Storyteller: Yutong Chen, Taiwan, 17 years old, The University of Sydney

Story Location: Taiwan

Event Date: December 2024

Event Time: Around 6 p.m.

A Spooky Night

🩸The Crimson Bride of Xiangshan: A Taiwanese ghost story 👻

Her name was Mei-Hua — a quiet, thoughtful university student who loved hiking 🌄. That day, she went up Xiangshan with two friends, planning a relaxing afternoon escape from the city. The sun was still out ☀️ when they reached the top, the air crisp and the skyline glittering below 🌇.

But then… the mist rolled in 🌫️.

It came too fast. Thick, white, and unnatural. When Mei-Hua turned around to grab her bag — her friends were gone 🫥.

No voices. No shadows. Just the hush of fog 🤫.

She called out 📣. No answer. Her phone showed “No Signal” 📵. She tried to retrace her steps, heart pounding — but the trail twisted into something unfamiliar… something wrong.

It led her down — into a valley that wasn't there before.
There, nestled in the mountain's hollow, was an ancient graveyard 🪦, forgotten by time.
Stone lions crumbled 🦁, headstones were cracked, and incense ash blew in the air like ghostly snow.

And then… she saw her.

A woman in a blood-red wedding dress 👘🌹, standing motionless among the graves. Her face was pale as wax 🕯️, her eyes like dark ink, lips curved in an unnatural smile. Hair as black as night dragged across the earth.

She didn't blink. She didn't move. But she was watching.

Mei-Hua froze.
Her grandmother once warned:
“If you see a bride in red on the mountain, don't speak. Don't run. And never look her in the eyes.” ☠️

But fear took over.

She ran. 🏃‍♀️💨

Branches clawed at her like skeletal fingers 🌲🕷️. The trail twisted and turned, looping back again and again. No matter where she went, she always returned…
To the same crooked gravestone,
And the red bride, now closer… and now moving.

The ghost was chasing her.
Not gliding. Not floating. Running.
Her red gown fluttered like fire. Her pale face twisted in hunger 😨.

Mei-Hua screamed and ran faster. Her legs ached. Her throat burned.
But the woods would not let her go. She ran in circles again and again, her world shrinking with each lap.
The ghost was closing in. Her footsteps silent. Her laughter — bone-chilling 🫣.

Then…

🌟A beam of golden light pierced the mist.🌟

Up ahead — a clearing.
And in it stood a figure in white and gold robes, holding a wooden staff carved with charms and talismans — a Taoist monk 🧙‍♂️🪔.

His presence pulsed with power. The air crackled.
He shouted in a deep voice,
“Reveal your true form, demon!”

The red bride shrieked — her scream splitting the sky like thunder ⚡🩸.
Her gown turned black. Her face warped.
But the monk hurled a yellow talisman 🔶 with ancient ink written in blood.
It struck the ghost's chest — and with a final wail, she burst into ashes scattered into the wind.

Mei-Hua collapsed to the ground, sobbing and shaking.

The monk helped her up and pressed a fresh yellow talisman into her hands.
“Keep this close,” he said. “It will protect you from those who wander between worlds.”

She nodded silently, clutching it like her last breath.

Later that night, she made it home. Her friends were waiting. They'd been searching for her for hours.
She told them everything — though some didn't believe her.

But Mei-Hua knew the truth.

And to this day, she still keeps the yellow paper charm folded tightly in her wallet.

Because sometimes, when the fog rolls in… and she walks near Xiangshan…

She still hears a faint whisper behind her ear:

“You saw me…”