The Daoist Is a World-Weary Brooder - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I’m a female ghost.

The kind that’s been dead for who knows how many years.

Living in a derelict, haunted, ominous building.

Apart from wandering the corridors every night and roaming the stairwells, I occasionally run into a few bloggers exploring haunted buildings.

I can’t see the sun during the day.

Only at night can I come out to float around.

Life is peaceful and dull.

Until a new neighbor moves in next door. With drooping eyebrows and slightly upturned eyes, his face is extremely sultry. He’s a world-weary and arrogant ghost catcher.

The lonely spirits and wild ghosts in the building dare not provoke him. Privately, they all say he’s very poor, which is why he had to rent a place in a yin building.

I’ve been observing him for a while.

Perhaps due to his profession, the young man mostly sleeps during the day and at night goes out with a peachwood sword to accept commissions to exorcise demons and catch ghosts.

Occasionally, he has time to rest.

However, every night,

some mournful female ghosts and ghost infants always like to cry. A few mischievous little ghosts laugh and play in the stairwell. Ghosts with itchy fingers like to turn on the faucets, making all sorts of strange noises.

With dark circles under his eyes, the young man opens the door, still wearing his Daoist robes that he hasn’t taken off. He casually grabs a little ghost by the collar and coldly threatens:

“Say that again.

“This Daoist hates noise the most when sleeping.

“Tell the ghosts in this building: if you can’t learn to be quiet, this Daoist won’t mind performing a Liberation Ritual for you.”

“G-got it.”

The little ghost’s already bloodless face turns even paler. He nods like a pecking chicken, and once released, he drifts away in a flash, spreading the message to all the wild ghosts.

This doesn’t really affect me.

After all, I’m very quiet.

I don’t like singing or crying.

I’m a female ghost only obsessed with absorbing human vitality.

The neighbor has a handsome face and pale skin.

He’s about 1.8 meters tall, with long hair.

His slender eyebrows droop, and beneath his long lashes is a scornful look, as if looking at a dog. A faint, cold smirk plays on his lips. His aura is gloomy.

He’s such a looker, it’s thrilling.

Especially when he returns from grocery shopping, the setting sun shines on him, elongating his lean and tall shadow.

He wears headphones, a white shirt, and jeans, carrying a plastic bag in one hand, clean and fresh.

That’s the type I, a Seductive Ghost, like.

But I’m not foolish enough to provoke him.

Maybe because heaven sees that I have the desire but not the guts, when I’m sitting on the rooftop enjoying the moon like usual, I get bound to a Romance Strategy System.