Chapter Thirty-One: Ten Tigers Form a Malignity

I took out the slip of paper. "Check this for me—the birth record of Zong Hanlin. I need his exact time of birth."

The boy looked at the note and laughed. "Someone already came to me to check this ten days ago. This record is fake; Zong Hanlin was never born here."

I was immediately intrigued. "Tell me what happened back then."

The boy said, "That day, an old man came claiming his surname was Zong. He brought along a boy of about seventeen or eighteen. He scattered some candy here and asked us to help him find someone."

I led my brothers to scour the archives, but there was no birth record for Zong Hanlin. Every other child born on the same day was accounted for.

After I told the old man the news, he clenched his fist with a sharp crack and cursed, "The bastard, he really was lying to me."

Hoping for a bit more candy, I added, "Master Zong, there is something, though I don’t know if I should say it."

Old Man Zong pulled a handful of spirit money from his bag, lit it, and threw it on the ground before squeezing out a single word: "Speak!"

Since I’d taken his money, I had to be honest.

I told him, "Old Man Zong, eighteen years ago, there was an outbreak of the 'Black Tiger Curse' at the maternity hospital on the edge of town. Out of ten babies in the delivery room, nine died. Those nine were buried right there on the spot. Would you like me to take you to see?"

Old Man Zong swayed upon hearing this; had I not steadied him, he would have collapsed to the ground.

Once he found his footing, he bowed to the other children and beckoned me to lead him toward the edge of the city.

After they got into the car, I followed and sat between the two front seats, speaking to the boy the old man had brought. "Young man, do you know what a Black Tiger Curse is?"

The boy didn't look at me first, but at the driver.

The driver had no idea I was sitting next to him, muttering to himself, "Why is it so cold? As soon as I drop you lot off, I’m changing my clothes!"

"Don't worry, he can't see me," I glanced at the driver before turning back to him. "Do you know what a Black Tiger Curse is?"

The ghost boy played hard to get. "Big brother, do you know what it is?"

I had been tempted to give the boy a thrashing, but seeing that Ye Huan didn't seem to understand either, I explained:

"Legend says: three tigers make a 'biao,' seven tigers make a 'xiao,' and ten tigers make a 'black.' It means that in a single litter, one cub must consume all its siblings to become a biao or a xiao."

"In reality, a tiger can't give birth to that many cubs—three at most. That can only result in a biao, not a curse."

"The Black Tiger Curse actually refers to humans. If a child is born at the hour of the rat on the most inauspicious day of the Year of the Tiger, and consumes all the other children born at the same time, they become a Black Tiger Curse."

"If Zong Hanlin is truly a Black Tiger Curse, then Old Man Zong has his work cut out for him!"

The boy looked disappointed that he hadn't stumped me; it seemed his plan to extort more money had failed.

I kept a stern face. "Don't try to be clever with me. If you tell me everything clearly, I’ll burn a whole bag of gold bricks for you."

The boy immediately beamed. "At that time, I led Old Man Zong to a patch of wasteland behind an abandoned hospital."

"There were indeed ten mounds of earth there. At first glance, they looked like graves, only there were no headstones in front of them."

Old Man Zong took a deep breath, pulled a folding shovel from his bag, and began to dig into the mounds.

Within moments, he unearthed a set of dried-up infant remains inside an iron cage.

The corpse looked as if it had been bitten by something; there were several chunks of flesh missing, a sight too gruesome to behold.

Old Man Zong dug up several more mounds, each yielding an iron cage containing infant remains.

His face turned paler with each hole. Finally, under one of the mounds, he unearthed a mummified creature that looked like a wild cat, along with a letter wrapped in oil paper.

Trembling, Old Man Zong sliced open the 'wild cat's' stomach and pulled out a wooden effigy.

I took one look and froze—the features of the wooden figure bore a striking resemblance to the boy Old Man Zong had brought with him.

I wanted to take a closer look, but Old Man Zong let out a loud cry and collapsed.

The boy with him screamed and hugged him, shaking him frantically. "Grandpa, what’s wrong? Say something!"

Seeing that Old Man Zong seemed to have stopped breathing and there was no more money to be made, I told the boy there was a hospital nearby and left.

"That's all I know!"

The boy stared at me with hopeful eyes. I detoured to a funeral goods shop near the hospital, bought a bag of gold bricks, and burned them at the crossroads. Only then did the boy smile brightly and say, "Big brother, do you want to ask about anything else? I know plenty more."

I thought for a moment. "First, take me to where the children were buried. We can talk about the rest on the way."

"You got it!" The boy agreed and drifted behind me.

On the way, I learned that the boy was called 'Little Sprout,' an orphan who had died of illness. Though he still appeared as a child, he had been drifting in this city for over sixty years.

Because no one had performed rites for him, he remained a lonely spirit, earning his keep by selling information to occultists.

The bag of gold bricks I burned for him was the biggest haul he had ever had.

Just as I led Little Sprout out of the street corner, I saw a few lonely spirits crouching by the road. The leader spoke directly to Little Sprout, "Kid, hand over the money."

Little Sprout's face changed instantly, and he looked at me for help.

I blocked Little Sprout behind me. "I gave him that money. Do you have a problem with that?"

The ghost wasn't afraid. He stiffened his neck and said, "Sir, I'm just demanding what's owed. That's the rule. You gave him too much; that's against the rules."

There truly was such a rule in the occult world.

Incense, candles, and spirit paper were cheap and easy to buy in bulk. However, occultists never burned too much for spirits—a sheet or two of yellow paper was the limit, and that wasn't even worth a string of cash in the underworld.

It wasn't that the occultists couldn't afford it; it was that if they gave too much, the spirits would stop working.

"You want to talk rules with me?" I flicked a ghost-slaying gold coin at him. Before the man could react, he was scattered into nothingness. The remaining spirits trembled in fear. One stammered, "You... you destroyed a soul... you..."

I looked at them coldly. "My name is Yuan Zheng. I live at Number One, Taiping Street. Anyone who has a problem with it can come find me. Sprout, let's go."

Little Sprout trotted behind me. "Are you the 'Young Master San' from Taiping Street?"

"Young Master San, I've brought you trouble. The ghost you just destroyed actually had a master. Won't his master come looking for you now?"