The Haunting of Rongtian

Rongtian had once faced the terror of a ghostly encounter with a dead woman—a memory that still haunted him like a stubborn scar. That night, when he stumbled upon her corpse in an abandoned factory, she rose from the shadows, her hollow eyes piercing his soul. Though he managed to escape unscathed, the experience left him forever wary of the unseen forces lurking just beyond the veil of reality.

Since then, his life seemed to return to normal, but the lingering fear and unease felt like a shadow trailing him. Rongtian was just an ordinary factory worker until 199X when the factory went belly-up. To keep his family afloat, he gritted his teeth, fueled by his love for driving and his solid driving skills, and got a truck license. Thus began his life as a truck driver, battling the elements.

His wife, a gentle soul, always packed his bag before he left, nagging him about safety like a broken record. They had a kid in elementary school whose bright eyes made all the hard work worth it. In the trucker community, Rongtian had a few buddies with whom he'd shoot the breeze about the road's wild tales and troubleshoot together.

After a grueling day on the road, Rongtian decided to hit up his pal, A-Qiang, for some post-work beers. A-Qiang was obsessed with qigong, dreaming of achieving some sort of mystical enlightenment through daily practice. Rongtian often teased him about going off the deep end, but A-Qiang would always counter with a straight face, leading to their friendly bickering.

When Rongtian got to A-Qiang's place, he found the house as dark as his ex-boss's soul. No one answered his calls. "What's this clown up to now?" he grumbled, fumbling for the light switch. There was A-Qiang, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes shut, brow furrowed like he was solving the world's hardest Sudoku, sweat beads rolling down like mini waterfalls, muttering incantations.

Rongtian was about to crack a wise one when he noticed something off. A-Qiang was trembling, his face contorted in agony.

"Hey, A-Qiang, what's the deal?" Rongtian asked, giving his friend's shoulder a gentle nudge.

A-Qiang's eyes snapped open, wild with fear. After catching his breath, he said with a voice that could make a grown man cry, "Rongtian, I think I've messed up big time."

Apparently, during his qigong session, A-Qiang heard a whisper in his ear: "Come out." At first, he thought it was just his imagination working overtime, but the voice grew louder, more urgent, like an impatient Uber driver. When he finally responded, a sharp pain shot through his ear, and something slithered out.

Rongtian's jaw hit the floor. He remembered his own brush with the supernatural and felt a chill. "What did you see?" he asked, pulse racing.

A-Qiang went white as a ghost. "A tiny, hideous monster, scampering around like it was looking for the exit. Then, just as I was about to inspect it closer, I heard a car outside, and it panicked, running amok before vanishing."

As they spoke, the lights flickered ominously, and a chilly breeze made the curtains dance like they were at a haunted prom. Both men exchanged a look of sheer terror.

"Did I get cursed or something?" A-Qiang whimpered.

Rongtian, trying to keep his cool, patted his friend's back. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Might be linked to my past ghost stories." Inside, he was as uncertain as a cat on a hot tin roof.

They searched the house for clues, and Rongtian stumbled upon an ancient book with symbols that looked like they belonged in a fantasy game. "Check this out, might be related to your qigong stuff," he said excitedly.

The book suggested they'd opened some mystical portal, inviting uninvited guests. They prepared some "evil-repelling" items, but the house only got spookier. Shadows multiplied, and a bone-chilling howl filled the air. A-Qiang collapsed in fear, and Rongtian, though scared out of his wits, helped him up.

Remembering a tale from an old trucker about a special herb for cleansing, Rongtian decided to hunt it down. He faced numerous hurdles, from pharmacies to herbal stalls, but finally, with the help of an old Chinese doctor, he trekked up a mountain as night fell.

The mountain path twisted steeply upward, shrouded in mist so thick it swallowed every step he took. Rain began to fall, slickening the rocks beneath his boots. Each misstep sent pebbles tumbling into the abyss below, their echoes fading into the void. Just as he reached the ledge where the herb grew, a shadow darted past him—a wolf? Or something else entirely? Adrenaline surged through his veins as he grabbed the plant and sprinted back down the trail, his breath ragged and his legs burning.

Back home, Rongtian lit the herb, watching as its smoke curled upward like spectral fingers. The house fell silent, the oppressive weight lifting—but only temporarily. That night, as he lay in bed, a faint scratching sound came from outside. Peering out the window, he saw a shadow dart past, too quick to identify. Then it stopped, turning slowly toward the house. Its shape was wrong—too tall, too thin, with limbs that bent at unnatural angles. As it crept closer, Rongtian froze, realizing that whatever they had unleashed hadn't been fully banished. And now, it knew where to find them.