"Coming, coming!" Zhao Mumu's voice called out from inside. After a moment, the door cracked open, and Zhao Mumu peeked out before grabbing Song Miaozhu's wrist and yanking her inside.
Suppressing the unease bubbling in her chest, Song Miaozhu asked hurriedly, "What happened to Grandpa Zhao?"
"You'll understand when you see it!" Zhao Mumu led her into a small workshop.
Though it was broad daylight, the curtains were drawn tightly. The only source of light was a single desk lamp glowing over an old wooden table. The elderly man sat with his back to them, hunched over, focused on something they couldn't see.
"Master! Miaozhu's here!" Zhao Mumu called.
But the old man didn't react—he didn't even flinch, as if he hadn't heard them come in at all. Miaozhu's gaze drifted to the full head of dark black hair atop the old man's head. A strange doubt rose in her chest. "Did Grandpa Zhao dye his hair?"
"Ugh! Ever since he came back from visiting Shimu grave, he's been acting strange." Zhao Mumu lowered her voice. "He won't do anything else—just carves wood all day. Your shop's sign was almost finished, but he refuses to touch it now. At first, I thought he was just inspired, obsessed with this new project. But then..."
She shuddered and inched closer.
"He finished one wooden doll, then started on a miniature house. He drew the curtains, banned extra lights—only that tiny desk lamp is allowed. He won't let me near his worktable. And he keeps muttering... 'Sufang, Sufang.' My master's wife name was Li Sufang."
A chill ran down Song Miaozhu's spine.
"Master always said gray hair didn't matter—without Shimu around, who cared about looks? But after finishing that doll, while I was out delivering an order, he dyed his hair black. That's when I knew something was wrong."
Zhao Mumu swallowed hard. "I heard the abbot of Dazhao Temple in the next city has real skills. Took me forever to contact him—he's away but returns in three days. Maybe when Master visited the cemetery, Shimu... followed him back?"
She gripped Song Miaozhu's sleeve. "Miaozhu, you're brave. Until the abbot arrives, can you stay here? I'm freaking out."
Song Miaozhu shook her head. But seeing the tears welling in Zhao Mumu's eyes, she offered quickly, "It's alright. There is something off here—but it's nothing too serious."
"Wh-what?" Zhao Mumu blinked, stunned.
"Wait here. I need to grab something," Miaozhu said.
"What are you getting?" Zhao Mumu asked nervously.
"I'll tell you outside." Miaozhu pulled her out of the house, standing under the blazing sun before leaning close and whispering, "It's not Grandma Li. But Grandpa Zhao's being haunted by a ghost."
Even though she'd never met Li Sufang in person, she could sense it clearly—the doll wasn't inhabited by a woman. It was a male spirit.
"A ghost? Not Shimu?" Zhao Mumu's worry suddenly overwhelmed her fear. "Then we have to help him! If it's not Shimu, it might hurt him!"
"No need." Miaozhu caught her arm. "As long as Grandpa keeps carving, the spirit can't touch him."
She had just seen it—his body was surrounded by glowing orb of spiritual light. Even brighter than when she worked with paper effigies. The ghost's Yin energy couldn't penetrate that shield.
But in her experience, once the wooden sculpture was finished, that shield would vanish—and then the ghost could strike. And judging by the way Grandpa Zhao was working, the tiny house was nearly done—he was down to the final carving details.
He was old, after all. Unlike her, he didn't have the divine protection that came with being a Heaven-ranked ghost shopkeeper. That Yin energy would hit him hard. There was no time to waste. Miaozhu didn't have the luxury of pondering the connection between spiritual energy and the carving process. She needed to exorcise that ghost—fast.
But she had no weapons on hand. She wouldn't even have the confidence to negotiate without something in her grasp. Her rattan cane was locked in the shop's storeroom—no way to retrieve it without drawing attention. She had to pretend she was going back for something else.
Zhao Mumu looked thoroughly confused, but Miaozhu grabbed her wrist. "No time to explain. Just know this—if Grandpa stops carving now, he'll be in even greater danger. We have to deal with the ghost before that happens. I'll run to the shop. You head to the banks of the Xiaoli River and break off a few fresh willow branches—I'll need them!"
Zhao Mumu could see how confident she was, and quickly calmed down. "Got it! I'm counting on you! You take the electric scooter—it's faster! I'll ride the trike!"
"No, you take the scooter. The river's further away. I'll be back in a flash," said Miaozhu.
Zhao Mumu didn't argue. She hopped on the scooter and zoomed off toward the Xiaoli River. Meanwhile, Miaozhu walked a short distance down the alley toward her shop—then doubled back quietly. When she returned, her trike's cargo bed held a single, pitch-black rattan cane. She waited at the entrance to the carving shop.
Before long, Zhao Mumu returned on the scooter, waving a bundle of green willow branches. "Miaozhu! Will this be enough?"
"More than enough," Miaozhu replied, smiling.
Zhao Mumu had gathered a generous armful of fresh, vibrant willow.
"What did you bring?" Zhao Mumu had imagined talismans, incense—not this.
"This." Song Miaozhu brandished the cane.
"A... stick?" Zhao Mumu touched it—icy, unnaturally smooth. "What wood is this? Never seen anything like it."
"Family heirloom. Hurts ghosts." Song Miaozhu smirked. "If the spirit won't leave willingly, I'll beat it senseless."
She outlined the plan: "Soak the willow in water, then..."
Zhao Mumei's eyes widened, but she nodded. "Got it. Let's go."
The two worked swiftly, preparing the willow water. Once everything was ready, they carried the bucket into Grandpa Zhao's workshop.
The old man remained seated at his desk, still carving with complete focus—totally oblivious to the world around him.