[“Stab me with a knife; that would feel better than this.”]

Huo Zhenye held on, not letting go. “Give me a moment, let me recover.”

Bai Zhun yanked his hand free, wiping it on his clothes with a frown of disgust. “It’s all sweat.”

Huo Zhenye’s palms were soaked with sweat, as if he had a high fever, feeling utterly weak. Bai Zhun handed him a plate of small lotus-petal candies. “Suck on one.”

The moment his tongue tasted sweetness, he felt better. Huo Zhenye quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. Ruining clothes was no big deal; he just felt an itch on his back. He reached back to scratch but couldn’t quite reach.

Unexpectedly, as he took off his shirt, Bai Zhun’s gaze froze. Huo Zhenye couldn’t see his own back, but seeing Bai Zhun’s solemn face, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

There were three very fine scratches on Huo Zhenye’s back. He was about to reach for them again when Bai Zhun slapped his hand away. “Don’t move.” The scratches, though fine, were a deep crimson. The female ghost’s fingernails were imbued with condensed resentment. Luckily, they only scratched shallowly; had they gone deeper, his entire back would have rotted.

Bai Zhun immediately pressed Huo Zhenye down. “Lie down.”

“Someone!”

The attendant was waiting just outside the door, ready to rush in if the two gentlemen inside wanted a play or wine. He lowered his head as he opened the door. Oh, the clothes are torn.

“Bring a plate of freshly ground glutinous rice flour. If you don’t have any, grind some now.”

The attendant bowed and backed out, thinking, It’s fine if these two gentlemen are ‘doing that’ in the brothel; there are all sorts of strange ways to have fun here. But what’s glutinous rice flour for? He delivered the glutinous rice flour shortly, not daring to ask another word, and securely closed the door.

Outside, he met the sisters Little Jinbao and Little Yinbao, who had just finished performing for a client. The attendant chuckled, pointing at the door. “The ladies were right, those two are getting it on.” Little Jinbao covered her mouth and giggled. They are both seasoned in the pleasure quarter; how could they be mistaken?

Huo Zhenye felt his current position was quite strange. He was lying on his stomach, while Bai Zhun sat. He tried to shift, but Bai Zhun pressed him down. “Don’t move. If it itches, bear with it.” This kind of wound wouldn’t hurt much at first, but it would itch to the bone. If the evil wasn’t removed soon, Huo Zhenye would scratch his entire back raw himself.

Bai Zhun pointed at the yellow paper with one hand, picked up his teacup with the other, took a sip, and sprayed it onto the paper. He then dabbed it with glutinous rice flour and, like applying a plaster, stuck it onto Huo Zhenye’s scratched area.

Huo Zhenye gasped. The itch burrowed deep into his bones, sometimes like needle pricks, other times like mosquitoes biting the soles of his feet. He gritted his teeth, wanting to scratch at any moment.

*Smack!* Bai Zhun struck him with a bamboo stick. “Don’t move.”

“Then just hit me a few times; I won’t feel the itch if I’m in pain,” he said, sweat pouring down his back. His hands tightly gripped the satin bedsheet beneath him, with enough force to tear holes in it. If he’d used that strength on his own skin, he’d have ripped it apart.

“Wait.” Bai Zhun frowned and pulled out a piece of paper from his sleeve.

Huo Zhenye felt a coolness on his back, and the itching eased considerably. He looked back to see that Bai Zhun had somehow folded a paper fan, and it was moving back and forth, fanning him. The cool breeze brought much relief, but the itch lingered, making him continuously exhale, trembling from the effort of holding back, sweat streaming down his spine.

“Is it really that bad?”

Huo Zhenye exhaled roughly. “Stab me with a knife; that would feel better than this.”

The yellow paper gradually became saturated with reddish pus. After it was completely stained red, Bai Zhun replaced it with a fresh one, just as before. The second one was lighter in color, and by the third, the scratch marks on Huo Zhenye’s back were gone, and he no longer itched.

“The scratches weren’t deep. If they had been, you’d need to bathe in glutinous rice flour.” Bai Zhun saw him sprawled on the bed and frowned. “Someone!”

The attendant pushed the door open. This time, he didn’t even lift his head.

“Bring a brazier.” These papers couldn’t be kept; they all needed to be burned. The attendant bowed and withdrew, quickly returning with a lit brazier. These two gentlemen certainly had some interesting ways to amuse themselves.

Bai Zhun tossed the yellow papers into the brazier. With a whoosh, they ignited and burned to ash. Huo Zhenye finally recovered. He sat up, then lay back on the couch, letting out a long sigh.

“That ‘fabric’ was human skin,” Huo Zhenye added. “And it wasn’t Mrs. Song’s.”

Bai Zhun grunted in acknowledgment. He picked up his teacup and gently blew on it.

Huo Zhenye called the attendant in. He took out a bag of silver dollars and poured them with a clatter onto the rosewood couch. “I have a question for you, old man. One silver dollar per answer. If you answer well, they’re all yours.”

Seeing such unexpected wealth, the attendant’s eyes lit up. “Master, just ask. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

“There’s a girl in your place with a mole near her left eye. Who is she?”

The expression on the attendant’s face immediately changed. “This… this…”

Huo Zhenye tossed a silver dollar he had been holding. It landed with a dull thud on the brocade rug, rolling to the attendant’s feet.

The attendant immediately stepped on it, picked it up, and clutched it in his hand. He gritted his teeth and said, “Yes, it’s Miss Xihong. She got married a while ago.”

“Married to Young Master Qiao?”

The attendant nodded. “Yes, Xihong leaving the brothel was a big deal. Every ‘red girl’ in the brothel added to Xihong’s dowry and bedding.” Escaping this life is a blessing—better to climb ashore while young than wither into obscurity, sinking from Changsan Hall to some back-alley brothel.

“Where is she?” Huo Zhenye asked, tossing another silver dollar.

The attendant swallowed. “Mrs. Qiao couldn’t tolerate her.” Young Master Qiao was gentle and refined, and he had spent an untold amount of money on Xihong, supposedly even squandering the family’s funds meant for buying a small steamship.

“Keep talking.” Another silver dollar.

“The Qiao family married a young mistress for Young Master Qiao, and less than half a year later, they sent Miss Xihong back.” She was carried back, barely breathing, and died as soon as she returned to the brothel. She was even carried back naked, without any shred of dignity. They said every needle and thread on her belonged to the Qiao family, and if she was going to die, she should die “cleanly.”

“How did she die?”

“They said she drank medicine and committed suicide. The madam thought it was bad luck and didn’t allow anyone to enter the brothel.”

Bai Zhun had been silent until now, when he finally asked, “They didn’t even give her burial clothes?” To be buried naked, no wonder her resentment is so strong.

“Oh, they did, they did! The girls in the brothel pooled their money for it. She wore her favorite cheongsam.” They felt for her, but tears were shed, and smiles were forced. When the lights were lit at night, this place was still the Changsan Hall.

“What about Young Master Qiao? Has he been back?”

The attendant shook his head. “He hasn’t come back. I heard… I heard he developed a festering sore on his back that couldn’t be cured, so he’s confined to his home.” Mrs. Qiao even sent people to smash up the brothel, claiming the girls here were unclean, which caused her son to contract syphilis. She also cursed Xihong, calling her a vile woman, for still harming people even after her death.

The attendant said, “Miss Xihong was carried back that way; everyone saw it. She didn’t have any sores.”

Huo Zhenye glanced at Bai Zhun, who seemed to be listening but also not. He turned back and continued to ask, “So, nothing else happened in this place?”

Huo Zhenye’s question made the attendant’s scalp tingle, but he glanced at the silver dollars and mumbled, “Several girls said they saw Xihong return.” In the hazy lamplight, an occasional glimpse might reveal her in a red dress, standing or sitting, grimly watching everything. It was because she wouldn’t leave that the madam spent money again to perform a ritual for her.

“Was it effective?”

The attendant shivered. No, it wasn’t effective. Her grave was dug up, and even her coffin was gone. Burning paper ingots and tin foil was useless. But the girls all said Xihong still remembered old affections; although she had returned, she hadn’t harmed anyone in the brothel.

“Her name and birthdate,” Bai Zhun asked.

“How would we know that?” When girls in brothels had birthdays, regular patrons would often host parties for them, but none of the women here celebrated their true birthdays. Bought from a young age, their names and birthdates had long been forgotten.

After asking, Huo Zhenye tossed the silver dollars to the attendant. “Get me a new shirt.”

The attendant quickly brought Huo Zhenye a shirt. “It’s from Yongan ^[1] Wing On Department Store, brand new.”

The two left the brothel. Along the way, the girls glanced at them, covering their mouths and smiling. Huo Zhenye nudged Bai Zhun, leaning down to say, “Now I’m really done for. I could jump into the Huangpu River and still not wash this clean.”

Bai Zhun raised a phoenix eye, giving him a sidelong glance.

A few girls giggled softly, their eyes following them until they left the brothel. They then huddled together. “I heard they even tore the satin bedsheets.”

“You’d need real strength to make a young master like that feel even a pinch of pain.”

“Oh please—those types only pretend to hurt when it suits them.”

After a burst of laughter, they scattered.

Huo Zhenye drove back to the Bai residence and ushered Bai Zhun inside. “Without a birthdate or name, how are we going to catch her?”

“We’re not catching her; we’re giving her peace.” Bai Zhun pondered for a moment, then retrieved red and gold paper. He used bamboo scissors to cut out a dozen cheongsams. A brazier was set up in the courtyard. One by one, he burned them.

Huo Zhenye asked, “Is this going to work?” No sooner had he asked than he felt a chill in the air around him. The paper figures in the room all turned their gaze towards the courtyard.

Yet, he couldn’t see anything with his eyes, only the sparks from the burning paper cheongsams, floating upwards like tiny dots, drifting far away.

Xihong knelt by the brazier. She reached into the paper ashes, pulling out one cheongsam and discarding it, then another. She looked up at Bai Zhun and said, “Not this one, not this one!”

“Then what do you want?”

Huo Zhenye held his breath. It’s really happening? He strained to see, but there was still nothing before his eyes.

Xihong stood up, her figure slender and graceful, turning like a dancer. But when she fully turned around, her back was a bloody red, the blood blending with the red cheongsam. No wonder. Who would dress a dead person in red? She was buried in a white cheongsam; someone had peeled off her skin.

Xihong tilted her head and said to Bai Zhun, “I want this one.”

“Give me the fabric, and I’ll sew it for you.”

Xihong brightened, grinning. Her permed hair bounced in curls on her shoulders. She happily gave the “fabric” to Bai Zhun, then squatted in the courtyard, waiting.

“What about you?” Bai Zhun asked. “Where are you? I’ll take your measurements.” Without a body, this “cheongsam” was destined to be poorly tailored.

Xihong lowered her head. “Where am I? Where am I?” She looked up, her eyes fixed on the last sliver of moon. “I’m in the Qiao family’s garden. That person promised me that if I gave him the fabric, he would help me get revenge.”

Huo Zhenye couldn’t hear any of this; he only saw Bai Zhun’s face pale slightly. He asked him, “What’s wrong?”

Bai Zhun ignored him, still looking at the courtyard. “Who is he?”

Xihong shook her head. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t let me see his face.”

Bai Zhun’s throat tightened. “Then why doesn’t he want it anymore?”

No sooner had he spoken than the sky began to lighten. The sun was about to rise. Xihong vanished. Bai Zhun leaned against his bamboo wheelchair, motionless for a long time.

Huo Zhenye could only hear Bai Zhun speaking, but not Xihong. He asked Bai Zhun, “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Bai Zhun’s eyes held a frosty look as he lowered his gaze. “Nothing.”