[Where could Bai Zhun be?]

Dawn hadn’t fully broken when a sudden clap of thunder heralded a downpour. Raindrops streamed down the eaves, forming a curtain of water across the courtyard. Bai Zhun sat there, his gaze piercing through the misty water to the pagoda roof of the Chenghuang Temple.

The Ghost Festival, when the gates of hell open, is the time of the year with the heaviest yin and resentful energy. If he were to do anything, it has to be now.

Huo Zhenye, seeing the rain, feared the paper effigies would get ruined by the wetness. He frantically searched the house for tarpaulins, intending to go to the Chenghuang Temple to cover them all up. So much effort had gone into them; they couldn’t be ruined by the rain.

Bai Zhun glanced at him, finally speaking, “The temple guardian will take care of them.”

Huo Zhenye put down the tarpaulin. He also walked to the courtyard, squatted down, and followed Bai Zhun’s gaze, frowning as he asked, “Are you really alright?” He instinctively felt Bai Zhun was hiding something.

Bai Zhun’s expression softened into a lazy slouch in the bamboo chair. “You should hurry to the Qiao family’s place and dig up Xihong’s body, lest she go knocking door-to-door again, asking people to sew her skin back on.”

This was a bit tricky. Huo Zhenye paced twice. “But I can’t just knock on the Qiao family’s door and say, ‘There’s a stray corpse in your garden, and I need to dig it up and take it away,’ can I?”

Bai Zhun looked up at the torrential rain. “Freshly turned earth won’t withstand this rain.”

Huo Zhenye gritted his teeth. “Fine, my reputation’s already ruined anyway.” With that, he opened an umbrella and headed out, also bringing Ah Jiu along. Before leaving, he told Bai Zhun, “How about we have hot pot tonight?”

Such heavy rain was perfect for hot pot. They could have a copper pot delivered from a Beijing restaurant and eat thinly sliced meat dipped in sesame sauce after scalding it.

Bai Zhun nodded. “Alright.”

He was uncharacteristically agreeable. Normally, even if he liked something, he’d never say “alright.” Huo Zhenye smiled. “Then I’m off. Wait for me to come back.”

The little yellow bird was very unwilling to go out. Being made of paper, its wings couldn’t touch water; if they did, its feathers would get matted, and the red-crowned canary would look down on it even more. But Huo Zhenye placed it on his shoulder. “I absolutely won’t let the rain touch you.” Ah Jiu was still reluctant. It was so humid outside; the moisture clinging to its body made it uncomfortable. It angrily pecked Huo Zhenye’s neck with its beak. Huo Zhenye covered his neck and took Ah Jiu out.

As soon as the door closed, Ah Xiu brought out an incense burner. She didn’t dare to go near the courtyard’s edge; all the paper figures hugged the wall, fearing moisture. Bai Zhun used yellow paper to light an incense stick and placed it in the burner. On a piece of paper, he wrote the name “Song Ying ^[1]Mrs. Song.” Watching the smoke drift out through the rain curtain, Bai Zhun opened his umbrella and stepped out.

The long alley was deserted, every household had its doors and windows shut tight. In such weather, no one went out. The sound of Bai Zhun’s wheelchair was muffled by the rain. When he reached the alley’s mouth, he waved down a rickshaw.

He had just left the long alley, and his long gown was already soaked. The rickshaw puller looked at him and asked, “Young master, do you have someone accompanying you?”

“I’m going out of the city,” Bai Zhun said, tossing him a silver dollar.

Only those whose families were starving would be out pulling rickshaws in this weather. Seeing Bai Zhun’s generosity, the rickshaw puller quickly helped him into the vehicle. “Then, young master, off we go.”

—-

Huo Zhenye drove to the police station and called out Da Tou. “Come with me.” They drove to the Qiao family’s garden. Da Tou looked at the iron gate and asked, “Young Master Huo, aren’t we investigating the tailor Yan’s case? Why are we driving here?”

Huo Zhenye patted Da Tou. “Wait until I go in. Don’t say anything; just listen to me.” Without a police officer, how could the Qiao family possibly let him search their garden? Da Tou didn’t understand, but he trusted Huo Zhenye implicitly and nodded in agreement.

Huo Zhenye knocked on the Qiao family’s gate. A maid opened the door. “Who are you looking for?”

“We’re looking for whoever’s in charge here,” Huo Zhenye said. He was wearing a suit, but Da Tou, behind him, was in a police uniform with a truncheon hanging from his belt. The maid glanced at them and invited them into the vestibule.

Soon, a very gaunt young woman came down from upstairs. She scrutinized Huo Zhenye and Da Tou, then softly asked, “Gentlemen, how may I help you?”

“We received an anonymous report saying there’s a corpse hidden in your courtyard,” Huo Zhenye said directly, without mincing words. Perhaps the rain irritated him, or there was some other reason, but he felt uneasy and wanted to resolve this quickly and go back.

The young Mrs. Qiao’s face turned pale with fright. “Nonsense! How could there be… there be…” She couldn’t even utter the word “corpse.”

Huo Zhenye swept his gaze over her, understanding dawned in his mind. Xihong’s revenge truly was for vengeance. It seemed this young Mrs. Qiao was not involved, which explained why her whole family was “sick” while she remained unharmed.

“Has Young Master Qiao’s back gone bad?”

The young Mrs. Qiao looked at Huo Zhenye with alarm, sizing him up. Not just her husband, but her mother-in-law and father-in-law, the entire family, had contracted the same strange illness. First, their backs would itch, then their skin would break down, flesh would rot, and pus would flow. They couldn’t resist scratching, scratching their flesh until it festered! To prevent him from moving, they had to tie his hands to the bedpost. Both Western and traditional Chinese doctors had been consulted, but nothing helped. Her mother-in-law claimed he had contracted syphilis from a brothel, but then her mother-in-law and father-in-law also developed the same strange illness, leaving only her in the entire family unaffected.

“How do you know?”

Huo Zhenye smiled. “Xihong told me.” Her claws were not to be trifled with; even now, he felt an itch on his back just talking about it.

Da Tou didn’t know who Xihong was, but the young Mrs. Qiao did. Her face paling, she took a step back, her maid supporting her. She stammered, “You… are you a yin-yang master?”

“Never mind who I am. That thing can no longer remain in the courtyard.”

The maid tugged at the young Mrs. Qiao. “Miss, their whole family is sick with something strange. Let this person take a look. If there’s truly nothing, we’ll be at ease.”

The young Mrs. Qiao gritted her teeth and nodded, seemingly having made a decision. “Alright.”

Huo Zhenye walked around the courtyard. The rain diluted the smell of blood. Huo Zhenye took every step very slowly, and even the little yellow bird, fearing the rain, huddled inside his suit, refusing to come out.

Just as Huo Zhenye frowned, thinking of grabbing a shovel to dig, the young Mrs. Qiao emerged, holding an umbrella. She stood a few steps from the shade of the tree and whispered, “Under the tree. I… I always see her under the tree.” Every time the sky grew overcast, she would see a faint, slender red shadow standing under the tree; if it rained, the shadow would become even clearer.

“Which tree?”

The young Mrs. Qiao trembled as she pointed. She had always thought it was because she had burned paper offerings for Xihong that she kept seeing her. Now, she wondered if it was precisely because she had burned the paper that Xihong hadn’t harmed her.

The shovel only dug through a thin layer of wet mud before a snow-white hand appeared. Another scoop of earth revealed a second hand. Both hands were buried in the mud, posed as if they were constantly reaching out to “scratch someone’s back” every night.

Da Tou gasped, “This… this is murder and burial?” This was serious. Regardless of whether Young Master Qiao was sick in bed, he had to go and question him. A body had been dug up in the garden; there was no way the Qiao family could claim it had nothing to do with them.

The Qiao family had a telephone. Da Tou called the main police station, asking them to dispatch officers to take over the case.

Huo Zhenye stood by Young Master Qiao’s bedside. The young man was completely tied to the bed, face down with his back exposed, covered only by a thin silk cloth, which was stained with blood and pus. The three Qiao family members suffered from the same strange illness. Western and traditional Chinese doctors were all helpless. At first, they thought they had scratched their own backs raw, but even after being tied down, the wounds would heal and stop oozing pus during the day. Then, at night, they would tear open again, day after day, without end.

Young Master Qiao, upon hearing that Xihong’s body had been dug up in the garden, sobbed and laughed, choking on his words: “She came for me, she came for me.”

“Xihong didn’t commit suicide. She… she was tied up and forced to drink poison.” He wept uncontrollably. He had seen it clearly, but by the time he rushed to stop his mother, it was too late. Xihong was foaming at the mouth, not yet dead, and she stared at him with wide eyes, as if begging him for help.

But he was powerless. She was still stripped naked and carried back to the brothel. She was a girl redeemed from the brothel; what did it matter if she died?

The old Mrs. Qiao, hearing that Xihong’s body had been dug up in the courtyard, fainted in fright. “She drank the poison herself, she drank it herself!”

But her husband and son had both admitted that it was the old Mrs. Qiao who had forced the poison on Xihong, killing her. When they thought they were just sick, they tried their best to conceal the old Mrs. Qiao’s poisoning of Xihong. But once they realized it was a vengeful ghost seeking retribution, they were eager to push her forward.

“Didn’t you ever think of saving her? Or giving her some final dignity?” Huo Zhenye couldn’t bear to look at these people. He suddenly seemed to understand why Bai Zhun was always so languid. Young Master Qiao, of course, had never thought of it. Xihong was just a plaything to him; he could spend lavishly or discard her like a worn-out shoe.

Huo Zhenye turned to go downstairs, leaving the rest to the main police station. Regardless of whether the Qiao family could buy their way out of trouble, the reporters were sure to expose the story.

Da Tou emerged from the Qiao family garden into the rain. He stood by the car and asked, “Young Master Huo, could you give me an answer to this?”

Huo Zhenye smiled. “I have something to do. I’m going back.”

He drove back to Yuqing Alley. Ah Xiu opened the door for him. Huo Zhenye strode into the house and placed the freshly baked butterfly pastries on the table. “The matter is resolved, but the body has been taken to the police station. The medical examiner needs to perform an autopsy first.” Whether or not the skin would be sewn back on, and when, would depend on what Bai Zhun intended to do.

The house was silent. The rain was thick, yet there was no wind at all. The soda bottle wind chimes Ah Xiu had hung in the courtyard were motionless, and the residence was excessively quiet. Huo Zhenye didn’t get a response from Bai Zhun. He searched the entire house and asked Ah Xiu, “Did he go out?”

Ah Xiu nodded.

“He went out alone?” Bai Zhun detested rainy weather. In such conditions, he would either laze in bed all day or sit by the courtyard watching the rain. Why would he go out by himself?

That female ghost yesterday must have said something. Huo Zhenye paced back and forth in the room, trying hard to recall Bai Zhun’s words. He had only heard what Bai Zhun said.

Huo Zhenye suddenly stopped. Xihong had been dead for over half a year, so why did the Qiao family and the brothel only start experiencing “hauntings” recently? Xihong was poisoned to death by the old Mrs. Qiao. She was already dead, so why was her skin also peeled off? Unless… she exchanged her “skin” for something! He had briefly glanced at the corpse. Although it had started to decompose to varying degrees, the skin on her back was torn off cleanly.

It was exactly like that time with Mrs. Song.

Huo Zhenye exhaled. He asked Ah Jiu, “Can you find him?”

Ah Jiu puffed out its chest; of course, it could find its master.

“Let’s go.” As Huo Zhenye left, he looked back at the paper figures in the house. He had a bad feeling. “Can any of you help?”

Both “Lord Yue” and “Mu Guiying” lowered their heads. In such heavy rain, if they stepped outside, they would get soaked, and their silver spears would become soft.

Huo Zhenye turned and ran out. The little yellow bird couldn’t fly in the rain, so it could only guide him with its wings.

They drove out of the city, passing through desolate outskirts. The car skidded repeatedly in the muddy ground until, with difficulty, it stopped in front of a large, old mansion. Ah Jiu stretched a wing—this was the place.

With dirt slopes on both sides, this house was built in a low, recessed area, like a courtyard from the previous Qing dynasty. The large gate was tightly shut, with two stone lions crouching in front of it. The sky was overcast, and the rain fell heavily. From a distance, through the curtain of rain, it looked eerie.

Huo Zhenye got out of the car and walked to the gate. The black lacquered door creaked open a crack. Through this gap, he could glimpse broken bricks and stones in the front courtyard, overgrown with weeds; it didn’t look like anyone lived there at all.

Huo Zhenye pushed the door open and stepped inside. His vision widened, and he took a breath. This place looked like it had recently hosted a funeral. A row of white lanterns hung on the covered walkway, already tattered, revealing their bamboo frames. Paper money was scattered everywhere in the courtyard, soaked by the rain and stuck to the ground. From outside to inside, it truly looked like a haunted house.

By now, it was approaching dusk. Because of the rain, night fell faster than usual. Besides the sound of rain, nothing else could be heard. The longer he listened, the more isolated he felt from the world.

Huo Zhenye had never ventured into a haunted house in his life. He stepped inside, and the large door behind him creaked shut. The sky instantly darkened, and the house became pitch black. Huo Zhenye didn’t look back. He pulled out his lighter, using its faint glow to navigate the corridor and enter the main hall.

The hall was filled with paper effigies. A Golden Boy and Jade Girl stood on either side. The tables and chairs here were covered in cobwebs, yet the paper figures themselves were clean, without a speck of dust. A large “奠^[2]mourning” character was affixed to the front of the hall.

Huo Zhenye walked to a table and picked up a half-burnt, broken candle. As the candle lit, the room brightened slightly. How many courtyards does this mansion have? Where could Bai Zhun be? He held the candle up, turning to survey the room for clues. His gaze swept around and then stopped at the door: one of the paper Golden Boy and Jade Girl figures standing by the door was missing.

The Golden Boy’s head didn’t move, but its eyes suddenly shifted, fixing on Huo Zhenye.