good man—he commanded corpse slaves and bore an uncanny aura. If she hadn’t subdued him at the outset, trouble would have followed.

By giving him a show of force, she made him rein in his arrogance, ensuring the conversation ahead would go more smoothly.

The layout of the Zhang residence was complex—a winding corridor led into the inner quarters, flanked by side rooms built along its length. The whole compound was arranged in a pattern like a maze.

Following Paperman Zhang, Zhao Fusheng glanced at the side rooms. Each door was painted black and tightly shut.

Yet even so, as she passed, she caught a faint scent of decay from each doorway.

At last they circled through the twisting corridors and arrived at the main house. Paperman Zhang stopped before the door, which, as if sensing his presence, creaked open.

Inside, the light was dim, the atmosphere oppressive and strange.

But Zhao Fusheng sensed an unusual “cleanliness” here.

Though the air was musty from years without ventilation, and smelled faintly of paper and mildew, the reek of death from before was gone, and there was none of the coldness that marked the presence of a ghost.

A subtle aroma of tea even dispelled the gloom, refreshing her spirit.

Paperman Zhang stepped aside and Zhao Fusheng entered first, studying the room.

It was spacious. Where once a long, low table might have sat, now the tabletop was entirely covered by stacks of paper, leaving not an inch exposed.

Excess paper had spilled onto the floor, making it difficult to walk.

Paper didn’t just fill the table—bundles of it were piled in every corner and along every wall.

Apart from the paper, the room contained almost nothing else. The only exception was a small lamp on the table.

The lamp was made of ancient bronze, darkened with age. It held clear oil, and a black, twisted wick floated in it, the tip burning with a tiny flame that cast a glow over the paper.

This scene made Zhao Fusheng glance at Paperman Zhang. “You truly live up to your name.”

As she spoke, she reached for a sheet of paper. It was soft and delicate, with a surprising warmth—especially striking since her body was still so cold from the ghost’s influence.

She realized something was wrong and frowned. “This is—”

“That is tanned human skin, used in making ghost lamps,” Paperman Zhang replied in his chilling voice.

Standing at the door, his short figure blocked half the incoming light. He spread his arms, his sleeves like wings, shrouding half the room in shadow.

The remaining light fell on his face, making his expression even more sinister.

“You’ve seen a ghost lamp, haven’t you?” he asked, not as a question but as a statement.

Since the Fan brothers’ plot had failed, he assumed they’d told her everything in hopes of saving themselves.

“I have,” Zhao Fusheng replied.

At the mention of “human skin,” she shuddered, nearly dropping the paper.

Resentment and unwillingness seemed to seep from it, as if it had grown a mouth and wanted to bite her hand.

Steadying herself, she placed the sheet back on the table, frowning. “They say it prevents being ‘seen’ by a ghost.”

“Indeed.” Paperman Zhang nodded.

There was no need for pretense now.

He shut the door, strode inside, and with rough kicks shoved aside the stacks of paper ankle-deep on the floor, clearing space for them to sit.

“You’re here for a ghost lamp?”

“Not just that. I also want to ask about the Liu family case from forty years ago.”

When she first sought Paperman Zhang, she’d intended to ask about the Liu case and to gauge his strength. But Zhang Chuanshi’s words had changed her mind.

If Paperman Zhang could make ghost lamps, they might cooperate, each benefiting in the short term.

As she finished, Zhao Fusheng drew the case file from her robe and handed it to Paperman Zhang.