Chapter Forty-One: Dire Circumstances

Chapter Forty-One

From the moment the two of them met until now, only a short time had passed, and their conversation had been brief. Yet from the young man’s words, Zhao Fusheng had already gleaned a great deal.

First, she had confirmed the youth’s identity.

He lived at the Confucius Temple and was now handling the almsgiving of congee, which showed he had deep ties to both the temple and the previous temple guardian.

He knew of events from forty years ago and spoke of old promises, which allowed Zhao Fusheng to deduce that the guardian who took charge here was someone Liu Huacheng had trusted implicitly all those years ago.

So when the Liu family withdrew, Liu Huacheng had felt secure leaving the guardian behind, entrusting him with a significant portion of the family estate.

Liu Huacheng had first been an official, then a businessman—a man of extraordinary character and meticulous caution. That he could entrust the estate and affairs here to the guardian proved their relationship was unusually close, perhaps close enough for the guardian to know some part of the Liu family’s haunted past.

Now, forty years later, the connection between the guardian and this young man must also have been intimate, so that the youth inherited the responsibilities and some secrets.

In his answers, he had revealed two key pieces of information:

The first was “too late,” and the second, in response to Zhao Fusheng’s question, had been: “There used to be some connection.”

That “used to” implied that at the beginning, the two were related, but perhaps now the connection had faded, or at least was no longer as significant.

In a flash, countless thoughts spun through Zhao Fusheng’s mind.

She glanced around—the place was empty and silent. The Confucius Temple lay still and hushed, giving no sign of life.

Calculating back, the ghostly incident at Liu Huacheng’s birthday feast occurred forty years ago. The guardian had been entrusted to stay at the temple then, so he could not have been a mere child—he must have been at least in his twenties or thirties to be given such responsibility in a crisis.

Forty years had passed; the young man of that time must have grown old, perhaps even—

“There used to be some connection?” Zhao Fusheng’s mind was deep and subtle.

She noticed the young man’s brows were tightly knit as he spoke, as if he was troubled by something. Now that he knew her identity, he was cautious, and she worried that if she pressed too hard, he might evade or give perfunctory answers.

So she changed tack, following his earlier words: “You mean there’s no connection now?”

The youth’s lips moved. He looked deeply at Zhao Fusheng, as though he’d guessed her intent, and to her surprise, he answered readily, “Yes.”

His frankness caught Zhao Fusheng off guard. She thought for a moment, then shifted the subject to another question that seemed unrelated: “Where is the temple guardian who used to give alms here?”

She asked it casually, as though it were an afterthought, but in truth, every word was tied to the heart of her inquiry.

The youth suddenly smiled.

His face, which had been clouded, now cleared, revealing a touch of youthful vitality. “You’ve worked it out?”

Before Zhao Fusheng could reply, he continued, “My grandfather has passed away.”

His answer was exactly what Zhao Fusheng had suspected.

Moreover, the way the youth referred to the temple guardian confirmed her guess. She pressed further: “Did your grandfather pass away last month, when you reported to the Demon Suppression Bureau?”

The young man’s expression remained calm. At the mention of his grandfather’s death, he neither wept nor showed embarrassment; he merely nodded, “Yes.”

After he spoke, he glanced at Zhao Fusheng.

With this information, combined with what she already knew, a bold conjecture formed in Zhao Fusheng’s mind.

“I understand now.”

“What do you understand?” the young man asked.

“You mentioned that the ghostly incident here used to be connected to the one forty years ago.” At this, their eyes met, and in a flash they both understood each other.

The youth realized she had guessed the truth. He nodded, “Correct.”

“But then you said the haunting in Beggar’s Alley now has nothing to do with the one at the Liu ancestral shrine forty years ago,” she continued.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Su Long was highly capable; the ghostly incident he solved back then kept the peace for forty years. For it to reoccur now, something must have gone amiss in the meantime.”

“And before this, nothing significant had happened in Beggar’s Alley, except for the death of your grandfather.”

Zhao Fusheng concluded:

“In other words, your grandfather’s death is the main reason for the current haunting in Beggar’s Alley.”

She spoke bluntly, expecting the youth to argue, but he fell silent instead, tacitly confirming her deduction.

“So the trouble in Beggar’s Alley really did begin after your grandfather’s death?”

Clues about Beggar’s Alley drifted through her mind: the Fan brothers, Paper Man Zhang, Liu Wu, and the youth before her—all their accounts converged. Her gaze sharpened.

“Decades ago, Liu Huacheng caused a disaster in the capital and ultimately brought back the dismembered, sealed remains of a vengeful ghost to Wan’an County.”

The seal had held, “until Liu Huacheng’s sixtieth birthday, when for some unknown reason, the ghost was awakened.”

As Zhao Fusheng spoke, her eyes lingered on the young man.

He remained impassive, listening quietly as she continued.

The pale light cast his face in stark relief. His lips were pressed tight, and at the phrase “the ghost was awakened,” his lashes trembled—though he strove for calm, it was clear he was not as composed as he appeared.

“Once revived, the vengeful ghost began its slaughter, resulting in countless deaths among the Liu family. Afterward, Liu Huacheng sought the help of the Demon Suppression Bureau and Zhang Xiongwu to quell the disaster.”

The youth did not refute her, confirming the account she had pieced together from Paper Man Zhang’s testimony.

Zhao Fusheng’s words flowed, but her thoughts whirled.

The process of quelling the ghost must not have been as smooth as the official records claimed.

“Su Long may have initially tried the Bureau’s usual methods of exorcism—”

The youth’s body flinched; his hands clenched.

His chest heaved, anxiety and unease clear in that moment.

Zhao Fusheng had been only guessing, but his reaction confirmed her suspicions. She pressed on, “—but in the end, Su Long failed and had to seek another way.”

She paused.

The youth’s loss of composure was brief. Living in the Confucius Temple, dealing with vengeful spirits, he had a surprisingly strong mind. He quickly regained control and said nothing.

“So the method to suppress the ghost must be connected to the Confucius Temple.”

Zhao Fusheng’s mind raced, recalling the old case file she carried about the Liu ancestral shrine incident.

She had read few files, but the Bureau’s archives usually detailed the background and outcome of each haunting, including the ghost’s killing methods and patterns, for future reference.

If a case could not be resolved, they would leave as many clues as possible before filing it away.

But Su Long’s case was unusually sparse: the ghost’s killing methods barely mentioned, no detail on how it was subdued, only a warning not to approach the southern part of town—completely at odds with Su Long’s reputation.

Could it be that Su Long’s handling of this case was less than honorable?

This thought made Zhao Fusheng frown.

But just then, the youth let out a long breath. “Yes.”

His voice broke her train of thought.

“After the Liu family’s haunting, Commander Su and Mister Zhang risked their lives twice to enter the Liu residence and finally devised a way to suppress the ghost.”

“What was the method?” Zhao Fusheng’s spirits lifted. She felt she was closing in on the truth. This youth was a witness to the case forty years ago; if she could discover what happened, she might unravel the origins and rules of the current haunting and finally drive the ghost out.

“…”

The youth, who had been so cooperative, now unexpectedly shook his head. “I cannot tell you the specifics, but I can say that the almsgiving at the Confucius Temple is directly connected to the suppression of the vengeful ghost back then.”

He refused to reveal Su Long’s method, but did not hide other matters: “Back then, the Liu family converted their ancestral shrine into the Confucius Temple and left a guardian in charge. As long as the guardian remained, the ghost from forty years ago would never awaken.”

Zhao Fusheng smiled.

The young man, puzzled by her sudden grin, stared in confusion as she said, “You are quite amusing.”

But then her face turned cold in an instant. “If that’s the case, there should be no haunting in Beggar’s Alley.”

By his account, as long as someone continued the almsgiving, the headless ghost would remain suppressed—she did not know the principle behind it, but it had kept the peace for forty years, which suggested Su Long’s method was effective.

But now, with the old guardian gone and the youth having inherited the responsibility, the almsgiving had not ceased—so why had another ghost arisen?

This place was deeply strange: a ghost lamp at the temple gate, a vengeful spirit suppressed inside.

The haunting in Beggar’s Alley, shrouded by a ghostly domain, was inextricably linked to the death of this youth’s grandfather.

Most crucially, the youth himself, hiding in the ghost domain and living alongside spirits, was calm and unafraid—could he have some means of saving himself?

Zhao Fusheng recalled the register in his hand, the one even the Investiture of the Gods had mentioned. It was closely tied to the revived ghost; once a name was entered, the ghost would come at night to kill.

“This was an accident—none of us wished for it,” the youth explained calmly in the face of her accusation. “When my grandfather was dying, we feared something would go wrong, so he asked me to go to the Demon Suppression Bureau and request their help to clean up afterward—”

He paused, then added, “This was a promise the Bureau made to us back then.”

He emphasized “us.”

Zhao Fusheng’s eyes flashed, taking note of this detail.

“But you know what happened next: the Bureau itself was struck by a haunting; almost everyone was killed, and they could no longer fulfill the promise made forty years ago.” He gritted his teeth, sighed. “When I returned, my grandfather passed away that very night—”

“And that’s what led to the revival of the vengeful ghost in Beggar’s Alley?” Zhao Fusheng asked.

The youth nodded. “Yes.”

“So after that, Beggar’s Alley was shrouded in a ghostly domain, and every night, after the alms were given, the ghost would come, knock on doors, and kill?” She asked in a deliberately ambiguous tone, then clarified, “All of this was caused by your grandfather’s ghost?”

“Yes—”

At first, the youth answered automatically. Then, realizing what Zhao Fusheng had said, he looked up sharply, his gaze turning keen. After a moment, he said quietly, “No, he is not my grandfather.”

His response was half-expected, half-shocking, and Zhao Fusheng’s heart plummeted.

A terrible truth was about to emerge.

Cold crept up from her feet, spreading through her limbs, swiftly draining her warmth and making her hands tremble uncontrollably.

There was so much meaning hidden in the youth’s words, but none of it boded well.

“If not your grandfather, then who?”

She forced herself to stay calm and asked.

At this point, the youth was the one who seemed untroubled.

He was silent for a moment, then chuckled softly. “With your intelligence, Commander, you must have guessed by now.”

A chill ran down Zhao Fusheng’s spine; goosebumps rose, and a splitting ache seized her head as she sucked in a sharp breath.

“I wish I hadn’t—”

The answer was within reach, but she was afraid to grasp it.

But there was no turning back. She could not escape the truth; she was already inside Beggar’s Alley, and unless she solved the haunting, she could not leave. Even if she managed to flee, failing her task meant no reward from the Bureau or the Investiture of the Gods. In the end, death awaited her.

With that thought, Zhao Fusheng steadied herself, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to face reality.

Most urgently, she needed to clarify the key question:

“If the almsgiving at the Confucius Temple maintained the balance set by the Liu family’s haunted incident forty years ago, and now that your grandfather is dead, the balance is broken, with the ghost in Beggar’s Alley still at large and the one from forty years ago potentially reviving—”

“It won’t,” the youth interrupted, raising his voice.

Her conjecture was thus confirmed, and relief washed over her. She tilted her head to study him.

His eyes were clear, his expression resolute; he was utterly certain that the vengeful ghost sealed forty years ago would not return—no doubt because of his grandfather’s death.

“You’re sure?” she pressed.

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly.

Zhao Fusheng smiled inwardly.

Her deduction was correct, and coming from the youth’s own lips, it allowed her to finally set her worries aside.

(End of chapter)