Chapter 26: The Ghost Market Gathering (2/2)

Swallowing hard, I asked Old Wang, "Master Wang, the... ghost?"

"Throw the urn out," he said. I tossed the 骨灰盒 (urn) from the car.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed, "I'm in the yin-yang trade too—I know the rules, but this is new. Explain, please."

"You're lucky to board the guide's hearse. That woman was a ghost heading to Silver Market. Her urn forced me to let her in, but she saw your weak yang energy and tried to make you her 替死鬼 (scapegoat)."

"A scapegoat?" I frowned.

Old Wang explained her 孽债 (karma debt) needed repayment. Karma debts come in two forms: past life and present life. Present-life debts shorten your lifespan; past-life debts haunt you after death, like this woman—doomed to suffer under yang fires until she finds a substitute. Answering her pity plea would shift her debts to me—decades of suffering, even after death.

The "yang fires" on her were heavenly punishments, burning her soul. She needed a scapegoat to enter the afterlife.

As for the hearse, the guide—a 贩阴人 (yin trader)—sold living souls to the Silver Market (ghost market). Ghosts bought souls; I was the merchandise. Yin traders lived short, risky lives but reaped huge profits. Souls had to be neither natural deaths, violent deaths, nor those of great virtue.

The woman wanted my soul but rejected me; the sobbing man had no family to claim his corpse and no money to buy my soul.

Realizing I was marked for death—not natural, violent, or virtuous—I panicked. "What 阴损 (vile) thing did I do to lose my lifespan?"

Old Wang thought. "You might've done something secretly vile. I caught up just in time."

I begged, "Master Wang, you and my grandpa are friends—save me!"

"You're my apprentice now. Follow me through the ghost market; you'll be safe."

My first time in such a place, I relied on Old Wang. When he said, "We're here," my heart pounded.

Outside, chaos reigned. Red lanterns hung from trees; crowds milled like a rural fair—hundreds of people, old and young. Old women sold goods; children played. Old Wang whispered, "Don't talk. Stay close. Red - corded wrists mean yin traders selling souls for lottery tips. Failed ghosts here plot to harm the living."

Nodding, I trailed him past bargaining crowds and sugar - figure vendors. Ten minutes in, a woman blocked our path—long hair shielding her face, white dress, photo in hand. "I'll carve out your heart, eat your liver! All men are trash!" she hissed.

Old Wang said, "Walk on—ignore her."

But she stepped forward, hair falling, voice icy. "I'm asking you a question. Answer me!"