As usual, my father never failed to amaze, like now.

The husband was clutching the iPad in his hands as he looked incredulously at my father, “Impossible! It’s impossible that there’s anyone around there! Why did you not call out to me if you were there?” My father shook his head gently, still wearing his smile. He lifted his finger and pointed at the person in the video clip playing on the tablet, saying, “This video clip was recorded using an infrared camera, hence the black and white color. The bag you had there was blue color, and the flashlight you were using was red, is it not?”

The man was stunned. But still, he could not believe my father even though my father had pointed out correctly the color of the items he carried that night. My father then said again, “You’ve seen my Nocturnal Sight technique just now. In truth, there’s nothing special about it, other than allowing me better clarity in the dark. But I have a hobby. I love to set traps to catch wild hares. Hence, the use of my Nocturnal Sight that night. I was not far away from you that night, watching you. You could not see me in the dark. But my hand was clasped over my mouth as I tried to stifle my giggles. As to me not calling you, that’s simple. I noticed that you were badly terrified; therefore I thought that you might even die out of fright if I were to make a sudden appearance. This video clip was recorded with my infrared camera during one of my hunts that night at the northern hills. I have even picked up the flashlight that you left there, and I was thinking of sending it to you tomorrow. But I’m afraid it has been broken into two, so I abandoned the notion of sending the flashlight to you.” The couple was aghast with shock. But they were hardly the only ones for even I was stunned myself.

I looked at the smile upon my father’s face, my head filled with questions when he said again, “You might have felt something was following you. In truth, that’s nothing but your own fear messing with you. That thing does not even exist. It’s not even a ‘white fiend’.” The man’s eyes widened. Apparently, he was not able to believe every word that my father said. “Ah? Impossible! That thing was not even solid when I hit it! It must be a ghost!” My father laughed and shook his head, saying, “Do you know why I was laughing?” “Why?” The man asked, blinking his eyes. My father choked, no longer able to contain his laughter before he could summon enough strength and continue, “Because you were too funny. That was not a ‘white fiend’. It was not even anything supernatural!” The man retorted skeptically, “Then what was that!” My father fought off the urge to laugh some more and revealed, “A plastic bag! A plastic bag that was filled with air and was floating in the wind!” My father burst into roaring laughter as his finger traced across the screen of the tablet and pressed on the Play button, allowing the recording of the incident to unravel. He pointed at the person in the footage, “Look. Look at your battle with a plastic bag before you were miserably routed by it…”

The man took the iPad, and everyone huddled around him, watching how he was trying to strike at a plastic bag while still carrying his blue backpack. Before long, everyone could see that he was so frightened that he staggered backward. His startled expression reminded me of a mime show I once saw! Everyone knew that a plastic bag was light, so if someone tried to strike the bag drifting in the wind, he would felt hit nothing. Little did the man expect that a plastic bag scared the hell out of him. In the video clip, the plastic bag was floating in the wind and the man tried to beat it, but the bag blew away; he had another try but still failed; in the end, he took a swipe at the ‘thing’ with his flashlight in fear. In fact, the flashlight had not touched the bag. He was probably so nervous that he was unable to hit the target. Then rolling and crawling, he turned to run and disappeared on the screen.

The man cradled the iPad in his arms, motionless with shock for seconds before he, too, broke into laughter. Seeing that his spirits have been restored, my father said, “So, from now on, be at ease when you go to work. The path that you take to work is most abundant with Yang energy that no supernatural entities will manifest even in the darkness of nights. Demons and ghosts love only Yin energies. They will never venture areas where Yang energies are robust. The path is clean. There would be nothing but nonsense if anyone were to say that the path is haunted unless that’s another plastic bag mayhem again!” Everyone in the room erupted into laughter, including the man himself.

With all the cloak and dagger dispersed, the couple said their many thanks and left. My father took out his phone and peered at the time, saying, “All right then. It is time we look into Fearless Hao’s predicament. Let’s go.”

It was already six in the evening. My father drove Fearless Hao and me to the office of that Mr. Lee’s company. We pushed opened the doors of the entrance and entered the building only to be immediately greeted by a young lady in a professional-looking suit. She bowed and said, “Mr. Lee has been waiting in his office, sir. This way please.” “Father has strong relations and powerful ties,” I thought. We were then ushered into Mr. Lee’s office where his voice boomed even when we had just stepped through his door. “Brother Hai! You have come!” My father nodded to him and Mr. Lee quipped, “Say no more! Let’s go for some drinks!”

Twenty minutes later in one of the private rooms of the Jingluchuan Restaurant. Both I and Fearless Hao were fidgeting in our chairs uneasily for neither my father nor Mr. Lee was speaking. It was evident that Mr. Lee was waiting for my father to make the first move on the matter but my father was purposely avoiding him. Finally, not being able to contain himself any longer, Fearless Hao gritted his teeth and leaped from his seat, exclaiming, “Mr. Lee, the matter about your car…” But Mr. Lee waved to him and said with a smile, “Ah! Have some wine first! Come have some wine!” With that, Mr. Lee doused whatever drive which had compelled Fearless Hao to speak up. Sinking back into his chair, Fearless Hao could only laugh weakly in return. It was he who was implicated in the accident involving Mr. Lee’s car, yet, now Mr. Lee was pouring him a drink instead. Fearless Hao could not help feeling puzzled. At length, when the dishes were all laid upon the table, my father reached for his cup and poured himself some wine before he rose to his feet. “Lee,” he said, beckoning to his companion, “Let’s have a toast.” There was an unspoken understanding between my father and Mr. Lee as Mr. Lee stood almost simultaneously and their cups clinked together.

With the cup of wine downed hungrily into his tummy, Mr. Lee looked at Fearless Hao once more. He went over to him, holding a bottle in his hand and filled the latter’s cup. Overwhelmed by his gesture, Fearless Hao again bounced to his feet and tried to speak, but it was Mr. Lee who uttered first, “Say no more, brother! We drink till we drop tonight! Let there be no mention of the car!” Fearless Hao’s head hung over his shoulders again at being quelled once again. Sheepishly, he muttered, “Ah… Yes.” Mr. Lee then called Fearless Hao to another toast before he remarked cheerfully to the latter, saying, “Excellent, brother! You can certainly drink!” It was no wonder why people say it takes either a drink or a fight to acquaint two men with each other. After the toast, Fearless Hao seemed to look less embarrassed than before. Instead, they began to talk more closely to each other. “What are you working as, brother?” Mr. Lee inquired, and Fearless Hao replied, “Ahem, I am a construction worker. I must say I’m terribly sorry sir. I have knocked your car, and yet here we are, you’re buying me drinks! This is… Ah… Let’s say no more! Let’s have another, brother!” And the two men downed another cup full of wine.

But suddenly Mr. Lee placed down his cup, looking at me. He rose back up again and held his cup. I got to my feet respectfully swiftly, since Mr. Lee was senior to me. He sputtered, “And what have we here… This young man…” I immediately introduced myself, “Greetings, Uncle Lee. My name is Shiyan, and this is my father”, pointing to my father. Mr. Lee was surprised by this as a hint of recognition flashed across his half-drunken eyes. But he quickly broke into a smile and said, “Ah! So you’re Brother Hai’s son! Surely you can also have a cup or two?” I seized the bottle in haste and filled Mr. Lee’s cup before filling my own. Praising my ingenuity, he and I began drinking together too. After a few cups, Mr. Lee asked, “Where are you studying now, Shiyan?” Smiling at him, I answered, “I’m currently in my fourth year in university, waiting for the end of my studies soon. I’m now working as an intern at the National Studies Institute.”

As we reach closer to the end of the dinner at eight in the evening, Fearless Hao was already chatting happily with Mr. Lee like old friends. My father then suggested that we visit Mr. Lee’s home, which Mr. Lee himself readily agreed. At his home, we met his wife, a young lady, who amicably made us tea. My father sat on the sofa, sipping at his tea later that evening, as he took out his mobile phone and played a video clip on his phone, showing it to Mr. Lee. “Lee,” he said, “Let’s get to business. Look at this. This video clip will prove that Fearless Hao here is not the one who had knocked on your car. Here, have a look.”

Mr. Lee took the phone and watched, babbling, “Um… Eh?”