Chapter 2: The Seventh Night

“You’re saying my wife is dead?” The smile faded from Yan Yu’s face.

They say a man has three great joys: promotion, wealth, and the death of his wife. Yan Yu had just come down from the mountain, hadn’t even tasted promotion or riches yet—how could his wife be dead already?

Something about this was off.

Besides, Yan Yu had come down specifically to find Zhao Qingqing. If she was dead, how would he explain himself to his eldest mother?

Zhou Xiaowan’s face was ashen. “You and Zhao Qingqing really have a marriage contract?”

“Believe it or not, that’s up to you. Right now, I just want to know if she’s really dead.”

“I already told you, she hanged herself last week…” Zhou Xiaowan’s voice trailed off, her eyes filled with terror as if some dreadful memory surged up within her.

“I understand.” Yan Yu turned, preparing to knock on the door.

Zhou Xiaowan hurriedly grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”

“You didn’t want me to follow you, remember?” Yan Yu asked.

“I… You’d better come along, since you already have a wife…” Zhou Xiaowan replied weakly.

Yan Yu shrugged.

At this moment, Zhou Xiaowan was acting very differently, and even the way she looked at Yan Yu was nothing like before.

She hailed a taxi and got in with Yan Yu.

“Driver, take us to Source Ridge Villas.”

The driver paused. “Miss, Source Ridge Villas are in the suburbs. I won’t get a return fare, you see…”

“Here’s five hundred yuan, should be enough for a round trip.” Zhou Xiaowan handed over five crisp bills, and the driver happily accepted them, stepping on the gas.

“Five hundred yuan… How many big meat buns could I buy with that?” Yan Yu swallowed. Over the years, he’d sometimes followed his master to the village to perform rituals, working all day and earning just a hundred.

Zhou Xiaowan shot him a look, her mood improving slightly. “You say Zhao Qingqing was your fiancée, and now she’s dead. Why aren’t you sad at all?”

“She was my fiancée, but I’ve never met her. I feel sympathy, but not grief. If you’d like to tell me more about her, I wouldn’t mind listening,” Yan Yu replied.

Zhou Xiaowan didn’t want to talk about Zhao Qingqing. Every time she heard the name, she couldn’t help but recall what she’d seen that night in the dormitory.

“You don’t look so well,” Yan Yu tilted his head.

“Do I?” she asked hesitantly.

Yan Yu smiled. “Let me guess—did you encounter something unclean?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Despite her words, Zhou Xiaowan’s eyes betrayed her.

“Was it Zhao Qingqing? I think… after she died, you saw her again.”

“Stop it!” Zhou Xiaowan couldn’t help but cover her ears.

Yan Yu fell silent, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before Zhou Xiaowan would tell him everything.

The scenery outside the window sped by: from city intersections jammed beneath traffic lights, to the fast lane on the third ring where cars thinned out, to roads surrounded by mountains. Yan Yu felt a pang—he’d finally made it to town, hadn’t even warmed a seat, and now Zhou Xiaowan was sending him back to the mountains?

The thought barely formed before Yan Yu’s memories overwhelmed it.

For sixteen years, he’d lived in a nunnery on Mount Emei, where not a single incense burner was lit all year—just five nuns, whom Yan Yu called his five mothers.

They were all in their thirties or forties, and even with their heads shaved, you could glimpse traces of past beauty. After seeing how lovely city girls were, Yan Yu realized: his five mothers must have been breathtaking beauties in their youth.

Yan Yu had been brought to the nunnery at age two, raised with meticulous care by his five mothers. He learned astronomy and geography, read thousands of volumes, and on top of that, he was secretly taken as a disciple by an old Taoist who sneaked into the nunnery. Every so often, Yan Yu would sneak down the mountain with him to perform rituals in the villages, learning mysterious arts of yin and yang.

In other words—ghost hunting.

A week ago, Yan Yu had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday in the nunnery. Right after the candles went out, his eldest mother told him it was time to leave.

A grown man couldn’t stay in a nunnery, after all—it was a place of Buddhist purity.

But his eldest mother had another reason for sending Yan Yu away.

Yan Yu’s birth mother had been murdered.

That was his purpose in coming to the city—to investigate the cause of his mother’s death and find her killer.

The only clue his eldest mother gave him was his fiancée, Zhao Qingqing.

Yan Yu never imagined that this fiancée he’d never met would hang herself.

“Now that I’ve arrived in Rongcheng, I’ll find you whether you’re alive or dead.”

About an hour later, the taxi left the main road and entered a villa district, stopping outside a mountain-view villa.

Yan Yu looked over the villa, noticing that the aura of gloom above it was even thicker than at Zhou Xiaowan’s house.

After getting out, Zhou Xiaowan whispered, “This is my classmate’s villa. My best friends are inside. Please, say as little as possible—don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you? With my looks? Impossible,” Yan Yu boasted.

Zhou Xiaowan pressed her hand to her forehead and looked Yan Yu up and down. He wore a loose brown sweater, faded jeans, and over it, a military coat patched in three places—he looked every bit a country bumpkin.

Yet he was over six feet tall, well-proportioned, with sharp features and bright eyes—he was even somewhat handsome. But his sense of style brought his eight-point looks down to four.

“Why are you staring at me? We’re siblings. Don’t get any ideas about me,” Yan Yu teased.

Zhou Xiaowan snapped back to reality and glared at him.

Just then, a voice called from inside, “Xiaowan, you’re late, come in quickly. Li Kang’s already gone to fetch Master Cao!”

“Master Cao?” Yan Yu raised an eyebrow.

Zhou Xiaowan led Yan Yu inside, where they were greeted by two boys and a girl.

“Xiaofei, He Qing, Xu Jin,” Zhou Xiaowan greeted.

She had introduced them in the taxi: the tall, thin boy was Xu Jin, the shorter, quieter one was He Qing, and the girl was Yang Xuefei.

Yang Xuefei was strikingly beautiful, with an even more refined air than Zhou Xiaowan. According to Zhou Xiaowan, Yang Xuefei came from a scholarly family, practiced violin and ballet since childhood, and had recently been spotted by an entertainment company, ready to enter showbiz after college entrance exams.

Xu Jin spoke loudly, a typical rich second-generation; He Qing’s background was more modest, and he seemed deeply troubled.

“Xiaowan, who’s this bumpkin?” Xu Jin’s opening made Yan Yu bristle.

Zhou Xiaowan sighed. “He’s my distant cousin—doesn’t know much… Just ignore him.”

Yan Yu’s appearance didn’t inspire interest. Yang Xuefei glanced at him then turned away.

Yan Yu didn’t mind; he looked around the yard, spotting a large swimming pool and a black dog, bigger than a donkey, tied nearby.

The moment the black dog saw Yan Yu, it started howling incessantly.

Xu Jin mocked, “Xiaowan, your cousin’s so rustic, even Blackie thinks he’s a thief!”

Zhou Xiaowan’s face reddened with embarrassment, silently regretting her decision to bring Yan Yu.

The dog’s barking annoyed Yan Yu. He quietly ordered, “Shut up, or I’ll chop you up and make soup.”

The dog whimpered, tucked its tail, and cowered in the corner, as if terrified of Yan Yu.

“Blackie’s a purebred Tibetan mastiff—never afraid of anyone. I’ve never seen it act like this…” Yang Xuefei remarked in surprise, her voice as melodious as an oriole.

Yan Yu scoffed. “Just a city toy. Country mutts are fiercer.”

“Not so sure. Blackie’s fangs can puncture tires—four grown men couldn’t beat it!” Outside, a boy in a suit and slicked-back hair walked in, holding a string of Ferrari keys.

This must be Li Kang, the villa’s owner.

Yan Yu sized him up, noticing Li Kang’s aura of gloom was much heavier than Zhou Xiaowan’s. His eyes held not only pride but also deep fatigue.

“Who are you?” Li Kang asked.

Zhou Xiaowan whispered, “He’s my distant cousin, new to Rongcheng, doesn’t know much…”

Li Kang grunted and ignored Yan Yu.

“Kang, don’t bother with him. So, is Master Cao here?” Xu Jin asked.

Li Kang stepped aside, and a Taoist priest entered, dressed in yellow robes, wearing a tall black hat, and carrying a bamboo basket. He had small eyes and a goatee.

“Ah, Young Master Li, I see you had an expert examine this house’s feng shui! The villa faces south, backs onto North Mountain—just like a white tiger crouching, a sign of great prospects. Anyone living here is destined for success!” Master Cao declared with solemnity.

Li Kang was pleased by the flattering words, feeling even more respectful toward Master Cao. The others were bewildered but thought the priest must be skilled.

Only Yan Yu was baffled.

In feng shui, the Black Tortoise position is north, and using the Four Symbols method is meant for graves. Master Cao was applying burial-site methods to a residence, and he’d even mixed up the basic positions—clearly a fraud.

Yan Yu had already checked: the villa faced the mountains, but its back was exposed, as if blocked in front and unsupported behind. Behind the villa, a winding river bent toward it, forming a “reverse bow”—a deadly configuration. Anyone living here long-term would face disaster.

Zhou Xiaowan whispered, “Li Kang, today’s Qingqing’s seventh day. Let’s move quickly.”

Mentioning Zhao Qingqing made everyone’s expressions change; Yan Yu noticed and frowned.

On a classmate’s seventh day, shouldn’t they be offering prayers at her memorial? Why call a “master” to perform rituals deep in the mountains?

Li Kang led Master Cao inside. The decor was lavish, European in style, but in the living room sat a jarring ritual altar, with incense burners, yellow paper, vermilion, coins, and other items.

There was also a sandalwood comb.

“So much gloom!” Yan Yu’s face changed upon seeing the comb. He’d assisted in many rituals, but never encountered an object with such heavy resentment.

Once inside, a cold wind suddenly swept through and slammed the villa’s door shut, making everyone shudder.

“Hiss… Where did that wind come from?” Master Cao shivered.

Li Kang’s face grew pale, lips bluish, eyes bloodshot, his shoulders drooping.

He stepped forward, holding the comb. “Master, this is the deceased’s personal item you requested.”

Before Master Cao could respond, Yan Yu couldn’t help but say, “Let me take a look.”

Zhou Xiaowan quickly pulled him back. “The master’s working—don’t interfere!”

“Heh, young man, don’t think you can touch everything just because you’re young,” Master Cao said with an air of mystery.

Yan Yu shrugged.

Master Cao took the comb, examined it carefully, and said, “This comb carries heavy gloom. What I must deal with isn’t an ordinary ghost. When I start the ritual, there may be tremors, but remember: people are matter, ghosts are consciousness—consciousness can’t affect matter. So I suggest you all cover your eyes. No matter what you hear, don’t move!”

At the mention of blindfolds, everyone felt uneasy. Master Cao continued, “Don’t worry. With your eyes closed, even a fierce ghost can’t harm you. At most you’ll hear things—just ignore it.”

They exchanged glances and nodded. Master Cao took black cloth strips from his basket and handed them out.

Zhou Xiaowan said, “These strips stink.”

“They’ve been dipped in black dog’s blood. The smell wards off fierce ghosts. Just put them on.”

Everyone obediently blindfolded themselves, but Yan Yu left a small gap. They sat quietly on the sofa.

Once everyone was blindfolded, Master Cao showed a lecherous grin. He coughed, picked up the ritual bell, shook it a few times, then shouted, “Heaven and earth, the Way without limits, command: reveal the spirit!”

“Hey! Since you’ve passed, why linger, entangling the living?”

“I act on behalf of heaven—how dare you defy me?!”

“If you feel no remorse, don’t blame me for being harsh!”

In Yan Yu’s eyes, Master Cao looked like he was performing a one-man show, scolding the air, then suddenly overturning the altar.

The crash made everyone flinch, and no one dared peek.

Master Cao glanced at them, then, shouting all the while, slung his basket and started rummaging through cabinets in the living room.

Yan Yu: “???”

The master was stealing!

Yan Yu thought to himself, city people really know their tricks.

Li Kang, face deathly pale, said, “Master, why do I hear cabinets being opened?”

“Ignore it! The ghost is making you hallucinate—trying to make you open your eyes!” Master Cao was stuffing jewelry into his basket.

“Master, I feel a chill behind me, like someone’s blowing in my ear!” Zhou Xiaowan said, trembling.

“Hallucinations, just hallucinations!” Master Cao tried to cram a large vase into his basket, but when it didn’t fit, he reached for a valuable painting.

Xu Jin shook, face white. “I… I think I hear someone calling my name!”

“I’m battling the ghost—almost done!”

Finally, Master Cao filled his basket and crept to the door, kicked it open, and shouted, “Hey, ghost! Don’t run! You all stay here—don’t open your eyes until I return!”

Yan Yu was amused: Master Cao had stolen enough, and was planning to escape.

He didn’t intend to intervene—Li Kang’s family had money anyway.

But just as Master Cao was about to slip out, a chill wind swept the room, and the door slammed shut again. Master Cao’s face changed; he tugged at the door, but it wouldn’t budge, as if locked.

Outside, Blackie the dog barked madly.

Sweat trickled down Master Cao’s forehead.

Yan Yu’s expression grew serious—the villa’s gloom was intensifying. Today was Zhao Qingqing’s seventh day; which meant even in broad daylight, she could freely appear…

“Red veil… floral jacket…”

“I promised my beloved a word, but earned endless longing…”

“If longing weren’t so bitter… who’d know how poisonous a human heart can be?”