Hogar de los espíritus

Capítulo 21

Then, an astonishing scene unfolded. After howling at the moon, the flying wolf suddenly stood tall and straight, its upper body bending backward, and as if by magic, a section of a living human upper body grew out.

His features gradually became clearer: a high nose, a broad forehead, jet-black hair, full cheekbones, and a square face—the very image of a kind and refined elder. Then his body outline appeared, and his lower body completely shed its wolf-like appearance. His fur shrank, and his fleshy wings transformed into strong, powerful arms. He was imposing, easily over eight feet tall.

He suddenly opened his phoenix eyes, which were bright and piercing, exuding an imposing aura without anger. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he resembled a silver-armored celestial being.

Shirley Yang exclaimed softly beside me, "Isn't that the white-horse general from the murals in the sacrificial tower at the bottom of Pinghu Lake?"

Fatty and I opened our eyes and looked, then suddenly realized what was going on. We both whispered in praise, "That's right, it really is exactly the same as in the mural."

The giant wolf, transformed into a towering man, stood atop the Bodhi tree. Suddenly, he roared at the full moon high in the sky, his hands forming a half-circle, palms facing upward, as if pleading something with the heavens. His thick, ancient words were filled with compassion and indignation.

Shirley Yang secretly guessed that he was praying.

The full moon, like a bright mirror, suddenly poured down a beam of light vertically, directly enveloping the person. The Bodhi tree emitted a radiant light, its entire trunk glowing with golden light. The golden and silver light intertwined, swirling and illuminating the person, converging upon them. The person closed their eyes as if asleep, and in an instant, their body half-reclined, floating into the air, slowly drifting upwards along the beam of moonlight.

Beyond the branches and leaves, beyond the treetop, two white cranes suddenly took flight from the top of the Bodhi tree, their long, curved necks crying out, their voices resounding throughout the land. They flapped their wings, circling the man's corpse as they floated into the clouds. Behind them, the Moonlight Well disappeared, vanishing section by section.

For about ten minutes, the moonlight faded, revealing a clear blue sky and starry nights, everything as before. A gentle breeze stirred, causing the Bodhi tree to sway softly, its golden light receding. We felt as if we were in a dream, as if everything that had just happened was an illusion, leaving us bewildered.

I heard myself mutter, "So this Spartacus is an ancient werewolf."

Volume Two: The Four Kingdoms Campaign, Chapter Forty-Six: The Haunted Savannah - The Evil Playboy

We spent the night in the linden tree and returned to the beach campsite at dawn. There was nothing left to do on the island, so it was time to go home.

Under Shirley Yang's guidance, Fatty and I spent a full ten days constructing a huge and sturdy raft using logs as rafts, vine bark as ropes, and long branches as oars. We brought plenty of coconuts, roasted wild game and vegetables, as well as fresh water from hollowed-out vines. Led by the King of Dolphins' fleet, we drifted on the vast ocean for half a month. With the help of monsoon currents, we barely escaped with our lives, finally encountering a British Royal Merchant Ship, which allowed us to escape.

After boarding the ship, we learned that we had been rescued in the Bermuda Triangle, east of the continental United States. This area is full of treacherous reefs, storms, and shipwrecks, making it a death zone that sailors fear to be near. It seems we were really lucky to be alive.

It has been over four months since we returned to the American continent. This tomb raiding trip yielded the following: a golden mask of Menelik I, a dark green token (lost), a pair of Spartacus ruby daggers, a woman's jade burial suit, a book of indigenous shamanic wisdom, a bronze tablet of Menelik I, a pair of luminous pearls resembling the tears of the Dolphin King, several newfound knowledge, two tombs raided (a thousand-year-old ice tomb and a Spartacus "Purple Star Dou Shi" matrix tomb), a Bodhi fruit (shared with Fatty) yielding a sacred core, several encounters with strange creatures, N+1 instances of heart palpitations, and an average weight loss of ten kilograms per person.

Before we even set foot on the East Coast of the United States, Shirley Yang notified the local branch office to send someone to pick us up and deliver our passports and other necessary items. We enjoyed a delicious meal and then checked into a seaside resort hotel in the old town of Savannah, where we slept soundly for two whole days.

The next evening, Shirley Yang, all freshened up, woke me and Fatty up via the room phone, saying she was waiting for us in the hotel lobby downstairs and would take us to enjoy the seaside night view of the old city.

When Fatty and I lazily rushed downstairs, the bar seats in the lobby were already empty. The slanting sunlight at five o'clock in the afternoon shone on the quiet scene outside. Only a beautiful urban woman in a light blue floral dress sat quietly in the corner by the window, her back to us. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat with flowers adorning her head, facing the floor-to-ceiling glass window, sipping her half-cup of warm black coffee with demure elegance. She had a slender figure, long hair flowing over her shoulders, and a remarkably beautiful and charming demeanor.

Fatty and I looked at her, and our first thought was to criticize the evil and corrupt capitalist system. How could it allow society to expose such a beautifully dressed young woman to the public and let her show her face in public? Isn't this tempting those lecherous foreigners to commit crimes and giving them an opportunity to take advantage of her?

But right now, the priority is to find Shirley Yang and follow her instructions. In this small, ancient town on the American East Coast, where we know absolutely nothing, Fatty and I are completely clueless and have no idea what to do.

We dashed out through the glass revolving doors. The area outside the hotel was quiet and peaceful, without a single person in sight. However, the name of the resort hotel, "Lant Savannah," was prominently displayed on the artificial rock in the fountain's welcome pool, its shimmering surface made almost blinding by the high and low sprays of water.

Fatty and I looked left and right, but couldn't find Shirley Yang. I was getting a headache from worrying so much. Fatty slowly patted my shoulder, yawned, and said, "Old Hu, forget it. Looks like we should just go back to the hotel and get some more comfortable sleep, okay?"

Just as I was about to shout "Oh no!", I turned my head and saw Shirley Yang sitting properly in the lobby window. She was holding a coffee and smiling slightly as she waved to us through the glass.

I was so angry that I turned around to go inside and pretend to vent my anger when a red BMW screeched to a halt beside me. A hotel waiter in a white swallowtail uniform got out of the car and bowed respectfully to us.

Fatty and I couldn't understand what he was saying either. Shirley Yang, dressed in a light blue floral outfit, came up, tossed a US dollar bill to the waiter, said "Thanks," and gracefully climbed into the driver's seat, gesturing for us to get in.

The car carried the three of us gliding briskly onto the city's tree-lined avenue and drove onward.

Savannah, originally founded in 1733, was a typical seaside town. Located in eastern Georgia, USA, bordering the Atlantic Ocean, it boasts numerous historical sites and exudes a strong Southern coastal atmosphere. However, what truly made Savannah famous were its long-standing ghost stories and supernatural tales.

Over its 200-plus-year history, Savannah has endured numerous hardships, including the American Revolutionary War, the Civil War, the yellow fever epidemic of 1820, multiple tropical storms, and large-scale fires. These hardships have resulted in seven cemeteries with over 9,000 graves and numerous haunted houses within the old city. Historically, it was also a haven for adventurers, pirates, slaves, and psychics, and is frequently associated with ghost stories, supernatural occurrences, and other unusual events. Consequently, it has been designated by the American Paranormal Society as the most haunted city in the United States.

We drove aimlessly, relaxing and enjoying the fresh summer sea breeze outside the car window. A strange type of oak tree grew in the streets and alleys of the old town. From a distance, it looked like a long row of oddly bearded old men standing on both sides of the road, somewhat peculiar and unique, waving at us as we retreated to the back of the car. Shirley Yang said that the locals called this oak tree "Spanish moss."

Life here moves at a fast pace, and even the occasional pedestrian walking by looks drowsy and relaxed.

We drove across the riverbank bridge, circled the seaside boulevard a few times, listened to the familiar sound of the tide, and wandered through the streets and alleys filled with ghost stories and legends—taverns, restaurants, hotels, bars, and fortune tellers. These buildings were all in the European classical style, their ancient, high walls covered in vines and rust, adding to the town's classically mysterious and alluring atmosphere.

As dusk settles and the night deepens, large and small round light boxes, signs, and neon lights hang above the rows of streets, adding a touch of dazzling urban charm to this ancient seaside town.

Two hours later, we stopped at a Chinese restaurant and ate several bowls of Italian pasta, which was neither Chinese nor Western, as well as several large skewers of Brazilian pine-branch roasted lamb and two dozen beers, thoroughly enjoying the pleasures of returning to life.

Just as we were getting into the car to head back to the hotel, a strange old woman dressed in black, her face veiled, emerged from the fortune-telling shop next door. She carried a large statue of a deity and walked past our car. Suddenly, she stopped, strangely circling Shirley Yang once, muttering a few words in Tibetan while counting on her right fingers. She then stepped aside, lifted a corner of the red cloth covering the statue in her arms, examined it closely, and solemnly handed Shirley Yang a triangular yellow amulet before taking two steps back. In that instant when she lifted the red cloth, I could vaguely see from inside the car that it was a goddess statue resembling the Thousand-Armed Guanyin.

We watched as the mysterious old woman turned past several tall oak trees and disappeared behind a church by the roadside before turning back. Shirley Yang pinched the triangular yellow talisman, turned it to the other side, and suddenly, in a panic, pushed open the car door, jumped out, and chased after the old woman like a gust of wind.

For some reason, Fatty and I jumped out of the car and followed Shirley Yang, one in front of the other. Suddenly, the oak trees by the roadside swayed without wind, sending up large clumps of branches in a chilly breeze.

We watched as Shirley Yang's pretty figure flashed past the corner of the church wall and disappeared into the endless greenery behind it. Fatty and I followed closely behind, only to find that behind the church was a large back garden dominated by dark green shrubs, but Shirley Yang had vanished without a trace.

Fatty and I stood in the boundless twilight, looking around. There was nothing in front of us except the bushes shivering in the cool breeze. It was gloomy all around, and the sky was so dark that it looked like it was about to drip black water.

Suddenly, the sound of bells and drums rang out high above, startling a large flock of crows like a dark cloud. They flew in a wide arc in the air before landing back on the spire of the church bell tower that pierced the clouds.

Fatty and I looked up at the European-style marble building behind us, and as the huge bells rang several times, I thought to myself that this meant it was 10 p.m.

I called out a few times, but there was no response from Shirley Yang in the distant botanical garden. At that moment, the night was endless, and in this unfamiliar city, I hesitated, unsure whether to chase after her directly or to retreat with Fatty to the car and wait for Shirley Yang to return on her own.

Suddenly, I saw a white ribbon flash by the edge of the bushes in the distance. I didn't even have time to think about whether Shirley Yang was wearing a white scarf or anything like that. I quickly called Fatty to chase after it together.

There wasn't time to enter through the garden gate not far away, so Fatty and I leaped over the waist-high wooden fence, jumped into the botanical garden, crossed the large, wet lawn that had just been watered, and chased after a large clump of plants behind a few palm trees.

In the darkness, it was vaguely discernible that a huge stone sculpture of a beast was holding up a long, thin-leaved shrub that was hanging upside down. Hanging among the branches was a pure white, realistic silk scarf.

I grabbed the silk scarf, but couldn't see anything suspicious about it. Completely lost and confused, Shirley Yang had vanished without a trace. I gritted my teeth and called to Fatty to chase after her deeper into the woods.

After climbing over thickets of bushes, the terrain gradually rose, feeling as if we were on a small hill. Relying on our skills and daring, Fatty and I continued our pursuit in the dark without stopping. After about ten minutes, we circled around a row of wooden fences, clearly having exited the plant-themed church's back garden.

Before me was a path leading uphill, with dense wormwood plants, taller than a person, growing on both sides of the path. Some of them were still scattering white fluff, which shone brightly in the boundless night.

I was hesitating whether to continue on my way when a dim, yellow lantern appeared at the end of the path ahead. The fat man quickly said, "Let's go after it and ask for directions."

The wind was a bit strong, and the swaying wormwood and artemisia along the roadside were distracting. Fatty and I hurried after it, and after turning a few corners, the lantern disappeared. Suddenly, a large open slope appeared before us.

Rows of greyish-white stone carvings stood motionless on the slope in the night. Looking closer, we saw a dim, yellow lantern swaying precariously on a stone tablet in the center of the carving forest. On that tablet, we could vaguely see the silhouette of a small child, swaying and playing under the lamplight.

Fatty and I went around along a stone path. Fatty called out, "Kid!"

The child turned around, and sure enough, it was a little white girl, dressed in a bright red dress and with two Chinese-style pigtails sticking up in the air, looking like a porcelain doll. Her round face had two big, mischievous eyes that looked at us with a giggle.

Whose little girl is this, sitting on the stone tablet on the desolate slope in the middle of the night, swinging her little arms and legs? She looks about six or seven years old, smiling at us while giggling at her snacks. The lantern is stuck in the small hole at the top of the stone tablet beneath her, the paper lantern spinning slightly in the cool breeze.

The fat man, speaking in broken Mandarin and gesturing wildly, asked the little girl in front of him if she had seen a young woman wearing a straw hat adorned with flowers and a light blue floral dress walk by. I knew he was talking about Shirley Yang.

Unfortunately, the little doll-like girl couldn't understand any of Wang Pangzi's Chinese. She just smiled and munched on her snacks while watching us.

The fat man rambled on, and seeing no response, he gave up and said to me, "Old Hu, it's no use, we can't communicate. Let's go."

As we turned to leave, the little girl suddenly called out "Whoosh!" and waved to the fat man, signaling him to come over. She stuffed the handful of snacks from her little hand into his mouth.

The fat man reached out and caught it. I could still hear him laughing as he said, "Thank you, Uncle doesn't want any." "Oh, your little hands are so cold! Be careful not to catch a cold. Go home quickly." "I don't want any, you eat it yourself. Hmm, what's this?"

The fat man held the object handed to him under the lantern, picking up a thin, long, two-sectioned white thing and examining it closely. He should have looked away; the moment he saw it, he yelled "Oh my god!" and dropped it all over the ground. He stumbled and fell onto me, stammering, "It's—it's—a dead man's—finger bone."

I was supporting the fat man, and before I could figure out what was happening, a strong force surged from the grass at my feet. Something grabbed my ankle and dragged both of us to the ground.

I was on top of the fat man when I looked up and saw the little girl at the top of the stone tablet suddenly turn ferocious, screaming and pointing menacingly at us. Strangely, although her scream was piercing, her mouth was tightly shut on her pale face. I opened my eyes wider and saw, damn it, her body was floating, her lower body was a bloody mess, and her legs, which had been swaying under her skirt just moments before, were gone, the wind blowing up most of her skirt.

The little girl fell off the stone tablet with a thud. Under the lantern light, I could see clearly that she had no shadow. Two bloody streaks of tears streamed down her face. She stretched out her hands, supporting her upper body as she crawled over, screaming shrilly as she scratched at the fat man's face. In the lamplight, her long fingernails gleamed coldly. Judging from her tone, she was screaming like a vengeful ghost, "Give me back my snacks! Give me back my legs!"

Suddenly, the ground beneath the stone tablet in the grass cracked open, and pairs of rotten, decaying hands emerged from the soil, pulling at our legs and bodies.

Fatty and I were terrified. It was like we'd run into a ghost while walking at night.

I struggled to my feet, broke free from the ghostly hands around my ankles, kicked and stomped, and took the opportunity to kick away several ghostly hands surrounding the fat man's body. I ran to the fat man, grabbed his shoulders, and tried to pull him up.

I had just pulled the fat man halfway up when I felt a tight grip on my leg. The little female ghost had already crawled close, her frozen arms tightly clinging to my calves. I shuddered, struggled a couple of times but couldn't break free. In a fit of rage, I exhaled sharply, bent down, grabbed her scalp and hair, and ripped her head off, tossing it into the grass behind the stone tablet.

The fat man rushed over and helped me kick off her upper body, which was clinging to me tightly. I stumbled and fell onto the tombstone. Under the light, I was shocked to discover an old photograph embedded in the stone, a portrait of the little girl ghost before her death. It turned out the tombstone was a gravestone; this was a foreign cemetery.

Suddenly, ghostly screams filled the air, the wind rustled the grass, the trees roared, and rows of mushroom-like ghostly hands emerged from the ground, all waving and reaching out to grab us.

The fat guy and I were shocked. We jumped onto the top of the tombstones and leaped through the group of tombstones as we ran towards the exit of the cemetery. We saw blood seeping from the tombstones beneath our feet, and many phosphorescent lights flickered and floated towards us among the tombs.

We barely reached the cemetery, then Fatty and I jumped off the top of the tombstone and frantically ran down the hillside. Suddenly, long whips emerged from the tangled weeds, chasing after us like sinister snakes. Before Fatty and I could react, our legs were bound, and we were thrown to the ground, dragged by the whips into a hole in the weeds.

The cave floor was filled with horrifying white bones, all grinning menacingly at us.

Volume Two: The Four Kingdoms Campaign, Chapter Forty-Seven: The Secret Agreement in Bangkok

The next day, I woke up to find myself in a hotel at the seaside resort of "Lant Savannah".

While having breakfast, Shirley Yang calmly recounted that in the middle of the night, the police found Fatty and me hanging upside down in the oak bushes beside the church avenue, both unconscious. Preliminary investigations suggested that Fatty and I had been robbed while intoxicated. It was Shirley Yang who eventually arrived at the local police station and brought us back.

After dinner, the police officer who arrived at the hotel to take our statements laughed heartily after hearing our explanation of our ghost encounter the previous night. He then babbled a string of words to the translator, Shirley Yang. Apparently, the police assumed that we two foreigners were cowards and had fabricated a story based on local ghost tales to shirk responsibility. After repeatedly confirming that we wouldn't appeal and hadn't lost any valuables, they smiled and gave us an OK sign before leaving our room.

I turned to Shirley Yang and asked why she had rushed after the mysterious old woman last night. Shirley Yang silently pulled out the triangular yellow talisman. I flipped it over and found a line of strange letters and symbols. Shirley Yang explained that the phrase was written in an indigenous script.

It turns out that during the two days we were ashore, the shrewd and capable Shirley Yang was not idle at all. She secretly assigned people to transport all the funerary objects that we brought back from our tomb raiding trip that could not pass through customs back to San Francisco. She also found an old professor at Columbia University who was an expert in ancient indigenous scripts to translate the first chapter of the Herbal Heart Sutra that we brought back from the tomb of Spartacus, which was written by an indigenous shaman among the Kiliki pirates.

The very first sentence of this opening statement is exactly the same as the sentence written in the indigenous language on the triangular yellow talisman given to me by the mysterious old woman last night. Translated, this sentence is a doctrine from ancient Jain Western Tantric Buddhism: "Where mortals and gods tread, the blood of your heart will be shed. Only by sacrificing the 'holy woman' to Ananda and approaching the Mother Goddess, and by going to the sacred burial ground to receive baptism of holy blood, can one pray for divine forgiveness!"

Shirley Yang had just received the translated foreword and hadn't even had a chance to discuss it with Fatty and me when she unexpectedly received a warning from the mysterious old woman. Last night, in a moment of desperation, she had chased after her, but after searching for a long time, she couldn't catch up. She had no choice but to return to the car dejectedly, only to find that Fatty and I were nowhere to be found. Shirley Yang was then surprised to find a note inside the car that read: "To atone for your sins and save your father, Yang Xuanwei, hurry to Ananda's Mausoleum near the Mother Goddess in Bangkok."

To rescue my future father-in-law, I felt it was my duty to follow Shirley Yang. Fatty, on the other hand, was a true partner in life and death; he only asked to have a few more skewers of Brazilian pine-spinned lamb to satisfy his craving before heading to Bangkok with us. "A barbecue, not too much, right?" he chuckled, patting his stomach.

We quickly packed our bags and decided to travel thousands of miles to Thailand.

On the way to the airport, we heard a series of strange and bizarre ghost stories and legends about Savannah from the local taxi driver.

Initially, a newspaper publisher named John Haney struggled to make a living in Savannah, but to no avail. In despair, before leaving Savannah in 1820, Haney wrote a curse, wishing the city great calamity. That same year, yellow fever and wildfires struck Savannah, devastating the city. A total of 464 houses and buildings were destroyed by fire, and 666 people died from disease within two weeks…

Savannah's most romantic ghost story is undoubtedly the love story of Willie and Nellie: Nellie, the mother of Juliette Lau, the founder of the Girl Scouts, died in February 1917. At her funeral, many people saw the figure of her deceased husband, General Willie, come to Nellie's side. According to Nellie's children, when Nellie died, she left with a blissful smile like a "bride." At a local banquet, a lady suddenly saw a ghostly figure appear. At first, she thought it was a hallucination, but then she felt a cold breath on her shoulder. Terrified, the lady screamed and fled in panic…

The most famous of these is the story of the little girl ghost. It is said that the white girl, Andila, lost both her parents to yellow fever when she was young. She wandered the city's various cemeteries, stealing offerings to survive, making the tombs her home, growing emaciated and resembling a beggar. The local welfare department found her and took her to the district children's welfare home. Unexpectedly, the next day, the little girl ran away and was involved in a car accident on the main road, her lower limbs severed, and she bled to death instantly. Strangely, the bloodstains at the accident scene remained for seven years. Later, people strongly requested that her remains be buried in the central cemetery she frequented, and a tombstone was erected for her. Only then did the bloodstains disappear naturally. From then on, people often said they encountered her in the cemetery at midnight, or searched for their own feet all night with a lantern…

On our way to Bangkok, Thailand, we received translations from the Colombian professor, and a simple and easy-to-understand guide to the indigenous shaman's mantra gradually became clear.

In this Heart Sutra, the indigenous shaman mentions his life and research findings, which are mostly his divination and prophecy about the ancient Roman and Byzantine Empires, as well as some anecdotes about the tortures of Western Tantric religions, and the brutal records of the pirate leader Kiriqi Kiriqi and his gang who killed, robbed, and roamed the world. This includes some shocking secret cases of the time. He also briefly mentions the secret locations of the Kiriqi pirate fleet's treasure, the design of its traps, and the historical facts of its collusion with the ancient Roman Catholic Church.

However, what surprised us most was that experts, based on the image and patterns on the dark green token drawn by Shirley Yang, speculated that it was a sacred demon token used by the ancient King Solomon when he ruled the realms of humans and ghosts. If the incantations on it were used correctly, it could command the ghosts of the underworld and eliminate all evil. Unfortunately, on the day he saved Fatty, this sacred demon token was seized by an evil dragon, and it can never be found again.

Due to the need for secrecy, we flew from the United States to an international airport in Australia, then landed on the island of Sumatra, crossed the Strait of Malacca, passed through Indonesia and Malaysia, and arrived at Songkhla, a southern city in Thailand, without stopping. From there, we took a train to Bangkok, the capital of Thailand, completing the entire journey in just six days.

For those six days, Shirley Yang was in a frantic rush. Everyone was busy traveling, exhausted and dizzy. Jet lag made Fatty and me vomit repeatedly, and we slept fitfully for most of the time. Shirley Yang's eyes were red and swollen from worry, and she was busy arranging a large batch of spare supplies to be airlifted to Bangkok ahead of time.

Bangkok is a beautiful Buddhist city, known as the "Land of the Yellow Robes" and the "Capital of the White Elephant." However, it also harbors a diverse array of dangerous figures, including adventurers, drug dealers, human traffickers, sorcerers, gangsters, and anti-government militants. The sex industry is extremely prosperous here, with brothels everywhere, the most famous being Pattaya, located 150 kilometers southeast of Bangkok, known for its ladyboys.

So-called ladyboys are boys from impoverished Thai families who cannot afford to raise them, or boys of unknown origin who were abducted as children and taken in by brothels controlled by the local underworld. These children are subjected to castration from a young age and are given drugs, thus becoming grotesque, feminized men. Those with handsome features are sold to wealthy and powerful families as child slaves, while those less attractive are taught singing, dancing, and seductive arts, and grow up to become singers and dancers, earning money by performing in erotic shows in brothels. Most ladyboys suffer tragic fates, not living past thirty, a stark and cruel testament to the harsh realities of Thai society.

Shirley Yang, Fatty, and I arrived in Bangkok and secretly checked into a hotel in the city, resting there for a day without leaving the premises. Strangely, however, when we asked around at the Ananda-Mother Mausoleum mentioned on the note, all the locals shook their heads, saying they had never heard of it. Some did mention that Ananda is the principal deity worshipped in ancient Indian Brahmanism, and that there is still a Ananda temple in Nepal, asking if we were mistaken.

The thought of her father, Yang Xuanwei, threw Shirley Yang into a panic, leaving her completely disoriented. Upon hearing this, she frantically tried to fly to Nepal instead. I quickly stopped her, urging her to calm down. The note clearly stated Bangkok, Thailand. I suspected the mysterious old woman would reappear; her purpose in leading us to Bangkok wasn't limited to this, and there must be more to the story. For now, let's wait and see.

We also inquired about the local customs and traditions. We had heard before that Thai black magic was extremely powerful, seemingly originating from the same source as the insect-based witchcraft of the Miao people in Yunnan, China, but even more insidious and bizarre, harming people invisibly.

It is said that during the Liberation War, a wealthy young man from a Kuomintang family in Chongqing fled with his family and valuables to Bangkok, Thailand, where he temporarily settled with a distant uncle. This man had a long-standing bad habit of womanizing and was extremely promiscuous. In Bangkok, where the sex industry was thriving, he thrived, spending his nights in nightclubs, dancing wildly and getting drunk, indulging in debauchery and losing all sense of time.

One late night, a wealthy young man staggered out of a dance hall, drunkenly heading home. He encountered a glamorous Thai woman on the street, and the two hit it off immediately. In his drunken stupor, he took her to a nearby hotel and slept with her. At dawn, the young man was shocked to discover that the Thai woman was actually a delicate ladyboy, and he fled in terror. Later, the ladyboy repeatedly chased him to his residence, but he ignored her and even hired someone to beat her up. She then disappeared.

Two years later, the wealthy young man suddenly suffered a horrific death, with all his veins bursting open and his genitals burned. His body was a gruesome mess, a bloody pile of rotten flesh, lying dead on a Bangkok street at midnight. This murder became one of Thailand's top ten unsolved mysteries of the year.

Later, his family consulted a local sorcerer and learned that the wealthy young man had been secretly cursed with a "heartbreaker curse." This type of curse is a common form of Gu magic, with an incubation period that can last up to two years. It was originally used by local indigenous women to curse their lovers in ancient times. Once the man's heart changes, if he is not treated in time, he will first experience mental exhaustion and physical pain. If he still does not repent, he will eventually suffer a gruesome death from a blood explosion.