Chapter 16 Can We Talk?_2

Poor, rich, savage, civilized, industrial, agricultural, the two extremes twisted together on Taiping Road, squeezing out a dense suffocating odor.

Zhou Xuan cautiously drove the car, avoiding trams, rickshaws, and pedestrians crossing the street recklessly,

as well as a lamb that loved to dart back and forth in front of the car.

His mind was entirely focused on driving, and he did not notice that the lamb had five toes and that its pupils were not horizontal like a goat's but instead round like a human's.

"Xiao Xuan, drive carefully, I'm going to make some preparations."

After instructing Zhou Xuan, Yu Zhengyuan took out a cigar and lit it. Every deep inhalation was followed by an exaggerated display of smoke exhaled with a dramatic shake of his head.

"Are you offering a smoke to the car?"

Zhou Xuan joked.

"Once we pass Taiping Road, we'll reach Mr. Dai's place. He loves to smoke, especially cigars, so I'm letting the car get a whiff of cigar smoke in advance to make him happy when he gets in."

Yu Zhengyuan was a shrewd businessman, always thinking ahead.

...

Mr. Dai's house was located on Wangfu Lane off Taiping Road.

The lane was wide enough for the car to enter.

The Meite Car drove to the deepest part of the lane, stopping at an impressive and peaceful courtyard.

Finding tranquility amid the bustling city had always been a prized indulgence for the wealthy.

"Wait here for me, I'll go get Mr. Dai."

Yu Zhengyuan got out of the car, picked up two boxes of pastries from Shufangzhai from the trunk, and strolled toward the Dai Mansion.

Zhou Xuan watched through the windshield, catching a glimpse of another side of Yu Zhengyuan—

—Don't be fooled by Yu Zhengyuan's greasy and cowardly demeanor when chatting, like a rough man who's just arrived in the city looking for a job, with his own take on women, but at this moment, he seemed like a completely different person.

His every movement was leisurely and carried an unexpected elegance. Those two boxes of pastries in his hand, were they just pastries? They seemed like a symbol of his gentlemanly status.

"Different faces in front of people and behind their backs, Senior Brother is indeed a good businessman."

Zhou Xuan watched Yu Zhengyuan enter the Dai Mansion.

Feeling bored alone in the car, he took out a pocket-sized notebook from his coat, spread it open on his lap, took a deep breath, and then meticulously wrote down a line.

"Can we have a chat?"

After finishing the last stroke,

Zhou Xuan sat upright, closed his eyes, and listened, but did not receive any response.

*"Did I make a wrong assumption?"*

Since last night, Zhou Xuan had a daring idea—*could the white noise that had weighed heavily on his mind for days have its own thoughts and soul?*

Having already found that audiobooks could suppress the white noise, Zhou Xuan initially did not plan to pay it any more attention.

He was prepared to coexist with the white noise for the long term.

*After all, who doesn't have a little ailment or misfortune of their own?*

But after last night's ancestral Nuomian ritual, he thought differently.

The white noise was annoying, yet truly useful; it could be life-saving at critical moments.

At Luoying Hall, the white noise warned him of the approaching Evil Ghost.

At Silence Hall, the white noise blocked out the ancestors' scolding, allowing him to escape unharmed.

Exploring what kind of existence the white noise was had become a serious matter worthy of his energy and effort.

Thus, Zhou Xuan was thinking of finding a solitary chance to have a chat with the white noise.

Since the white noise could form words, he attempted to communicate with it through writing.

But it seemed,

there was no progress.

"I need to change my approach."

Zhou Xuan was pondering this when suddenly... swish~ swish~ swish.

"There's movement."

Zhou Xuan immediately opened his eyes and saw his pen was standing upright on its own, writing on the notebook.

The message read—My name is Qing Lian, please, Master, save me.

Zhou Xuan was stunned, murmuring, "Huh? There really is a soul?"

Although he suspected the white noise to be sentient, the moment when his suspicions were confirmed still struck him dumbfounded.

"No, that's not it!"

The entity writing—wasn't the white noise.

It wrote, "Please, Master, save me."

But the white noise had been coexisting with Zhou Xuan for several days, and it couldn't possibly be unaware that his name was Zhou Xuan, and naturally, it wouldn't use such a vague term as "Master" in communication.

"Oh, it must have switched channels."

Zhou Xuan quickly figured it out.

He understood that when he wrote "Can we have a chat?" he was attempting to communicate with the white noise.

But a roaming ghost mistook it as if Zhou Xuan was addressing it.

The ghost attached itself to the pen and wrote, "My name is Qing Lian, please, Master, save me."

*Rain falls without affection, yet flowers fall with intention.*

*The guy was looking to chat with an old friend and summoned something real instead.*

*What now?*

*Do nothing!*

Zhou Xuan decided to play dead and not respond to the words on the notebook, pretending he hadn't seen anything.

It wasn't because he was heartless or indifferent to others' plight.

But he had been a ghost before.

Ghosts, just like humans, could be kind or vicious, simple-minded or cunning.

The cunning ghosts were the best at deception.

Zhou Xuan couldn't determine if "save me" was a genuine plea for help or a trap set up under the guise of sympathy by a deceiving specter.

Since he couldn't tell,

it was best not to get involved,

"He has already made a move,

hurry,

to the middle of the water,

Lotus Pond,

Buddha."

The pen wrote quickly, the handwriting becoming increasingly sloppy, and the ink growing fainter, stopping after writing the word "Buddha."

Then,

the pen lost control and with a clatter, fell to Zhou Xuan's feet.

Zhou Xuan watched silently the whole time, but he had a faint feeling that the ghost writing might indeed be in trouble, truly seeking help.

The fading ink suggested its strength was waning bit by bit,

the hasty handwriting indicated the urgency of its situation,

but,

so what?

Let alone that in such a short time, rescue was impossible,