CHAPTER 5

It had been three weeks since Xiao Zhan started haunting Yibo's apartment, and Yibo had to admit-this ghost was something else.

He'd met all kinds before: weeping ones, screaming ones, ones that couldn't stop knocking on windows at 3 AM. But Xiao Zhan? None of the usual symptoms applied. No cold spots. No aura dissonance. If anything, he floated around like he belonged.

Yibo had already gone through nearly every talisman in his stash. Some were meant to ward, others to purify, a few to drive things out entirely. On other spirits, they sparked reactions-smoke, spectral panic. On Xiao Zhan? Nothing. Not even a flicker. He just blinked at them, asked what they smelled like, and went back to watching cooking shows.

Which meant one thing: Xiao Zhan wasn't a normal ghost. Not by a long shot.

Yibo had a theory, quiet and half-formed. That Xiao Zhan wasn't dead. Not fully. That he fit the rare category his grandfather used to call a "Soul-Flare"-a spirit in limbo, still tethered faintly to their body, leaking energy into the spiritual realm.

He didn't say it out loud. Not yet.

Instead, he watched.

While Xiao Zhan floated around the apartment like a freeloading roommate, bingeing cooking shows and critiquing Yibo's dinner habits, Yibo kept pulling out his grandfather's notebooks. The ancient ones with fragile paper and handwritten spiritual theories, field notes, and sigils barely legible in the fading ink.

So far, the only new piece of himself Xiao Zhan had reclaimed was his name. Everything else remained the same: fear, falling, a rush of wind, and the helplessness that followed.

Yibo wanted to help. Not just because it was the right thing. But because something about Xiao Zhan lingered.

And because maybe, just maybe, they were running out of time.

_____________________________

Sunday meant groceries.

By now, Xiao Zhan had developed very strong opinions about ingredients. After three weeks of cooking shows, he hovered at Yibo's side like a self-appointed food consultant.

"Fresh tofu. Not the plastic-wrapped kind. And don't forget scallions." he listed, floating ahead of the cart like a determined shopping spirit. "Oh, and get the sesame oil with the gold cap. That's the good one."

Yibo didn't argue. Just pushed the cart and grabbed whatever Xiao Zhan named, already knowing it was faster than debating. The ghost had opinions, and worse-endurance.

"You're unusually excited." Yibo said, placing a bundle of greens into the cart.

"Because you live like a college student and eat like a gremlin." Xiao Zhan said, pointing decisively at another leafy green. "This is for your own good. You're not going to die from vengeful spirits but from sodium overdose."

Yibo gave him a deadpan look, grabbing the vegetable and dropping it into the cart. "Wow. Didn't know you're suddenly a licensed ghost nutritionist."

"I'm just saying," Xiao Zhan sniffed, floating smugly beside him, "if your ancestors saw your grocery habits, they'd reincarnate just to burn your stash of instant noodles."

Yibo gave him a sideways glance, nudging the cart forward. "I'd rather be haunted by reincarnated ancestors torching my noodles than be micromanaged by a ghost nutritionist."

He wasn't about to admit the last bowl Xiao Zhan had coached him through actually tasted decent. Or that part of him kind of looked forward to their shared kitchen chaos.

Xiao Zhan smiled to himself, proud and utterly unbothered as he glanced at the items in their cart. "See? We're making progress."

Yibo sighed through his nose but didn't deny it.

And together, with one pushing and the other hovering, they kept going.

______________________________

They took the long way home.

Yibo had both arms full of groceries, the plastic handles digging into his fingers as he trudged uphill through the quiet street. The sun was dipping low now, casting warm, drowsy light across the sidewalks. Somewhere behind him, a wind chime jingled softly from someone's porch. He could hear Xiao Zhan humming beside him like he belonged there.

The ghost was doing his usual thing-floating a step ahead, swinging side to side like a shopping bag without mass. He kept peeking into Yibo's haul as if checking his own wishlist. "You didn't forget the tofu, right? And I'm counting on that gold-cap sesame oil."

Yibo didn't reply. He just kept walking, letting Xiao Zhan talk. He'd grown used to it...the low, steady background noise of a ghost who apparently had Opinions About Cooking.

But then—

The squeal of brakes snapped through the air.

Yibo flinched, instinctively turning his head toward the road. A van had swerved too fast and halted just inches from a stopped car. Drivers started yelling. Someone gestured. But no one was hurt. Just a minor street-side drama.

Yibo sighed through his nose and kept walking.

A few steps later, something shifted.

The air felt thinner. Like sound had pulled back.

He didn't notice at first-just kept walking, one foot in front of the other, adjusting the grocery bags. But then a shadow stretched longer than it should've. The warmth on his left side cooled.

He turned his head.

There was no one there.

His steps faltered.

The sidewalk behind him lay empty, quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. No humming. No floating commentary about mislabelled soy sauce.

His chest tightened.

He stopped.

Turned fully, eyes scanning the stretch of street they had just walked.

"Zhan ge?" he called, hesitantly at first. It was the first time he'd said the ghost's name aloud-adding the 'ge' unthinkingly, almost instinctive. As if calling for someone real. Someone who was supposed to be there.

Nothing.

The silence pressed closer.

He took a step back, craning his neck. Still nothing.

"Zhan ge!" sharper now. Louder.

Still nothing.

The grocery bags slipped from his hands, thudding onto the concrete with a dull crinkle of plastic.

Yibo's pulse jumped.

That spot beside him had always belonged to Xiao Zhan. Always. Whether floating or hovering, humming or nagging, the ghost never wandered far. He couldn’t. Xiao Zhan was tethered to life-but only barely. A Soul-Flare, raw and leaking energy. And Yibo was his stabilizer. Without him, Xiao Zhan's frequency could unravel.

So if he was gone, really gone, something was wrong.

Or worse.

Yibo didn't waste time and immediately reached into his jacket with shaking fingers and yanked out his resonance charm. It wasn't designed to track the living or the half-living, but it was all he had. The charm trembled faintly in his palm as he whispered the activation phrase.

A soft glow answered.

Whispers of white smoke curled from the charm's edges, thin and slow, drifting like threads caught in wind. They slithered forward across the air, delicate trails that only someone like Yibo could see. Southeast-that was where the trail led.

It wasn't a perfect signal. But it was something.

He ran.

His footsteps slapped against the narrow brick path, echoing down the cramped alleyways. Every turn felt tighter. Shadows stretched longer. Rusted gates and shuttered storefronts blurred past his vision. He couldn't breathe properly...couldn't think. The smoke strands twitched like they sensed something close.

And then the air changed.

It turned thick. Cold. Like walking into a room that hadn't seen sunlight in years. The smell hit him next-sharp and sour, like burnt wood mixed with vinegar. It made his eyes sting.

Yibo stopped, breathless.

The alley ahead narrowed, swallowed by shadow. The sun slipped behind a cloud, dimming the light in an instant. The shadows stretched too far, creeping up the brick walls like something alive. Cold settled over the pavement, thick and heavy, like the warmth had been pulled out of the world.

And there at the end of the empty alley, suspended in the darkness, was Xiao Zhan.

Still. Unmoving.

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