Chapter 21: Urban Legends

The woman in the short skirt didn’t answer Ji Yun’s question directly.

She glanced at him through the rearview mirror and countered, “Before I answer you, tell me—what positive impact would there be if the general public found out the truth?”

“Positive impact?” Ji Yun frowned, pondering the question.

He had never really thought about it before.

What would happen if people were told that ghosts exist, that there are individuals with supernatural powers?

He didn’t know about others, but he himself certainly wouldn’t waste time studying in school anymore.

If one could cultivate immortality, what’s the point of studying?

Maybe some would even shout dramatically, swallow a golden pill, and declare, “My fate is mine, not heaven’s!”

Even if not flying or teleporting, possessing the abilities of those elderly cat-faced people he had encountered would be amazing, wouldn’t it?

Before he could indulge in his own thoughts, the woman in the short skirt poured cold water on him. “Let me answer for you… Aside from causing widespread social panic, chaos, and instability, it would serve no purpose.”

“...”

Ji Yun listened and, while he found her reasoning sound, he still felt that people had the right to know the truth.

The woman took out data to back her point, asking and answering herself: “Do you know the population of Jianghua City? Thirteen million. According to the latest data I just got, there have been 747 documented supernatural incidents in the past twenty years within the city. That’s less than thirty cases per year on average, most of which are harmless events like ‘ghostly illusions’ or ‘spirit possessions’ with low danger levels. Of course, this data has only increased notably in the last year or two.”

She paused and then stated her conclusion plainly: “What I want to say is, with thirteen million people, the probability of each person encountering a supernatural event annually is one in five hundred thousand. And that excludes people with special constitutions. For the healthy population, the odds are even lower.”

“...”

Ji Yun hadn’t thought about it with such precision before.

Reflecting on it, the paranormal incidents on the forums were collected from all over the country.

By that calculation, the odds were indeed slim.

The woman continued: “In other words, the vast majority of people won’t encounter supernatural events in their entire lives. So why would we subject everyone to endless fear for such a remote possibility? Fear affects a person’s energy field, shortens their lifespan, causes illness, disrupts fortune, and even influences others. What’s the point of that?”

“...”

Suddenly, Ji Yun understood why she was so serious.

Because he had just personally experienced a supernatural incident.

Not everyone was like him, growing up in a coffin shop and having a high tolerance for ghosts and monsters.

Some people could be terrified to the point of being unable to sleep or even use the restroom for days after hearing a ghost story.

Those horrifying scenes in the Netherworld, even just recounting them would scare many people out of their wits.

Some might not believe, but they would still be afraid.

If they truly knew that ghosts existed in this world, they might live in constant terror day and night.

For those without strong psychological endurance, living in daily fear would be sheer despair.

From this perspective, it made sense why the authorities would suppress such information.

But unexpectedly, the woman added the most important reason: “Of course, that’s only one reason.”

She glanced at Ji Yun through the rearview mirror again and said, “There’s another crucial reason why this must be kept secret—and that is because fear itself is contagious.”

Ji Yun was genuinely puzzled and asked, “Contagious fear?”

“What do you mean? Does posting on forums count as spreading it?”

The woman seemed to be considering how to explain this and paused briefly before asking, “Have you heard of urban legends?”

As a seasoned paranormal enthusiast, Ji Yun had certainly heard of them.

He didn’t know why she asked but responded, “You mean stories like the ‘Slit-Mouthed Woman,’ ‘Tomie,’ and the ‘Tall Man’?”

Urban legends were common domestically too, but the ones most widely spread online were from the neighboring Sakura Island.

Recently, many old forum posts had been revived.

As soon as he said this, Ji Yun suddenly realized something.

Right, ghosts exist.

Could these urban legends also be real?

“Exactly!” the woman said without beating around the bush, zeroing in on the core of the matter.

“These were originally low-level D-class supernatural events with minor threats. But because their terrifying stories spread, they gradually transformed into uncontrollable disaster-level phenomena.”

“Oh.”

Ji Yun felt he was beginning to understand.

The woman voiced his thoughts: “Human fear and belief are the best nourishment for producing and sustaining ghosts. Offerings, willpower, spiritual energy—all are food for spirits. Think of spiritual energy as a substance similar to nuclear radiation. One person’s spiritual energy is small, but accumulated, it becomes terrifying and highly contagious. Monsters born of fear propagate that fear. This negative spiritual energy amplifies infinitely within the human psyche, gathering into stronger negative emotions that spread like a virus… until uncontrollable. Even the onmyoji in Sakura Kingdom are struggling with these urban legends spiraling out of control… some have even spread to Southeast Asia.”

She paused and then asked suddenly, “Have you heard the saying, ‘After founding a country, spirits cannot form’?”

“I have,” Ji Yun replied.

As a regular on paranormal forums, of course he had heard.

The woman continued, “That’s a decree enacted by the upper echelons in Sakura Kingdom, a lesson learned. To be honest, our country’s folklore and strange tales are far stronger than those abroad. With such a huge population, if left unchecked, the threat only grows.”

She glanced at Ji Yun again and asked, “So now you understand why fear can’t be spread, right?”

Ji Yun nodded in understanding.

The woman added, “But it’s not complete control. With the resurgence of the supernatural in recent years and worsening conditions, the government is actually slowly releasing some information to help the public gradually accept the other side of this world… but this process can’t be rushed. The spiritual energy in China was severed for two full cycles of sixty years, and generations have never seen ghosts. Revealing the truth of the supernatural too abruptly would backfire. So they use gentler methods—movies, forums, some online novels… gradually easing censorship, lifting bans on certain truths. It’s essentially a tolerance test.”

This time, Ji Yun truly understood.

No wonder the paranormal forums had become more daring, with more exposés surfacing. If they had been strictly censored, those posts wouldn’t have seen the light of day.

Like him, having grown up in a coffin shop, his tolerance for ghosts and zombies was far higher than ordinary people’s.

Once most people’s fear tolerance reached his level, the chance of social unrest would greatly decrease.

Monsters that feed on negative spiritual energy would also be severely limited in their growth.

…

At the end, the woman said one last thing: “Besides, even if ordinary people knew, so what? Only a small number of people can truly handle supernatural incidents. Knowing the truth would only add to their troubles.”

Her tone was serious, as if she was recalling something, her voice heavy.

“...”

Ji Yun didn’t reply.

That statement struck a chord deep within him.

Rather than mere curiosity about ghosts in the supernatural world, he hoped this was a world where extraordinary powers existed.

The woman seemed to anticipate what most people would think at this point, smiling as she asked, “You think being ‘that small group of people’ is quite appealing, don’t you?”

Ji Yun did not deny it.

She answered her own question, “Not to mention the supernaturals from the Paranormal Investigations Bureau. Do you know how high the mortality rate is for the newly recruited D-level field operatives at the X Foundation where I work?”

She continued, “It’s over ninety percent! Which means, out of a hundred newly trained D-level agents, fewer than ten survive after a year. That’s why many D-level operatives joke about being ‘consumables’ within the Foundation.”

That high?

Ji Yun was shocked by the staggering death rate.

But then he thought, those were X Foundation agents who dealt with supernatural incidents using technology and equipment; the situation domestically must be different.

Hadn’t the woman just said that the Paranormal Investigations Bureau’s people were true supernaturals?

…

Strangely enough, the woman seemed to read his thoughts again and immediately doused his hopes with cold water.

“Stop thinking about it. The path of merging with evil entities to become supernaturals has an even higher death rate. Every single operative in the Paranormal Investigations Bureau has come out from piles of their fallen comrades’ corpses. Supernaturals are half-human, half-ghost; if given a choice, many would probably just want a peaceful, ordinary life.”

…

Ji Yun listened, feeling somewhat helpless.

If she said the death rate was high, she probably wasn’t lying.

At the same time, he was curious—why was she telling him all this?

Was it because she knew he had become a supernatural and wanted to recruit him?

Or was there some other hidden agenda?

Before he could ask, the car had already stopped by the roadside.

Ji Yun was unfamiliar with this area.

But judging by the street signs on the storefronts, they had arrived at Chunfu Road in the North District.

The car stopped precisely at number 212 Chunfu Road.

This was the address his mother had mentioned in the photo—his third uncle’s place.

It was an old building.

Number 212’s doorplate was at the entrance of a narrow stairwell.

On the second floor, there was a row of deep blue old glass windows with faded red stickers advertising a sign that vaguely read “Lijing Guesthouse.”

By the stairs lay a drunk man in a leather jacket.

The man and the street scene both exuded the atmosphere of a 1990s city snapshot.

Having arrived, Ji Yun opened the car door to get out and was about to turn back and say “Thank you,” since she had given him a ride.

Unexpectedly, the woman in the short skirt also grabbed her handbag and got out after turning off the engine.

Ji Yun looked at her, thinking she was about to reveal her true intentions.

Before he could speak, the middle-aged drunk with a beard lying by the stairs suddenly vomited.

Though Ji Yun hadn’t seen him in over a decade, the moment he saw the drunk’s face, he immediately recognized him.

Wasn’t this his third uncle, Ji Huaichuan?

His features bore a striking resemblance to his father, unmistakable.

Seeing his uncle passed out by the roadside, Ji Yun was about to go help him.

But to his surprise, the woman in the short skirt walked over first, complaining with a hint of grievance, “Dad, I told you not to drink so much!”

Dad?

Ji Yun was stunned, thinking he must have misheard.

But then he saw the woman unreservedly help his scruffy uncle up the stairs.

Only then did Ji Yun realize who she was.

He stared in disbelief and tentatively called out, “Hualing?”

The short-skirted woman seemed to have known his identity all along. While helping his uncle, she turned back with a smile, eyes narrowed warmly.

“Long time no see, little brother Ji~”