Chapter 14: Dead End

                       

Shortly after noon, Master Shen arrived at the courtyard, his steps measured, eyes wary. He offered a cautious smile.

"Young Master Tang, have we made any progress?" he asked.

Tang Zhou’s gaze lingered on him thoughtfully. "There has been some progress, but…"

Master Shen’s expression sharpened immediately. "But what?"

Tang Zhou exhaled slowly, choosing his words carefully. Though he had glimpsed certain clues, uncertainty gnawed at him. Observing in secret could only reveal so much; even his sharpest guesses were still just that—guesses.

"I sensed the strongest resentment in the southwest corner," he began, "and followed it… only to discover a body buried shallowly beneath the grass. It seems recent."

Master Shen’s lips trembled; his face paled as he struggled to speak.

Tang Zhou offered a faint, knowing smile. "Of course, I am merely a Taoist priest, not a constable. Details are not my concern. But Master Shen… surely you would prefer not to have a vengeful spirit lingering nearby?"

The elder’s hands trembled slightly as he lowered his gaze. After a long pause, he admitted, "This… this actually begins with my first wife. She was from the Yi ethnic group. According to their customs, after death, bones are carefully collected and buried."

Tang Zhou tilted his head, intrigued despite the detour in the story. Yan Dan, who had started retreating to the guest room, turned back at Master Shen’s words.

"My wife’s family held influence among the Yi, and many practiced witchcraft," Shen continued. "She once told me she didn’t know it herself, so the elders did not object to our marriage."

Tang Zhou listened, absorbing the unfamiliar customs.

"When she married into the Shen family, she longed for her homeland. I moved in with the Yi people once. I witnessed a bone-collecting burial—shallow graves, boiling water poured over the soil daily until the flesh and bones separated. Only then were the bones collected and buried in jars among the mountains. I was horrified; in the Central Plains, we always used thick coffins."

Tang Zhou murmured, "The customs of Han and Yi peoples are indeed very different."

Master Shen nodded grimly. "The bones of those raised in witchcraft are said to contain poisonous insects, preventing the poison from escaping. Witnessing this once is unforgettable. After my wife died, I brought our daughter to Qingshi Town. By then, Yijun was old enough to manage the household. I felt confident leaving her in charge while I traveled for business."

Yan Dan interjected, "How long have you lived here?"

"Seven or eight years," he replied. "Yijun and Xiangjun are twenty-four now, but neither has married well. Once, I was away on business for nearly three months. Upon returning, I noticed Yijun’s behavior was unusual. One night, I saw her burying something in the courtyard… and when I dug it up, I found a corpse. The flesh was dried and clinging to the bones, eyes wide open… I realized then she knew witchcraft far beyond what her mother admitted."

Yan Dan’s brow arched in thought. "So the corpse in the haystack was meant to rot until only bones remained for the proper burial."

Master Shen nodded silently. "After that, deaths in Qingshi Town became mysterious. Locals blamed an evil empress, but I knew it was witchcraft. Many Taoist priests I invited refused to help… or perhaps were buried themselves."

Tang Zhou coughed lightly. "Master Shen, without evidence, these are just suspicions. I won’t tell anyone."

The elder bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Tang."

Yan Dan, watching his retreating figure, mused, "What an interesting tale."

Tang Zhou glanced at her. "You don’t believe it?"

"Half," she smiled. "The customs are real, but the witchcraft… that’s mysterious. I’ll reserve judgment."

Tang Zhou’s voice turned cold. "I don’t believe a word."

Yan Dan chuckled softly. "Really? I think some is true… like his first wife being Yi. And Qingshi Town’s deaths weren’t caused by spirits. But that’s all."

"Nothing else of consequence."

She smiled mischievously. "You’re taking her side… I wouldn’t mind another sister-in-law."

Tang Zhou’s expression remained unreadable. "It’s a pity you didn’t seal your powers completely. Seems you feel the same."

He pondered the Shen residence’s veiled secrets. The truth remained clouded, progress elusive. Yan Dan, however, seemed unconcerned, often spending hours by the lotus pond, speaking to the fish as if understanding their language. Her insights, half-truths and half-deception, were difficult to trust but impossible to ignore.

Later, Tang Zhou wandered to the East Wing, recalling that fateful night. Ling Xuzi sat on the steps, a crumpled paper trembling in his hand. Tang Zhou’s eyes caught the four characters atop it: Seven Stars Divine Jade.

Ling Xuzi sprang to his feet, beating his chest, crumpling the paper into his mouth. Tang Zhou approached, stopping short. "Senior, why the pretense?"

Ling Xuzi smiled tearfully. "Why must you pretend? How long can it last?"

Shen Xiangjun’s clear voice rang out, tugging Tang Zhou’s sleeve. "He’s blaming you for his own antics. See? He’s the one causing trouble."

Tang Zhou regarded her gentle eyes, feeling a faint pity. "How do you know?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Sister said he’s crazy, I am stupid. Only you don’t call me stupid. You’re a good person."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "How could you be stupid?"

She pressed her cheek to his hand. "Shall we see the backyard? Few know of it; it’s fun."

At the abandoned well, water green and cold, Shen Xiangjun whispered, "From here, you can see past and present lives. Only Daddy and I know."

Tang Zhou stood aside, cautious. Shen Xiangjun’s reflection shimmered, then morphed—a crimson streak from its eye chilled him. Could this foreshadow the future?

Footsteps approached. Yan Dan appeared, smiling innocently. "What a coincidence, I just came for a walk and met you."

She raised her wrist, showing the talisman. "Brother, I’m safe."

Tang Zhou nodded. He doubted it but didn’t argue. Her powers were restrained; nothing would happen.

As night fell, Tang Zhou returned to the well. The crescent moon hid behind clouds. Leaning over the edge, he glimpsed a pale, dry face beneath the surface. Startled, he reached for his dagger, only to feel icy fingers clamp his wrist.

The face twitched, and in a whisper that froze him, it said:
"It’s witchcraft… Go, go!"

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