"You don't feel any hatred at all?" Song Miaozhu asked.
Though E Hongjuan spoke with detachment, the scene she described—paired with the lingering wounds on her spirit—was chilling. Even the listeners felt a sorrow. So why was the victim herself so indifferent?
It almost felt like they were the ones insisting on justice, while the wronged party remained unmoved.
"Of course I hated him!" E Hongjuan scoffed. "But after my judgment in the underworld, I learned exactly what punishments await those who commit evil. That's when I let go."
She crossed her arms, her ghostly form flickering. "I hated him, not myself. And why should his crimes ruin my afterlife too? Wasting my ghostly years drowning in resentment? No thanks! I've already filed my complaint in the Court of Yanluo. The judge assured me his sentence will be severe—both in life and after death."
A smirk curled her bloodless lips. "Even now, he's living in fear. And once he dies? Hell's torments make mortal laws look merciful. He'll never escape retribution."
She shrugged. "Meanwhile, I still have a next life to look forward to. Why dwell?"
The criminal police, upon hearing the old man Zhao retold ghost story, quietly began investigating her case. Then, out of the blue, the university's dean turned to the dorm manager.
"Xiao Gao, didn't you take over your mom's job? Wasn't her surname Yan?"
E Hongjuan whipped her head around, eyes suddenly glowing red. "You're that old bastard's daughter?!"
But the dorm manager wasn't looking her way—clearly, she couldn't see her.
"She's just an ordinary human..." E Hongjuan muttered, regaining her calm. "Even if she's his daughter, I can't lash out. If I hurt someone, I'd be punished for that too."
The supervisor's palms grew clammy. "Ten years ago, my mother was the dorm supervisor. The killer must've been my stepfather—wait, I have his photo!"
Fumbling with her phone, she pulled up an old picture and held it toward empty air. "E Hongjuan, is this him?"
E Hongjuan leaned in. "That's him! That damned bastard—I'd recognize him even if he were a pile of ash!"
"No wonder… no wonder he convinced me two years ago to let a student transfer out of Room 119 after reporting weird dreams. He said the room was damp, bad for their health... told me not to use it again if I could help it. So this—this was the reason!" The dorm manager grabbed the lead detective.
"You have to hurry! He's just across from the dorm building, at the parcel pick-up station. He probably saw you guys come in!"
The captain took the phone, forwarded the photo to the officers stationed outside, and called them.
"Get to the parcel station across the dorm building now. Detain the man in this photo immediately. And send someone with tools—we need to dig beneath the floor tiles for the victim's body!"
When he hung up, he turned to the dean.
"Director Liu, have the school seal off the first floor of the dorm."
E Hongjuan's expression turned panicked when she heard they were planning to dig her up.
"Don't meddle! Arrest him if you must, but don't bury me! There's a long queue for reincarnation these days—I still have to wait a while before I can be reborn. If I leave this spot, I won't be able to listen to gossip anymore, and that'll wreck my inspiration for writing!
If I can't write, I can't make hell coins! I don't have anyone in the living world to pay respects to me—my income depends on selling tabloid stories in the underworld!"
Song Miaozhu looked helplessly at the others. "She doesn't want to leave."
"Why?!" The group stared in disbelief. "What ghost wants to stay at their death site? Isn't it traumatic?"
"And she's trapped in cement!," Zhao Mumu added. "That must be horrible!"
"She considers it a sturdy, pest-proof coffin," Song Miaozhu explained. "If she were buried in a public cemetery, and no one renewed her grave fees, eventually her ashes could get tossed out. Without a grave, her soul couldn't cross back into the mortal world.
She makes a living in the underworld selling gossip. Being here in the dorm—eavesdropping on students—is ideal for her writing."
Song Miaozhu summarized Hongjuan's logic, then turned to her ghostly form.
"If we give you a permanent grave and burn you high-quality paper money, would you consider relocating?"
"Yes, yes! She's one of our students," the dean added quickly. "The school will cover the cost of her burial and the spirit money!"
"Sister Hong," said Lin Jiaojiao and Xu Xiaodan, "thank goodness you warned us in that dream. If we'd kept staying in that dorm, our bodies might've seriously suffered. We'll visit your grave every year!"
"My mom really failed her duties as dorm supervisor," the dorm manager added. "I'll burn paper money for you too."
E Hongjuan wavered, almost convinced—until she remembered a certain rumor about paper money from the living.
"No, no! The stuff burned by the living is terrible quality! We're not even friends or relatives—how much emotion could it even carry? Poor-quality money, weak emotional imprint—it's basically trash!"
Old man Zhao cut in confidently, "Buy it from Huaishui'er. Her paper ingots are top-tier—passed down in her family! Way better than the printed junk."
"Wait, what do you mean? There's a difference in paper money?" The dean looked baffled.
"You didn't know? Printed paper money is worthless in the underworld. Only handmade paper offerings from old-school crafters have value! Our ghost friend here's just afraid you'll give her junk money."
Old man Zhao took the opportunity to promote Song Miaozhu's business. "Huaishui'er runs a paper offering shop. Her gold ingots are so good that even wild ghosts fight over them!"
E Hongjuan narrowed her eyes. "Really? A young girl like her, and she knows traditional folding techniques?"
Song Miaozhu pulled a sheet of gold paper from her bag and casually folded it.
"A third-grade ingot?!" The ghost's eyes bulged. "Deal! Tell them I'll relocate—if they convert that bastard's savings into these!"
The others gaped at the tiny treasure.
"Third-grade?" Zhao Huoyan frowned. "What's the difference?"
"Highest denomination underworld currency," Song Miaozhu said. "Direct underworld circulation. Twenty thousand yuan for one."
"Twenty thousand?!" Lin Jiaojiao and Xu Xiaodan gasped. Their monthly allowance combined couldn't even buy one!
Song Miaozhu turned to E Hongjuan. "I just wanted to show you the quality. I also make non-tiered and first- or second-grade ingots. For normal offerings, you don't need third-grade—first-grade or even common ones are more than enough."
"All fine. As long as it's from you," E Hongjuan said. "I've been dead a while… It's getting harder to make money off my writing in the underworld. If I can get a little windfall out of this, I don't mind retiring."