After Ghost Marriage with My Arch-Rival - Chapter 20

The night was deep. The door to Liu Xiangyi’s master bedroom creaked open, and the moment Zhong Qinhuai stepped out, the little crow flapped its wings and lunged at him in a huff.

Its long beak snapped open, ready to launch into a tirade, only to be promptly pinched shut by Zhong Qinhuai’s hand.

The crow’s words were instantly muffled!

Zhong Qinhuai glanced back at the bedroom, where Liu Xiangyi was lying peacefully in a deep sleep. He pulled the door shut softly and didn’t release the bird until they were a safe distance away.

The next second, the little crow flew onto Zhong Qinhuai’s shoulder, stomping its tiny feet. “A-A-Huai is b-b-being disobedient!”

The crow might be slow on some things, but it knew Ghost Qi inside and out. “A-A-Huai, do you remember that story I told you about the ninth-generation ancestor?”

“He married the woman said to be the greatest beauty of her time. If she spoke to anyone else or even smiled at them, he’d lose his mind. Eventually, he locked her away in a d-d-deep courtyard, forbidding anyone from seeing her.”

“I heard the other ancestors in the underworld say he did it because he was t-t-too jealous.”

Zhong Qinhuai had reached his own bedroom by now. He countered with a smirk, “And? What does that have to do with me?”

“A-A-Huai said it was so he’d have a human to do his bidding. But you only needed to give him a l-l-little energy for that. You gave that human so much, so much that I bet no one can even t-t-touch the hem of his coat without getting a shock!”

The crow stomped again in frustration. “S-S-So, isn’t A-Huai just like that ancestor? You don’t want anyone else t-t-touching him?”

The only difference was the method. The ancestor used a courtyard; A-Huai used Ghost Qi.

Zhong Qinhuai’s footsteps faltered for a heartbeat. Then, acting as if nothing had happened, he pushed open his coffin lid with one hand and climbed inside. He didn’t speak, but one look at him told the crow it had hit the mark.

As Zhong Qinhuai lay down, the crow settled onto the lid and continued, “A-A-Huai, do you know why Grandmother taught you never to f-f-fall in love since you were a chick?”

When he was small, he hadn’t quite understood, but as he grew, the reason became clear. Both his grandmother and mother had been ruined by love. His grandmother only wanted him to avoid that pain and live a happy, healthy life.

“It wasn’t j-j-just because of that,” the crow added. “A-A-Huai has the Ultimate Yin Body. You were born under a solitary star. Falling in love isn’t just fated to end in tragedy; it will cause a b-b-backlash against your very destiny.”

Zhong Qinhuai adjusted his position, then reached up to pull the heavy lid over himself. “Like what?”

The crow tilted its head, puzzled. “A-A-Huai wasn’t supposed to die so young. But during that race with the human, why d-d-did you insist on winning at all costs?”

The hand on the lid paused.

The crow suddenly seemed to have an epiphany, its eyes narrowing. “Wait! I know! It’s because your destiny had already started s-s-suffering the backlash back then! Which means, even then, A-Huai had already—”

Before the crow could finish, Zhong Qinhuai pulled the lid shut. With a low, heavy thud, the coffin was sealed tight.

The little crow: “!”

I wasn’t finished!

So why did he have to win that race? The crow had warned him from the passenger seat that accelerating would send them off the cliff, but A-Huai would rather have died than lose.

The crow stomped frantically on the lid, but no matter how much it protested, A-Huai played dead, refusing to discuss the matter further.

A glint of determination flashed in the crow’s pupils. No! I have to s-s-save him!

The next morning, Liu Xiangyi woke up feeling a bit groggy. He remembered slipping and falling into the pool, then blacking out from a lack of oxygen.

He looked down at his clothes; they were clean and dry, without a speck of silt or a single waterweed. He didn’t know how the kid had managed it, but the fact remained: Zhong Qinhuai had saved his life yet again.

Liu Xiangyi intended to go over and say thank you, but when he stepped into his living room, he froze.

The hallway connecting his home to Zhong Qinhuai’s villa was gone. Instead of the ghost’s master bedroom, he was looking out at his own ordinary courtyard.

Liu Xiangyi wondered if he was hallucinating. He backed away, closed the door, and opened it again. Still his own courtyard. It had returned to normal.

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

Why did the “Magic Door” disappear? Did something happen?

He didn’t hesitate. He drove to the foot of Mount Wu and climbed the path. Inside the courtyard walls, perched in the massive banyan tree, sat a small child with rare golden eyes.

Liu Xiangyi recognized him—the toddler with the strength to carry four bags of produce. Seeing him, the child put on a fierce face, his chubby cheeks trembling as he spoke:

“A-A-Huai is in seclusion! You aren’t allowed to f-f-find him, and he won’t see you!”

Liu Xiangyi smiled. The kid was actually quite cute. He didn’t have anything urgent to say, he just wanted to make sure everything was alright after the door vanished.

“It’s b-b-because of you anyway!” The child stood up on a thick branch, hands on his hips. “Protecting you from that ‘calamity of b-b-blood’ requires him to funnel energy to you every day! Every hour! Every second! If he were a n-n-normal ghost, he would have vanished from exhaustion by now!”

Liu Xiangyi’s heart gave a jolt. Last night, the kid had looked so calm and collected; he hadn’t realized the toll it was taking.

He looked up at the villa. The sun was fierce today, but the interlocking branches of the banyan and the surrounding trees created a massive, cool shadow. The villa was buried in that darkness, every curtain drawn tight. It looked like a giant, dark coffin that sunlight could never penetrate.

“S-S-So,” the little crow said, “A-Huai needs rest to r-r-recover the energy he lost. No disturbing him!”

Relieved that Zhong Qinhuai was safe, Liu Xiangyi turned to head back down the mountain. He had to attend his high school’s 80th anniversary today. As a fellow alumnus, Zhang Ruolan was there as well.

The principal was leading a group of honorary alumni past a bulletin board displaying the top scorers of the college entrance exams over the decades. There was only one year with an exception—two names were listed for the top spot.

Their scores were identical.

Their photos hung side-by-side: two seventeen-year-old boys in blue school uniforms. The boy on the left had a smile as warm as the spring sun; the one on the right was his polar opposite. With narrow, phoenix eyes staring straight ahead, he looked as sharp as a frosted blade. Even years later, looking at that photo made Zhang Ruolan instinctively hold his breath.

He still remembered the first time he saw Zhong Qinhuai.

It was the first day of high school. He had just stepped through the gates into a sea of students and parents, but his eyes were instantly drawn to one person. Zhong Qinhuai’s skin was pale—even back then, he seemed a shade whiter than everyone else and his eyes were darker than anyone’s.

Pure black. The extreme contrast gave him an aura that was clean, sharp, and biting, as if he had stepped out of a black-and-white manga caught in a snowstorm.

Zhang Ruolan wasn’t the only one; he saw many students stealing glances at him. Yet Zhong Qinhuai looked at no one. He leaned lazily against a peach tree as if waiting for someone, a lollipop dangling from his mouth—a detail that clashed absurdly with his cold demeanor.

Then, another boy walked through the gates.

Only then did a hint of warmth touch those dark eyes. The corners of his mouth curved into a faint smirk. “I arrived 32 minutes and 42 seconds before you. Are you going to lose to me on the very first day of school?”

Zhang Ruolan watched as the other boy’s smiling face instantly contorted with irritation. “What’s the point of being early? If you’ve got the guts, compete with me on the entrance exam rankings!”

Then, the two of them walked off side-by-side to check the results board. Zhang Ruolan watched them pass him by, neither of them spared a single glance for anyone else. He remembered it vividly.

“So, President Liu, do you remember the first time we met?” Zhang Ruolan asked suddenly.

Liu Xiangyi was caught off guard. He offered a polite smile. “It’s been so long. How could I possibly remember?”

Zhang Ruolan laughed. He looked toward the school gate and gave a sudden cry of surprise. “Eh? That junior is here, too.”

Liu Xiangyi followed his gaze. Xia Qing was stepping out of a car.

Zhang Ruolan seemed to recall something. “That junior, do you remember him, President Liu? You two actually crossed paths once back then.”

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

Seeing that Liu Xiangyi still had no memory of it, Zhang Ruolan clicked his tongue. “President Liu, is it that no one besides my ‘God’ is worthy of being remembered by you?”

Liu Xiangyi cleared his throat, signaling for him to continue. Xia Qing was his business partner now; he hoped they didn’t have some old grudge.

“The high school and middle school sections are connected, right?” Zhang Ruolan continued. “You were the Student Council President in your senior year. You were at the gate checking student uniforms and grooming.”

“That little junior—he must have been in middle school then—he was cutting it close. He ran so hard to get inside that his shoe heel fell off. All the other kids were laughing at him. You were the one who took him to the school store and bought him a new pair of shoes.”

Liu Xiangyi: “…”

With Zhang Ruolan’s reminder, pieces of the memory began to surface. He remembered the kid asking how much the shoes cost, saying he’d pay him back. Liu Xiangyi had bought the most expensive pair in the shop; seeing that the boy’s backpack was faded from years of washing, he guessed his family was struggling.

So, he had made a casual joke: “These shoes cost 654. If you can get that score on your final exams, I’ll consider the debt settled.”

He wasn’t short on money, nor did he truly expect the junior to pay him back. Yet, one day after the final exams, as he was leaving the cafeteria, the boy actually approached him, clutching his report card to show him.

Liucheng Middle School used a 700-point grading system.

This kid had actually scored a 682!

The junior was shorter than him, looking up with bright, shimmering eyes. There was a faint trace of expectation hidden within that usually cold gaze.

Liu Xiangyi offered him a few words of praise, but Zhong Qinhuai who had been walking ahead whipped his head around. With a look of utter displeasure, he spoke frostily:

“Student Liu Xiangyi, if you don’t catch up, am I to assume you’re afraid to compete with me?”

Back then, he had been in the middle of a contest with Zhong Qinhuai to see who could finish a math paper first after lunch. Thus, he didn’t have time to say much more to the junior; he hurriedly caught up with Zhong Qinhuai’s pace to return to the classroom.

As the memory faded, Xia Qing had already walked through the school gate and come to a stop in front of Liu Xiangyi.

Reminded of this bit of history by Zhang Ruolan, Liu Xiangyi felt a newfound sense of warmth toward Xia Qing. After the ceremony concluded, Xia Qing mentioned that since their last meal had been cut short, he wanted to treat Liu Xiangyi properly this time.

After dinner, as they walked out, they saw an elderly man with a pushcart selling oranges. A megaphone blared: “Mount Wu oranges! Authentic oranges!”

At the mention of Mount Wu, Liu Xiangyi was instantly drawn in. He walked over to buy a bag. Xia Qing asked, “Does President Liu like these?”

Liu Xiangyi gave a light cough. “A friend of mine likes them.”

He should count as a friend by now, right? After all, Zhong Qinhuai had saved him so many times; surely the tension had eased.

Liu Xiangyi carried the bag of oranges up the mountain. Knowing that many crows guarded the banyan tree by the wall, he bypassed the perimeter and the little crow ancestors, climbing onto the balcony from the other side.

The curtains weren’t drawn. Liu Xiangyi peered inside; the master bedroom was empty.

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

Just as he decided to leave the oranges on the windowsill and turn back, a low, heavy thud echoed from inside the room.

Liu Xiangyi whipped his head around. It was the coffin!

The lid, which had been sealing the coffin tight, was suddenly pushed open from the inside. It slid halfway across. Then, Zhong Qinhuai sat up.

The bedroom was unlit and pitch black, making Zhong Qinhuai’s face look even more spectral. It looked remarkably like a corpse suddenly reanimating in its casket. Liu Xiangyi couldn’t help but jump in fright.

Zhong Qinhuai rested his elbow on the edge of the coffin. Seeing him there, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. His gaze traveled downward, landing on the bag of oranges in Liu Xiangyi’s hand. For a moment, he looked dazed.

But the corners of his mouth curved upward instinctively. “Did President Liu come here specifically to bring these to me?”

Liu Xiangyi smiled and set the oranges on the windowsill. Satisfied that Zhong Qinhuai was alright, he prepared to leave. Before going, he thought for a second and as was his habit joked:

“Don’t misinterpret this, President Zhong. I’m definitely not a ‘love-brain.’ This is purely based on a sense of gratitude for you pulling me out of that pool last night. There isn’t a shred of other emotion involved, so you can rest easy.”

Liu Xiangyi expected the usual sharp retort. Instead, Zhong Qinhuai fell silent. Those dark eyes stared at him with a hollow, haunting intensity.

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

Before he could figure out the meaning behind that peculiar look, Zhong Qinhuai rose from the coffin and sauntered over to the window. He looked down at the oranges and reached in to pick one up.

Liu Xiangyi thought he was going to eat it. Instead, the ghost hesitated, then placed it back in the bag. He said languidly, “You should take these back, President Liu. Eating too many of these leads to trouble.”

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

How does eating an orange lead to trouble? Liu Xiangyi saw right through it—it was a flimsy excuse!

He leaned against the windowsill with a smile. “So, how exactly have I offended President Zhong this time?”

As he spoke, he propped his chin in his hand, his willow-leaf eyes curving slightly. Even though the smile held a hint of gritted teeth, it still radiated an air of gentle affection.

It nearly gave Zhong Qinhuai an illusion—as if they were a pair of lovers, and Liu Xiangyi had come to his window under the cover of night for a secret tryst.

Zhong Qinhuai stared at him unblinkingly. “What you just said offended me.”

Liu Xiangyi: “?”

Hadn’t he joked with him like that a dozen times before? Why was it suddenly an offense? Men really are fickle.

“If you won’t take them, you won’t take them.” Liu Xiangyi grabbed the bag and turned to leave, but then he heard Zhong Qinhuai’s voice behind him:

“Wait.”

Liu Xiangyi turned back. Seeing Zhong Qinhuai reaching out toward him, he thought the ghost had changed his mind.

The next second, he felt a light touch against his hair.

Zhong Qinhuai withdrew his hand, his slender, pale fingers now holding a single leaf. It must have snagged on Liu Xiangyi’s hair when he was climbing up to the window.

Liu Xiangyi’s hair was fine, soft, and slightly tousled. That brief contact felt to Zhong Qinhuai like the brush of a feather, carrying with it the cool, crisp air of the spring night.

After Liu Xiangyi left, Zhong Qinhuai lowered his gaze, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing together as if trying to preserve the sensation.

A gust of night wind swept through the window, scattering his wandering thoughts. He was about to turn back when something caught his eye. He raised his hand slightly, and a wisp of black mist drifted from his finger toward a nearby branch. It returned a moment later, depositing a small object into his palm.

It was a delicate, willow-leaf-shaped jade pendant. Half white, half yellow.

Zhong Qinhuai gripped the jade. As he pushed open the master bedroom door, the child guarding the threshold jumped out, blocking his path with short, pale arms. “Where are you g-g-going?”

Zhong Qinhuai opened his palm and offered a faint smile. “Returning something.”

He added languidly, “Even if I don’t go, he’ll realize it’s missing sooner or later and come looking for it.”

The little crow reluctantly extended a single finger. “Ten m-m-minutes! That’s it!”

Zhong Qinhuai chuckled, then dissolved into a cloud of black mist and drifted down the mountain. Liu Xiangyi’s silhouette was easy to spot—lean, upright, and moving with a brisk, decisive gait.

He had just reached the foot of the mountain.

Zhong Qinhuai was sauntering forward to catch up when his footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

Liu Xiangyi, still carrying the bag of oranges, was walking toward a young man.

Xia Qing was leaning against his car. He had watched Liu Xiangyi carry the oranges up the mountain only to bring them back down, untouched.

“Since your friend didn’t want them,” Xia Qing’s cold eyes brightened slightly. “Could you give them to me?”

His gaze shifted from the bag in Liu Xiangyi’s hand, traveling upward with a burning intensity until he was staring directly into Liu Xiangyi’s eyes.

“I want them.”

Zhong Qinhuai stood in the shadows of the trees just behind them. His eyes darkened instantly.