The vengeful ghosts that had glared at us moments ago suddenly changed demeanor. The rock sugar gourd vendor grinned, rushing to the old woman. "Aunt Lü is so generous! Everyone, come share!"
I gaped as the donkey cart spilled gold and silver. The clatter of coins drew ghosts like flies, all scrambling for the treasure. Old Wang barked, "Move! Now or never!"
With everyone distracted, Old Wang dragged me into the dark. The farther we ran, the blacker it grew, though the distant shouts proved our ordeal was real. Strangely, he stayed exactly a meter ahead, as if pulling me by an invisible string.
Abruptly stopping, he spun and slapped my forehead—hard. I collapsed, dazed. "What the hell! You almost killed me!"
"Killed?" He snorted. "Look around."
Rubbing my head, I gasped. We weren't in wilderness—streetlights glowed, occasional cars passed, and construction noise echoed. The scene felt familiar.
Old Wang lit a cigarette on the curb. "Recognize it?"
"Is this... Wenguantun?"
"Congrats. Now check your wrist."
I froze—red string coiled around my wrist, the other end in Old Wang's hand. "How... When did this happen?"
He waved me over. "Hard to catch a cab at this hour. Relax." As I recounted taking the taxi, he explained: "Yin traders' red strings are witchcraft—you never saw that cab. Those drunks called you crazy because you were talking to thin air. The trader led you here." He pointed to a fallen bicycle with willow twigs. "That's their hearse. It was all an illusion. I saw you while buying cigarettes—lucky I intervened."
I felt bone - tired. Old Wang pointed to my shoes. "Check your soles. You've been running since midnight." My sock was holed, feet blistered, legs leaden.
As we waited for a cab, he described the ghost market: "Living souls entering yin markets rarely escape. Weak people caught in nightmares can get their souls stolen. Good thing I'm 正宗茅山 (authentic Maoshan Taoist)." I eyed his waist tablet—apparently effective on both worlds.
My ordeal was "ghost - tangled legs": first "stone - pressing" (feeling weighted, like carrying the silver - haired granny), then "ground - shifting" (endless, uncontrolled walking). The red string had dragged me from Shenhe to Dadong to Yuhong.
Glancing back at the crossroads, I asked, "Is the market still there? Are we safe?"
"You're such a coward! Li Xiaozhang's grandson shouldn't be this timid." He pinched my chin. "You're unworthy of the Maoshan Technique Records."