Chapter 7: The Imperial Concubine’s Tomb & Ghostly Secrets

 

Wang Xiaoer had worked as a waiter in Qingshi Town for over twenty years, yet never had he seen such a strikingly handsome man step into his restaurant. He silently praised the shopkeeper’s decision to open early that day.

At the table sat Yan Dan, chopsticks in hand.
“Whatever dishes you have, bring them all,” she ordered.

Startled, Wang Xiaoer stammered, “Miss, it’s still morning. The chef won’t arrive until noon. Isn’t it too early for hot dishes?”

Yan Dan tapped the table impatiently. “Anything filling. Quickly!”

Her ravenous aura made the waiter bow respectfully before hurrying off.

Meanwhile, Tang Zhou poured tea, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you truly that hungry?”

Yan Dan’s reply was sharp. “Try going twenty days without food, drinking only foul bathwater, and then ask me again.”

The waiter soon returned with steaming buns and offered, “There’s half a roast chicken left from yesterday. Shall I heat it up?”

Yan Dan tossed a silver ingot onto the table. “Bring everything you have.”

As she devoured bun after bun, Tang Zhou chuckled. “Aren’t you afraid of looking unladylike?”

Yan Dan tore off a piece of bun skin, chewed politely, then smirked.
“Manners don’t matter when you’re starving. Eat fast, eat plenty—better to fill yourself than let others starve you.”

Her words silenced the table, though Tang Zhou’s quiet laughter lingered.

By noon, the restaurant bustled with noise. A sly local man slid onto their bench, eager to pry. Yan Dan cleverly baited him with food and flattery, while Tang Zhou asked calmly about the strangers with swords in the corner.

The man, puffed up with pride, finally revealed the rumor:
“They’re searching for the queen’s tomb. Not of the current emperor, but of the fallen Qixiang dynasty.”

Tang Zhou frowned. “If she was royal, why would she be buried here instead of an imperial tomb?”

The mystery deepened, and the shadow of the cemetery loomed ever closer.

The local leaned in, lowering his voice as he spun the tale.

“Before the current emperor rose to power, he was a general of Nanchu. When he destroyed Qixiang, the fallen emperor fled with his beloved concubine. But betrayal struck—his own men killed him here in Qingshi Town. The concubine, unwilling to live without him, took her own life. They carried treasures from the palace, but fearing exposure, they buried them with her in a tomb. The tomb was meant to hide the riches and suppress her vengeful spirit. That is the origin of the Imperial Concubine’s Tomb.”

Yan Dan’s eyes glimmered. “You must have searched for it yourself.”

The man nodded nervously. “I did… but her ghost is fierce. Whoever dares touch the treasure dies. People here avoid the cemetery at all costs.”

Tang Zhou dismissed it with calm skepticism. “Rumors grow wilder the more they spread.”

But the man shook his head. “Better to believe than regret.”

Yan Dan mischievously produced a butterfly‑shaped jade disk. “I found this near the mass grave yesterday.”

The man’s face drained of color. “Throw it away! Do you want to die?”

He recounted the grim fate of a poor villager who unearthed gold and jade while burying his father—only to die horribly within ten days. Yan Dan, unfazed, painted grotesque images of rotting flesh, maggots, and eyeballs compared to the dishes on their table. Her words made the local gag and flee, retching at the door.

Tang Zhou, unimpressed, pulled her away. “You still enjoy playing tricks inside the magic weapon.”

Yan Dan pleaded innocence, promising reform. Tang Zhou’s stern gaze softened, and he released her hand.

At the graveyard, martial artists had already gathered. Weapons gleamed until an old Taoist in apricot robes intervened.

“This is Tang Zhou’s nephew, disciple of Lingxiao Temple’s master. We are allies.”

Introductions followed, and Yan Dan played the timid junior sister. Yet Tang Zhou’s whispered voice reached her alone, carried by inner energy:

“Stay close. Watch carefully. Not all here are trustworthy.”

Before she could reply, a silvery laugh rang out. A girl in snow‑white robes stood beneath a dead tree, feeding birds from her palm. She turned, willow brows arched, and smiled.

“The birds tell me the town is lively today,” she said sweetly. “But they also warn—where there are many people, there are many evils.”

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