Chapter 59: The Moon Goddess and Spirits

That night, in the deep hours after midnight.

Led by the slitted-eyed cat, Mo Fei found the apartment where the old woman lived.

“This is it, eighth floor,” the cat flicked its tail as it crouched on the ground. “Are you planning to kill her?”

“We must abide by the law. How could I ever do such a thing?” Mo Fei replied in his unhurried manner, pulling on a pair of disposable rubber gloves and wrapping his shoes securely with a clean piece of black cloth. “I just want to give her a little taste of old-fashioned superstition, that’s all.”

If the old woman dared to ruin the feng shui of his door, he’d make her home haunted. It was only fair.

“If you did kill her, you might be doing the community a favor. That old hag’s got no friends,” the cat remarked.

Mo Fei looked at it in surprise. “You’ve only just arrived, how do you even know that?”

The cat lifted its head, moonlight glinting in its emerald eyes. “No need to ask around. Walk the area during the day and you’ll hear eight different people cursing her.”

“Impressive.”

With that, Mo Fei sized up the distance between floors, grabbed the first-floor window ledge, and began to climb.

“Abiding by the law, yet committing illegal entry,” the cat sneered at Mo Fei’s contradictory actions.

But Mo Fei ignored the cat’s opinion, and swiftly, silently, nimbly scaled up the building—using windowsills, drainpipes, and air conditioning units—until he reached the eighth floor with ease.

At this height, unless there were children or pets, most residents wouldn’t bother with security bars. Even thieves wouldn’t risk climbing so high—a single misstep could be fatal.

Mo Fei tried the living room window. As expected, it was locked from the inside.

Undeterred, he decided to check the master bedroom window, planning to perform a midnight ghostly wail.

He’d keep it up for half a month, draw ghostly symbols on the window, have the cat deliver dead mice and insects to her door—he didn’t believe the old woman would have the energy to cause more trouble after that.

Before he could move, the window shifted slightly.

Mo Fei crouched on the sill, tilting his head toward the glass, only to unexpectedly meet a pair of clear, timid eyes.

Both parties were startled.

Mo Fei realized he’d been careless. There was someone other than the old woman in the apartment. Hurting an innocent was never his intention.

The girl inside pushed the window open a little, revealing a thin, pale face.

Her eyes were filled with hope as she whispered, “Are you the Moon Immortal? Have you come to take Wen and Mama away?”

Mo Fei looked at the girl—so scrawny she hardly seemed like a child at all—and suddenly understood something else. With that old woman for a grandmother and a thug for a father, one who harassed female customers and dined without paying, how could such a family have a wife and daughter? Judging by how frail the girl looked, her father was clearly no better at home. Pure evil, through and through.

Mo Fei’s expression tensed, but when he noticed Wen growing nervous, he softened his features and answered her in the gentlest voice, “Can you help me open the window? Don’t alert anyone else.”

Seeing her excitement, Mo Fei raised a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence. “This is our little secret.”

Wen nodded vigorously, covering her mouth, and slowly pushed the window open.

Mo Fei slipped into the living room. He glanced around—the place was tidy, spotless, but devoid of the warmth of an ordinary home.

Seeing Wen gazing up at him, Mo Fei rummaged in his pocket and produced a piece of chocolate.

He was still dressed in costume—a brand-new, black, long windbreaker. The chocolate had been pressed into his hand by the make-up artist, afraid he’d faint from hunger. Luckily, he’d forgotten to eat it after being overwhelmed by the stench of that dog.

Mo Fei handed Wen the chocolate.

She took it with both hands and whispered, “Is this a magic elixir? The kind that lets you fly to the moon?”

Mo Fei didn’t quite know what to say. He squatted down, about to gently remind her to forget this encounter and return to her room, when Wen turned her head, her face breaking into a sweet smile as she softly called out, “Mama, the Moon Immortal—”

Following her gaze, Mo Fei saw a young woman, wan and weary, standing in the corner of the living room.

Her expression was numb, but when she looked at Wen, a faint light flickered in her eyes.

Mo Fei froze.

He really wasn’t cut out for mischief. Here he was, trying to play ghost and spook the old woman, only to bump right into the family in the dead of night.

The woman said nothing, simply beckoned for Wen to come over.

Wen glanced at Mo Fei, then slowly walked to her mother’s side.

The woman took Wen’s hand, made a “shh” gesture, then pointed at a bedroom door and mouthed two words: In there.

Afterward, she led Wen away, vanishing from the living room. The door closed so softly it was barely audible.

Mo Fei was left speechless.

Was this what Mencius meant by “Those who walk in the way are aided by many; those who stray from the way are aided by few”? No wonder, in ancient times, rebels spoke of winning the hearts of the people—this feeling was exhilarating.

Mo Fei crept quietly to the room the woman had indicated, gently turned the handle, and slipped inside.

The room was large—clearly the master bedroom. Over the bed hung a wedding photo of the all-seeing brother and the young woman.

But now, lying on the king-sized bed, was the old woman. The true master of the house was either in jail or, more likely, sleeping in the second bedroom with her daughter.

Mo Fei scanned the room and found the vanity.

The vanity was almost bare, with hardly any cosmetics—only a single, well-worn tube of lipstick.

He picked up the lipstick and twisted it open; there was little left inside.

His original plan was to scrawl something typical from ghost stories on the mirror—“Return my life” or “I’ll take your life”—but after witnessing the mother and daughter’s ordeal, a new idea came to him.

If the child was so thin, it was clear the family didn’t value girls. In households with such favoritism, the old woman had surely committed countless misdeeds over the years.

Mo Fei had a better idea.

On the mirror, he wrote four words: I am back.

Then, after checking the situation outside the window, he stood at the head of the bed and began to emit the soft, eerie voice of a little girl.

“Sister—”

“Mama—”

“Why did you abandon me?”

The voice was haunting, yet unmistakably real. The old woman was a light sleeper. With the moonlight streaming in through the open curtains and an incessant, plaintive voice whispering, she grew agitated and swatted the air, grumbling curses under her breath, “Useless girl, little wretch, making such a racket.”

But her scolding had no effect. The voice continued, one question after another, growing increasingly shrill.

Enraged, the old woman’s eyes flew open—only to see, at the head of the bed, not her family, but a man in a black windbreaker, his lips moving with a little girl’s voice and a bizarre smile on his face.

She was like a rooster being strangled—her throat worked soundlessly before she finally managed a piercing, terrified scream: “Ghost!”

Mo Fei’s smile stretched even wider as he leaned in, speaking in the high, childish voice, “I am back.”

With that, he leapt backward onto the windowsill, spun around, and vanished into the night beyond.