Chapter Thirteen: The Old Fellow

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Le Dong stared at the gleaming black leather shoes, cold sweat trickling down his spine. Behind him, Cai Kun’s breath grew colder and colder, nearly freezing the back of his neck.

“So fond of my shoes, huh?”

A mocking sneer whispered against Le Dong’s nape. After those words, Cai Kun’s eyes visibly lost their luster, his entire being stiffening like a puppet on strings, dumbly preparing to turn his head.

“Don’t look back!”

Ma Wenwen sensed something was wrong, suddenly lifting his head to look toward Le Dong’s direction, his eyeballs wide and white like porcelain.

But at that moment, Le Dong seemed absent-minded, his expression blank as he turned his head to meet Cai Kun’s indistinct face in the darkness.

“Go ahead, he’s downstairs~”

An unfamiliar voice drifted from the shadows, guiding Le Dong’s footsteps toward the bedroom windowsill.

“You brat! I’m from the ghost-catching sect, and you dare to be so reckless!”

Ma Wenwen, flustered and furious, sprang forward and kicked Le Dong hard in the stomach.

One must admit, Ma Wenwen looked like a mere stick figure, but the strength behind that kick was surprisingly great. Le Dong, weighing around a hundred pounds, felt as light as cotton as he was launched two meters away, hitting the wall. The dullness in his eyes cleared slightly.

“Hmph, luring the snake out of its hole, using diversionary tactics—still a young strategist, huh? I underestimated you earlier.”

Le Dong, now somewhat lucid, heard Ma Wenwen’s taunts near his ear. In the glow from his dropped phone, he caught sight of Ma Wenwen quietly reaching for a cloth bag.

“Heh heh…”

From the darkness, Cai Kun’s head emerged from the shadows, caught at the edge of a flashlight’s beam.

Le Dong’s vision blurred for a moment. In a daze, he saw Cai Kun’s chubby face overlap with the decaying corpse’s visage from the villa—the same grin stretched to the ears, the same bulging lifeless eyes.

“You old thing, you must die!”

The unfamiliar voice came from Cai Kun’s moving lips. He ignored Ma Wenwen before him and stepped forward with a crackling sound, approaching Le Dong clutching his stomach.

“Do you think I’m just a bystander?”

Just as the chilling wind pushed Le Dong back, Ma Wenwen finally drew a short sword strung with copper coins from his backpack, shouted loudly, and leapt forward. The flexible coin sword straightened in midair and snapped firmly against Cai Kun’s brow.

“Ah—”

Cai Kun emitted an inhuman scream. Le Dong rolled aside, turning to see a faint silhouette appear on Cai Kun’s face—it was Hu Dawei’s bloodied and mangled visage!

Seizing the moment, Ma Wenwen reached back, grabbed a peachwood sword strapped to his back, and thrust it straight into Cai Kun’s chest. Unexpectedly, Cai Kun twisted back strangely, evading the blade, then grabbed Ma Wenwen’s wrist and twisted it.

Crack!

With a sharp snap and Ma Wenwen’s cry of pain, the peachwood sword slipped from his grasp. Cai Kun kicked him away, sending him crashing onto the cluttered coffee table. Then he turned toward Le Dong, voice filled with resentment:

“Your turn…”

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