Chapter 15: The Devouring Mansion (Part Eleven)

Li, the steward, ran all the way to the back garden gate before remembering he had left the lantern by the pond and forgotten to bury the ashes from burning the paper money. He wanted to turn back and tidy up, but feared encountering those two Taoist priests again and causing more trouble. Hesitating for a moment, he bit his lip and decided to leave it be.

The moonlight was bright enough to see the path without a lamp. The ash pile was in a secluded spot rarely passed by anyone; he could find a chance to bury it at dawn. Even if someone discovered it and reported to Su Tingyuan, he would just deny it stubbornly.

Tonight had been utterly exhausting. He felt as if his bones were held together only by thin threads, ready to fall apart with the slightest movement.

Dragging his heavy legs, Li made his way back to his quarters, still filled with frustration. He wasn’t a child—how had those Taoists so easily deceived him? Ultimately, it was that Liang fellow’s cunning and sorcery; no wonder he had been tricked.

He wondered what those people’s backgrounds were. No matter what, he would send them away first thing in the morning to prevent them from speaking to Su Tingyuan and causing him trouble. As for any reward, they had no chance. If it weren’t for certain considerations, he would have found two strong men to give them a good beating just to vent his anger!

Recalling the earlier scene, Li shuddered with fear. Luckily, he had been careful not to reveal the crucial details when burning the paper money, or Su Tingyuan would have surely beaten him mercilessly.

Lost in thought, he arrived at his small residence unnoticed. He lived alone in a tiny courtyard, far from the other servants’ quarters. Though the yard was only palm-sized, it exceeded the usual standards for servants. Indeed, his life was comfortable. Su Tingyuan was indifferent to management, and the lady of the house was chronically ill. Whether it was the Su family, the estate, or the shops, he was the one who truly held the reins.

Over the years, he had secretly saved a considerable sum. Once his godson Li Ji grew older, they would leave the Su family far behind. He planned to find a docile wife for the boy, buy some land, and serve others humbly for most of his life, while he himself would enjoy a few years of wealth and comfort.

Su Tingyuan probably knew about the manipulations in the accounts but tolerated it only because Li had leverage over him. This couldn’t last forever. Su Tingyuan might need him for now, but what if one day he didn’t?

As these thoughts swirled, Li fumbled for the key and opened the door. No moonlight penetrated the room; it was pitch dark. He stepped inside, groping along the walls, moving slowly. There was an oil lamp on the small table by the bed, but first, he had to find the cabinet and retrieve the fire striker.

He searched inch by inch, his chest filled with swelling dreams, pushing fear and unease into the corners. Now, thinking of the young lady, he no longer felt afraid. In fact, he found it ridiculous that he had been so scared earlier.

She was soft and pliant like dough—alive, she let others shape her as they pleased; dead, could she really become formidable? A person like that, even as a ghost, would probably still be bullied by other spirits.

Relieved, yet unable to let go, he resolved to visit the Buddhist temple tomorrow to light a perpetual lamp for her… the lamp…

Suddenly, a chill ran up his spine. The room was so small, and he had been feeling along the wall for quite some time. How had he not found the cabinet yet?

He told himself he must be too tired. Whenever he was drowsy, time seemed to speed up or slow down. Time didn’t change, nor did the room; it was just his own confusion.

Still unsettled, he quickened his pace and groped hastily along the wall. The whitewashed surface was unusually smooth, slick and cold, slightly damp.

Was it about to rain? But the moon had been bright and the sky clear when he came back.

Suddenly withdrawing his hand, his warm dream shrank to a trivial dot, and fear flooded his heart again.

At last, he understood the source of his unease.

Servants’ rooms were not finely crafted; the plaster on the walls was roughly applied. Though it looked unremarkable, to the touch it was coarse.

Trembling, he slowly approached the wall and lightly touched it with his fingertips. The surface undulated slightly, smooth and delicate, resembling porcelain—not porcelain, but something softer and warm…

He recoiled in horror, his hand striking something hard and causing him to wince in pain.

It was the cabinet.

Relieved, he quickly opened the door and pulled out the fire striker, lighting it.

The faint glow brought him immense comfort.

Li smiled weakly. Old age had made him timid and paranoid, always scaring himself.

He turned to light the lamp, his eyes inadvertently sweeping across the wall. There, on the dim surface, was a dark stain resembling water damage.

Was it seepage? Raising the fire striker higher, he illuminated the shadow fully.

It was a face.

Blurred and indistinct, its edges unclear, it looked like a water stain on the wall. The two eyes and half-open mouth were just three holes—but it was undeniably a face.

He recalled the morning he found Old Coachman Ma in the cesspit. Ma’s eyes had bulged, veins bursting, as if forcing a distorted voice from his soul: "Face."

Only now did the full meaning of that word become clear.

Old Ma’s voice seemed to pierce his eardrums, seep into his entrails, rise up his throat, and then get stuck.

He opened his mouth but could not utter a sound.

Frozen for an unknown length of time, the fire striker finally burned down to his hand, burning him back to reality.

Li threw down the striker and turned to run.

But as the thought formed, the door slammed shut by itself.

The fire went out, and darkness swallowed the room once more. Only the face on the wall remained, lifeless gray with hollow black eyes seeming to scrutinize him.

Li tried to retreat, but his feet seemed to have a will of their own, pulling him toward the wall.

His forehead pressed against the wall, which was impossibly soft. He slowly sank into it—head first, then torso.

Terror finally broke free from his throat. He screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the bricks.

…

A night without dreams.

When Haichao awoke, daylight flooded the room. Golden rays swept away the night’s eerie gloom.

Lu Wanying was already dressed and seated on the bedside, holding a peachwood comb, struggling with her waist-length hair. Though her movements were still a bit awkward, she had made great progress since yesterday.

Hearing the movement, she paused and turned with a slight smile, revealing a faint dimple. “Haichao, you’re awake?”

Having barely slept all night, Lu Wanying’s eyes showed slight dark circles but her complexion was not haggard; in fact, she looked even more lively than when they first met.

Haichao sat up, smoothing his disheveled hair. “Overslept.”

“It’s still early,” Lu Wanying blushed. “I fell asleep last night without realizing when you returned.”

Haichao waved his hand. “You didn’t have to wait for me, Sister Lu.”

He rubbed his stiff shoulders and turned his neck.

“You must have been exhausted last night,” Lu Wanying said as she stood and fetched a copper basin for water.

Haichao jumped down to take it. “Sister Lu, let me do it.”

A pampered daughter of a noble family, Lu Wanying was unaccustomed to such chores.

“Don’t be so formal with me, Haichao,” she said. “Doing what you can puts my mind at ease.”

Hearing this, Haichao relented.

After filling the basin, Lu Wanying brought some green salt used for cleaning teeth. “Did you find anything last night?”

Wiping his face, Haichao replied, “At least it wasn’t in vain. That steward Li…”

Mid-sentence, his eyes flicked towards the lattice window. His hand froze.

“What is it?” Lu Wanying asked uneasily.

Haichao frowned. “I remember seeing chipped green paint on the window frame last night. Now it’s gone.”

The paint on the window lattice was intact and bright, as if freshly applied.

“The walls and pillars look newer too,” Haichao added, glancing around.

Lu Wanying blushed. “I was too anxious and frightened yesterday to pay attention… Could it be the daylight? Last night was already lit by lamps, so it looked older.”

Haichao nodded. “Maybe I was mistaken.”

But the doubt lingered. Even if candlelight and daylight differed, could he have misjudged the paint peeling?

“By the way, what happened to steward Li?” Lu Wanying asked, returning to the earlier topic.

Before Haichao could answer, a knock came at the door.

“Have the two priests awakened? There’s a serious problem!” a somewhat childish voice called from outside.

Haichao recognized it as Li Ji, Li steward’s godson. She quickly wiped her face, rose, and opened the door to find Li Ji standing there, pale as death.

“What’s wrong?” Haichao asked.

Li Ji’s lips trembled as he sobbed, “Father… steward Li… is dead…”

At those words, Li Ji broke down in tears.

Haichao was stunned. “Don’t cry yet. What happened?”

Sniffling, Li Ji said, “Father was eaten by a ghost…”

“Eaten?”

“Only bones left… just like those animals before…”

At that moment, the door to the east wing opened, and Liang Ye and Cheng Hanlin approached.

Cheng Hanlin had dark circles under his eyes, yawning repeatedly. Liang Ye had only slept a little over an hour but looked only slightly pale.

Seeing Liang Ye, Li Ji’s panic eased somewhat. He fell to his knees with a thud. “Please, priests, capture the man-eating demon and avenge my father!”

Cheng Hanlin glanced suspiciously at Liang Ye, who merely nodded calmly, composed.

“Who found the body?” Liang Ye asked.

Li Ji replied, “I did. At the hour of the dragon today, I went to bring Father breakfast as usual but knocked a long time with no answer. Feeling uneasy, I used the key to open the door and saw…”

He choked up, then continued, “I immediately reported to Master. He sent me here…”

He glanced at the west wing.

Haichao then noticed the door there was ajar.

“You came to fetch that Taoist, right?” Haichao pointed. “Where is he?”

Li Ji’s face showed embarrassment. “No one’s inside… that Taoist must be a coward. Hearing there was a real ghost, he ran away… Don’t bother with him. Please, priests, help catch the fiend…”

“Is the body still where it was found?” Liang Ye asked.

Li Ji hurriedly nodded. “Yes, yes. Master locked the door and ordered guards outside—no one can enter.”

“Have the authorities been notified?”

“Master already sent someone. The officials should be on their way…” Li Ji’s face darkened. “When the ghost ate the animals, Master reported it then too. The officials came, scolded Master harshly, and took a lot of bribes back. This time, I don’t know…”

“This time is different. A person died. The officials will have to intervene,” Cheng Hanlin said.

Li Ji replied, “I’m afraid even if they come, they won’t find anything. We’ll have to rely on your boundless powers.”

Haichao felt uneasy, glancing at Liang Ye.

But Liang Ye remained composed, nodding politely. “Let’s go see the body first.”