IBGSW Chapter 65
The Village Elder’s Death
But the key point was Wu Jiu’s father’s description: sleeves so large that, hands folded, it looked as if he were dragging a coffin plank across his chest.
In the Headless Ghost case, Liu Huacheng had offered the ghost coffin’s lid as payment to bring Zhang Xiongwu out to resolve the ghost calamity.
She had known the coffin lid must be in Zhang Xiongwu’s hands, but she had overlooked the oddity of his sleeves. Now, jolted by this old farmer’s remark, Zhao Fusheng felt the fog clear.
“I was terrified, and this old man made me uneasy. He said something to Wu Datong...” Wu Jiu’s father walked a few more steps before continuing. “He said things were tense in the county now and old Liu might suspect something, so Wu Datong should keep his head down for a while.”
Hearing this, Zhao Fusheng turned to look at Zhang Chuanshi.
Zhang Chuanshi put on a calm front, but his eyes darted uneasily.
“Then he seemed to notice me and said there was a stranger in the house. I was panicking and afraid, and just then I heard a woman groaning inside.”
Then Wu Datong said, “My wife is about to give birth.”
The baby came at just the right time. The moment the old man heard a child was being born, his earlier wariness dropped away.
“He seemed not to like women giving birth. He left quickly. Afterward, Datong told me I was lucky, that I’d escaped a disaster because his wife happened to be having the baby.”
It was precisely because of this little episode that Wu Jiu’s father remembered Wu Liren’s birth date so well. “Wu Liren was born on the thirty-first of the seventh month of year 206 of the Great Han. I remember it very clearly.”
Though he didn’t know who the old man was, or why Wu Datong said he’d escaped a disaster, his instinct about life and death had burned the date of Wu Liren’s birth into his memory.
“Good! Wu Jiu’s family gets another three months off, and all the bureau’s miscellaneous taxes for this half-year are wiped out.”
“Yes, sir!”
Zhang Chuanshi answered happily.
Now it was Wu Dajing’s turn to feel anxious. “My lord...”
Perhaps from age, his memory was muddled and he forgot things easily.
But for some reason, what he’d said to Zhao Fusheng in the carriage was etched deep in his mind.
He remembered having sworn to her that Wu Datong’s eldest son was born on the thirty-first of the seventh month.
Now what Wu Jiu’s father said was totally different. He claimed to have met Wu Datong in Wan’an County in year 206 and to have personally been there when Wu Liren was born, giving the exact date.
Different dates, different places, two different men who had met the same man, Wu Datong.
Either someone was lying, or it was a haunting!
“Don’t worry.”
Zhao Fusheng waved a hand. She was now ninety percent sure that the villagers’ memories of Wu Datong’s “eldest son” had gone wrong.
Her original guess had been right!
The birth date Wu Dajing had given for Wu Datong’s eldest son was wrong. “It” had stolen Wu Liren’s birth date and blurred people’s memories.
Wu Jiu’s father’s account also confirmed her earlier guess that Wu Datong had most likely helped Zhang Xiongwu steal the coffin nail back then, and thereby performed a great service.
Yet Wu Datong had done the job for Zhang Xiongwu and not died, even returned home in silks, which was suspicious in itself.
Zhang Xiongwu was no saint.
A man who skinned people to make lanterns, kept corpse slaves, and dealt with ghosts could not be a good man. How could Wu Datong walk away unscathed from a man like that, return home in glory, and stay to watch his son marry and have children?
Could Wu Liren himself be strange somehow?
One doubt had been resolved, but a new one rose in her mind.
She steadied herself and decided to focus on Wu Datong’s mysterious “eldest son.”
This “eldest son” had become an unspeakable existence and formed a killing rule, which showed that the malignant ghost had revived after his death.
Moreover, this ghost’s peculiar rule gave it a hidden nature, so that even when people were killed they never realized it existed...
Thinking this, Zhao Fusheng suddenly understood what had let Wu Datong steal the coffin nail.
Very likely Wu Datong had already noticed something strange about his “eldest son,” and had used the child’s nature to take the coffin nail silently from under the Liu family’s guard.
“...”
Having worked this out, Zhao Fusheng felt her spirits lift.
Next, she only had to confirm the birth date of Wu Datong’s eldest son to be certain of her guess.
Since this involved a ghost’s rule, whenever Wu Datong’s “eldest son” was mentioned, the villagers’ memories fell into disorder.
She planned to approach it obliquely.
Gathering herself, Zhao Fusheng asked Wu Dajing, “What year did your mother die...”
“I know this one!”
Wu Liyou, who had been waiting a long time in the crowd, answered loudly. “My grandmother died on the seventeenth of the ninth month of year 205 of the Great Han...”
“Don’t talk nonsense!”
Hearing his son, Wu Dajing instinctively scolded.
“I’m not talking nonsense.”
Scolded by his father, Wu Liyou felt wronged. “I remember it clearly.”
“If that isn’t nonsense, what is?” Wu Dajing’s eyes went wide and red veins appeared in them; he even coughed in his fury. “Your grandmother died on the seventeenth of the ninth month of year 206, you little rascal. You don’t even remember your own grandmother’s death anniversary...”
Zhao Fusheng had just waived half a year of the bureau's taxes for his family, worth a full ten taels of silver.
He was afraid she’d think he’d been talking nonsense earlier and cancel the favor in a fit of anger. In his desperation, blood poured from the corners of his eyes and from his nostrils. “You... you’re killing me...”
The sudden change startled everyone, and Wu Liyou was frightened by his father’s violent reaction.
Aggrieved and anxious, he said, “My grandmother really did die on the seventeenth of the ninth month, year 205. Ligong was born in the twelfth month and turned seven a few days before New Year. Before she died, my grandmother sighed that she was afraid she wouldn’t last until the New Year and wouldn’t get to eat Ligong’s seventh-birthday meal...”
“Nonsense, nonsense!”
Wu Dajing shouted back.
Yin energy now shrouded him, and the ghostly aura that had been faint and half-vanished thickened.
He kept scratching the backs of his hands, his cheeks, everywhere, the scratching making a skin-crawling sound.
By now torches were lit all around, lighting the little path through the village. In the firelight, countless fine skin flakes whirled through the air like snow. Wu Dajing’s face had turned black, his eyes were losing their luster, and dark red blood ran from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes. He looked dreadful.
Whoosh! Everyone was terrified.
They had only been discussing Wu Liren’s family affairs of long ago. No one had expected Wu Dajing to become so agitated so suddenly.
Zhao Fusheng sensed trouble. The ghost’s aura was spreading outward, but ordinary people were slow to react, and everyone assumed the two had had a quarrel and Wu Liyou had made his father so angry that he had a nosebleed.
For decades, people in Goutou Village had often bled to death, so at the sight of Wu Dajing, the crowd said, “Is Uncle Dajing overheated? Liyou, quick, carry your father home.”
“I won’t go!”
Wu Dajing seemed possessed. “I won’t go. I’m staying here to talk to the lord. My family wants more tax relief. We’re almost at Wu Liren’s house. I’m not leaving.”
The more he spoke, the harder he scratched at himself.
Hearing him, Zhao Fusheng turned and looked into the distance. Sure enough, at the edge of the path through the fields, a dark compound stood, wrapped in the shadow of the great mountain.
And Wu Dajing’s condition was extremely bad.
On the road, the village elder had touched the taboo by bringing up Wu Datong and his son, which was already enough to hang his life by a thread. Now, apparently agitated over taxes, he had revived the ghost once more.
Zhao Fusheng instinctively tightened her grip on the ghost arm and clenched her jaw.
Just then, Zhang Chuanshi, shrewd as ever, also realized things were going wrong. He moved up beside Zhao Fusheng and said uneasily, “My lord, is this filthy old man about to go mad?”
He didn’t dare say the word “ghost,” but having lived next door to the Demon-Suppression Bureau for years, he was more worldly than these ignorant villagers and clearly knew something about Wu Dajing’s condition was uncanny.
Zhao Fusheng said nothing.
The ghost arm in her sleeve seemed to sense her tension and stirred restlessly.
The merit she’d earned from the Beggars’ Alley case last time, which she had used to open Hell, was nearly all spent, leaving just nine points.
The ghost hadn’t yet shown itself. If she took out the ghost arm now to suppress Wu Dajing, there was no telling how much merit she’d need to subdue the increasingly restless arm afterward.
As she hesitated, the ghostly aura around Wu Dajing flared.
A prompt from the Investiture of the Gods came:
Detected the aura of a Baleful-tier great ghost. Use Hell to capture it?
Baleful-tier great ghost!
Zhao Fusheng instantly abandoned the idea of using the ghost arm.
When the Beggar Ghost’s corpse had been whole, it was only Baleful-tier. After the corpse was dismembered, the ghost arm held the Beggar Ghost’s rule-power but was only a single arm, and could never exceed Baleful-tier.
She had a premonition that Wu Dajing was about to die. She shouted at him sternly, “Wu Dajing, calm down! I already know all this. Stop talking about it!”
“My lord, don’t believe them. I remember it very clearly...”
Wu Dajing no longer cared that the blood was pouring out. He had only one thought: not to let his family’s reduced taxes be taken back.
That was a full ten taels of silver, enough to give a household of many mouths a comfortable year, with no more gut-wrenching worry over the harvest.
“My lord, listen to me. That year, Wu Datong abducted a young wife. She was surnamed Shen, a daughter of a great family. He didn’t dare take her out in public, and kept her hidden in the cellar of his house.”
The more he spoke, the harder blood streamed from his nostrils and eyes, and now blood welled from his ears as well. Bloody bubbles of saliva kept spilling from between his lips and teeth.
At the same time, he scratched frantically at himself.
Chest, back, cheeks, head.
It was pitch dark by now, torches crackling. The villagers of Goutou Village, who had been vying to speak a moment ago, were too horrified to make a sound.
In the distance loomed the black Wu mansion. Wu Dajing’s world was a sea of red. He had no idea how eerie and frightening he looked, and said hoarsely, “That Madam Shen gave birth, and the child didn’t cry or fuss when it came out. It was like a dead person. It was born on the thirty-first of the seventh month, no mistake. My mother held it. She said it was like a dead person, but it still moved...”
As soon as he finished, he suddenly stiffened.
He seemed to realize something, and shock and terror spread across his face, now unrecognizable under swirling flakes of skin.
His nearly all-red eyes fixed on Zhao Fusheng as if begging her to save him.
But once a ghost’s killing rule had manifested, what could Zhao Fusheng’s strength do to save him?
Shadows writhed on the ground, as if the ghost were hidden behind Wu Dajing, staring coldly at Zhao Fusheng.
As Wu Dajing scratched desperately, Zhang Chuanshi also felt a bone-deep itch, scratching at his neck and arms and muttering, “Does this old man have some contagious disease...”
Zhao Fusheng ignored him.
She felt the helplessness of knowing the truth and being unable to save someone, her emotions churning. “Wu Dajing’s family is exempt from all of the bureau's taxes for the year.”
She had foreseen Wu Dajing’s death, and apart from waiving his family’s taxes, there was nothing she could do.
As soon as she finished, joy appeared on the dying Wu Dajing’s face.
“Thank you...”
Before he could finish, his body burst like a popped balloon. Pop!
Countless fragments of skin spattered in all directions, landing on the faces of Zhao Fusheng and the villagers around her.
The moment the torn skin touched their bodies it clung like maggots on bone, and everyone began, in unison, to scratch themselves.
The sudden turn terrified everyone.
Someone shouted, “Ghost!”
But the instant he cried out “ghost,” the ghost’s aura ebbed like a tide and vanished without a trace.
Zhao Fusheng’s body itched to the bone.
When Wu Dajing exploded, the fragments of his skin burst out and she hadn’t been able to dodge. Some had stuck to her cheek, and she rubbed hard and peeled off a thin, silk-fine scab the size of a child’s palm.
Forcing down the itching, she took the case scroll from her sleeve and stuck the scab onto it.
When she finished, the flying fragments of skin in the air turned to dust and drifted slowly away.
Something strange happened.
Once everything had settled, the flickering torches steadied and the ghost’s aura vanished entirely. The villagers who had been frantically scratching lowered their hands in confusion, and someone, looking into the distance, called out excitedly, “My lord, Wu Liren’s house is just ahead!”
Zhao Fusheng lowered her head blankly. A loosely rolled case scroll lay in her hand.
Her memory was excellent. Yet she had no recollection of when she’d brought this scroll along, or when she’d taken it out and gripped it.
At that moment her heart went cold and a certain thought struck her: the malignant ghost had appeared.
It had appeared and done something, but neither she nor anyone around her had noticed a thing.
