Little Pink Starfish

Zhang Qiu was short—just a little taller than the slope. The grass and trees were lush and green. On their way here, vegetation in the county town was mostly withered and yellow, but this place was thriving.

Among the thick greenery, fragments of gravestones could be seen here and there. All were broken, yet still stood tall, like pairs of eyes silently watching these foreign intruders about to enter.

“What a prime feng shui spot for raising Jiangshi and ghosts,” Zhang Yushui held his compass. “Stick close to me.”

He didn’t need to say it—no one in the back dared fall behind. Especially the front row of bodyguards—those with good eyesight had seen the images in the little bronze mirror, scared enough to gulp nervously and pat the protective talisman over their chests for courage.

Zhang Qiu and Little Jiang walked in the front row. Beside them was Li Shu, and Zhang Yushui led the way. Zhang Qiu also saw the rolling white figures in the bronze mirror, as if trying to rush out of it, sometimes flashing a pale, eerie ghost face.

Wild grass on the hill was thick, reaching their thighs. Only the tops of the gravestones were visible. There was no path at all. Logically, this was the county’s graveyard. Five years ago, people still came here to pay respects, but now, with all the greenery, no paths could be seen. Locals said that during holidays, they didn’t dare come here anymore—they just burned paper money at the street corners to show respect.

Zhang Qiu remembered his second brother mentioning that the paper money offered this way didn’t reach the dead.

As he was spacing out, his hem was tugged. He jolted—looked down—it was Little Jiang. He finally realized how careless he had been to zone out in a place like this.

“Not your fault, it’s just an illusion spell,” Zhang Yushui said calmly, then looked behind.

Zhang Qiu turned and saw that the bodyguards’ faces were either sorrowful, delighted, or greedy—clearly dazed.

Before Zhang Qiu could ask what to do, Zhang Yushui pulled a bracelet of bells from his bag and tossed it to Little Jiang.

“Good Little Jiang, try it on, see if it fits.”

“Second Brother, Little Jiang doesn’t know how to use that.”

Zhang Yushui shook his head and smiled. “These bells aren’t ordinary. If you’re not cut out for this work, they won’t even make a sound.”

Just then, Little Jiang pinched the bracelet and it let out a crisp ding ding dang dang. The sound wasn’t loud, but everyone instantly felt more alert. The dazed bodyguards quickly came to their senses.

“Definitely born for this. Little Jiang’s even better than I thought,” Zhang Yushui smiled. “Good Little Jiang, is it fun?”

Little Jiang grinned at the sound, showing his tiny tiger teeth and nodding hard. He raised the bracelet for Daddy to put on for him.

Zhang Qiu took it and noticed that, when he held it, it only gave off a dull thud—not at all like the bells just now. At that moment, Zhang Qiu fully believed in his son’s talent. But this wasn’t the time to discuss it. He wound the bracelet around Little Jiang’s wrist three times and tied it securely.

The golden string and the delicate red bells looked very cute on Little Jiang’s pale arm.

Little Jiang happily held up his arm and bounced forward. Wherever he went, the bells rang ding ding dang dang, and everyone behind felt more energized. Zhang Qiu worried he might run too far. The grass was too tall, and Little Jiang was short—only half his body visible as he bounced, flickering in and out of sight like a ghost himself.

“Good boy, Daddy’s scared. Don’t run too far,” Zhang Qiu said seriously.

Sure enough, Little Jiang, playing with his new toy, immediately da da da ran back, puffed out his little chest, and said, “Daddy, don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you.” Then bared his teeth at Li Shu beside them.

Zhang Qiu patted Little Jiang’s head—he shouldn’t do that. It’s not like Li Shu forgot them on purpose.

Li Shu raised an eyebrow and pinched Little Jiang’s chubby face. Little Jiang’s cheeks were squished flat, clearly displeased, but he couldn’t fight back—Big Daddy was too strong!

Unknowingly, they reached the hilltop. Zhang Qiu noticed that the gravestones below the hill were more broken, but the higher they went, the better preserved the graves were—as good as new. Yet the inscriptions showed they were older than his grandfather.

Zhang Yushui checked the time. “We’re on a tight schedule. The peak of yang energy is between 11 a.m. and 1 p.m. It’s 10 now. We need to get down quickly.”

Zhang Qiu knew that. In ancient times, executions were at 11:45 a.m.—peak yang energy—to prevent the wronged dead from becoming vengeful spirits.

From the top of the hill, looking down, despite it being midday, everything below was covered in thick white fog—completely obscuring the scene. They didn’t stop. Zhang Yushui led the way, Little Jiang’s bells rang ahead.

After a while, Zhang Qiu felt walking became harder, like something was grabbing his ankles and pulling him down. He looked—relieved—it was just tangled grass.

“Ah—!”

A short, sharp scream rang out behind. Zhang Qiu looked back—chaos. The bodyguards were yelling, “Who screamed?” “What’s going on?” “What happened?!”

“Don’t panic,” Li Shu said coldly.

The noise died down. Agui looked around and said, “Xiao Lin is missing.”

Zhang Qiu didn’t know who Xiao Lin was, but there were supposed to be thirteen bodyguards. He counted—heart sinking—again, just to be sure.

He leaned toward Li Shu and whispered, “It’s thirteen.”

Li Shu scanned all thirteen with a cold, sharp gaze. Each bodyguard looked different, but all were unnerved by his stare. One man’s eyes looked vacant. In the blink of an eye, Li Shu was in front of him.

“Ah!”

A piercing shriek. The moment Li Shu touched him, he turned into a wisp of white fog and vanished. A bodyguard beside him screamed and collapsed in the grass. Li Shu grabbed him—blood all over. The man was frozen in shock.

Zhang Yushui pulled seven coins from his bag, spun them fast into a short dagger, and stabbed the ground. The green grass instantly gushed blood and screamed horribly.

He pressed a talisman between his palms, spun it, then slapped it on the dagger. With a lift, a bloody human skin hung from the dagger tip.

“It’s Xiao Lin,” Agui called out.

The ghost had been wearing Xiao Lin’s skin and hiding among them.

Zhang Qiu didn’t see clearly, but when the skin was pulled up, a chill ran through him. Zhang Yushui slapped a talisman on the skin—its true form was revealed: a skinned woman, shapely but dripping with blood, imprisoned in place, giggling creepily.

The talisman burned—green flames roared as the ghost wailed in agony.

“Check your talismans,” Zhang Yushui wiped the dagger with another talisman. It burned to ash, and the dagger looked brand new again.

Everyone quickly pulled out their chest talismans. The attacked guard’s talisman was completely black. His wounds were already treated, but the skin near his forehead had been sliced. If Li Shu hadn’t acted fast, he’d be the next Xiao Lin.

Several talismans were starting to turn black too. Since nothing had happened earlier, their focus had been on descending—they hadn’t noticed the heat as a warning sign.

Zhang Yushui replaced the talismans. Frowning, he looked at the sky. The delay had pushed the time to nearly noon.

“No more delays. We’ll speed up.”

Everyone went quiet. Some glanced at Xiao Lin’s empty skin in the grass, tempted to flee. But going back alone was even more dangerous now. They could only grit their teeth and press on—maybe they’d survive.

Li Shu frowned. Something didn’t want them reaching the bottom before one o’clock. The road ahead would only get harder.

Pei Qing stepped up and whispered, “I could turn back to my original form and carry everyone down.”

Zhang Qiu’s eyes lit up—why hadn’t they thought of that?

But Zhang Yushui said, “It’s no use. There’s a formation here. One wrong step and you’ll be trapped. Besides, we’re not all allies here. Don’t reveal your true form unless absolutely necessary.”

Zhang Qiu understood. He meant Qi Zhirong and his bodyguards. People’s hearts are unpredictable—if someone spilled the truth later, they might end up lab experiments.

They reorganized and moved on. With Xiao Lin’s example fresh in mind, everyone paid more attention to those around them and checked their talismans often. If it wasn’t blackened, they relaxed.

Not long after, someone’s talisman turned black. Zhang Yushui replaced it. Zhang Qiu frowned, staring at a gravestone. “Second Brother, I saw this name before.”

It had a unique last character—Wang Yikui—so he remembered it. They’d walked over half an hour. They should be at the base, but the fog made it impossible to see.

Zhang Yushui’s face darkened. He checked the compass—the needle spun wildly. The mirror only showed thick white fog.

“D-Daoshi… I-I think I can see the way,” Agui said quietly.

Zhang Yushui looked up. Agui had been the first to notice Xiao Lin missing. Under his sharp gaze, Agui waved his hands. “I’ve always been able to see strange things. When I was six, my grandma gave me this, and I couldn’t see anymore. But here, I can again.” He pulled out a jade pendant from his neck.

Then gasped. “It’s cracked?!”

“The killing aura here is too heavy. It protected you for over twenty years—the spiritual energy’s exhausted,” Zhang Yushui explained. Then added, “What can you see around us?”

Zhang Qiu wondered—if time was so tight, why not let Agui lead? Then he caught Li Shu’s subtle glance at Agui and understood—Second Brother was testing him. Their last leader, Jin Laoda, betrayed them too many times. Who knew if Agui was good or bad? The stolen map came from a rival faction.

“They float fast, all white and blurry. Grandma said to pretend you can’t see, or they’ll bully you.” Agui pointed. “There’s a path that leads down. I couldn’t see it earlier, but I can now. Master, please trust me.”

Zhang Yushui didn’t say if he did or not. He checked his watch—already 12:15. Agui likely had a natural yin-yang eye. After a brief pause, he handed him a talisman drawn with Zhang Qiu’s blood. “Lead the way.”

Whether Agui was trustworthy or not, they couldn’t keep wandering in circles.

Little Jiang’s bells still rang as they walked. According to Agui, they headed downward. Maybe it was illusion, but the further down they went, the colder it got. The chill pierced bone. Zhang Qiu nearly tripped but was grabbed.

“Careful.”

Li Shu’s voice. Zhang Qiu looked up—fog so thick he could barely see Li Shu’s silhouette.

Such thick fog, and Second Brother hadn’t given a warning? He looked back—only vague black shapes followed. To his left was Li Shu; to his right, Little Jiang and the others—but he couldn’t see Little Jiang anymore. Zhang Qiu felt uneasy, but with Li Shu here, it should be okay.

“Second Brother, do you see Little Jiang? I don’t hear the bells.”

Just as he finished, the bells rang again. Zhang Qiu still wasn’t assured and called out, “Little Jiang, don’t run around.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Little Jiang’s voice.

Zhang Qiu relaxed—maybe he was being paranoid. Then Zhang Yushui said, “The fog’s too thick. Everyone hold hands.”

Zhang Qiu reached out—cold touch, Li Shu’s familiar chill. He reached right for Little Jiang’s hand, but it felt wrong. Not his son’s soft little hand—this one was slender and delicate, like a woman’s.

Zhang Qiu’s heart sank. His chest suddenly burned—his protective talisman. He heard soft breathing like it entered his ear, something blowing on his back.

“Li Shu!” he shouted instinctively, letting go of the hand. He looked up—just as the fog cleared—a pitch-black head crept close.

That was no Li Shu. That was a Jiangshi!

“Daddy!”

“Coward!”

Two voices yelled from a distance. Familiar voices. Zhang Qiu didn’t have time to respond. He kicked the Jiangshi away. Then something heavy landed on his back.

The thing whispering in his ear said in a childish voice, “Did you take my eyes?”

“Take your damn uncle’s eyes!”

Zhang Qiu wasn’t feeling cute at all. With experience, he knew not to panic. While speaking, he reached back, grabbed whatever was on him, and flung it forward hard. A tumbling sound followed.

The head hit the ground. Two thin arms still clutched his neck, choking him.

“You took my eyes. You broke my head. Bad man. Bad man. I want your eyes. Your head. Heeheehee.”

The mouth on the ground moved as it spoke. Zhang Qiu’s face turned red from lack of air. One hand grabbed at the arms around his neck; the other drew his dagger and slashed at his own throat.

If the thing let go, it would be suicide.

“AAAHHHH—!”

The head shrieked. Its arms fell to the ground. Zhang Qiu gasped. Hearing movement behind, he stabbed back with his dagger—only to have his arm grabbed.

“Coward, it’s me.”

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