For the past few evenings, I had been adjourning directly to the Internet cafe once I had finished closing the Center that I spent my dinner time poring over the computer screens while munching my food. For an entire year, I had been cooped up in the Center, studiously perusing the booklet that my father had given me that I almost became a hermit that was detached from the world. It was only after our return from Inner Mongolia that I had found out the existence of a new Internet game that had grown popular more than a year ago. Much of my recent hours I had spent engrossed in the game, that I became part of a tacit brotherhood of players bound together by the game who regularly fill the seats of my nearby Internet cafe to the hilt as we chanted the mantra “WINNER WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER!” as we played the game.

Even the caretaker of the cafe, a young girl, could easily recognize me now; not only I had subscribed for a five-hundred-yuan account, but I had also become one of the more prominent youngsters in Wu Zhong County. One would be hardpressed not to when one had become one of the youngest millionaires in the locale at the age of twenty-two. But I never liked mingling with the rich children of my age. I could never get along with them; unlike the forthright and genuine temperaments of both Mr. Zhang and Mr. Lee, rich children seemed snobbish to me, exuding an air of self-entitlement at being born with a silver spoon that I could never tolerate. I would prefer spending time alone in an Internet cafe than associate and fraternize with their ilk; instead, I always managed to blend into the boisterous and rowdy crowd in the Internet cafe and spend my time unnoticed and alone despite the noisy din.

Then again, I had my fair share of friendships with other fellow players. United together by our love in the new Internet game, we had had a great time together. But there was one night, when none of my fellow enthusiasts showed up, I spent the night alone with the entire Internet cafe to myself. There was no one there the whole night, save for the young caretaker. After two rounds of failing to achieve the top prize in the game, I stretched my arms and legs. Deciding to come back for another round after a brief respite, the caretaker girl spoke to me suddenly from over my shoulders, “You have yet to get your prize today, Shiyan! Having a bad day today?” “Kind of hard not to,” I replied to her, smiling weakly, “Without my friends with me, I’m fighting alone! I’m suffering from a poor harvest now!” I lighted a cigarette and peered at the clock overhead. It was already three in the morning. I took a swig, thinking that the enforcement officers for smoking would hardly come knocking at the door in this hour. Even if they did, the enforcement officers would most likely be Zheng Shuang’s underlings…

With my cigarette lodged between my lips, my hand went to the mouse of the computer I was using. I readied myself for another bout when a throaty voice came from behind my shoulders. “Please, Brother, I need your help!” My attention was glued unto the screen of my computer that I did not expect such a surprise; I almost leaped in my seat when the voice spoke to me! I jerked my head and looked to the back and saw a lean man with a deathly pale face standing, or more aptly put, hovering behind me. There was no sight of his feet in the man’s ghastly appearance and there was a chilly air of dead and decay about him.

My surprised reactions somehow did not go unnoticed; the caretaker girl saw me and asked, “Is there anything wrong, Shiyan?” I was shocked that I took almost a second before I regained my senses. “Err… Can you make me a cup of coffee?” I muttered, although I could have sworn that the girl must have heard the unmistakable quiver in my voice. She shrugged her shoulders quizzically, and trotted off to the bar for my drink. With the coast now clear as the caretaker girl had drifted out of earshot, I hissed to the ghost behind me. “What business do you have with me?” Seeing that I had spoken, the ghost was now certain that I could communicate with him. “Please, Brother! I need your help!” he begged, “My friend was hit by a car! It’s terrible and we need your help!”

A surrealistic sensation filled me suddenly: here I was, alone with another person in an empty Internet cafe and a ghost now appeared to me, requesting for my help to save a friend who was injured in an accident. Despite my numerous encounters with entities of the Netherworld, I felt a chill crawling up my spine. Goosebumps fanned down my arms as I managed a curt nod.

The ghost was delighted to see me agree. He turned and began gliding towards the stairs, beckoning me to follow. The caretaker girl was just coming back with my coffee and she saw me hurrying towards the exit. “Oh, Shiyan! Where are you off to?” “I’m going to my car to collect something,” I mumbled quickly, “Please look after my phone for me…” I quickly slipped out the doors and caught up to the ghost in front.

We left the Internet cafe and I followed the ghost’s lead into an alleyway behind the cafe. Stepping into the darkness of the quiet path, I could not help but wonder if this could be a trick by remnants of the Creed of the Eight Trigrams? I fished out my Spirit Gourd from my pocket, readying myself to release my spirit wolves in case of danger. But the ghost did not stop in the alleyway; he continued gliding until we exited the back lane and crossed another street, before stopping finally near a rubbish bin just beside the road.

The ghost beckoned for me to come over and showed me. Sprawled behind the rubbish bin was a large, furry black cat. Its rear legs were grotesquely mangled and its lower half was nothing but a bloodied mess. The ghost hovered beside the black cat, his translucent hand caressing its head. This was the friend he mentioned, I mused, as I realized the worried look on his face. I knelt down to look at the cat’s condition, but the cat, fearful of strangers, struggled and rose to its feet painfully and stood between me and the ghost in a protective manner. It hissed angrily at me, mistaking me for an enemy. The ghost immediately exclaimed, “It’s fine, Smoky! He’s here to help you!” Assured I harbored no ill will, the cat softened and sat back down on the ground, allowing me to inspect its wounds. Black cats, as frequently mentioned in Chinese folklore, could see foul beings and ghosts, hence Smoky’s friendship with the ghost.

I checked Smoky’s wounds, but found that the wounds were fatal; Smoky was beyond help. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do…” I muttered, “His internal organs are all damaged.” The ghost wailed and howled in agony. Ghosts do not shed tears, but their mournful howls and blood-curdling wailings could silence even the most boisterous party! “Please, Brother,” the ghost begged distressingly to me, “Is there really no way to save him? Smoky is my best friend! There must be a way!” I gawked at the ghost’s goofiness that reminded me of a certain someone I knew. He must have also been a dumb person before his death, I wondered. Dealing with dumb people was never an easy feat for me, never mind dealing with a dumb ghost about an impossible task! The ghost noticed my hesitation and thought that I might have a way. He descended to the ground and began bowing deeply, groveling at my ankles. “Please, Brother! Please save Smoky! Please save him!”

Nevertheless, there was nothing I could do about the injuries. I grimaced at the prospects of having to remind him of that fact. “But it will become a ghost when he dies,” I said to the ghost, “Would it not be good for the both of you? You can still be together?” The ghost of the dumb person was momentarily stunned by what I said. He broke into a happy smile and looked at the cat, brushing its head. “Heh heh heh! He’s right! We can still be together when you died, Smoky! We have nothing to fear!” I could almost swear that the cat had shot a blistering glare at the ghost for his ludicrous words; a seething stare that reminded the ghost that he had forgotten something. His spectral form shuddered as he remembered finally. “Wait, no! Smoky will go to the Underworld when he’s dead! We will still be separated!” “But you are dead too!” I remarked, exasperated, “Why are you not at the Underworld?” My remark seemed to strike to the heart as the ghost became speechless. He began mumbling the same question, “He’s right! Why am I not at the Underworld? Why?”

In truth, wandering spirits like him were not usually taken into the Underworld by heralds and guards of Hell. They had to find the Town God to register. But the dump ghost that knew not how to find the Town God would need the help of mediums and shamans such as me to guide him. The cat would have been the same if it died, but it was far from dumb and senseless; it knew its way into the Underworld.

“Look,” I pat the ghost and said, “How about this: we wait for Smoky to heave his last, and I’ll send you both together into the Underworld. How’s that?” But the ghost waved his hands frantically at me. “No! Cannot! Smoky cannot go to the Underworld!” “What do you suggest then?” I asked him, my patience wearing thin. “You have to save him,” the ghost replied, his voice suddenly strangely resolute. “But it is beyond help! It will die nevertheless!” I replied to him and repeated myself once more for his benefit.

I remembered a quote: never argue with a fool. Yet I had committed the folly of doing exactly that. My words fell on deaf ears as the ghost refused to accept that I had no ways to save his feline friend. He pestered and begged until I could take no more. At last, I screamed, “All right! Smoky will die. But I can keep him from going to the Underworld. He will remain in my care. Is that acceptable?” The ghost of the dumb person beamed with joy, clapping his hands. “Heh heh heh! Good good!” I sighed heavily, slightly peeved as we waited for Smoky to draw its last breath. I took out my Spirit Gourd and took its soul, turning it into a spirit beast under my charge. Unlike the spirits of wild wolves I had collected with great efforts before, Smoky’s soul subjected itself willingly to my control hence it became my spirit cat without apparent effort.

Smoky reappeared from my Gourd, and the ghost hugged him tightly in his arms, whining loudly in arms again as I frowned at the insufferable noise of his piercing howls…

The ghost of the dumb man spoke through his sobs with a shattered voice, “You must take care of yourself, Smoky. Remember nothing of me…” He gasped with the sadness and reluctance of a mother sending her daughter off during her marriage. But you could easily just meet whenever you want to, I grimaced.

Just as I was feeling vexed over the overtly-dramatic theatrics of the ghost, a loud and hollow whine of an engine broke the silence around us. The noise was coming towards our direction from afar. I stood up, looking at the end of the street, trying to find the origin of the din, and saw a double-decker bus speeding towards us. As it came closer, I could see a sign on the bus that said, “The Underworld Express”!