Chapter One: Picking Up Money on Ghost Festival

　　Everyone loves money, even ill-gotten gains. But what if I told you that the money in your hand might actually be spirit money—would you believe it?

　　Spirit money, also called joss paper, ghost money, or death money, is currency for the dead to use in the underworld. My name is Eric Brooks, and it was because I once mistook spirit money for real cash that I ended up on a nightmare road of no return...

　　It happened on the night of the Ghost Festival, the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month. I went out to play mahjong with my neighbor Old Smith and fellow townsman Little Clark, and by the time we headed home, it was already past midnight.

　　I remember it very clearly: when we left the mahjong parlor, the street was deserted—no cars, no people. Under the dim streetlights, piles of burnt yellow joss paper littered the roadside, giving off an eerie chill.

　　Right outside the mahjong parlor was a crossroads. Suddenly, Old Smith's eyes lit up, and he pointed ahead, shouting, "Look over there! What is that?"

　　I followed Old Smith's finger and saw a pile of brightly colored things scattered at the corner ahead. Looking closer—weren't those bills?

　　We were beyond excited. I swear, I had never seen so much money before. It was a huge pile, all crisp red hundred-yuan notes.

　　I thought it was strange—how could there be so much money on the street? My first instinct was that it must be fake. After all, that's a lot of money.

　　But when I picked one up and examined it, I was shocked to find it was real. Old Smith and Little Clark also said they were all genuine.

　　So much money appearing out of nowhere made my heart pound. I looked around—the empty street was still deserted.

　　I asked Old Smith, who could have dropped so much money?

　　Old Smith said, "Why should I care? Anyway, we're rich now. There must be at least tens of thousands here. The three of us split it, and all our mahjong losses this month are covered."

　　As he spoke, the two of them scooped up all the money from the ground—a huge stack. When we counted it, there was sixty thousand yuan.

　　I tried to persuade them not to take it, or at least to hand it in to the police.

　　But they were already blinded by greed and wouldn't listen. Each of them took twenty thousand, and they handed me another twenty thousand. I didn't want it, but they forced it on me, so I accepted. Honestly, I was half-hearted about it. As a broke guy, seeing so much money all of a sudden—who wouldn't be tempted?

　　Old Smith warned us not to tell anyone about picking up the money—not even our coworkers.

　　After splitting the money, we went our separate ways. But what I didn't expect was that this would be the start of my nightmare...

　　My neighbor Old Smith isn't actually that old—not even forty, and he's from Sichuan. I met him because we work at the same restaurant—I'm a waiter, he's a chef. When I was looking for a place to live, there happened to be a vacant room next to his, so we became not just coworkers but neighbors. After more than half a year, we got along well. Little Clark is a fellow townsman of mine in this city. Though we don't live together, we often hang out.

　　After returning to my rental, I put the money in a metal box. If the owner ever came looking for it, I'd return it without a word—I didn't want to profit from someone else's loss.

　　For some reason, that night I had a strange, muddled dream. I dreamed I was holding a huge pile of cash, grinning from ear to ear. But when I tried to count it, I found it wasn't money at all—it had all turned into sheets of spirit money.

　　Even though I was dreaming, I was very clear-headed in the dream. I knew it was spirit money, and I was terrified, wanting to throw it away. But no matter how I tried, I couldn't get rid of it. The spirit money fluttered back into my hands again and again. I panicked and, in my haste, fell flat on my face.

　　That fall jolted me awake—I had rolled off the bed. Even though I was awake, I broke out in goosebumps. Having such a dream felt ominous, and my spine tingled with cold.

　　Moonlight shone into the room, making it feel icy. I checked my watch—it was only three in the morning.

　　My head was spinning, so I crawled back into bed, planning to sleep some more. But just then, in a daze, I glanced over and suddenly saw a dark figure standing by my bedside.

　　The shadow had its back to me, facing the wall, exuding a ghostly aura. I couldn't make out its face.