A Body Without a Soul

“Master Bai truly lives up to her youth; this method of hers is quite…” Deng Shuqi strained for a considerable time, yet failed to conjure a single word of praise. After all, livestreaming sales of funeral items late at night… simply avoiding criticism was usually a victory. To genuinely expect praise from Deng Shuqi, given her collegiate background, was truly asking for a stretch.

“I know my methods aren’t ideal, but it’s all just to make a living,” Bai Wanwan mumbled softly. Just then, the elevator chimed, having reached the floor where Deng Shuqi’s brother’s ward was located.

As Bai Wanwan and her companions stepped out, the other occupants of the elevator visibly relaxed, a collective sigh of relief escaping them.

“True. But Master Bai has such a good mindset and genuine ability; she’s sure to make a name for herself.” Deng Shuqi continued, “If the opportunity arises, I’ll certainly recommend you to my friends.” In Deng Shuqi’s estimation, Bai Wanwan possessed great skill, was young, and approachable. In an era plagued by rampant supernatural occurrences, where old charlatans were as numerous as cattle, and truth mingled indistinguishably with falsehood, latching onto such a powerful figure was indeed an excellent prospect. It was a pity, however, that the Deng family’s primary focus lay in finance—an inherently virtual market. There was simply no avenue through which they could genuinely assist Bai Wanwan. After all, no matter how many supernatural incidents occurred, they weren’t likely to haunt online stock markets, mobile phones, computers, or even servers, were they?

“Master Bai, please, my brother is in this room.” Deng Shuqi guided Bai Wanwan to a clean and tidy private ward. Compared to the cramped triple, quadruple, or even quintuple rooms downstairs, this ward felt more akin to a hotel suite, boasting a full-length window that offered an excellent view and abundant natural light. The room’s furnishings were sparse: a few monitoring instruments and a single hospital bed. Lying upon it was a young man, appearing to be around eighteen, with most of his body still swathed in bandages. A dedicated nurse was stationed in the ward; upon seeing Deng Shuqi enter, she quickly rose to greet them.

“Miss Deng.”

“Yes, you’ve all worked hard. I’ve brought my friend to visit; you may step out for now.” Dismissing the outsider, Deng Shuqi immediately cast an eager gaze upon Bai Wanwan.

Bai Wanwan merely glanced at the boy, then gently shook her head.

“His soul is gone. Even I am powerless to help.” In Bai Wanwan’s eyes, the young man lying on the bed was nothing more than an empty vessel. Medically brain-dead, he was, to her, simply a body devoid of its spirit. Truth be told, such a young physique, having lost its soul, presented a rather uncommon scenario.

“His soul… then what must I do to bring his soul back?” Deng Shuqi, though not fully comprehending, clutched Bai Wanwan’s arm tightly, desperate to glean even a sliver of hope from her.

“It’s not coming back, Miss Deng. You must accept your grief,” Liu Hanzhi whispered, having perceived Bai Wanwan’s soft heart and her reluctance to utter such words herself. Thus, Liu Hanzhi spoke first.

What Bai Wanwan had been suppressing, the truth she longed to utter, was precisely what Liu Hanzhi articulated.

“When a soul leaves the body, if it remains separated for more than three days, grave consequences ensue. Beyond seven days, it will essentially dissipate.”

“Even…” Liu Hanzhi’s words trailed off, cut short by a sharp glare from Bai Wanwan. She pressed her lips together, daring not to continue. ‘What she had intended to say was that if a soul failed to find a suitable vessel to attach to within seven days, that dissipated spirit would lose even the chance of reincarnation. It wouldn’t even be able to become a wandering ghost… Souls unable to reincarnate could at least find repose in a tomb, which helped prevent their dispersal, provided they didn’t stray too far from the tomb’s vicinity for too long. If necessary, they could also inhabit paper figures, or even outright seize another’s body as a vessel. However, the latter was exceedingly difficult, a rare occurrence not typically considered.’ Liu Hanzhi, for instance, relied on her skill with paper crafts to fashion a physical body for herself whenever she went out to earn a living.

“How can this be?” Deng Shuqi slowly sank to her knees, her face now awash with tears.

Meanwhile, Bai Wanwan had discerned another clue.

“It’s likely that the malevolent spirit we eradicated, the one that deliberately caused your brother’s accident and forced his soul from his body, was also coveting this physique.” Bai Wanwan reached out, gently touching the young man’s forehead. It felt utterly vacant, like a newly renovated house, empty and awaiting an occupant.

“Coveting? My brother’s body?” Deng Shuqi didn’t quite grasp the implication.

“Your brother’s current state makes his body an exceptionally fine vessel for a soul without a physical anchor.”

“For a soul to remain intact, it requires a container. The most superior kind is a young human body. However, every person already possesses a soul, so to usurp another’s vessel, one must first expel the original soul from the body. This is a formidable task, and often, if the balance isn’t carefully managed, the body itself can suffer irreversible damage.”

Liu Hanzhi continued to explain, for she understood these matters intimately. After all, she harbored a constant yearning for a true physical body; compared to the flimsy paper figures that required regular replacement, a real body could nourish her soul far more effectively.

“That malevolent spirit must have long coveted your brother’s body, seeking an opportunity to seize it, but thankfully, we thwarted its plans.”

“There are too many lost souls in this world with no anchor. You absolutely must protect your brother’s body.” Seeing Deng Shuqi’s desperate expression, Bai Wanwan felt compelled to offer a glimmer of hope.

“What if your brother’s soul found something to attach to? Perhaps it hasn’t dissipated yet, who knows?”

“First, preserve his body. That way, when he eventually returns, he won’t be without a vessel, right?” Bai Wanwan gently comforted Deng Shuqi. While the possibility was slim, it wasn’t entirely impossible. If there had been a funeral supply shop within ten *li* of where Deng Shuqi’s brother was struck by the car, perhaps his soul could have attached itself to a paper figure and survived for a while longer.

“Wait, Wanwan, don’t you feel something is amiss?” Liu Hanzhi leaned closer to Bai Wanwan’s ear, lowering her voice to a soft whisper.

“Amiss?” Bai Wanwan furrowed her brow. “What exactly is amiss?”

“This hospital!” Liu Hanzhi stamped her foot in agitation.

“Aren’t there just a few too many lingering spirits in this hospital, souls unable to reincarnate?”

“Even for a hospital, it’s excessive… They seem to be searching for something.” As Liu Hanzhi spoke, her gaze drifted to Deng Shuqi’s brother, lying still on the hospital bed.

“Are you suggesting that wandering ghosts are coveting Deng Shuqi’s brother’s body?”

“I’m afraid so… and if they continue searching like this, I fear they’ll soon discover this place.” As Liu Hanzhi spoke, her gaze casually drifted towards the window. Outside, at some unknown moment, a single eyeball had appeared, floating mid-air, shimmering with an eerie, strange light.