Chapter Forty-Nine: The Soul Entry into the Book of Fate

Chapter Forty-Nine

The Investiture of the Gods had warned her: the ghostly hand severed from the Beggar Ghost possessed a peculiar ability—no matter who or what, man or spirit, none could refuse its requests. Now, having given it the human skin parchment, she had fulfilled its law, causing the hand to fall into a temporary slumber; but the moment she withdrew the parchment, it would awaken. Upon its revival, it would once again demand an offering, as always; failure to satisfy its desire could well result in a backlash upon herself.

After all, Zhao Fusheng was not a spirit, and should the malicious hand retaliate, there was no telling what consequences she might suffer. Still, her situation was already far from promising. The hand’s unique law might prove indispensable to her in the future. The fierce ghost she controlled was drawing ever closer; until that threat was resolved, she dared not wield its power again.

Thus, the arrival of this ghostly hand was nothing short of providential. Thinking this, Zhao Fusheng’s spirits lifted. She compared the hand’s shrunken size, then carefully tucked it into her sleeve, finally breathing a sigh of relief as she surveyed her surroundings.

When she had commanded the fierce ghost and battled the specter, the danger had not felt so palpable; but now, as she looked around, she saw her hiding place had nearly collapsed. The power unleashed in the clash of two vengeful spirits was truly terrifying. Walls had caved in, rafters hung askew from the ceiling, and blood yet wet stained the floor—a grim testament to how close she’d come to death.

This night had been harrowing. Zhao Fusheng recalled the moment the ghost appeared, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. Possession by the spirit had erased all her mortal wounds, yet the terror of nearly dying lingered, chilling her heart and sharpening her awareness of the gulf between human and ghost.

She stepped outside. With the fierce ghost’s body now dispersed and its law broken, the curse over Beggar’s Alley had lifted. The shroud of the ghost realm gradually dissipated, and a faint dawn crept across the sky. Through dense mist, the first ray of morning light bathed Beggar’s Alley in a bluish glow.

As the darkness ebbed, she glimpsed the far end of the alley, where the hidden passage out of Wan’an County slowly revealed itself. The morning breeze stirred, sweeping away the silence and deathly aura, carrying with it a faint, familiar aroma of soup that set Zhao Fusheng’s stomach growling.

She lingered at the doorway, the mingling scents of broth and blood swirling in her nostrils. The shadow left by the fierce ghost faded; Zhao Fusheng closed her eyes, savoring the relief of survival.

After a long breath, she opened her eyes, stepped into the street, and called out in a clear, commanding voice, “Demon Suppression Bureau on official duty! The ghostly calamity here is resolved. The fierce ghost has gone, the ghost realm has vanished. You may come out now—choose whether to stay or leave as you wish!”

The street was deserted. Her voice echoed up and down Beggar’s Alley. No doors opened.

Zhao Fusheng chuckled softly. She understood well—those who had survived in Beggar’s Alley for so long had done so under the constant threat of ghosts. Such an environment bred extreme caution; they would never trust her word at face value. Perhaps, hearing her shout, they even suspected a trap to lure them to their deaths.

She did not mind. Now that the curse had lifted, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed and ventured out. Upon seeing the world beyond the alley, they would realize the disaster had passed and flee.

Her priority now was to find Liu Yizhen. He had the “Book of Fates,” and among its entries was her own name—an ominous artifact, steeped in strange power. Though the Beggar Ghost had been destroyed and its law broken, Zhao Fusheng could not be at ease with such a thing in another’s hands.

Liu Yizhen had promised to join the Demon Suppression Bureau. Knowing the alley was shrouded in the ghost realm and escape was impossible, she had focused on resolving the case first. He claimed he would stay to guard the Confucius Temple and keep watch over the two sealed fierce ghosts, but she trusted neither his word nor human nature, suspecting this was merely a pretense.

Now that the calamity was over, she could not let Liu Yizhen slip away. With this in mind, Zhao Fusheng hurried toward the Confucius Temple.

She moved swiftly, and before reaching the temple, the sounds of movement from its gate reached her ears. Slowing her pace, she steadied her breath and slipped quietly along the edge of the street to observe.

There, she saw a figure atop a ladder beside the temple doors, taking down the fabric bearing the character “Alms.” Having removed the cloth, the man—hearing her approach—turned unhurriedly. It was Liu Yizhen.

He cradled the sign, hopped down, and, upon seeing Zhao Fusheng, smiled faintly. “You really did resolve the ghost calamity of Beggar’s Alley.”

“Yes,” Zhao Fusheng replied. She had worried he would flee, but contrary to her fears, he had stayed, determined to remain at the temple.

A thought crossed her mind. “Are you planning to keep watch here forever?”

Liu Yizhen nodded. “I cannot leave.”

By now, with the Beggar Ghost destroyed, Zhao Fusheng had pieced together the full truth behind the haunting of Beggar’s Alley: years ago, Liu Huacheng had brought a ghost back to his hometown, and in time, the fierce ghost revived. To stop the calamity, Liu Huacheng had spent his fortune, enlisting Su Long and Zhang Xiongwush to deliberately orchestrate a ghost disaster and subdue the headless fierce ghost.

This summoned ghost was the Beggar Ghost, who killed according to the registry, the Liu family using human lives to maintain a balance with the spirit. The forty years of peace she had believed in were, in fact, bought with untold lives.

Beggar’s Alley was home to the poor and destitute, surviving on alms from the Confucius Temple—unbeknownst to them, they were merely sacrifices raised to feed the ghost.

By Su Long’s method, using one ghost to suppress another, order should have been maintained. But after a century of life, Liu Huacheng died suddenly, and with his passing, the balance was shattered. Three fierce ghosts emerged: two of equal strength checked each other, while the third, weaker one, lost its restraint and revived.

This led Zhao Fusheng to recall the crucial figure in the case: Zhang the Paper Man. He had said Liu Huacheng was central to the capital’s Headless Ghost Corpse case—a corpse that, upon awakening, reached the level of Calamity. The body was then divided and sealed, its power diminished. But what was Zhang’s true intention? Was he simply trying to use her to eliminate his enemy? She remembered clearly: her parents had died because of Zhang and the Fan brothers. Having succeeded in commanding a ghost, it was only natural Zhang would want her dead.

Their relationship was a fragile truce, both waiting for an opportunity to strike. After learning what she needed, Zhao Fusheng had attacked first. If she could kill Zhang, her troubles would be over; if not, she would yield and seek peace. In the end, Zhang transformed into a monstrous, lantern-like apparition and escaped into the sky.

Reflecting on their first encounter, Zhao Fusheng now suspected his fury was feigned, his true motives hidden beneath murderous intent. What did he hope to gain by using her?

She shook her head and refocused on the headless ghost. Though the immediate crisis in Beggar’s Alley had passed, the Beggar Ghost—spawned by the temple’s alms—was merely the weakest of the three spirits. It was but the tip of the iceberg; greater dangers lurked below. The root of the haunting lay with the headless ghost corpse.

Zhao Fusheng frowned. Her intuition and analysis told her Zhang the Paper Man played a subtle role in these events, but he mixed truth with lies, muddying her understanding with too many clues.

She decided to set aside all she knew and focus solely on the headless ghost. The case, though convoluted, revolved around that corpse: Liu Huacheng’s investigation, the ghost’s revival, the division and sealing of the body, its return to Wan’an, and its subsequent reawakening.

Reviewing the sequence, Zhao Fusheng suddenly realized a crucial point: what item was used to seal the headless ghost? Was it another deadly artifact, akin to a spirit? If the court had dared employ it, it must have had a unique restraining effect on the ghost—so why had it failed, allowing the spirit’s return? Had something gone wrong with the seal?

The recent sealing of the headless ghost involved Zhang Xiongwush, and in the wake of its revival, Zhang the Paper Man’s shadow hovered over the alley. What roles had these two played in the ancestral Liu family’s ghost case?

She felt as though she were brushing the edges of the truth, yet a thin veil of mystery remained.

Zhao Fusheng exhaled and reconsidered the headless ghost. The corpse was incomplete, but its rank still exceeded Calamity level—a fact evidenced by the Beggar Ghost, who, despite its suppressive effect on other spirits, was itself bound to serve the headless ghost. Yet before Zhao Fusheng destroyed it, the Beggar Ghost was already at Calamity level.

Such a fearsome entity, nonetheless, had been subdued by Liu Huacheng shortly after his own death, proof that Liu Huacheng was no ordinary man.

Liu Yizhen’s decision to remain was, no doubt, to keep watch over the two fierce ghosts and prevent their awakening.

Suddenly, Zhao Fusheng’s mind sparked—she seemed to glimpse the outline of the truth. Her eyes brightened, and though she tried to hide her realization, Liu Yizhen’s keen gaze noticed the change.

Catching his look, Zhao Fusheng lifted her head, and the two locked eyes in silence.

She broke it with a laugh, masking her thoughts, then asked, “You won’t be giving alms anymore, will you?”

It was not a question, but a certainty.

“No,” Liu Yizhen replied. “The Confucius Temple existed to contain these spirits. Now that you’ve resolved the calamity, there’s no more need for almsgiving. Perhaps never again.” After a pause, he added, “Hand over the Book of Fates.”

His response was just as Zhao Fusheng had hoped. She grinned and handed him the book. “You are a man of your word.”

“It’s only because you succeeded—destroying the fierce ghost and ending the haunting. Had you died here, I’d have had no chance to keep my promise.”

As he spoke, he pressed his right index finger to his lips and bit down. Blood welled up; Zhao Fusheng quickly brought the Book of Fates close. A drop of blood fell onto the jade-like tome, and a tiny black-red figure emerged, its eyes glowing with resentment before finally settling into a name: Liu Yizhen.

Once done, Liu Yizhen sucked his wounded finger, while Zhao Fusheng tucked the book away with great care.

“Just lucky, I suppose,” she replied, finally at ease.

Liu Yizhen only smiled, then after a moment said, “I cannot leave the temple, so I may not be able to help with ordinary cases for the Demon Suppression Bureau. But should you face danger and need assistance, you can seek me out. As long as it isn’t for long, I can lend a hand.”

He was far more forthright than the Fan brothers. Though both had once harbored their own motives—Zhao Fusheng having been entered into the Book of Fates for a bowl of congee—he had kept his word, and even let her record him in turn. Now, with both holding a measure of power over the other, they could finally set aside suspicion and attempt a truce.

His offer of help showed his trust in Zhao Fusheng’s potential and a willingness to call her friend.

Thus ends Fusheng’s first exorcism in “Deification in Another World.”

Those who’ve followed to this point will recognize that the Beggar Ghost’s calamity was only the beginning, not the end. The true heart of the matter—headless ghost, Liu Huacheng—remains yet untold.

To lay the groundwork for this story, I spent much effort on foreshadowing and revisions, which at times felt overwhelming. I had written seventy or eighty thousand words before publication, but constant revisions and rewrites drained me to exhaustion, leaving me dispirited and resistant to writing.

For example, Liu Yizhen’s character was originally simple and good-hearted; the three ghosts of the Confucius Temple were at first only hinted at, their true nature to be revealed in a later twist. But as I revised, I made the clues more explicit, seeing that subtlety was not always appreciated.

I do enjoy slow storytelling, laying out clues bit by bit. I hope readers will be patient.

(End of chapter)