This job could be done from anywhere—as long as she spent four hours a day tending the shop in the underworld.
As for the hard-earned computer science knowledge she'd studied so diligently, Song Miaozhu shrugged it off. She had only pursued that major for the high salary anyway. Now that she had a better way to make money, why bother becoming a programmer?
With the pressure of job hunting lifted, Song Miaozhu stood up in high spirits.
Cough, cough, cough!
A fit of coughing overtook her. No one had lived in this house for a long time, and the dust had built up thickly. At the same time, her stomach grumbled loudly in protest, demanding to be fed.
Since she no longer planned to return to Jiangchen for work, she would definitely be staying long-term in this old home. The courtyard and house would need a thorough cleaning and maybe a few new things added here and there.
So, she decided to head into town—not only to get dinner, but to pick up some supplies as well.
Remembering Great-Grandma's warning about ghosts in the living world, she tucked the ancestral rattan cane into her bag.
"As long as they can't hurt me, there's nothing to fear."
With both her mind and weapons prepared, she finally opened the main hall's door and stepped outside. There was nothing suspicious in the courtyard. Only the old locust tree stood there silently. She let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Next was the gate at the courtyard entrance.
The final stretch of the road was overgrown with weeds, leading into patchy terraced fields and mountain paths. There were no lights at all in these areas. As a child, she used to be terrified walking this path alone at night, fearful of the unknown.
But now, Song Miaozhu understood those fears came from her own imagination. At least in her eyes, the place looked clean—no trace of any ghosts.
Great-Grandma had said that only after the resurgence of spiritual energy would ghosts linger longer in the living world. Apparently, that time hadn't come yet.
Besides, apart from a few scattered fields downhill from her home, Xiaozhu Mountain was mostly thick bamboo forest. Bamboo roots were strong, and even back when earth burials were popular in town, Xiaozhu Mountain had no graveyards. Most were on the western mountains instead.
Once cremation was enforced, all graves were moved to the public cemetery—except for old ones without surviving family, which were left to gradually return to the earth with time.
The town's public cemetery was even farther away.
Thinking about it this way, it was perfectly normal not to see any ghosts on Xiaozhu Mountain. Her grip on the cane loosened, though she felt a twinge of… disappointment?
"How do ghosts stay in the living world? How do they cross to the underworld?"
Now, she was curious about ghosts.
~
After passing through the quiet residential area in the north of town, she arrived at the bustling tourist and commercial street in the south, still ablaze with lights and packed with people. The streets on both sides of the Little Pear River were even livelier than during the day.
But Song Miaozhu didn't head in that direction. Instead, she went to Old North Street, near the residential area, to find food. Back when Yuanshan Town hadn't yet expanded or developed a tourist zone, North Street had been the town's main road—the most bustling area.
Now, North Street had been demoted to Old North Street. During the day, a few tourists still visited, but at night, most flocked to the riverside to enjoy the lights and views, leaving this area much quieter.
Still, the shops here hadn't changed much.
Song Miaozhu walked straight into a restaurant at the street corner Aunt Chen's Restaurant This shop was owned by her childhood friend, Chen Shuanghe's family. Their homes had been close by growing up. They were classmates in both elementary and middle school and even attended the same high school. Back then, Song Miaozhu loved eating here.
But Chen Shuanghe had gone to a third-tier university in Lingcheng, and Song Miaozhu had gone to school in Jiang City. During holidays, she'd been busy with part-time jobs to cover living expenses, so they rarely saw each other in college—only keeping in touch by phone.
It had been a long time since she last visited. The restaurant looked like it had been recently renovated, but there were few customers—only two people inside wiping tables.
No! One person... and one ghost!
Both the person and the ghost turned at the sound of the door.
"Miaozhu! You're back!" Auntie Chen hurried over. "Sit, sit!"
Song Miaozhu forced herself to ignore the faint, translucent figure, focusing on Auntie Chen. "One plate of bamboo shoots with cured pork, and stir-fried seasonal greens, please!"
"Shuanghe's home too! I'll call her!" Auntie Chen turned and shouted, "Shuanghe! Miaozhu's here!"
A young woman in an apron and cap rushed out from the kitchen. "Song Miaozhu! You didn't tell me you were coming back!"
"I'm telling you now!" Song Miaozhu grinned sheepishly. Originally, she'd only returned to deal with the nightmares—now she was staying for good.
"Liar. You just missed Mom's cooking," Chen Shuanghe scoffed, then smirked. "But she's retired! I'm the head chef now. Your order, madam?"
"Bamboo shoots with pork and greens. Mess it up, and you're dead," Song Miaozhu teased.
"You'll be begging for seconds!" Chen Shuanghe vanished back into the kitchen.
Finally alone, Song Miaozhu studied the ghost behind Auntie Chen.
It was Chen Shuanghe's father.
He had died young, and Song Miaozhu had never met him. As far back as she could remember, Chen Shuanghe's dad had already passed. But she'd seen his photo many times in their home—it was definitely him!
"At least it wasn't a stranger. Uncle Chen's ghost wouldn't harm his family. Wasn't he ill? Why does he look like he drowned?"
When Aunt Chen went to fetch tea, Song Miaozhu deliberately met the ghost's gaze.
Chen Damin immediately noticed her gaze. He looked behind himself. No one there.
"She's… looking at me?!"
Knowing the Song family had run funeral businesses for generations, a thought popped into his mind.
"Can she see me?!"
Song Miaozhu nodded.
When he saw her nod slightly, he realized he'd accidentally spoken aloud. After being a ghost for so long, he'd gotten into the habit of talking to himself. He floated closer but kept his distance, wary of the cane on the table.
"Song girl! Please tell your Aunt Chen and Shuanghe that the stone behind my grave cracked, and now every time it rains, floodwater pours into the tomb! Ruining the hell notes they burned! My ghost power's too weak—I've tried sending dreams, but they never understand me! I can't live in that house anymore. Please help me!"
"I understand," Song Miaozhu said softly.
"What was that, Miaozhu?" Aunt Chen returned with tea.
"I was saying, it's almost Qingming Festival. Have you gone to sweep Uncle Chen's grave yet?" Song Miaozhu asked.
"Not yet. We're planning to go next week," said Auntie Chen "You came back for Qingming too, right?"