The hospital director came to see the eldest son again, complaining that too many patients at the hospital had filed complaints. He couldn’t take the pressure anymore and hoped the matter would be resolved soon—preferably by transferring Mrs. Ho to the provincial hospital the next day.
The hospital corridor was now packed with curious onlookers. Though they didn’t dare approach, they craned their necks from a distance and whispered among themselves. Some even took the opportunity to bring up the bets at the underground gambling den, hoping the outcome would favor the side they’d bet on.
The arguing in the hospital room grew louder and louder. There were even sounds of things being smashed.
But before long, a voice began chanting sutras. It wasn’t loud, but it carried with remarkable force, gradually calming the tense atmosphere in the room.
A little while later, everything inside fell strangely quiet.
The expert called the two brothers into the room.
His voice was gentle and relaxed, as though everything was under control and there was no longer any serious problem.
9
The two brothers entered the room, while the people outside immediately crowded around the door to listen. Muffled voices came from inside, followed by a commotion and then the heavy thud of someone falling to the floor.
A man’s agonized screams rang out, along with Mrs. Ho’s cries of pain.
Then came the sound of something shattering.
After that, the hospital room fell strangely silent.
More than ten minutes passed. The crowd outside could wait no longer, and finally pushed open the door to look inside.
A scene of utter devastation met their eyes. Four people lay in pools of blood.
Mrs. Ho was dead in her hospital bed, a large, bloodied hole in her abdomen.
The expert lay on his back at the head of the bed, a sharp shard of glass from the cup lodged in his chest.
Mrs. Ho’s two sons were unconscious in opposite corners of the room. Their faces and bodies were covered in cuts from broken glass, but none of their injuries were serious. After they were revived with massage, both came to, immediately crawled to their mother’s bedside, and wept bitterly.
“The dead must be respected above all.”
No matter how deep the hatred, when someone dies, it all dies with them. The cycle of vengeance ends here; it will not pass down to their descendants.
Neither Mrs. Ho’s two sons nor their families were ever said to have been targeted by vengeful spirits again.
The two brothers always kept quiet about what happened in the hospital room, never revealing a thing.
But out on the streets, the story spread in many different versions. The most common one was this: Mrs. Ho’s sins were too great, and Lưu Tiềm’s resentment too powerful. Though the expert had used every last bit of strength he’d accumulated over a lifetime to suppress it, in the end he could only die alongside the vengeful spirit. He couldn’t stop it from dragging Mrs. Ho away as it vanished.
The story gradually faded from memory.
Three months later, when nearly everyone had forgotten what happened, a video suddenly spread like wildfire through “Dear Family” groups and chats for classmates and coworkers.
It was a recording of everything that had happened in the hospital room that day.
The video was blurry and the camera was tilted, but everything that happened inside could still be seen clearly.
The video began with the two brothers hearing the expert call them and entering the hospital room. By then, it was already in disarray.
The hospital bed was crooked, chairs lay scattered across the floor, the IV stand had toppled over, and IV bags were strewn everywhere.
The glass cup used for drinking water had shattered into several large pieces.
The expert stood beside Mrs. Ho’s bed, holding the hand of a hazy black figure.
The figure seemed to be made of wisps of thin smoke, faint but shaped like a human being. Its lower body, however, resembled tree roots clinging tightly to Mrs. Ho.
The expert said to the two brothers:
“Carefully bring the urn over. Undo your mother’s bandage and let a little of her blood drip straight into it. That will count as using blood to repay the family’s karmic debt.”
The urn was nearly rotten through, its surface on the verge of crumbling.
The youngest son took off his jacket, wrapped it around the urn, and carefully made his way toward the bed.
But perhaps because he was too nervous, his legs suddenly gave way. The floor was cluttered with things, and he slipped.
Just as one might expect, the unexpected happened.
He pitched forward, landing on top of the urn.
There was a crack, and the already brittle urn immediately crumbled to dust.
The accident sent the black figure into a frenzy. It let out a piercing shriek, wrenched free of the expert’s grasp, twisted several times, and then lunged at Mrs. Ho.
“Don’t go!” the expert shouted, grabbing the black figure by the wrist and doing everything he could to pull it out of Mrs. Ho’s body.
The two of them were locked in a fierce tug-of-war.
The expert tried to reason with the black figure:
“Don’t take this too far. She’s suffered enough. The hatred should end here. Why push things to the point where there’s no turning back?”
“She still hasn’t admitted she was wrong! She still doesn’t know what she did!” the black figure shrieked.
“Are you determined to take revenge to the bitter end?” the expert asked.
“Absolutely! I’ll make sure she dies! She created this karma, she sold her own life—I won’t let go!”
“Then don’t blame me. I can’t stand by and watch you take someone’s life right in front of me.”
“Hypocrite! How are you and that woman any different?!”
The expert turned to the two brothers. “Hurry. Take the soul-restraint talisman from my bag and stick it to the life-gate point on the black figure’s head. Then I can send it where it belongs, and it will never be able to come back.”
The youngest son rummaged through the talismans, his hands shaking, and accidentally dropped them on the floor. He bent to pick them up, then hesitantly approached the black figure, clearly terrified.
The expert urged him to hurry.
The youngest son pulled out a talisman and held it up. “Is this the one?”
As the expert turned his attention to the talisman in his hand and nodded to confirm, the son suddenly pulled a shard of glass hidden among the talismans from his other hand and drove it straight into the expert’s heart.
The expert froze, his mouth moving as if he wanted to say something, but not a word came out. He collapsed to the floor, dead on the spot.
With no one restraining it, the black figure lunged into Mrs. Ho’s body at a terrifying speed.
Mrs.Mrs. Ho screamed in agony, her whole body convulsing violently.
“What are you doing?!” the older brother whispered angrily.
“Mom can’t be allowed to live!” the younger brother replied, his voice low but full of resentment.
“I owe the gambling house a lot of money. They told me I had to make sure Mom died before they’d wipe out my debt, and they’re paying me on top of that. If Mom lives, I’m done for! Besides, even if she survives, she’ll be a cripple with no arms or legs. Can you support her? Can you take care of her? Better to let her die than have her drag us down with her. Don’t worry, I’ll split the money from the gambling house with you—40 percent… no! Half and half!”
The older brother said nothing more. He looked at the expert’s body on the floor, then at his mother writhing on the bed. Finally, he stepped forward and used a piece of cloth to wipe the fingerprints off the shard of glass.
Then he used the broken glass to scratch himself and his younger brother on the face and body, making a few more fake wounds.
Mrs. Ho’s abdomen had turned pitch-black. It caved in, forming a large hole that seeped black blood. Mrs. Ho couldn’t bear the pain; it would only be a little longer before she drew her last breath.