Chapter Seven: Wang the Maid’s Secret

Seeing everyone looking at me, I was caught in a dilemma, not knowing whether to speak or remain silent. After all, this was an academic institution—if I admitted to such things, it would only give ammunition to accusations of promoting superstition; if I denied them outright, it would seem unacceptably subjective.

I had no choice but to begin, “The existence of supernatural beings has been spoken of since ancient times. China’s ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio’ has long been a source of fascination, while in the West, legends of vampires and werewolves have been passed down through generations, their influence profound and enduring.”

Glancing around, I noticed the entire class was listening intently, the room utterly silent. I continued, “Yet, despite all our technological advancements, there remain countless mysteries science cannot explain—like the Egyptian pyramids or the crystal skulls. At present, we can only hypothesize and speculate. Even such progress cannot explain everything with absolute certainty, and as a lecturer, my knowledge is naturally limited, so I cannot give you a definitive answer. However, if you are truly curious, perhaps one day you will have the opportunity to seek the answer for yourself.”

I paused to take a sip of water, then went on, “Though I cannot answer that student's question directly, I personally believe that such matters exist for those who believe, and not for those who do not. It is not the ghosts and monsters that are terrifying, but the demons within our own hearts.

To overcome fear, we must strengthen ourselves, broaden our understanding and perspective, and identify the true sources of our fear. By understanding certain laws of the objective world and the relationship between human needs and these laws, by setting correct goals and improving our foresight, and by preparing ourselves mentally for all possible contingencies, we can increase our psychological resilience.

If any of you are genuinely interested in the supernatural, I recommend reading ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio’ and, from the West, a scholar named Emanuel Swedenborg, who wrote an eight-volume work in the sixteenth century called ‘Heaven and Hell.’ Seek your own answers. That will be all for today; thank you for your questions! See you next time!”

The students seemed satisfied with my explanation; after a round of enthusiastic applause, they gradually dispersed.

The students departed, but several auditing professors came to shake my hand and say their goodbyes, complimenting me on the excellence of my lecture. I nodded my thanks. I noticed a few students remained seated, clearly with further questions, among them Tang Xin and Wang Tingting.

Wang Tingting strode toward me, pouting angrily. “Changfeng, tell me—who exactly are you? Even my uncle, the police chief, personally escorted you out!”

Her indignation delighted me; she’d been so smug at the police station earlier. I couldn’t suppress my amusement and replied with a slight smile, “Oh? If he’s your uncle, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

I knew in my heart—

“Hmph! If he’d tell me, would I need to chase you down myself?” Wang Tingting glared at me, her eyes fierce with anger.

The students nearby were shocked that Wang Tingting dared confront me so boldly, but as they listened, realizing we knew each other, their expressions softened. Upon hearing Wang Tingting say “chase you,” they all teased in unison, “Wow, teacher’s got romance in the air!”

Wang Tingting, realizing her words had been misunderstood, became both embarrassed and amused. “Who’d want to chase after this jerk? I meant I chased him here!”

The more she tried to explain, the worse it got. Stamping her foot, cheeks flushed red, she turned and stormed out. I burst into hearty laughter, finally feeling vindicated after today’s events.

A few girls gathered around, bombarding me with questions about my relationship with Wang Tingting. I kept my lips sealed, knowing that sometimes saying less is more—otherwise, one invites suspicion. After all, as the saying goes, “An explanation is just a cover-up.”

Tang Xin, ever astute, coughed lightly to calm the commotion, and the other students quieted down.

Since I began lecturing at this school, I’d noticed that Tang Xin was different from the others—more composed and mature, his eyes betraying a sense of world-weariness and sorrow. It was a look I knew well, for it was much like my own. These were not traits typical of an ordinary student.

“Tang Xin, is there something you wish to ask?” I inquired gently, meeting his gaze.

“Teacher, I just want to know—do you believe in ghosts?” Tang Xin asked earnestly. The surrounding students, intrigued by his unusual question, eagerly awaited my response.

Looking into Tang Xin’s intense eyes, I sensed he had experienced something out of the ordinary. Seeing his frail figure, I was moved by compassion and spoke gravely, “Most people today don’t believe in spirits simply because they haven’t encountered them. As I’ve said, for those who believe, they exist; for those who do not, they don’t. I once read a book that analyzed the subject quite thoroughly, and I greatly admired its author. After personally experiencing some remarkable things in the spirit world, he wrote a book—Emanuel Swedenborg’s ‘Heaven and Hell.’ If you’re interested, come by my place tonight and I’ll lend it to you.”

As a lecturer, I couldn’t openly declare my belief in ghosts and spirits, for I’d be ridiculed and condemned. Yet I could not avoid answering him, so I chose to respond in this way.

I wrote down my address and phone number and handed it to him. He nodded in thanks and left.

With Tang Xin’s departure, the hearts of the nearby students seemed to leave with him. I shook my head in resignation—how enviable it is to live a vibrant university life! Tang Xin’s charm had thoroughly captivated these beautiful young women.

The Grandor Bar was undoubtedly the most atmospheric in town. Unlike others, it was tranquil, playing soothing music—sometimes even Buddhist chants. The gentle melodies seemed to cleanse one’s soul, free from the clamor of ordinary bars.

But what truly drew me to this place, beyond the ambiance, was the bartender—her dimples. Only when I saw her did life feel truly real.

Leaving the university, the first thing I wanted to do was come here and chat with her. She was an excellent listener—when you spoke, she listened intently, gazing at you with a faint smile. I had told her much about my life, not knowing whether she believed me, but I found comfort in her willingness simply to listen.

Tonight, after several drinks, I told her about Xiaoya being possessed by a ghost two weeks ago, and about Wang Tingting’s recent entanglements with me. As we talked, she made an offhand remark that jolted me awake.

She said, “This Wang Tingting is no ordinary person!”

The bar’s gentle music prompted me to reflect on recent events, leading me to analyze Wang Tingting. First, since Xiaoya’s incident, Wang Tingting had been pestering me, claiming she wanted to learn martial arts. Second, after I resigned, she resigned as well. Third, to find me, she leveraged Xiaoya’s issue to force me to reappear. Fourth, the police searching for me seemed quite familiar with her—even took her orders. Fifth, she managed to track me to the university and even posed questions meant to put me on the spot.

All things considered, she was clearly extraordinary. If not extremely shrewd, she was highly intelligent. But why would someone like her be so fixated on me?

With these thoughts, I called Officer Li, asking him to dig up Wang Tingting’s background as quickly as possible. Not long after I hung up, he got back to me, and what I learned left me speechless.

“Wang Tingting, female, 23 years old—exceptionally bright since childhood. Graduated at 21 from university with a major in foreign languages. Studied abroad in Singapore for two years, earning an MBA. Highly self-confident. Father: Wang Fugui, president of Shengmin Pharmaceuticals Group...” Officer Li took over ten minutes to relay her dossier.

I was astonished—her father was the president of Shengmin Pharmaceuticals Group, a leading figure in the medical industry, with businesses spanning Africa, Europe, and beyond. Both underworld and legitimate circles gave him considerable respect.

Wang Fugui was clearly no ordinary man—he’d had Wang Tingting trained by mysterious masters from a young age and instructed her always to keep a low profile.

But Wang Tingting was not content with quietude—during university, she caused trouble in secret, single-handedly defeating several martial arts team experts in under a minute.

After graduating, while studying in Singapore, she even dared to challenge a Japanese karate dojo, forcing it to close.

Officer Li’s information was extremely detailed—he must have accessed Interpol records. He’d even discovered the identity of Wang Tingting’s first boyfriend.

Most amusingly, Wang Tingting had only dated that boyfriend for a single day before breaking up with him—her reason being that he couldn’t withstand her fighting skills. She once told her suitors, “My man is no ordinary mortal.”

Having heard Officer Li’s report, I felt I’d understood her well enough. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will win every battle. Now that I’d uncovered her background, I could deal with her accordingly. However, I underestimated the most powerful weapons a woman possesses—tears and playing the victim. It was this very oversight that later led to my defeat at her hands. But that is a story for another time.