48 Sitting on the Stool

Ming Cheng sat on the chair silently, doing his best to not react to the Imperial Physician's tests on him, too keenly aware of the ghost that was now was sat perched in the corner of the room, balancing on the window sill without a single ounce of propriety.

The regal and stiff woman, that had once been in the place of whoever seemed to be there now, was a mess: swaying and looking exhausted beyond her means.

Her hair was loose and all in tangles, the pins, that she had once carried high up among her sweeping locks, had now vanished to who knows where, leaving a bird's nest behind.

Ming Cheng wondered what had happened to her, and whether it was even his place to be concerned and really do anything about the situation.

The best thing to do was to exorcise her.

It would be for her own good, the instability that she was exhibiting probably being characteristic of souls who had remained tethered to the Earth for far too long, battling against the pull of the Wheel of Reincarnation that called to all who remained within the clutches of death.

Unfortunately, Ming Cheng had no idea on how he was supposed to do anything of what was required for the spiritual task, and his recent outburst had stunted his plans in asking Lan Chang on teaching him how to read.

However, at the moment, the best that he could do was try and keep a straight and blank face, the ghost visibly keeping an eye on him.

Ming Cheng could not, would not, refute and fail the task that he had been given by the ghost.

He had no choice after all.

The Imperial Physician hummed to himself as he looked into Ming Cheng's eyes, pulling his eyelids back to peer into them closely, drawing his face, and his scraggly beard, closer and closer to tickling Ming Cheng's skin.

He barely kept himself from shaking or twitching his eyes closed, the instinctive reactions within his body muting themselves under the force of the control that he exerted on them.

It was hard.

It was so, so hard.

Ming Cheng heard a few slight mumbles drift into his right ear, emanating right from the direction of where the ghost was situated herself in the room.

None of the others seemed to react to it, the words only for Ming Cheng to hear and experience.

The realisation of the situation then hit him, the stomach sinking downwards, weighed down by the stone filled pit of dread that had formed there.

The screams.

The harsh pants.

The whimpers.

Only Ming Cheng had heard them, none of the others not even hearing a sliver of the almost deafening noise that had rattled around in his brain and had threatened to burst his ear drums.

He snuck a glance over to the ghost, who was now vaguely focussing on something that seemed to be past Ming Cheng, rubbing her shaking wrists as if she were cold and suffering somewhere inside her mind.

Somewhere only she could see.