A young woman in a snow-white dress stood quietly beneath the eaves, her head tilted slightly, a playful smile dancing on her lips. A parrot, bright as a jewel, perched upon her slender shoulder and nipped affectionately at the pearl earring swinging by her cheek.
Yan Dan blinked, startled. “How did you get in?”
The girl reached up to stroke the parrot’s vivid feathers, her tone light and airy. “It told me birds are the smartest creatures in the world. They know everything.”
Tang Zhou frowned slightly, uncertain whether she was jesting or speaking in earnest. Before he could decide, the girl turned briskly and took two light steps forward. When she noticed they hadn’t followed, she beckoned with a laugh. “Hurry up! The bird will lead us out.”
As she walked, she chatted cheerfully with the parrot on her shoulder — at times laughing, at times scolding — yet her steps were steady and quick. She moved as though guided by unseen memory, brushing aside traps hidden along the tunnel walls with uncanny ease.
After several winding turns, a pale light appeared ahead. The tunnel opened at last into the cool dusk — they had emerged beneath the mass grave, where the setting sun spilled gold across the earth. Only then did they realize they had survived an entire day and night underground.
Yan Dan stepped closer, smiling lightly. “Did the bird tell you who locked us down there?”
The girl turned, the corners of her lips lifting like the first blossom of spring. “Of course. The bird knows everything. It said the culprit was a beautiful sister with a cruel heart — saved by another, yet she repaid kindness with betrayal.”
Tang Zhou and Yan Dan exchanged a look. Yan Dan pressed further. “And why would she do such a thing?”
The girl tilted her head, listening to the parrot’s murmurs. The bird squawked twice, and she said, “It said the beautiful sister was close with an ugly elder brother. You saw that brother’s secret, so she wants to lock you away forever — to keep you from telling the world.”
Yan Dan’s smile faded. “A secret…?”
The image of Tao Ziqi flickered in her mind — the subordinate of the Lord of Shenxiao Palace. It seemed all too possible.
Just then, a familiar voice called out, breathless and anxious. “Miss, Miss! Why are you here again?” A woman hurried toward them, clutching a cloak. Her hair was messy, her face weary. “You’ll be the death of me — I looked everywhere!” She shook out the cloak and wrapped it around the girl protectively, before turning to Tang Zhou and Yan Dan. “Thank you for taking care of my young lady. Why don’t you come to our house to rest for a while?”
Tang Zhou shook his head politely. “We did little to help. It wouldn’t be right to intrude.”
The woman sighed. “As you wish. But our Shen household has been haunted lately. A Taoist, Master Ling Xuzi, came to exorcise the spirits, yet he went mad soon after — laughing and crying like a fool. It’s a disaster.”
Tang Zhou’s brows lifted slightly. “Ling Xuzi? I know him. I’m also a Taoist priest. If you permit, I can take a look. Perhaps I can help.”
The woman hesitated — the young man seemed too mild, too youthful to rely upon — yet desperation softened her doubt. She nodded at last.
When the young lady heard they were coming to her house, she clapped her hands with delight, chatting endlessly to the parrot. The woman sighed again, murmuring, “Heaven have mercy. My eldest daughter is sickly and never leaves her room; my second daughter was born simple-minded. What misfortune my poor master bears…”
The Shen family was renowned throughout Qingshi Town — wealthy, powerful, their grand estate sprawling across the suburban hills. Two guards stood at the gate, straight-backed and silent.
As Tang Zhou entered the compound, Yan Dan whispered beside him, “So many restless spirits.”
He nodded slightly. The aura of the dead was heavy here — thick enough to taste. “May I see Master Shen?” he asked. “There are questions I wish to ask.”
The woman led them through an airy corridor to the flower hall. “Please wait a moment. I’ll fetch my master.”
Yan Dan paced idly, glancing around the hall’s intricate carvings and red sandalwood screens. “Brother,” she teased softly, “you plan to exorcise their ghosts, but surely you don’t want me lingering around you all day, do you? What about this restriction…”
Tang Zhou looked at her, voice calm. “Endure a little longer. I’ll remove it soon.”
Her heart skipped — a flicker of joy, though she hid it behind a faint smile. Still, a sliver of suspicion lingered. She stole a glance at him; his expression gave nothing away.
Soon, Master Shen entered.
He was a plump, pale-faced merchant with shrewd eyes and neatly trimmed nails — a man used to good food and better wine. He exchanged a few pleasantries before Tang Zhou spoke plainly.
“Master Shen, to be frank, your residence is not clean. Do you know its origin?”
The man’s expression tightened. “I bought this estate not long ago. A Feng Shui master said the grounds were excellent. My business has prospered since — how could it be unclean?”
“Perhaps,” Tang Zhou said mildly, “someone once died here unjustly.”
Master Shen paled. “Can it be resolved? Whatever your fee, name it.”
“There’s no need for reward,” Tang Zhou replied. “Your daughter helped us earlier. Consider it returning a favor. It should take no more than two or three days.”
Master Shen gave a bitter smile. “Ah, that would be Xiangjun — my second daughter. She’s kind but simple… Heaven was unkind to her.”
Tang Zhou’s voice softened. “Miss Shen’s eyes are clear. She may simply see the world differently.”
“If only,” Master Shen sighed. “If she were half as clever as her elder sister, I’d be content.” He suddenly realized he was rambling and waved a hand. “Forgive me. You two must be tired. Sister Hu! Prepare rooms for our guests — and hot water for their bath. Bring them anything they wish to eat.”
Tang Zhou inclined his head. “You’re too courteous. There’s no need for trouble.”
Master Shen chuckled nervously. “Nonsense. You honor us.”
Yan Dan, amused by his fuss, said nothing. Her earlier impatience had faded — Tang Zhou’s promise to lift the restriction made her unexpectedly content. Sister Hu led them to the east wing, where two adjoining rooms awaited.
As promised, Tang Zhou lifted the binding on her wrist. Then, without a word, he retreated to the next room.
Relief washed through Yan Dan. After a warm bath and supper, she felt light as mist — ready to slip away at last.
But when she opened the door, a flash of gold blinded her. She stumbled back — several talismans gleamed across the threshold and doorframe, still humming with fresh energy. Tang Zhou’s work, without question. The warmth in her chest vanished like mist in frost.
Outside, the evening wind carried the sound of laughter — Shen Xiangjun’s clear voice mingling with Tang Zhou’s deeper tones. The parrot chirped, fluttering as the two approached through the courtyard’s dim lantern light. Xiangjun’s laughter rang like windchimes; Tang Zhou listened with patient gentleness.
Yan Dan hugged her knees by the door, her gaze fixed on him. Tang Zhou sensed her stare. He said a few words to Xiangjun, who smiled and turned away with the parrot, her silhouette fading down the corridor.
Tang Zhou stepped into the doorway, smiling faintly. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
Yan Dan laughed softly, anger thinly veiled beneath calm. “Brother, if you’re afraid I’ll run off and get haunted, just say so. Why waste so many talismans?”
Tang Zhou chuckled. “Because you’re always up to mischief. I had no choice. I’m glad you understand my efforts.”
Her smile vanished. “When do you plan to turn me into a pill?”
He looked at her evenly. “No rush.”
Yan Dan brushed dust from her skirt and muttered, “So many demons in the world, yet you won’t let me go.”
He studied her in the dim light. “I’ve thought about it,” he said softly. “You don’t seem evil by nature… just not particularly good either. Perhaps you should stay a while — let time polish your temper.”
Her lips curved. “Then you’d better hurry and refine me.”
The courtyard suddenly flickered with greenish-blue fire — ghost flames, cold and silent. After a while, they faded into the night.
Tang Zhou walked out, knelt, and scooped a handful of soil. He had barely straightened when a strange sound reached his ears — crying mixed with laughter, low and chilling. It came from the west wing.
The voice was familiar. He moved closer and peered through a narrow gap. Inside, an old Taoist in apricot-yellow robes sat on the floor, clutching his chest and laughing wildly through tears — Ling Xuzi.
A sigh escaped Tang Zhou. Once a respected master, reduced to madness.
Suddenly, a cold gleam flashed before his eyes. He twisted aside — a sword hissed through the air, nearly striking his neck. With two fingers, he caught the blade and turned it aside.
The attacker was Shen Xiangjun.
Her face, once sweet and gentle, was now shadowed and fierce, her strikes ruthless. She lunged again, her movements fast as lightning.
Tang Zhou did not wish to harm her. He shifted, tapped a point on her shoulder with the scabbard. Her hand loosened, the sword clattered to the ground. Before she could fall, he was already gone, light as smoke.
He moved back toward the east wing. To get there, he had to cross the courtyard.
A lone figure emerged from the darkness — Master Shen, dragging a hoe and carrying a bulging sack. Sweat darkened his robe. He set the sack aside, dug into the earth in silence, stopping only when the pit was three feet deep. Then, slowly, he poured the sack’s contents into it.
Tang Zhou, hidden behind a tree, could not see clearly. Only the moonlight glimmered faintly on what seemed to be soft petals.
To draw him away, Tang Zhou flicked the jade hairpin he still carried from Tao Ziqi’s case. It struck the stone with a sharp ting. Master Shen turned, startled, and moved toward the sound.
In that instant, Tang Zhou leapt from the shadows and looked into the pit. The scent of flowers drifted up — freshly fallen peach blossoms.
He crouched, scooping a bit of soil mixed with the petals into a small pouch. Then, silent as mist, he retreated to his room before Master Shen returned.
The talismans on Yan Dan’s door still glowed faintly. Her candle was out — she seemed asleep.
In his own chamber, Tang Zhou examined the soil under candlelight. It was oddly mixed, churned repeatedly. Among it lay several peach petals — soft, new, fragrant. A businessman burying flowers at midnight — what could that mean?
Was someone digging and burying things here night after night?
Puzzlement clouded his thoughts. He extinguished the light and lay down, but sleep eluded him. In a haze between waking and dream, he sensed someone standing by his bed. His eyes snapped open — only the empty room stared back. The door creaked open and shut in the wind.
Previous/Next
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
