Chapter 28: Who kicks me when I am down?

Reginald took it as soon as he could and turned it over to see the headline position carrying a large photo of a courtyard with a metaphysical ritual, a man sitting in the center with his eyes closed and his mouth open, seemingly reciting some kind of incantation.

[Councilmember Brady Brook's home in the middle of the night, a ghost-burying ritual, which is the most sinister and vicious rite.]

"A ghost-burying ritual?"

Reginald said coldly.

"It's all superstition." Ben was not a fan of this kind of ritual and said, "I heard that this rite is extremely insidious, it can knock a spirit down to the blackest layers of purgatory, and after suffering a lot of tortures and sufferings, then cause their souls to be vanished, and the spirits will never be able to go back to life."

"The Brook's wants to beat that spirit to death?"

Reginald asked, looking at the newspaper.

"I contacted a couple of media outlets, and only one reporter said he vaguely seemed to hear the virtuoso who cast the spell pronouncing a name." Ben stood and paused to say the name, "Heloise."

At that, a darkness swept across the bottom of Reginald's eyes and his thin lips moved, "Heloise."

He held the word on the tip of his tongue, blathering about it with a hint of warmth and love.

He just pronounced a name, but Ben inexplicably heard it with a thrill.

After a long time, Reginald suddenly hooked his lips and let out a self-deprecating laugh, "Ben, do you think if I die someday, someone will desire to knock me down to the blackest floor of purgatory, too?"

"No."

Ben said with unshakable firmness.

"There are a lot of people in this world who hate me." Reginald said.

"Yes, there are quite a few people who hate you, but I'm sure you'll beat those people down to the bottom of purgatory before you die."

Ben said seriously and gravely, his body standing straight.

"Well said!"

Reginald said arrogantly, rising from the couch and re-buttoning his collar, his thin lips slightly parted as he said, word for word, "No one can beat Reginald's spirit to jump out of my skin, and likewise, no one else has been authorized to do it with the little blighter I raise."

With that, Reginald turned and walked out of the room.

Ben stood still, listening in disbelief.

Were Mr. Wordsworth raising a little blighter?

Did Mr. Wordsworth take on that girl in Hyacinth Garden as a pet? 

...

The night passed and Coral was going crazy.

Sitting on her bed in her pretty silk pajamas, she opened her public account, and underneath there was a tidal wave of nasty comments.

Some of them were so vicious that she was unbearable.

[Angel face & devil's heart, she is so disgusting.]

[This kind of poisonous ritual is placed in the house, even spirits are not spared. It seems that you have done too many evil deeds.]

[Coral, go to hell!]

In the past, it was clear that only geeks were crazy about her in the moments in her public account.

Coral was so angry that her pretty face was a little twisted, and threw her cellular phone onto the bed.

"Bang!"

There was a loud noise.

Coral was so scared that she bounced up from the bed, and as soon as she picked up her eyes, she saw that a rotten egg had been thrown at the window.

These netizens were really angry...

Coral huffed and puffed and headed out downstairs, where Brady Brook was sitting in the living room, a green-faced with jittery Grace.

"Dad, what the hell is going on? All of a sudden it seemed like the whole nation was aroused to oppose us!" Coral ran to her father.

"I've already made a statement publicly blaming it all on that virtuoso, clarifying that we were just trying to pray for blessings but mistakenly were caught in the trap of such an unorthodox cheat."

Brady Brook sat there with a frowning face, "And I've spent a lot of money on those media outlets. I just don't know why, but the popularity of the news has gone up instead of down. It's as if someone is purposely working against us in secret."

"It must be one of your competitors, Dad." Coral said.

Congressional representatives were always particularly competitive with each other because of their positions.

"I suppose so." Brady Brook's face was unpleasant, "The guys who kick me when I am down."