Chapter Fifty-Four: The Ninja Attack

I sat across from the ghostly woman, suddenly at a loss for words. Instead, it was Zhang Qiang, beside me, who leaned over and whispered, “Dong, who are you talking to? You know I’m a coward—don’t scare me!”

I forced a smile at him and said, “She’s sitting right across from me. If you want to see her true face, just rub some grapefruit water on your skin.” With that, I turned my face away and once again met the eyes of the woman in the cheongsam.

I’ve always found myself tongue-tied in front of women, my fingers fidgeting restlessly. It was the ghost who spoke first. She told me her name was Li Juan, a woman from the Republican era, and she had lingered here for over a century. The only reason she stayed was to find the fated person she had promised to meet here a hundred years ago, so she could finally reincarnate.

Ghosts are not like the living. After death, humans become ghosts when their lingering spirit gathers. Generally, the lifespan of a ghost is a hundred times that of a mortal, but those who survive to a thousand or ten thousand years are rare. The reason lies with the grim authorities—Black and White Impermanence, Ox-Head and Horse-Face—who hunt and capture wandering spirits, tossing the ancient ones back into the cycle of reincarnation.

A centenarian ghost like Li Juan is uncommon in the human world. Yet when I asked about Nuolan, even Li Juan visibly shuddered.

I didn’t know why she trembled, but I felt it must have something to do with Ruolan.

Just as I was about to ask Li Juan about Nuolan, I heard the lecherous voices of the eleven men beside me: “Wow, what a beautiful ghost!”

I slapped Ji Wuli, who was nearest to me, and asked, “What did you all see?”

Ji Wuli snorted, “Come on, you’re trying to trick us! What’s gotten into you? The grapefruit water is useless—there’s nothing here!” The others chimed in, “Exactly, there’s nothing here, and you’re pretending to be calm.”

I could only shake my head and smile wryly, speechless. When I turned back, Li Juan had vanished. At that moment, I sensed a shadow flit swiftly across the wall. Er Peng and the others said they too felt a shadow pass by, heading for the back of the building, toward an abandoned old sports field.

Yet amidst those shadows, I sensed the presence of a living person, something akin to the ninja aura I’d sensed before on Jiang Luyu, though I couldn’t be certain it was really him.

Fearing the ninja might harm Er Peng and the others, I sent them back to bed. Luckily, none of them had much taste for this adventure and, at my urging, all left. I claimed I was going to the bathroom so they would go ahead, but in truth, I made my way to the back sports field.

I concealed my presence and crept into the tall grass on the field’s edge. What I saw there was staggering: on the field, easily half the size of a soccer pitch, stood more than fifty ninjas, all cloaked head to toe in black, like the shadow warriors from a Jackie Chan cartoon.

Looking more closely, I realized they weren’t all from the same group. Some wore white masks and black clothes, but the character “Jiang” on their chests revealed their allegiance.

Counting Jiang Luyu, there were sixteen of his followers here, locked in a standoff with the swelling ranks of the unknown ninja army—a scene more intense than a gang brawl of hundreds.

I wondered, if even Jiang Luyu—a master among ninjas—had enemies, who could his opponents be?

As I pondered, a ninja clad entirely in black stepped forward and addressed Jiang Luyu: “Mr. Jiang, it is truly difficult to meet you. We are both masters among men, and though you are somewhat famous in Japanese ninja circles, today I challenge you to a duel. But before we fight, let me tell you something—the Yin Ghost here will soon be in my hands.” He looked up and laughed wildly.

I had no idea what this Yin Ghost was, but the way he spoke, it sounded like a mere commodity. His accent was definitely not local—I immediately concluded this man was a ninja smuggled in from Japan.

While I was thinking, Jiang Luyu replied, his Mandarin smooth and measured: “Mr. Kimura, your Chinese is as awful as ever—just as bad as it was years ago. You may challenge me, but you will not take the Yin Ghost. She is a soul belonging to our people—why should you take her to refine your elixirs and improve your ninja arts?” With that, he handed a jar to one of his subordinates, who quickly stowed it in a backpack.

The sixteen Jiang clan ninjas gripped their katana hilts, ready for battle.

“If you won’t give it, then don’t blame me for being ruthless!” Kimura drew his blade in a flash, leaping forward in a blur to strike at Jiang Luyu’s waist.

The other ninjas stepped back, forming a square arena around them. But the fairness was only on the surface—only I, from where I hid, could see the truth.

The Japanese ninjas quietly rested their hands on their swords, slowly drawing them, ready to strike down the sixteen Jiang clan ninjas as soon as the duel ended.

There was no way I could let Chinese ninjas fall to Japanese hands. I flicked a pebble at one of the Jiang clan warriors. As he bent down, he spotted the Japanese ninjas drawing their swords.

Exposed, the Japanese made no further pretense. Chaos erupted.

Blades gleamed coldly under the moon. Jiang Luyu, seeing the melee, frowned and said to Kimura, “If our teacher hears of this, you’ll be finished.”

Kimura smiled coldly. “Teacher? You mean Sasaki? That old man won’t last much longer. Once I’ve killed you, I’ll finish him off as well.” At that moment, Kimura seemed utterly deranged.

I could stand no more. The disparity in strength was glaring: Kimura’s side had three master-level ninjas, while Jiang Luyu’s only master was himself—the rest were merely elite or mid-level. The outcome was inevitable.

In the blink of an eye, all sixteen of Jiang Luyu’s followers were down, though Kimura had not killed them—he merely knocked them unconscious. As for Jiang Luyu, it was clear Kimura intended to kill him, each strike executed with deadly precision.

................