Chapter Fourteen: A Beautiful Silhouette

Wang Erjun and I grew up together; our bond long ago surpassed that of mere neighbors. Especially when I suspected Liu from the funeral business, Wang Erjun had not uttered a word—he simply followed me home. If what he said was true, then his father’s death was inextricably linked to me. Liu would certainly not spare him… perhaps he would not spare me either.

Wang Erjun’s face was still deathly pale, and I could see despair in his eyes. I pulled him up from the ground, my own voice hoarse, and said that we were brothers. Since this matter was stirred up by me, how could I possibly leave him to face it alone?

Wang Erjun’s lips quivered, his tone growing urgent: “Xie Yuan, you need to hurry. I don’t think he’ll do anything during the day, but when night falls, it’ll be too late.”

Fear seeped into my heart as well. Staring at the silver bowl in my hands, I hesitated and said, “I won’t go look for Aunt Hui anymore. Keep the bowl in your room and guard it. The village chief said he’s called for a teacher. Once the teacher arrives at your house, my father won’t need to watch over the corpse anymore. When he returns, be sure to show him the bowl so he can be on guard against Liu.”

I paused a moment to tell Wang Erjun that my father was also beginning to suspect Liu. Just now, he had even quarreled with Aunt Hui over this, so when showing my father the silver bowl, he must not let Aunt Hui see it.

I handed the bowl to Wang Erjun, who nodded solemnly and said, “Don’t worry. If I can’t find a chance, I’ll wait until you bring Granny Li back.”

Then Wang Erjun told me how to get to his village and then to his home. After explaining, he crawled back under the bed.

I dared not delay any further and turned to leave the house.

By now, the sun was high in the sky, blindingly bright. I lowered my head and hurried on, soon reaching the village entrance.

At the village head stood an ancient tree, long since withered away years ago. No one knew its age—my father said it was already old when he was a child.

But now, on this withered tree, a few tender green shoots had sprouted.

I paused, uneasy. How could a dead tree sprout? Was this an omen that a dying man would find new life, like dead wood in spring?

Shaking my head, I pressed onward.

Suddenly, I heard someone calling my name. I turned, a wave of dizziness washing over me, but not a soul was behind me.

Scratching my head, I scanned the surroundings. No one had called for me, so I did not stop.

Wang Erjun’s village was called Wangjia Pass, about ten li from ours. Our village sat at the foot of the mountain; Wangjia Pass lay at the mountain’s narrow pass, atop a low peak.

They say climbing a mountain is easier than descending one. Once out of the village, the path was all uphill, winding and tiring. I thought I should borrow a bicycle from someone.

But then again, who would lend me one?

As I walked, my mind whirled. Ever since I’d found something amiss with Liu, disaster had struck the village in quick succession. If I hadn’t dragged Wang Erjun to spy on Liu’s room, if I’d just quietly helped the village chief’s family put out the fire and left, would Wang Erjun’s father have been unharmed?

After pondering for a long time, I came to only one conclusion: even if I could do it over, I would still make the same choices—except I wouldn’t have involved Wang Erjun. He had been implicated for no reason.

After nearly an hour and a half, I finally saw the entrance to Wangjia Pass.

Crossing the entrance, I saw two small paths branching off from the main road—one to the left, leading into Wangjia Pass; the other to the right, to another village.

I entered the village and soon found Wang Erjun’s mother’s house.

On the hillside, a bamboo grove stretched out, littered with layers of decaying leaves, untouched for years. A few mud-brick houses nestled behind the bamboo.

Free-range chickens and ducks, startled at my approach, scattered into the woods for cover.

I reached the door and called out, “Aunt Wang!”

Then I knocked hard on the door.

No response came from inside, nor did anyone open the door.

A chill ran through me—could she not be home?

I knocked again, calling her name several times, and added that I was Xie Yuan.

Still there was no response. After waiting three or four minutes, I felt a wave of disappointment. She must have left.

But where would she have gone? If she’d gone to the fields, surely the elderly would remain at home—Wang Erjun’s grandparents were both in their seventies, long past working the land.

I was unfamiliar with Wangjia Pass; unlike our village, the houses here were scattered across the slopes, each separated by some distance.

Just then, a voice behind me said, “Who are you looking for?”

The sudden voice startled me. I spun around, but there was no one there.

“Up here,” the voice called again.

I stepped back and looked up. A man was crouched on the roof, face smeared with dirt, a tile clutched in his hand.

He was a man in his forties, watching me warily.

“I’m from Baihu Village at the foot of the mountain, a childhood friend of Wang Erjun. His family’s had some trouble, so I came to find Aunt Wang.”

The man frowned. “They moved out, left a long time ago.”

I was taken aback. “Where did they move to?”

He showed no expression. “Don’t know. You won’t find them. Go home, the sun’s fierce—don’t waste your time.”

It was clear to me then—he was lying.

He urged me to leave, repeating that Wang Erjun’s mother had left long ago.

But he himself was repairing the roof.

Why bother fixing the roof if no one lived there?

And there were still chickens and ducks in the bamboo grove.

How could they have moved away?

Wang Erjun had never mentioned his mother having a brother.

If this man was a hired worker, why would he chase me off?

The more I thought, the more uneasy I felt. Could it be that Wang Erjun’s mother, after returning home for two years, had found another man?

The instant this thought flashed across my mind, I was almost sure it was true.

The man ignored me and went back to working on the roof.

Standing here was a waste of time.

Right now, I couldn’t afford to waste any.

Wang Erjun’s father had just died—if I went back and told him his mother had found someone else, he’d probably break down.

But then, this was just my guess—I’d better not say anything rash.

As I turned these thoughts over in my mind, I noticed another small courtyard on the other side of the bamboo grove.

Inside was a single house, built of blue bricks and tiles.

Goosebumps prickled my arms. I felt deeply uneasy—was this the place where the old witch had lived?

Though the sunlight was glaring, the courtyard seemed cold and shadowed.

“Uncle, do you know where Granny Li lives?” I called up.

“Granny Li? What do you want with her? She’s dead, long dead. Go home—don’t hang around our village. No one likes people from Baihu Village.”

The man jumped down from the roof, shoved me, and herded me away with a dark look. Caught off guard, I nearly stumbled.

I staggered several steps, all the way to the edge of the bamboo grove before he stopped, glowering. “Go on, get lost. Just looking at you puts me off.”

I said nothing and turned to walk away.

This man was suspicious. When I’d first said I was from Baihu Village, he hadn’t reacted. But once I mentioned Granny Li, his attitude changed entirely.

Did he not want me to find her? I didn’t believe Granny Li was dead. If she were, how could Wang Erjun not know?

As I walked, it suddenly seemed as if the sunlight had vanished. A chill washed over me.

Startled, I looked up. I was already standing on the far side of the bamboo grove, the trees just blocking out the sun.

Beside me was a courtyard wall, built of blue brick. It was low, barely reaching my shoulder, hardly a barrier at all—a child could climb over it with ease.

I turned my head and saw the blue-tiled house within.

It sent a shiver down my spine.

Just then, I noticed someone standing in the courtyard.

It was a woman, with long hair and pale skin.

She was beautiful—so beautiful I couldn’t describe it. At that moment, I forgot everything else, compelled to keep looking at her.

Delicate lashes, exquisite cheeks, skin smooth as porcelain, more dazzling than a fairy…

She wore a plain white dress, elegant and ethereal.

I stood there, transfixed, for a long time.

Yet for some reason, a stifling sense of oppression crept up behind me—a primal warning, the sixth sense.

Just as that uneasy feeling peaked, something jabbed my shoulder, twice, with force.

My heart nearly leapt from my chest.

When had someone come to stand behind me?