Chapter 69 - No ghost in sight

Chapter 69: Chapter 69 - No ghost in sight

Mao Mao kept his promise.

By the following afternoon, Jua Gu was sitting in his wheelchair at the cemetery entrance, with a blanket over his knees and a bottle of warm water tucked beside him. Mao Mao had checked the weather before they left and brought a coat despite Jua’s insistence that he wasn’t cold.

Jua had stopped objecting when the man threatened to postpone the trip.

He was here now. That was what mattered.

Beyond the gates, paved paths wound between rows of neatly maintained graves. Trees shaded the older sections, their roots lifting the ground around the edges of the path. There were flowers everywhere, some fresh, others beginning to wilt in their wrapping.

Jua looked around with growing anticipation.

Then his smile faded.

There was hardly anything here.

He let his senses reach farther as Mao Mao pushed him along the path. A cemetery this size should have held enough lingering energy for him to gather without effort. Even if most souls had moved on, there ought to have been traces left behind—grief clinging to a grave, resentment buried with someone who hadn’t wanted to die.

Instead, the place felt strangely empty.

Jua frowned and looked toward the older headstones.

Had they come to the wrong cemetery?

That was a ridiculous thought. People were buried here. He could read the names and dates perfectly well.

He was examining a row beneath the trees when he finally spotted something.

A pale figure stood beside a weathered headstone, its outline wavering in the shade.

Jua’s attention fixed on it immediately.

The ghost looked up.

For a moment, it stared at him. Then its gaze shifted over his shoulder.

Its face changed.

Before Jua could raise a hand, it darted behind a tree farther down the path.

He stared after it.

That little thing had looked frightened enough to disappear into its own grave, but it hadn’t been looking at him.

It had been looking at Mao Mao.

Jua turned his head slightly.

The man behind him noticed at once.

"Uncomfortable?"

"No."

Mao Mao adjusted his pace anyway, guiding the wheelchair around a crack in the paving.

Jua continued watching him.

Technically, a ghost ought to be frightened of him. Even with his power depleted, he was still a necromancer. He knew how to catch a wandering soul and make it stay where he put it.

Mao Mao, on the other hand, was supposed to be an ordinary human.

A phone rang behind him.

The wheelchair stopped.

Mao Mao took it out, and Jua caught the brief tightening of his expression when he saw the caller’s name. It disappeared before he leaned down.

"I need to take this. I’ll be close by."

Jua nodded.

Mao Mao checked the blanket once more, then walked several steps away before answering. He turned his back toward Jua, lowering his voice.

Whatever the call concerned, he wasn’t pleased.

Jua couldn’t hear every word, but the tone carried clearly enough. It was clipped and harsh, with none of the patience Mao Mao used when speaking to him. The person on the other end seemed to be doing most of the explaining.

Jua watched for a moment.

Then he looked toward the tree.

The ghost was peering out from behind it.

Their eyes met.

This time, Jua smiled.

He placed his hands on the wheelchair rims and began moving.

It was slow work. Yesterday’s therapy had left his arms sore, and the slight slope of the path required more effort than he expected. Still, the tree wasn’t far, and Mao Mao remained occupied with his call.

By the time Jua reached it, the ghost had retreated halfway through the trunk.

"Hello," he said pleasantly.

The pale face trembled.

Jua waited.

"H-hello."

Good. At least it could talk.

He rested his hands in his lap, giving his wrists a moment to recover.

"There’s no need to hide. I only want to ask you something."

The ghost glanced past him.

Jua followed its gaze. Mao Mao was still facing away, one hand tucked into his pocket while he listened to the caller.

"Why are you so frightened of him?"

The ghost’s eyes returned to Jua.

Up close, it looked even more pitiful. Its outline was thin, barely holding together around the shoulders, and one side of its face kept fading into the bark.

"You came with him," it whispered.

"Yes. He brought me here."

That seemed to make matters worse.

The ghost sank farther into the tree.

Jua leaned forward a little, interested now.

"Can he see you?"

The spirit opened its mouth, then shut it. Its gaze darted toward Mao Mao again.

"He comes here," it said at last.

"I gathered that. What does he do?"

The ghost’s expression twisted with fear. It looked as though it wanted to answer and regretted having greeted him in the first place.

Jua softened his voice.

"I won’t tell him you spoke to me."

"You shouldn’t—"

It stopped.

Jua felt a hand settle lightly against the back of his wheelchair.

The ghost vanished through the trunk and reappeared several trees away, fleeing so quickly that its feet never touched the ground.

Jua watched it go.

Mao Mao came around to face him, slipping his phone into his pocket.

His eyes moved briefly toward the trees before returning to Jua. Then he bent and touched his cheek.

"Are you done with what you came for?"

Jua frowned.

"No."

Mao Mao’s thumb paused near his jaw.

"Do you need more time?"

Jua looked around again. There was no point sitting here longer if there was nothing to absorb. The ghost he had just spoken to barely had enough energy to maintain its own shape.

The whole place felt as though it had been cleaned out.

He turned back toward Mao Mao, intending to ask whether there was another section they could visit.

Something brushed against his senses.

It was faint, lost almost immediately beneath the warmth of the fingers against his face. Jua stilled, concentrating.

Demonic energy.

Not drifting from the graves.

It was coming from the man standing in front of him.

Jua’s gaze moved over Mao Mao’s face. He looked concerned, waiting for an answer, his hand still resting gently against Jua’s cheek.

Had he picked it up here?

People could carry traces of energy without knowing it, especially if they spent time in places where it gathered. But this cemetery had none to spare.

"Do you come here often?" Jua asked.

Mao Mao’s hand lowered.

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then his eyes shifted toward a path branching off behind them.

"Yes."

The sadness in his voice drew Jua’s attention away from the faint energy.

"There’s somewhere I should show you."

He moved behind the wheelchair again.

Jua let him turn it, looking back once toward the tree. The ghost was gone, and Mao Mao had already begun pushing him along the adjoining path.

They passed several rows before reaching a quieter corner of the cemetery. The graves here were farther apart, with small planted borders separating the plots.

Mao Mao stopped in front of one.

At first, Jua noticed only that it was well cared for. The stone was clean, the grass neatly trimmed. There were no dead flowers or weeds gathered around its base.

Then he read the name.

Jua Haisin.

His fingers tightened against the blanket.

He stared at the inscription, waiting for the odd feeling in his stomach to settle.

His own grave.

There was no date of death.

"The plot is empty," Mao Mao said quietly.

Jua looked up at him.

The man was watching the headstone rather than his face.

"After the fifth year, they told us you might not live much longer. Dad had me prepare a grave."

His voice remained steady, but his hand had closed around the wheelchair handle.

"They said it would be better to make arrangements before we needed them."

Jua looked back at the stone.

He had thought twenty years was beginning to make sense to him. He had seen Mao Mao grown, felt how weak his body had become, listened to the nurse explain how long he had been cared for.

But someone had stood here choosing where to bury him.

Mao Mao had been a teenager then.

Jua tried to imagine him reading that name for the first time, knowing it belonged to the person lying in a hospital bed. He would have had to go back afterward. Sit beside him, perhaps, and wonder whether that was the day the doctors would finally be right.

His chest felt tight.

"They were wrong," he said softly.

Mao Mao looked at him.

Jua lifted his hand a little. The man immediately stepped closer and took it.

"I’m still here."

For a few seconds, Mao Mao said nothing. His fingers enclosed Jua’s hand, warm and careful, while his gaze dropped to where they touched.

Then he nodded.

"Yes."

Jua rubbed his thumb against his knuckle.

He had wanted to come here for energy. Mao Mao had brought him despite knowing they might pass this place, and Jua hadn’t even thought to ask whether the trip would be difficult for him.

He glanced at the clean headstone.

"You’ve been looking after it?"

Mao Mao nodded again.

Jua didn’t know what to say to that.

He held his hand a little longer instead.

By the time they turned back, his questions about the ghost had slipped beneath a much heavier concern. Mao Mao had waited through years Jua could scarcely account for. Even now, walking behind him, he slowed whenever the paving became uneven and checked whether the blanket was still covering his knees.

Jua let him fuss.

At the car, Mao Mao helped him out of the wheelchair, supporting him securely while he settled into the seat. He adjusted the space around his legs and placed the water bottle within reach.

Jua caught his sleeve before he could step away.

Mao Mao looked down.

"Sit with me," Jua said.

The man’s expression softened.

"I will. Let me put the chair away."

Jua released him and leaned back, tired from the outing.

Mao Mao closed the door gently.

For a moment, he stood with his hand resting against it. Then he turned toward the cemetery.

Far beyond the gates, a pale face had appeared beside a tree.

The softness left his eyes.

Red glimmered through the grey-green, and demonic energy stirred around him, dark and dense enough to send the little spirit scrambling out of sight.

Mao Mao watched the empty path for another second.

Then he turned back to the car and got in beside Jua.