Chapter Sixteen: The Great Fire

Suddenly, the piercing wail of fire engines erupted outside the window, followed by a commotion on the street. Instinctively, I rushed over to the window and saw several fire trucks speeding towards the back of the street, with a crowd of people running in the same direction, following the fire engines. This familiar scene instantly reminded me of the night Wang Feiyang’s family was wiped out—it had been just like this, throngs of people running toward a single place. It could only mean one thing: something major had happened again on White Street.

“What happened?” Wang Feiyang walked over to me, glancing outside.

“I don’t know, probably a fire somewhere!” I replied casually, but a strange unease gnawed at me. Suddenly, my nerves felt as though something had tugged them—a chilling realization flashed through my mind.

Turning to Wang Feiyang with a grave expression, I asked, “When Zuo Daoyin called us just now, did you notice anything odd in his voice?”

Wang Feiyang was silent for two seconds, then said, yes. In his voice, I heard despair. The things he told you almost sounded like final words.

A cold shiver ran through me as I suddenly realized the fire trucks were heading directly toward Zuo Daoyin’s house.

“This is bad—it must be Zuo Daoyin’s house that’s on fire.”

Without hesitation, Wang Feiyang and I dashed out of the hotel, joining the crowd running toward the back of White Street. On the way, I grabbed a neighbor to ask what happened, and as I suspected, there was a fire—at Zuo Daoyin’s house.

When we arrived at his door, the street was already packed with people. The old two-story wooden house belonging to Zuo Daoyin was engulfed in flames. The fire was raging, and since the house was an old wooden structure, once the flames spread, the entire building was quickly consumed.

Three fire engines were parked along the street outside his house. Despite the firefighters’ best efforts to douse the inferno, their efforts were futile. The blaze lit up half the night sky, illuminating most of White Street as if it were midday. Wang Feiyang and I stood rooted to the spot, staring dumbly at the burning building, thick smoke billowing upwards.

Why had a fire suddenly broken out at Zuo Daoyin’s house? Was it the work of the female ghost, or had Zuo Daoyin himself set his home ablaze?

Just then, a wave of exclamations rippled through the crowd. Everyone’s gaze fixed on the front of the house, where a hunched figure stood motionless in the doorway.

“That’s Mr. Zuo! Someone save him!”

Someone immediately recognized Zuo Daoyin. He stood unmoving at the entrance of his home, a sea of flames raging behind him. At that moment, had he tried to escape, he would have stood a chance of survival, but he made no move to flee, as if he didn’t realize he was caught between life and death.

People began shouting his name, urging him to run, while firefighters made their way toward him. But Zuo Daoyin seemed utterly deaf to their cries. Then, he did something even more unthinkable.

Though the distance and flames made it hard to see his face, I could feel his eyes—those eerie, gleaming eyes—locked on Wang Feiyang and me.

I was about to shout for him to run, but at that moment, he turned away from us. Facing the roaring flames, he strode forward without a trace of fear, stepping into the inferno and leaving us only a desolate silhouette.

“No!”

Cries of horror rose all around. Cold sweat drenched me as the firefighter in the lead tried to pull Zuo Daoyin back, but was a moment too late—a burning beam crashed down from above, forcing the firefighter to retreat, and with a thunderous crash, the house collapsed before our eyes, burying Zuo Daoyin in the flames.

In that instant, I felt an icy chill seep through my entire body. Luo Xiu was dead. Now Zuo Daoyin was dead. Everyone was dead. All that remained were Wang Feiyang and me—two callow youths, out of our depth.

The screams around us rose in waves. Though the firefighters kept hosing down the blaze, it was hopeless. My heart felt heavy, and I couldn’t bear to look any longer.

Slowly, I turned away, took a deep breath, and wanted nothing more than to leave this place. Suddenly, beside me, Wang Feiyang seemed to notice something and strode quickly toward a nearby alley.

Alarmed, I immediately followed him into the alley. Wang Feiyang stood motionless in the center, his cold eyes scanning the darkness.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said after a moment, shaking his head and muttering that perhaps he was seeing things.

Just then, a cold sensation crept up my back. I spun around and saw a figure rushing toward me. Instinctively, I raised my arms to shield my face, and a chill like a shard of ice pierced through my chest and out my back.

In a flash, the icy cold receded. I spun around again and saw, at the far end of the alley, a woman in a red turtleneck sweater and tight bell-bottoms, moving away at lightning speed.

“Yang Li? What the hell do you want?!” I roared down the alley, no longer feeling fear. Without thinking, I lunged after her, indifferent to whether she was living or dead—I wanted nothing more than to smash her head in with a punch.

She stopped at the end of the alley and turned, giving me a twisted, ghostly smile—her face as pale as paper. Then she turned away and slipped through the wall, vanishing at the alley’s end.

I clenched my fists, pounding the wall again and again until my knuckles were raw and bleeding. What did that wretched woman want? If she really was Yang Li and wanted revenge, why not just kill me outright? Why torment me like this?

“Calm down.” Wang Feiyang grabbed my fist, and only then did I regain my composure.

Outside the alley, Zuo Daoyin’s house was still ablaze, the light turning night to day. I turned to Wang Feiyang and asked what we should do next.

“Do you believe that ghost is Yang Li from back then?”

“I do!” I nodded firmly and asked him if he thought the fire was set by Zuo Daoyin himself or by the ghost.

After a moment’s thought, Wang Feiyang replied that it must have been the ghost. Zuo Daoyin had no motive for suicide, and the way he walked into the flames suggested he was controlled by the ghost. That’s why, after his death, the female ghost appeared in the alley—she had been lurking nearby, watching everything unfold.

My thoughts were similar, but what puzzled me was why Zuo Daoyin had called us before his death, as though giving his final words. Then again, being a fortune teller, perhaps he foresaw his own death. But what was the purpose of his call to us?

Was he simply trying to help? That seemed unlikely. Everything that had happened fit the pattern Luo Xiu described—Yang Li, buried alive by my grandfather and his friends, had returned for vengeance. Now, apart from Wang Feiyang and me, everyone connected to that old crime was dead. The next to die would surely be us.

That ghost was Yang Li!

This I now believed without doubt. I patted Wang Feiyang’s shoulder and told him to come.

“Where are we going?” Wang Feiyang, still deep in thought, asked suddenly.

“To the back mountain—to dig up the coffin!”