Chapter 17: Qiao Qiao Does Not Understand the Human Heart

This four-story villa appeared luxurious from the outside. Yet as Jo Qiao stepped inside, she felt a heavy chill in the air. The sunlight outside was bright and gentle, but within the rooms, darkness and gloom prevailed. What should have felt spacious instead seemed confined and stifling.

The villa’s furnishings remained as they had been. Unlike traditional designs of the country, every piece—from sofas and tables to the paintings on the wall—radiated a sense of avant-garde artistry. The enormous chandelier cast deep shadows below.

According to the records, if they were correct, Tetsu Iguchi had ended his life by hanging a rope from this chandelier.

The security guard uncle took out a ring of keys. “The villa was always a bit lacking in natural light, but since it was the work of an artist, we got used to it over time. Yet after Mr. Iguchi—Tetsu Iguchi—died, the place became even darker. Even during the day, sunlight doesn’t reach inside.”

“Kenji Iguchi? He hasn’t returned since his father passed away. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be reminded of him. He gave us the keys and asked us to keep an eye on the place.”

“It was the third night. I did my usual rounds in the neighborhood to check for any issues. But as I passed the villa, I suddenly sensed a figure inside. At first, I thought it was a thief. With all the art pieces in Mr. Iguchi’s villa—though he hadn’t produced much in recent years—he was still a famous artist. I figured someone might have heard of his death and wanted to steal something valuable. I unlocked the door and turned on the lights, but when I entered, there was no one to be found.”

“At that moment, all the lights suddenly went out. A face—a face drifted towards me. I’d recognize that face anywhere, even if it were ashes: it was Tetsu Iguchi’s face!”

“I rushed out in a panic, didn’t even bother to close the door. I found a colleague, and the two of us went back to check. We heard low, mournful sobs throughout the house—it was terrifying. We called the police that night, but when they arrived, everything returned to normal, and the villa was quiet again.”

“After giving our statements, the officers said they’d bring an exorcist the next day. But when the exorcist arrived, he declared there were no vengeful spirits in the house. And after that, it seemed like the haunting truly disappeared.”

“But then, two nights ago, the vengeful spirit returned. We informed Mr. Iguchi—Kenji Iguchi—and he must have contacted the exorcist association, which brought you two here.”

He rambled on, perhaps relieved to finally have someone to confide in. His words eased some of the oppressive atmosphere in the villa.

“Was Tetsu Iguchi’s corpse... ever subjected to spirit communion?” Jo Qiao looked around and suddenly asked.

By the security uncle’s account, he had encountered a vengeful spirit in the villa at night, one with Tetsu Iguchi’s likeness. It could very well be Iguchi’s own vengeful spirit. A spirit visible in a waking state was already formidable—most likely an intermediate-level vengeful spirit. A single bullet wouldn’t suffice; it required more caution.

So, Tetsu Iguchi, who died by suicide—what resentment did his heart hold?

Though traditional religions in the country held no particular taboo regarding suicides, in foreign faiths like Christianity, suicides were believed unable to enter heaven. Human existence is fraught with original sin, and suicide is seen as an attempt to escape that burden.

Jo Qiao couldn’t understand—neither the suicides nor those who condemned them.

However, from a scientific, or rather, an exorcist’s perspective, suicides typically stemmed from people losing hope, unable to continue living. If driven by a specific grievance, that obsession could easily become fertile ground for a vengeful spirit’s growth. Take the case Jo Qiao had dealt with before: the programmer Shinji Arai’s spirit arose from bankruptcy and the loss of his wife, fueling his resentment.

But according to the current information, Tetsu Iguchi’s suicide was prompted by the loss of artistic inspiration and depression. Such a cause shouldn’t logically give rise to a vengeful spirit. It was strange.

“Spirit communion isn’t so easily performed,” came a reply. “If it involves the deceased, the family’s consent is required. After all, the process reveals many private matters—possibly even important personal secrets.”

“Therefore, usually only cases with suspected homicide, as determined by the police, warrant spirit communion.” Before the security uncle could respond, Ariko Asano answered Jo Qiao’s question.

So spirit communion was such a troublesome affair? Without permission, it couldn’t be performed. It wasn’t as convenient as Jo Qiao had imagined.

Then, she remembered the incident at the bakery. She had inadvertently glimpsed something she shouldn’t have, simply by looking at a loaf of bread. It did seem disrespectful to the deceased. If they had secrets, memories to bury, or less-than-graceful fantasies, freely performing spirit communion could cause problems.

The shrine maiden Asano was right. Jo Qiao reflected, realizing she’d only thought about solving the problem easily, neglecting others’ feelings. Compared to herself, Asano was truly considerate—even for the departed, she sought to protect their final secrets.

“Of course, since it involved a celebrity, Tetsu Iguchi’s corpse was indeed subjected to spirit communion. The result confirmed his death was a suicide,” Ariko Asano added.

“I see,” Jo Qiao murmured in surprise.

“Kenji Iguchi’s company has been struggling financially, so he wanted to sell some of his father’s works and collections to improve cash flow, but Tetsu Iguchi would not allow it. The two had frequent arguments.”

“The police were aware of this situation and naturally suspected Kenji Iguchi might have faked his father’s suicide to gain benefit, which is why spirit communion was performed.”

“How complicated,” Jo Qiao thought. She felt she didn’t understand the human heart—it was far more complex than any vengeful spirit.

“Tetsu Iguchi was a good man. He always greeted us security guards warmly. In earlier years, he was lively in the neighborhood, but sadly, after he developed depression, he seldom went out,” the security uncle added with regret.

“The last time I saw him was two weeks ago. He bought some materials for sculpting, couldn’t carry them himself, so he asked us for help. He seemed quite cheerful then. We thought his depression had been cured, but alas.” He sighed deeply.

After a brief survey of the living room and first floor, the three moved up to the second floor. Here was Tetsu Iguchi’s studio.