Only now did Zhi Wei properly observe the spirit that had been haunting him - bound before Ajarn Ken by golden scripture strands, it was just a Thai boy of about ten.
He was painfully thin, dressed in a dingy, yellowed T-shirt and a pair of mud-stained shorts that barely reached his knees, looking for all the world like any street kid you might find in the alleys of Bangkok.
If not for the eerie greenish glow radiating from his eyes, he could have easily been mistaken for a living child.
"What's the situation now?" the property manager whispered, rubbing his hands nervously as he crept closer. "That thing from next door—where is it?"
Zhi Wei pointed at the boy in front of Ajarn Ken. "General Khun Paen dragged it over just now," he said. After a pause, he added, "It's pinned there by the sacred script. Can't move."
The manager squinted in the direction Zhi Wei pointed—of course, he saw nothing. "Wh-what does it look like? Is it... terrifying?"
Zhi Wei hesitated. "Just a normal kid—"
"Pl̀wy c̄hạn! (Let me go!)"
The boy suddenly shrieked in Thai, his dirty little face twisting into a snarl far too vicious for a child his age. Bloodshot eyes glared first at Ajarn Ken, then at Zhi Wei, wide and wild.
Zhi Wei swallowed hard.
"—a particularly vicious kid." he finished.
Ajarn Ken casually pulled a rough clay jar from his LV bag.
"Let's seal it up first," he said, as if talking about something as mundane as storing leftovers.
A raspy voice, low and grating, suddenly growled from somewhere on his body.
"Let me eat it. Save yourself the trouble."
Zhi Wei jolted, whipping his head around in alarm. "Who... who just spoke?"
"A disobedient one."
Ajarn Ken raised his gloved left hand, eyes narrowing. "Keep talking, and I'll make you suffer.
Zhi Wei stiffened. Was that voice coming... from Ajarn Ken's hand?
"Is that—"
"Don't ask about things you shouldn't know." Ajarn Ken cut him off with a warning glare.
Without another word, Ken turned to the clay jar and began chanting.
The spirit, still cocooned in golden script, jerked violently as the jar's mouth began to wail like a vacuum.
The spirit's form twisted grotesquely, funneling inward as it shrieked, until it was sucked inside with a final, desperate howl.
Ajarn Ken snapped the lid shut and produced a calligraphy brush and small red pot from his bag.
Zhi Wei opened his mouth, questions burning his tongue, but thought better of it.
Ajarn Ken noticed and offered a faint, amused smile. "Cinnabar."
His wrist moved with sharp, fluid precision as dense, intricate sigils crawled across the jar's surface, each stroke deliberate, the crimson liquid leaving its mark like scarlet insects.
Ajarn Ken carefully wrapped the clay jar in a black cloth and tucked it back into his LV bag. He turned to the property manager. "When the neighbor—Miss Lim—returns, let me know. I need to ask where this thing came from and see how she plans to handle it."
The manager nodded, still pale but relieved. "Of course, of course."
With that, Ajarn Ken headed for the door. His kumanthong, which had been hiding in the corner, scurried after him—its tiny polished shoes stepping soundlessly across the floor before vanishing into the hallway.
The property manager muttered something about paperwork and followed, leaving Zhi Wei alone in Unit 1503.
Silence settled over the apartment.
It was over.
Zhi Wei exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The past few days had been… unbelievable. The spirit next door, the kumanthong, that summoned divine fragment—it all defied everything he thought he knew.
But it was all over now. Done. He could finally return to his quiet, ordinary life.
————
Zhi Wei stepped into the restaurant, hoping for a quiet dinner.
His eyes drifted across the room and caught on a familiar face tucked away in a corner—a man in his sixties. It was Mr. Luo, one of his old insurance clients.
Zhi Wei made his way over, smiling. "Mr. Luo? What a coincidence."
The older man looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.
"It's Lee Zhi Wei," Zhi Wei reminded him. "Your insurance agent. It's been a year—you might not recognize me."
Most of their dealings had been online, with little reason to meet in person.
Mr. Luo's expression tightened oddly, but he nodded. "I remember."
"Mind if I join you?" Zhi Wei asked, already pulling out a chair before waiting for an answer.
He glanced at the table—completely empty. "Already eaten?"
Mr. Luo hesitated. "I... didn't bring any money."
Zhi Wei blinked. Maybe the old man had simply forgotten.
"No problem," he said, waving it off. "Dinner's on me."
Just then, a waitress approached, handing him a menu.
Zhi Wei flipped through it casually. "What do you feel like eating?"
"Anything's fine," Mr. Luo said.
"Alright, same as me then," Zhi Wei replied, handing the menu back.
"Two set dinners, please," he told the waitress.
The girl stared at him for a second longer than necessary, her expression unreadable.
Zhi Wei frowned. "Something wrong?"
She shook her head quickly. "No, sir. Two set dinners. Please wait a moment."
Zhi Wei muttered under his breath, "Service attitude these days is awful."
Mr. Luo chuckled softly, saying nothing.
They made small talk while waiting. Before long, the food arrived.
Zhi Wei dug in immediately, but noticed Mr. Luo simply leaning over his plate, inhaling deeply, as if savoring the smell rather than the taste.
From the corner of his eye, Zhi Wei caught a few waitstaff whispering behind the counter, throwing glances their way.
He shifted awkwardly and said in a low voice, "Mr. Luo, maybe don't do that. People are staring."
Just then, his phone buzzed.
Frowning, he pulled it out. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.
He answered distractedly, "Hello?"
"I'm full now. Thank you," Mr. Luo said, rising to his feet.
Zhi Wei turned to respond but was cut off by the voice on the phone.
"Hello, is this Mr. Lee?" The voice sounded young, and the background was noisy, almost chaotic, with muffled sobs.
"Speaking. Who's this?"
"I'm Luo Ah Kow's son…" the voice choked up.
"My father was hit by a car this afternoon. They tried everything, but... he just passed away a moment ago. I'm calling about his insurance."
Zhi Wei froze.
Slowly, he turned toward the door.
Mr. Luo was moving away—but he wasn't walking.
He was floating, his feet inches off the ground.
A horrific wound gaped at the back of his skull, leaking blood and pale brain matter as he drifted toward the exit.
A ghost.
Zhi Wei's heart slammed against his ribs.
And then he remembered—Ajarn Ken's ritual had temporarily granted him the ability to see spirits.
But for how long, exactly?
He had forgotten to ask.