Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Sorcerer Tuka Cha

Early the next morning, inside the hotel suite where Ah Huang was staying.

The glass jar containing the little ghost sat atop a large wooden table.

Ah Huang paced around it, studying it intently—it seemed even he was seeing this kind of Southeast Asian black magic for the first time.

“You’re saying that spoiled heir tried to harm you with this thing?” he asked, lazily tapping the glass jar with the peachwood sword in his hand.

“Yeah! But in the end, he got his comeuppance. I was fine, but he ended up having his manhood bitten off by the thing…” Fu Yang replied nonchalantly, a slice of bread hanging from his mouth.

Ah Huang sucked in a sharp breath.

“Incredible, my brother! Getting bitten by one of these hurts like hell, but to have it bite your manhood? Only a ghost king could manage that—ruthless!” He gave Fu Yang a thumbs up. “But honestly, I’m worried about something…”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve got quite the romantic entanglements. Besides the breathtakingly beautiful ghost king Dong Weike, there’s also the sultry Qin Mei and the gentle policewoman Zhao Shanshan. What if they find out? I’ve heard when a ghost king gets angry, the world turns upside down! You’re her husband, so maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. But…”

He leered at Fu Yang’s lower half, making him shiver and instinctively cover himself, then snapped, “I told you, she’s not my wife. I can’t handle a wife that much stronger than me.”

“Didn’t take you for a macho chauvinist, Xiao Yang…”

“Screw you! Enough nonsense—let’s talk business. Can you release the little ghost?”

“I’ll give it a try, but it might be tough,” Ah Huang replied as he donned his Taoist robes and tied up his hair. Producing a chalk line and red string, he quickly traced a bagua pattern around the table.

Holding a short peachwood sword, he began to chant hurried syllables, circling the table in a strange step: slow to the eye, but swift in reality. The air whistled with the wind he stirred, each footfall landing precisely within the chalked bagua.

“By the urgent command! Awaken!”

With a shout, Ah Huang pointed his peachwood sword at the glass jar containing the little ghost.

Pop.

With a soft sound, the lid flew open on its own. Instantly, the room was filled with the wailing cries of an infant.

“By the urgent command, may the Three Pure Ones grant me their power! Dragon and Tiger unite, suppress!”

Fu Yang stared in astonishment as a dragon and a tiger, ethereal and no larger than a palm, emerged from Ah Huang’s peachwood sword. They soared out, merged as one, and pressed down on the mouth of the jar.

The infant’s cries grew louder, the room whipped with gusts of cold wind.

Fu Yang grew tense and doubtful. “Are you sure about this? Last night, Weike subdued it with ease…”

Ah Huang nearly stomped his feet in frustration. “Damn! I’m just a Taoist who hasn’t even been initiated, and you’re comparing me to the Ghost King? Honestly, your wife should just destroy this thing outright. Why bother me with a ritual?”

Fu Yang realized he had a point, scratching his head awkwardly. “Right, sorry, carry on…”

“Give it three minutes. If the liquid in the jar turns to clear water and the little ghost’s remains turn white, the ritual’s a success.”

Ah Huang gripped his peachwood sword and continued chanting.

What they didn’t know was that, at that very moment, in a luxurious hotel suite more than ten kilometers away, a shirtless Thai man sat cross-legged on a colorful round rug.

His skin was dark, his body gaunt and skeletal, draped in ornaments fashioned from human bones on his wrists and ankles that radiated a sinister aura. His eyes gleamed with a wolfish, predatory light.

It was clear he was a Southeast Asian sorcerer from Thailand.

His name was Tukacha—more precisely, a bokor.

Crack.

A sharp sound rang out. A thick fissure split the human bone ring on Tukacha’s right index finger, nearly cleaving it in two.

“Oh? Someone is meddling with my little ghost,” he muttered, a flash of malice in his eyes. Then he cackled, voice hoarse and hideous.

“So there are hidden dragons and crouching tigers in China after all. Let me see who dares challenge me. Do they not recognize my mark?”

He began to chant strange, indecipherable syllables.

Meanwhile, Ah Huang was still straining to release the little ghost.

Two minutes had passed—the yellow liquid in the jar had turned clear, and the black fetus inside, once thrashing violently, now lay still as its color faded.

Fu Yang exclaimed in delight, “Ah Huang, you’re amazing! You actually did it—this must be a great deed. Next time Weike wants to beat you up, I’ll definitely put in a good word for you.”

“Damn it…” Ah Huang grumbled, but explained, “Actually, you can’t really call this a true release. Normally, a ritual like this allows the spirit to reincarnate in the underworld. But this little ghost isn’t the same—I can only dispel its malice, restore a brief human consciousness, and then it dissipates completely. Vengeful ghosts can’t truly be released—at best, you ease their pain and let them feel human again one last time…”

Just as the remains in the jar were about to turn completely white, something unexpected happened.

A thick cloud of black mist bubbled out of the jar, forming a skull in midair, which then morphed into foreign letters neither Fu Yang nor Ah Huang recognized—a Thai surname, Tukacha.

“Oh? Still causing trouble at this point?” Ah Huang’s brows shot up. The tip of his peachwood sword shot out a red beam, dispersing the black mist completely.

Inside the jar, the black remains turned pure white. The translucent image of a toddler boy, innocent and dazed, floated out. He circled Fu Yang and Ah Huang, eyes filled with gratitude, pressed his hands together in a Thai gesture of thanks, then burst apart into starlight—his soul finally freed.

“Boundless blessings! Little one, go in peace,” Ah Huang intoned solemnly.

At the same moment, far away, the bone ring on Tukacha’s finger crumbled to dust and fell to the ground.

“Damn Chinese Taoist! I, Tukacha, will never let you go. I have already seen your faces…”