The moment I finished tattooing the Devouring Meiluo design, a faint black mist began to emanate from it. The mist seemed alive, swirling out of the tattoo on Chen Cuilian’s body and then disappearing into her stomach.

Cuilian shivered and looked at me in terror. I had no idea what was happening. We just stared at each other, too frightened to speak.

This was my first time doing a ghost tattoo, and I had no idea how powerful it could be.

Half a minute later, the black mist on her belly coalesced into the form of a tiny figure. The figure grabbed at a snake and bit into it, causing Cuilian to scream in pain, clutching her stomach and writhing on the tattoo bed.

Even more terrifying, I heard the distinct sound of laughter—an eerie, giggling voice coming from her tattoo. The sound sent chills down my spine. But when I looked closely, there was nothing unusual about the tattoo.

Panic rose within me. Had I messed up? Did I fail to do the tattoo properly? Could this lead to a deadly situation? Maybe even two lives lost? It was my first time doing a ghost tattoo, so I was understandably nervous.

I rushed over to check on Cuilian to see if she was okay. But she pushed me away forcefully and ran to the bathroom.

A long, agonizing ten minutes passed before Cuilian finally came out of the bathroom. To my relief, she said she was fine. When she lifted her shirt, the snake-like protrusions on her belly were gone. She told me she had passed a lot of blood, and she felt much lighter now. Her belly had returned to normal.

It seemed the black mist was part of the Devouring Meiluo tattoo’s work, and the ghost tattoo had been successful. Despite how eerie it was, I couldn’t help but feel impressed by how effective it was.

Once she had calmed down, Cuilian thanked me profusely and handed me the 10,000 yuan she had brought with her. She left with a smile on her face. As I watched her leave, I couldn’t help but wonder—who carries 10,000 yuan in cash, especially a pregnant woman? But I didn't think too much of it. She was a familiar face, and the money seemed legitimate.

At that moment, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of admiration for my grandfather. How did he know someone would come in for a ghost tattoo today? Did he also know there would be… spirits? I suddenly shivered at the thought.

Today was the Ghost Festival, after all. Could Grandpa be trying to warn me? With that thought in mind, I quickly tried calling him again, but his phone was still off. And when the sun went down, he still hadn't returned. I started to feel more anxious.

Around 8 PM, I decided to close the tattoo shop and head home. But just as I was about to lock the door, someone walked in.

A man, about thirty years old, dressed entirely in black, entered the shop. His skin and face were unusually pale, and his fingers were long. He was taller than average, and carried a black backpack.

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I knew everyone in the village, but this man—I'd never seen him before. He was definitely an outsider.

“Is Mr. Tang Yun here?” the man asked, his voice calm but with an odd sharpness to it.

“He’s out today. I’m his grandson, Tang Hao. Are you looking to get a tattoo?” I replied.

The man frowned slightly, as if my answer didn’t satisfy him. Then he asked, “Since you're his grandson, can you do ghost tattoos?”

Another one looking for a ghost tattoo, I thought. But it was already nighttime, and I recalled what Grandpa had told me about being cautious on the Ghost Festival. I became wary, especially when I saw the man’s pale complexion. My gut started to churn. Could this man be…

No, I quickly dismissed the thought. I couldn’t risk tattooing him with something dangerous, especially at night.

“No, sorry, I can’t do ghost tattoos. You’ll have to wait for my grandfather to return,” I lied, trying to keep myself safe.

The man then asked, “When will Mr. Tang Yun be back?”

I gave a weak smile. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

The man nodded, his face a bit disappointed, but he didn’t press the issue. He turned to leave, but after a few steps, he turned back.

He looked at me carefully and said, “Little brother, you have black energy around your lips and your forehead is slightly dark. You might be under a curse. Today is the Ghost Festival, so be careful. You should stay here in the shop tonight and leave tomorrow morning.”

“What do you mean by that? Just because I can’t do your tattoo, you’re cursing me?” I said, feeling a flash of irritation. No one should tell me I was cursed on the Ghost Festival.

The man didn’t answer directly. Instead, his gaze shifted to my pants pockets.

“Take out what’s in your pockets,” he said.

I hesitated. My pockets contained the 10,000 yuan that Cuilian had just given me. I split it into two pockets.

Was he trying to rob me? Was he after my money?

It seemed like the man saw through my suspicions. He continued, “You’re carrying money for the dead. You must have encountered something strange today.”

His words sent a chill down my spine. I immediately dug into my pockets, pulling out a bill. Sure enough, when I looked at it, it was mingbi—paper money for the dead!

I pulled out the rest, and to my horror, every single bill was mingbi, not real money. My hands shook, and the paper bills scattered across the floor.

This couldn’t be real! I had checked the money carefully when Cuilian gave it to me—it was all real cash. How could it have turned into mingbi?

This was beyond eerie—extremely eerie! And why would Cuilian give me paper money for the dead? We were familiar with each other, and I had even helped her. How could she give me this?

“Only the dead spend mingbi, little brother,” the man added. “You’ve encountered a ghost.”

“A ghost? Are you saying Cuilian is a ghost?” I asked, trying to dismiss the idea.

“That’s impossible! I met her during the day. How could she be a ghost? I know her—if she were dead, I would have known!” I tried to argue.

The man stared at the dark sky outside and asked, “What was the weather like today during the day?”

I furrowed my brow and thought for a moment. “It was cloudy. There was no sun all day.”

As soon as I said it, a cold shiver ran through me. Not only had there been no sun, but Cuilian had even used an umbrella when she came into the shop.

Could it be… could Cuilian actually be a ghost? Had she died? I started to believe the man’s words.

I immediately thought of rushing to Cuilian’s home to check, but the man stopped me. He urged me to stay at the shop, warning that something very bad might happen if I went out.

Reluctantly, I listened to his advice and stayed at the shop. I also asked around on WeChat for Cuilian’s husband’s phone number.

Cuilian’s husband was named Wang Chong. When he picked up the phone, his voice sounded off—hoarse, as though he had been crying. After some small talk, I brought up Cuilian.

I didn’t expect what he said next: “Cuilian passed away. She was buried last night.”