Chapter Fifty-Three: Without Fear

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The Geng family’s villa was located at the eastern end of the street, occupying nearly half an acre, built to the standard of a two-courtyard residence: the rear served as living quarters, while the front was used as a shopfront.

Due to the haunting incident, no one had tended to the villa for nearly ten days, leaving it desolate and neglected.

In truth, the location was not in a bustling part of the city, but somewhat secluded. For the Geng family, who used it to sell oil, this was of no consequence. For Chen Jianchen, who had taken it over as his residence, it was equally unproblematic—if anything, he relished the tranquility.

Yes, the villa no longer bore the name of Geng; it now belonged to the Chen family.

That morning, Chen Jianchen and Wang Fu had visited the Geng family’s steward, intending to rent the villa. Unexpectedly, when they inquired, the steward offered to sell the entire property for fifteen silver ingots.

This price was shockingly below market value.

To own a house in the city—no small feat.

Ordinarily, such a villa would fetch at least thirty silver taels, but now it was being sold at half price.

After a quick calculation, Chen Jianchen decided to buy the place. He borrowed six taels from Wang Fu to make up the sum, and together with the Geng steward, they went to the county office to complete the transfer of ownership.

Thus, the villa became Chen Jianchen’s property. At last, he was no longer a penniless scholar.

This acquisition came faster and smoother than he had ever expected. Chen Jianchen’s heart brimmed with excitement; he was determined to subdue the ghostly presence in the house as soon as possible, so he could bring his mother and A’bao into the city.

As for opening a calligraphy and painting shop, that could wait.

Stepping into the villa, he saw that the furniture, oil barrels, and other items had all been removed, sold off by the Geng steward at a loss. The whole house felt empty, debris and rubbish scattered everywhere.

Wang Fu followed Chen Jianchen closely, glancing nervously around each room, fearful that the ghost might suddenly appear.

In fact, Wang Fu had opposed Chen Jianchen’s purchase.

This was a haunted house, unfit for people.

But Chen Jianchen declared boldly, “As long as a scholar holds righteousness in his heart and uprightness in his mind, what reason is there to fear ghosts?”

Wang Fu curled his lips. Anyone could utter such fine words—just look at those teachers in the classroom, full of lofty talk, but when it came to visiting temples, they worshipped even more fervently than their students, all for a little peace of mind. Still, he knew that once Chen Jianchen made up his mind, he would not change it, so he said no more, content to be the lender of the loan.

After a round through the villa, Chen Jianchen said, “Brother Fútai, I’ll be staying here tonight. You should return to the academy.”

Wang Fu was taken aback. “Liuxian, are you truly confident?”

Chen Jianchen merely chuckled. “Would I have bought the place if I weren’t?”

Wang Fu thought about it and agreed—Chen Jianchen was mature beyond his years, always measured in his actions. He gave a few more reminders, then took his leave.

Now only Chen Jianchen remained in the house.

He set down his bookcase, took out the Four Treasures of the Study, and arranged them neatly in the open space. Focusing his mind and gathering his energy, he swiftly wrote a large character—“Suppress.”

The bold ink strokes brimmed with spirit; the character radiated righteousness.

After a brief pause, inspiration struck. Chen Jianchen picked up the brush again and wrote another character—not on paper, but on the palm of his left hand: “Calm.”

The character for “Calm” was written with precise, upright strokes, squarely in his palm.

He gently blew the ink dry, then sat upright in the empty hall, waiting for nightfall.

Night arrived swiftly. A crescent moon hung above the window, pouring its cold, clear light inside, scattering shadows across the floor.

In the moonlight, Chen Jianchen’s shadow stretched long across the ground, reaching all the way up the wall.

On the wall behind him, the “Suppress” character was affixed.

Rustle, rustle!

At some point, strange noises began to sound from outside the window, as if something was dragging itself along the ground—a sound deeply unsettling to the ear.

Chen Jianchen’s eyes snapped open. From the open window, a gigantic head suddenly emerged.

The head was as large as a basin, with huge eyes like bronze bells, an upturned nose, and a gaping mouth filled with jagged teeth—a truly hideous ghost.

The ghost poked its head through the window and bared its fangs at Chen Jianchen. Had it been anyone else of faint heart, they would have lost control of their bowels and screamed like a banshee. But Chen Jianchen sat unflinching, waiting for the ghost to enter.

The ghost, seeing its attempt to frighten him fail, was surprised. It made huffing noises, opened its mouth wide to reveal rows of sharp white teeth, and stuck out a long, crimson tongue, appearing even more terrifying. It seemed determined not to rest until it had scared Chen Jianchen into fleeing.

Suddenly, Chen Jianchen laughed aloud. “You wretched ghost, your attempts are truly lacking. Relying only on an ugly face to scare people is a low trick. Why not come in and sit for a heart-to-heart chat?”

At that moment, a story came to his mind: In ancient times, there was a scholar named Cao who lodged in a friend’s study. At midnight, something crawled under the door like a worm—thin as a sheet of paper.

Once inside, the paper gradually unfolded into the form of a pale-faced woman.

Though the event was sudden, Cao was unafraid and calmly continued reading. The woman loosened her hair and stuck out her tongue, posing as a hanged ghost.

Cao merely laughed and said, “Hair, whether neat or disheveled, is still hair; a tongue, no matter how long, is still a tongue—what’s there to fear?”

The ghost, frustrated at her failure, then removed her head and placed it on the table.

Cao laughed even more heartily, saying, “If a head is nothing to fear, how much less so without one?”

With all her tricks exhausted, the ghost departed in defeat and vanished.

Compared to that Cao, Chen Jianchen felt even more secure, utterly fearless.

The ghost, having failed repeatedly to frighten him, grew impatient. With a screech, its huge form lunged through the window and into the room.

Its eyes glowed red, certain that this time, Chen Jianchen would be scared out of his wits and flee for his life.

But it was disappointed. Chen Jianchen moved, but not to run—he sprang to his feet and advanced as if to meet the ghost head-on, showing not a hint of fear.

Good heavens…

The ghost, having exhausted all its tricks, realized things were amiss and turned to flee.

It wanted to escape?

Chen Jianchen, half amused, half exasperated, thought this ghost was all bluff—far weaker than he had imagined, a true paper tiger. With a shout of, “Where do you think you’re going?” he dashed forward with startling speed, overtook the ghost, and struck its dark form with his left palm.

Sizzling!

At that moment, something extraordinary happened!