The Ghost Seeker

Chapter 9: Looks Like It Likes You Too

Xu xiao redialed twice, only to have Song Lianzhou hang up immediately. The message was clear: Don’t call. Focus on Xie Jing.

Xu xiao sighed, silencing the buzz of his iPhone before slipping it back into his pocket. The sterile corridor air, thick with disinfectant and the damp chill of a New Jersey evening, filled his lungs as he turned back towards the hospital room. His mind raced: This damn ‘see ghosts only when touching Xie Jing’ quirk… could it really be tied to his physical state or mood? The logic felt more twisted than the late-night urban legends whispered about the Brooklyn subway.

Working for the SPD (Supernatural Phenomena Division) meant direct spectral perception was usually an asset, saving time over fiddling with EM detectors and thermal scanners. But for Xu xiao, it was like tossing an acrophobic onto the Empire State Building observation deck—maximum danger. His unique “constitutional disposition” (as the department’s old Chinese-American spiritualist put it), combined with his less-than-stellar stress tolerance, was no joke. He had to figure out this damn mechanism, and fast.

Anxiety gnawed at him. He couldn’t resist sending Song Lianzhou another text.

[Xu xiao: You sure you have a fix?]

The reply was instant.

[Song Lianzhou: Bet on it.]

Xu xiao pushed open the door to the private room. The light was dim, only the bedside lamp casting a warm pool on the sheets. Xie Jing was no longer lying down but sitting up, the hospital bed raised to support his back. Against the stark white sheets, a small, fluffed-up bundle of brown and grey feathers was starkly visible—a sparrow. Xie Jing extended a slender finger, idly stroking the bird’s back with a touch as light as handling fine silk.

Hearing the door, Xie Jing looked up, a perfectly calibrated smile curving his lips. “Boss? Need to head out early for something urgent?” His voice was smooth, but the warmth didn’t reach his unnervingly deep eyes. The sparrow nearest to him seemed to shiver from an invisible chill, letting out a faint “cheep.”

Xu xiao shook his head, his gaze drawn to the tiny visitor on Xie Jing’s lap. “Where’d our little friend come from?”

“Raining outside,” Xie Jing tapped the sparrow’s head lightly, his tone as flat as a weather report. “Probably seeking shelter.” The generic hospital pothos plant by the window, had it consciousness, would have screamed contradiction—it witnessed exactly how the “patient” had plucked the hapless bird, which had fainted on the windowsill, onto his bed.

Xu xiao approached, surprised. “City sparrows are skittish. They don’t usually sit this calmly with strangers unless injured or starving.” He recalled the birds in Central Park, scattering at the first human approach.

“Maybe this one is… special.” Xie Jing’s fingertip traced the crown of the bird’s head. “Quite docile. Doesn’t peck.”

Looking at the warm, fuzzy little creature, Xu xiao felt a familiar itch. He’d always been a sucker for small animals. Why else would he have impulsively adopted three needy kittens from a Brooklyn shelter, nearly turning his apartment into a feline daycare?

“Want to pet it?” Xie Jing’s voice held a hint of subtle amusement.

Almost before the words finished, the sparrow, as if responding to an unspoken command (or threat? Xie Jing’s finger was still near its head), launched itself from Xie Jing’s lap and landed with surprising lightness on Xu xiao’s shoulder, moving faster than Xu xiao could answer.

Xie Jing watched the bird’s eager escape from his proximity, his gaze shifting to Xu xiao’s shoulder, the smile deepening slightly at the corners. “Looks like it likes you too.”

Xu xiao’s attention was fully captured by the creature on his shoulder. Its tiny claws gripped the cotton of his t-shirt, its head c****d, beady black eyes regarding him with avian curiosity. He cautiously raised his index finger, holding it steady before his chest. The little bird actually hopped onto it. Xu xiao couldn’t resist using his other thumb to gently stroke the soft, warm feathers atop its head and back. “The same one from the windowsill earlier?” he asked.

“Mm,” Xie Jing acknowledged.

The bird was unnaturally tame, less like a wild creature and more like something imprinted or trained. But who bothered to tame a common house sparrow? Why not a macaw or a falcon?

Xu xiao interacted with it for a minute, then stilled his finger. The sparrow, seeming to sense the pause, fluttered back to the windowsill ledge. It perched there quietly, a tiny sentinel, its dark eyes still fixed on the two men in the room, showing no inclination to leave.

Xu xiao walked over to the window. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the distant lights of Manhattan. He lifted a slat of the plastic blinds with one finger, peering out.

Strange. The spectral figure—the hanged man who had lingered nearby with its gruesome aura—was gone. Utterly vanished. Only a faint, cold residue lingered in the air, a ghostly aftertaste of its presence. Had it moved on? Or… because he wasn’t touching Xie Jing, his “sight” was offline?

Xu xiao glanced thoughtfully back at Xie Jing on the bed.

Verification was simple. Just go over and make contact. But the thought felt ludicrous as soon as it formed. Hey Xie Jing, mind if I touch you? Need to check if the ghost is still hanging around. It sounded like a bad pickup line or something uttered in a psych ER.

Outside, the rain intensified, wind driving droplets that rattled against the glass. A few stray drops blew in. Xu xiao reached over and slid the window shut tighter. Icy water beaded on the back of his hand. He stared at the rain-streaked glass, his focus sharpening. With a fingertip still damp from the raindrops, he pressed it slowly against the cold, wet surface.

Finger as stylus, rainwater as ink. Intricate, archaic lines flowed from his touch, gradually forming a faintly luminescent sigil on the glass. The room was preternaturally quiet, filled only by the drumming rain and the sound of their breathing. Xu xiao poured his concentration into the task, the pattern unfolding smoothly. Yet, as the final stroke neared completion, a wave of profound exhaustion slammed into him, more draining than emptying three magazines at the range. His vision swam black at the edges. He gripped the cold aluminum window frame to steady himself, drawing a deep, shaky breath.

What the hell? Was he tapped out from whatever happened in Xie Jing’s haunted brownstone? Drawing a basic Warding Sigil usually felt like routine paperwork back at SPD HQ, something he could do a dozen times without breaking a sweat.

“Boss? You alright?” Xie Jing’s voice came from behind, laced with just the right amount of concern.

Xu xiao turned, momentarily taken aback.

Instead of the expected question about the weird doodle on the window, he was met with inquiry.

His eyes met Xie Jing’s, which held a flicker of worry. The depth in them felt unnerving, like they could easily pierce his flimsy excuse. Xu xiao looked away after only a second, a flicker of discomfort passing over his features. “Fine,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry. He moved towards the narrow visitor’s chair beside the bed. “Just maybe a touch of low blood sugar.”

Xie Jing clearly wasn’t buying it, his gaze sweeping over Xu xiao’s paler-than-usual complexion. “You don’t look well. Sure? Why not lie down for a bit?” He nodded towards the unfolded, cot-like attendant’s bed nearby.

Xu xiao shook his head but sank into the hard plastic chair. “Sitting’s fine. Just need a minute.”

He wasn’t strong, but neither was he frail. Years of SPD physical conditioning and countless night ops had transformed him from the sickly youth who’d catch a chill from a draft into someone who could, at least, handle a drunk in a bar brawl. His slender frame, however, combined with the pallor of exhaustion, lent him a fragile quality in the sterile light, like a delicate piece of porcelain.

Only Xie Jing knew.

That “delicate porcelain” had just inscribed something on the window that, if slapped onto a low-level wraith, would likely shatter its essence on contact.

Familiar, rending pain flared deep within Xie Jing’s own body. He suppressed a wince, the movement hidden by a slight narrowing of his eyes. His voice, however, remained calm and measured, carrying a thread of reassurance. “Resting for a little while won’t hurt anything.”

Xu xiao hadn’t intended to sleep. The entity fixated on Xie Jing was too unpredictable. His flimsy sigil on the window was a poor substitute for the layered wards shielding his apartment. What if the thing came while he was out?

But an irresistible heaviness pressed down on his eyelids. His consciousness felt like an anchor plunging into black water, sinking fast. In the last sliver of lucidity before the darkness swallowed him whole, a klaxon blared in his foggy mind:

Wrong…

This feeling… absolutely wrong!

But the levee of awareness crumbled.

He plunged into dreamless oblivion.