I Am Your Natural Enemy

I know he’s dead.

I’m right inside your winery right now.”

Wen Yan chatted with the owner here for a bit—the owner was an honest guy. Upon hearing someone wanted to buy wine, he didn’t care how late it was to call back, and straightforwardly told the truth about the recent incident.

Ten vats of wine, he even said he wouldn’t charge for the wine itself, just pay for shipping.

Listening to his words, Wen Yan pretty much understood why this winery kept opening and closing.

Figured that if customers found out later about an accident at the winery, they might return the wine, get annoyed—with less drama if he told them up front.

So honest—no wonder this winery can’t go on.

Not long after, the sound of a car came from outside. The young owner rushed in, only to see the old man lounging like he was in a bath, his arm slung over the edge of the wine pool, enamel mug in hand, drinking away.

Wen Yan was squatting nearby, having a grand old chat with the old man—the vibe was downright cheerful.

The only thing out of place was Huang Zhiji, sitting not far off, watching this scene with some helplessness.

They were supposed to come check out what kind of Ghost this was and figure out how to handle it, but Wen Yan had somehow turned it into a late-night wine shopping trip.

And by the looks of it, Wen Yan didn’t seem all that interested anymore in how this Ghost died or what kind of Ghost he was.

Huang Zhiji could only wait on the side—for the last couple days, that old man, seeing a hint of Mount Mao practitioner in him, took an instant dislike to him, and as soon as he opened his mouth it was, ”Either kill me or quit nagging.”

The young winery owner, coming in, overheard the old man and Wen Yan discussing how yeast affects flavor and why, in the old days, girls were the ones to handle it.

The young owner, upon seeing Huang Zhiji, secretly let out a breath of relief, and didn’t seem at all scared by the old man.

Wen Yan stood up, beaming.

”Old man, I’m going to buy some wine. Don’t slack off here—if this batch tastes good, I’ll be back for more. Once the stock here runs out, there’ll be none left.”

”I’m not the owner. It’s not up to me. You don’t even drink—what are you buying so much wine for?”

”I’m an elder—I could chew up a wine vat as a snack. This amount is just to spice things up.”

”Hahaha...” The old man laughed heartily, directly agreeing to keep on brewing.

Wen Yan came down from the stairs and pulled the young, worried owner to the side.

”Pick out ten vats for me—the ones brewed by this old man. Deliver them to Taibao County. Charge whatever the price should be, just give me a little discount, and if it works out, I’ll keep buying after that.”

The young owner now believed Wen Yan really had come to buy wine in the middle of the night.

As for showing up at the winery to buy wine at this hour and chitchatting with a Ghost? Maybe a little weird, but he couldn’t care less.

Right now, he was just about dying from stress. Since he’d been working on short videos, the minute someone died in the winery, everyone found out.

Previous clients started looking for reasons to return their wine, or refused to pay up.

Can’t sell wine, can’t keep making videos.

Now that Wen Yan looked dead serious, the young owner quickly picked out ten vats, delivered the whole lot—vats included—just as Wen Yan requested.

Charged at wholesale price with a 20% discount, and threw in free shipping.

After a while, Wen Yan left with Huang Zhiji.

Once they got in the car, Huang Zhiji couldn’t help it anymore.

”That’s it? We’re just leaving it?”

”Leave what? It wasn’t murder, and nobody broke the law. Even the wine from the vat the old man ’bathed’ in, the boss said, it’s all being given to him now.

The old man’s going to keep brewing here—that’s pretty good, isn’t it?

Why does everything in life have to have a solution?”

”Don’t you want to know how he died? What kind of Ghost he is?” Huang Zhiji was still a bit frustrated.

”I did at first, but now I don’t see the point in digging any deeper.

Lighten up. Not everything in this world has an answer.

You’ve been working cases these days—you’ve seen a bunch, right?

Didn’t you notice?

Most of the cases with Ghosts aren’t even real crimes.

Most people who turn into Ghosts just can’t let go of something.

As long as they’re harmless and sane, normally, no need to chase them down to extinction.

Did it ever cross your mind—you might become a Ghost one day too?”

Huang Zhiji was stunned for a moment. He looked back at the winery, sighed, and didn’t say anything more.

He was starting to get why his master kicked him down the mountain, forbidding him to go back for three years, insisting he gain real-world experience.

Lately he’d realized that what he learned in books and lessons always turned out a bit—or a lot—different in real life.

No case ever really fits the textbook descriptions.

Even cases with the same kind of Ghost—because the Ghosts have different personalities—the results are worlds apart.

Wen Yan drove back home.

He’d guessed as much when he saw the initial hints.

An old man who’d mastered his craft, died—died in the very wine he’d brewed himself. That reminded him of old stories, like the one about the swordsmith.

In order to forge the best sword, he ended up sacrificing himself to the blade.

So Wen Yan figured the coroner’s cause of death was the truth—it really wasn’t all that complicated.

Just, this Ghost, after dying, became a Brewer.

Death was just switching jobs. Or maybe only death triggered that transformation.

After becoming a Ghost, there’s always something a little different—so it made sense Huang Zhiji couldn’t tell whether this Ghost was a Water Ghost or some other kind.

Back home—a good night’s sleep.

A day or so later, those ten vats of wine were delivered to Taibao County.

The folks at the Scorching Sun Department over there said one vat cracked, the seal wouldn’t hold, so Wen Yan told them to toss it. The other nine vats got properly sealed and dumped in the Huai River.

That night, just as Wen Yan was about to sleep, he planned to communicate through dreams—to meet the Water Monarch.

Go brag to the Water Monarch that, after tons of trouble, he’d finally found a Brewer, talked them into it, and dropped big money just to get some of their stash.

Right then, his phone rang—it was the Scorching Sun Department member from Taibao County who’d handled the delivery today.

”Hey, Wen Yan? Got a question for ya. Where’d you get this wine?”

”How is it? Pretty good, right?”

”The taste is pretty good, really mellow. Only thing is, two of my colleagues are in the hospital now from drinking it.”

”Drank too much?”

”No, turns out the wine’s got too many fusel oils—kind of toxic.”

”...”