My Crazy Journey with My Summons

Night had fallen.

Inside the museum, a deep stillness took over. Gone was the bustling noise of the daytime crowd. Now, the reanimated exhibits stood quietly in their cases, nervously sneaking glances at the man behind the service counter.

Rango, who was the center of all those stares, looked like a thundercloud ready to burst. He hadn't dared close his eyes for even a second all day.

And no, it wasn't because he was scared of the bound spirits in the mansion. What really haunted him was the fear of being groped again by some overly touchy ghost in skimpy clothing.

Judging from the photos in the suitcase, the gay couple that used to live there clearly had a wild side, and there were two of them!

Fuming, he'd torn the entire mansion apart again from top to bottom, but found no trace of them.

This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, either.

Back in his heist, Rango had ventured into countless cursed places, offering exorcisms in remote villages to help speed up the progress of his system's meter.

What gave him the guts to do all that was the system's gift, the ability to physically touch spiritual entities. Be it bound spirits, wandering ghosts, or vicious wraiths, if they dared show themselves in front of him, he could pummel them like punching bags.

And with the glowing sigil engraved in his right hand, every punch he threw inflicted lasting damage on the spirit's essence.

Barehanded, he had taken down countless ghosts across Africa, pushing his progress bar to 99%. But the system had a glaring flaw: while it gave him the power to harm spirits, it didn't grant him the ability to see them unless they manifested physically.

So unless the spirit decided to show itself, he was basically swinging in the dark.

That part really grated on Rango's nerves. He'd arrived at the mansion with full confidence, ready to wipe out every last haunting before Emma came home. Yet these cowardly ghosts, once spooked, refused to show up again.

If this went on, he'd never finish the job in time.

Sighing in frustration, Rango glanced into the main hall. Ted was sprawled across the table, fast asleep. Megan was off in one of the exhibit halls playing fetch with the overly energetic T-Rex skeleton, Stan.

After adjusting his mindset, he checked his watch. Time for patrol.

Grabbing the flashlight, he started making rounds through the museum's exhibits. As a historical and cultural museum, the building housed many artifacts, but even more historical manuscripts, bizarre specimens, and, of course, the endless rows of human figurines.

Wherever Rango walked, countless statues inside the glass cases subtly turned to look at him.

After last night's "demonstration," none of them dared step out of line again.

As he passed through the East Asian exhibit, he lingered for a moment.

The hanging landscape paintings showed flowing streams so vivid that you could hear water trickling. In the bird and beast illustrations, the creatures practically leapt off the paper, chirping in chorus.

Even the historical figure portraits seemed to peer through time, curiously observing Rango at the doorway. A few even gestured invitingly, as if asking him to come in for tea.

Grumbling about the West's history of cultural plunder, Rango scribbled his name onto the patrol sheet near the door and was just about to head to the next room when a voice suddenly called out from a nearby display.

"You seem troubled."

Rango frowned and followed the voice, then froze in surprise when he saw who was inside the glass.

Was that… Confucius?

He stared at the revived statue of the great sage for a few moments, then calmed himself and gave a polite nod.

"Just ran into a few tricky problems. Nothing I can't handle. But… thanks for asking."

Just as he was about to turn off the light and head to the next exhibit, the statue of Confucius suddenly grew agitated, shouting, "Hold it right there?! You can speak other languages?! Hey! Don't leave, kid! Stop right now! I'm talking to you!"

Rango glanced back at the wildly gesturing statue in the display case. Was that really supposed to be Confucius? This guy's vibe was nothing like the sage he'd imagined...

He stepped closer and politely asked, "Is there something else?"

The knock-off Confucius instantly broke into a broad grin, his voice lively and warm. "Come on, tell me what's bothering you! I've been stuck here for decades, and you're the first security guard I've met who speaks other languages. I'm dying to talk!"

Rango stared, speechless.

Seeing how chatty the fake Confucius was, Rango thought for a second, then replied, "I recently moved into a new house, but there's a group of uninvited guests living there. I've been stressing over how to get rid of them."

"Hahaha, that's all? What a trivial matter!"

The statue stroked its beard and chuckled, then asked, "Have you ever read the Analects?"

"I know a bit," Rango admitted honestly.

"Then surely you've heard the saying 'Since they're here, make them comfortable.'?"

"I have," Rango replied, puzzled, "but they're evil guests. How am I supposed to feel at ease?"

Confucius scowled. "Who said anything about you being at ease? I'm telling you to bury them! Permanently!"

"B-bury them?" Rango blinked in confusion. What kind of warped Analects was this?

"Of course!" Confucius nodded emphatically, beard swaying. "As the saying goes: 'If a gentleman is not stern, he commands no respect.' If you don't hit hard, they won't recognize your authority. You've got to show them who really owns that house!"

"Got it." Rango let out a slow breath.

At this point, he was convinced that none of these revived statues or models had personalities that matched the historical figures they were based on.

He gave a respectful nod and said, "Thank you for the wisdom, Master. But I don't think your method applies here. The ones squatting in my house are earthbound spirits, ghosts. Dealing with them isn't that simple."

"Ghosts?" The statue's tone shifted as his brows furrowed. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"I thought the Analects said, 'The Master does not speak of strange occurrences, force, disorder, or the supernatural.'"

"I don't speak of them, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in them!"

Confucius narrowed his eyes, thinking for a moment. Then he said, "Go up to the second-floor gallery. Look for an old man named Gabriel Amos. That guy was a legendary exorcist. He's your best shot against Western ghosts."

Rango fell silent. This fake Confucius might not act very Confucian, but his advice was spot-on.

After giving the statue a polite bow of thanks, Rango turned to head upstairs. But just before leaving the hall, a thought struck him. He stepped back and asked, "Um… Master Confucius, if I'm ever unlucky enough to run into an Eastern ghost… who should I ask for help then?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Confucius pointed toward a painting nearby. "If any Eastern ghost dares show up, bring it here, I guarantee it'll be begging for mercy."

Rango stared at the figure in the painting, where the mighty Zhong Kui was depicted wielding a sword and downing wine, radiating terrifying heroic energy.

This museum really was a goldmine.

(Note from the author: Treat this fake Confucius as a fun Easter egg. If you've seen Night at the Museum, you'll understand that none of the resurrected figures match their historical selves very well.)

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