Chapter 46: The Ullambana Society (Part II)

“Silence!” Qin Ye closed his eyes, listening intently to the sounds around him.

Silence.

Utter silence.

The raucous clash of drums and gongs only seemed to heighten the profound stillness.

“Boom, boom... clang!” The rhythmically piercing drums and gongs thundered from downstairs. Listening in the darkness, one’s hair would stand on end.

Qin Ye listened quietly. A minute later, the drums began to sound muffled. He knew what that meant—they’d entered the building.

At the stroke of midnight, someone was beating gongs and drums, but only those meant to hear could perceive it, and now the procession was making its way up, uncertain whose dormitory it sought.

Nearer and nearer, louder and louder. Qin Ye’s brows lifted. Ten minutes later, the cacophony had reached the fourth floor. In the black night, the drums clamored, and a low, guttural chant of “hey yo, hey yo” approached—straight for his door.

In the corner, three spectral apparitions were ashen, their souls nearly fleeing their bodies.

Shh... something landed outside the door. Then, utter silence.

A deathly quiet.

So quiet that one longed for any sound at all. Outside, the trees cast wavering shadows, painting the walls with terrifying patterns.

“Dong...” A faint sound tapped at the door a few seconds later.

“Dong... dong...” Once per second, rhythmically.

Tonight, the moonlight was clear, and the stars were brilliant.

The fourth floor faced the moon. Pale moonlight spilled in beneath the door, yet he saw no shadow of anyone outside.

The old wooden door reverberated—not too light, not too slow, but steadily, pressing down on frayed nerves.

Exactly the same as three years ago!

Qin Ye ignored it, letting the knocking continue for five full minutes. At last, it ceased.

Gone?

In the darkness, Qin Ye stretched and stood, peering through the peephole.

A bloodshot red eye, veins crawling across its surface, stared straight back at him through the lens!

Separated by only a door.

Even he felt a jolt in his heart.

Shh... Just then, from above came a faint sound.

This was a dormitory building of indeterminate age. The door was not a modern, tight-sealing style, but an old wooden one, cracked with age, and above it was a small, long-unwashed, blurry glass window.

And now, pressed against the glass, four heads were staring down at him!

Pale moonlight, pallid faces, black clothes. Behind the dust-caked glass, the sight was utterly chilling.

They were four paper effigies.

The entire male dormitory was dead silent. No one knew the terror of the night; it was as if all had sunk into a dreamless sleep.

“Sir.” Just as the gloom around Qin Ye began to stir, a shrill voice called from outside: “Sir, my master invites you.”

Qin Ye was stunned.

What nerve—to “invite” a ghostly envoy! Did this ghost not fear him at all?

“How interesting.” He chuckled softly and flung open the door.

Beyond the threshold, the corridor was bathed in wan moonlight, streaks of bluish-white yin energy wafting through the air. There, a procession stretched down the hall.

Twelve figures in all... or rather, twelve somethings.

The corridor was narrow. Leading the way were four tall figures clad in colorful, tattered robes, like actors from ancient plays.

Very tall.

At least two meters, nearly scraping the ceiling. Identical clothing, hair falling over their faces and chests, each holding an oil-paper umbrella. The uniformity was oppressive.

Their faces were completely obscured—even in front, only hair was visible.

Behind them stood four small paper effigies, with pointed hands and feet, wearing tall hats, lips painted crimson, faces deathly white, with garish rouge on their cheeks.

They carried a coffin.

Jet black, lidless, but inside, the finest furs were spread to form a seat.

Following them were four more two-meter-tall ghostly figures.

The twelve stood silently in the corridor, a bottomless darkness stretching behind.

“Who is your master?” Qin Ye asked.

“Sir, our master says you received his invitation this morning. Tonight marks his auspicious day of promotion and fortune. He’s sent invitations far and wide; every notorious spirit in Baoyan City will attend. He hopes you will honor him with your presence.” One of the paper effigies replied in a piercing voice.

Qin Ye paused, then fished out the card he’d received that morning.

After midnight, the card had changed. On the black surface, two blood-red words had appeared: Hui University.

So, it really is them?

Without a flicker of emotion, Qin Ye tucked the card away, cursing inwardly. Not only could he not extort a bribe, even making some money in the mortal world proved difficult!

This was the lair of Baoyan City’s underworld kingpin!

Hui University—right beneath his feet.

“Please.” The paper effigies squatted in perfect unison. Qin Ye pondered for a moment, then stepped into the coffin and reclined on the soft furs. Instantly, the effigies stood, turning with a strange twist to face the corridor, calling out in their shrill voices, “The honored guest sets forth—depart~~~!”

“Boom, boom, boom!” The two one-meter-tall ghosts in front pounded their drums with force. Behind, one struck a bronze gong—clang!

The jarring sound echoed down the passage.

The coffin floated smoothly, the procession of twelve ghosts gliding through the air without touching the ground. Soon, they reached the first floor.

As they arrived, Qin Ye raised a hand, “Wait.”

The coffin halted.

Here, at the first floor—where the doorman’s quarters were.

And the doorman was here now.

Old Liu trembled all over, yellow talismans pasted on his clothes, clutching three sticks of incense, his face painted with the same red lips and rouge, quivering at the entrance. His hunched frame seemed even more bent, as he prostrated madly before the door, muttering, “Heaven preserve me... heaven preserve me!”

Qin Ye lightly drew his knife, placing it silently at Old Liu’s neck.

A mere press, and the man’s throat would be slit.

But Old Liu seemed utterly oblivious, as though fearing to wake something; each kowtow was frantic, and just as Qin Ye was about to act, he withdrew the blade.

“Let’s go.” Qin Ye turned away, sitting back in the coffin and beckoning.

“Raise the coffin!” The paper effigies cried. The coffin lifted smoothly, then abruptly veered—heading straight into Old Liu’s home.

“Buddha protect me... Celestial Master protect me!” Behind him, the door swung open without wind. Old Liu, voice hoarse with terror, desperately knocked his head against the table.

Old Liu’s quarters lay sandwiched between the staircase and the first floor, but they were neither small nor cramped. Inside, darkness reigned, thick with yin energy like choking smog.

Shh... An overhead spotlight flicked on. Qin Ye realized—there was no bed here.

Only a massive sofa, enough for someone to sleep on, with two potted plants in the corner. No bookshelf, no table, no chairs. Stranger still, the walls were covered entirely in mirrors.

A strange sense of familiarity... as if such scenes were common in human society... Qin Ye tapped a finger against a mirror, frowning, but couldn’t recall where he’d seen it before.

Yellow talismans, drawn with blood-red sigils, were plastered on the mirrors. Though twelve stood in the room, none appeared in the reflections. Before Qin Ye could look closer, the entire chamber suddenly dropped!

Swish! In an instant, the mirrors’ talismans fluttered upward. Reflected in the glass, a blood-red Arabic numeral appeared.

-1.

The number changed rapidly. Within seconds, accompanied by a grinding, muffled clatter, it became...

-2.

-3, -4, -5... until it finally stopped at -6.

“A direct elevator to the Underworld? No wonder it seemed familiar—right beneath this building. And the students here aren’t all dead yet... Should I commend him for his devotion to virtue?” Qin Ye sneered, opened the door, and stepped out.

Outside was a broad stone passage, five or six meters wide. The walls were engraved with ancient motifs, each stone beast-head lamp casting flickering yellow light.

And on both sides of the passage... stood ranks of spectral figures!

Some wore suits, some looked like students, others were office ladies—different faces, but all numb, each holding a red lantern, wandering aimlessly forward.

As Qin Ye opened the door, all the spirits paused, the soft sound of swallowing echoing. The next instant, dozens—hundreds—of crimson eyes turned to fix on him!

“A hundred ghosts paying their respects—what an honor...” Qin Ye brushed his hand along the wall, cold and damp, heavy with the stench of death and yin energy. He instantly understood.

“An ancient tomb—at least a century old. And not just a wealthy man’s grave, but one for an official of fifth rank or higher! And... with no fewer than a hundred buried attendants.”

“Roar!” Suddenly, a mass of ghosts surged at him, howling. A flash of icy blade cut through the dark—several fierce ghosts at the front evaporated, their yin energy dissipating. From Qin Ye’s body, a surge of yin energy, of a quality wholly distinct from the others, erupted forth!

“Out of my way.” He snorted coldly. Amid cries of alarm, the ghosts parted as if by Moses’ staff, opening a clear path before him.

He walked for ten minutes before a heavy stone door, adorned with beast heads, loomed ahead. On the left, the inscription read “Yulan”; on the right, “Clubhouse.” Four characters were carved deep into the stone, vigorous and powerful, burning with ghostly flames that cast a ghastly green glow.

As he reached the threshold, the Yulan Clubhouse card slipped from his breast and slid into the crack of the door. A low, deep hum sounded, and the door rumbled open.

Qin Ye closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and stepped forward—only to freeze completely.

“What ghostly legends, what monsters and demons—only the egret sings its mournful tune!”

“Yellow sands sweep the sky, wandering every corner, traversing the endless, vast galaxy...”

Desert Camel?

Could you believe it?!

What met his eyes was nothing like the eerie human-head lanterns and ghost flames he’d expected. With no doors to bar the way, a tidal wave of pulsing disco music crashed into him. Amidst dazzling lights, in a space three or four hundred square meters wide, a horde of ghosts danced wildly!

Glamorous she-ghosts dressed as bunny girls wove through the crowd, silver trays in hand. Now and then, a hand would grope a shapely rear, drawing a coquettish scold before the ghostly hostess smiled and pocketed a wad of Hell Bank notes from behind her back. Overhead, a skull-shaped disco ball showered the hall in a dizzying blaze.

Not just a hundred ghosts—every spirit in Baoyan City with any intelligence seemed gathered here!

How did he know they were ghosts?

Simple—because every one of them, from the knees down, was insubstantial! And their faces were deathly pale, marbled with corpse blotches. The entire hall reeked of an odor no air freshener could mask—the stench of the grave!

The Ghost Clubhouse!