Chapter 82: The Seventh Day (2 / 2)

Just as the final round of gongs ended, a strange wind suddenly rose around the crematory furnace. Ashes on the ground spiraled into the air, making it hard for everyone to keep their eyes open. I took that moment to step toward the three paper horses and peeled off the yellow talisman paper from the stools.

I looked at Zhou Han and said, "Take a look, but keep it quiet."

The five of them leaned in. One of them, Wu Wenjie, gasped and said in a low voice, "Mine has donkey hooves."

"Mine's chicken feet!" another whispered.

"F**k, it's pig trotters. What the hell is going on?" Zhou Han murmured, clearly disturbed.

Seeing the families of the deceased moving closer, I quickly swept away the ashes. Their children had already died tragically—if they also knew their kids might be reincarnated as livestock, that would be too cruel to bear.

Just as I was about to face a wave of angry accusations, the yin-yang priest rushed over. "Don't worry, everyone! This is part of the blessing ritual—we agreed on this beforehand," he said, pointing to me.

I gave him a small nod, and he returned a respectful bow. Judging by how quickly he covered for me, this priest must be at least half an insider in the metaphysical world—or "red path," as we sometimes call it. Only someone who understood karmic metaphysics would've grasped my intention.

Thanks to that diversion, the matter was smoothed over.

But the five of them—Zhou Han included—were clearly unsettled. After all, some of them had taken a few bites that day. And who wouldn't be terrified at the idea of being reincarnated as an animal?

If it were an ordinary case of killing animals, that would be one thing. But as I mentioned before, that weasel spirit had heavenly connections. This kind of karmic retribution was inevitable. Gods in heaven or humans on earth—when it comes to justice and revenge, they're not all that different.

The seventh-day ritual ended amidst sobbing and grief. As I left the crematorium, the families offered to host a meal, but we declined. Just ten minutes earlier, Cui Hai had called Zhou Han, saying he wanted to treat everyone to a feast—celebrating their survival from this brush with death.

I initially didn't want to go. But the others wouldn't have it. "You're the hero here!" they said. "We're not going if you don't come!"

Dragged along by sheer enthusiasm, I ended up in Zhou Han's car with over a dozen classmates heading toward the Sheraton Hotel.

Throughout the ride and the early moments of the gathering, I dodged any questions about spirits or rituals. Talking about these things to outsiders only gets you laughter or mockery. To most, it's just a spooky story at best.

At the restaurant, the waitstaff clearly knew Zhou Han, and a tall, pretty manager led us to a private room.

The moment the door opened, we saw Cui Hai sitting inside, prayer beads around his wrist. He greeted us with a dramatic, "Amitabha!"

"Damn, you guys weren't kidding—he really found religion," Zhou Han joked. "You? Abstaining from meat and sex? That'll be the day."

Cui Hai smirked proudly. "Hey! Don't you curse in front of a lay Buddhist! I spent thirty grand on a layperson's certificate today, and another eighty-plus on two golden Buddha statues. I've got a Dharma name now—call me Master Huineng!"

Everyone burst into laughter. For a moment, it felt like the terror of the weasel spirit, the karma, the ritual gongs—all of it had been forgotten. Maybe it was because Cui Hai had survived. Maybe it gave them hope. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they thought I'd faked the whole thing.

"Huineng? More like 'No Nerve,'" Zhou Han teased. "Food's ordered?"

"Hell yeah! Tonight I'm treating. Last time only a few people went camping—tonight we've got the full crew. Even got the four beauties of our class here!" Cui Hai beamed. "So I ordered three lobsters!"

As the joking continued, I felt more and more out of place. Sitting quietly in a corner, I watched everyone from the edge of the room. Liu Ruoyi sat diagonally across from me, as if deliberately avoiding me.

The room filled up. Conversations became louder and messier. One classmate who hadn't gone on the camping trip raised a glass to me.

"To our class fortune-teller—cheers to Zhang Dabao! Who would've thought we had such a talent among us?"

There was a mocking tone beneath his words that I didn't appreciate.

Then he added, "I heard from Zhou Han—you fought a real weasel demon, huh? Was it powerful?"

"You're drunk," I said coldly, annoyed by both his tone and his disrespect toward the spirit world.

"Oh ho, touchy much?" he sneered, putting his drink down. "Lemme tell you something, Zhang Dabao. Back in the Cultural Revolution, guys like you would've been paraded around in a dunce cap, beaten with shoes, and thrown into pigpens. Don't act like some big-shot wizard here. Who knows, maybe you were all just high on something. And if monsters really exist—where the hell are the fox spirits? Bring me a few, I'll pay to sleep with 'em."

Before I could respond, Cui Hai suddenly stood up, pointing at me.

"Why the hell is he here?! Who invited this bastard? Get the f**k out! You nearly got me killed, you freak!"

He lunged toward me, ready to start a fight—