Chapter Forty-Two: Exchanging Names

Chapter Forty-Two

The young man’s certainty must have its reasons. At present, Zhao Fusheng herself was like a clay Bodhisattva crossing a river—barely able to protect herself, with no energy to meddle in other people’s affairs. She gave up on getting to the bottom of it; her foremost goal now was to solve the ghost case in Beggars’ Alley.

“Fine, if you say the forty-year-old ghost case won’t happen again, I’ll believe you for now and set it aside. But the ghost in Beggars’ Alley still needs to be dealt with.”

“There’s no way,” the youth shook his head.

“What do you mean?” Zhao Fusheng was taken aback and asked.

“You came too late.” The young man sighed with some regret, and at this, Zhao Fusheng felt a surge of anger.

She immediately turned cold, snapping, “What nonsense are you spouting? How could I be late?”

Since her rebirth and the awakening of the Investiture of the Gods, she hadn’t even had time to handle her parents’ funeral but had thrown herself, day and night, into this case. She had rushed into Beggars’ Alley before dark, refusing even the old lady at the entrance who had invited her for soup.

“I didn’t mean that—” The youth, startled by her rebuke and seeing her darkened expression, quickly explained, “What I mean is, the ghost domain has already formed. It’s nearly impossible to break.”

He hesitated, then said, “The ghosts here have reached the Sha level. They’re not easily dealt with. I think you’ve noticed that the ghost’s killing follows the porridge distribution list.”

Zhao Fusheng acknowledged this, then remembered the warning from the Investiture of the Gods during last night’s charity and asked, “That ‘register’?”

“What register?” The young man frowned, not understanding the term. Zhao Fusheng explained, “The book placed beside you last night.”

“Register?” he murmured, “That’s an odd name. But it’s not actually a register—” He paused, thinking, then nodded. “Yes. In fact, it’s the charity ledger my grandfather left before he died—” He glanced at Zhao Fusheng, regret flickering over his face.

“Go on,” Zhao Fusheng urged, an uneasy feeling growing within her.

He sighed again, “Over the years, everyone who ever received porridge from the Confucius Temple has been recorded in that book.”

At this, Zhao Fusheng’s expression changed slightly.

The young man continued, “After the vengeful ghost revived, its domain covered this place. The ghost kills according to the ledger. There’s no way out of this game.”

By now, Zhao Fusheng had grasped his intentions. Based on several cases she’d read about how the Demon Suppression Division handled ghost incidents, there were generally two ways to resolve such a situation.

“To resolve this calamity, there are two options,” the youth quickly spoke her thoughts aloud. “Either a high-ranking court official with the power to command great ghosts intervenes to forcibly expel the spirit, or—” Here he hesitated, looking troubled.

Zhao Fusheng finished his sentence for him: “Or you let the ghost kill everyone named in the ledger, and then it will naturally leave.”

The young man nodded calmly at her bluntness. “...Yes. After this is over, I will no longer distribute porridge. The Confucius Temple’s affairs will come to an end, and this ghost will not appear again.”

Thus, the problem of the Confucius Temple would be resolved. In fact, this method was one of the usual ways the Demon Suppression Division handled ghost outbreaks: the lives of ordinary people were cheap—once enough had been killed, the ghost would vanish.

When the youth mentioned the two solutions, Zhao Fusheng had already guessed his plan. But hearing him say it aloud, treating the fate of so many so lightly, she still felt a surge of anger.

Fan Bishou always said that in these times, human life was as worthless as grass; survival itself was a daily struggle. Zhao Fusheng had never truly understood this until now, and even now, she found it incomprehensible.

In this world, the powerful viewed human lives as ants; the weak, if caught and killed, could only blame their own bad luck.

Unhappy, Zhao Fusheng reminded him coldly, “There are still at least a hundred people left here.”

The extent of Beggars’ Alley showed just how wealthy the Liu family had once been.

After more than a month of being besieged and the slaughter by the vengeful ghost, over a hundred survivors remained. The original population of Beggars’ Alley must have been immense.

During the time they were trapped by the ghost domain, who knows how many innocents perished at the ghost’s hands.

The more Zhao Fusheng thought, the angrier she became, her tone growing stern. “And even if, as you say, everyone in Beggars’ Alley is killed, where will the ghost go next?”

The youth was taken aback by her sharp rebuke.

He had always lived within the Confucius Temple and had little real contact with the Demon Suppression Division, but he had heard of their reputation. Most officers of the division were ghost tamers, and those who commanded vengeful spirits were themselves twisted and cruel, acting more like ghosts than men, treating human life as nothing.

But Zhao Fusheng seemed nothing like those rumors. He recalled their meeting the night before—her quick thinking, sharp reactions. Even when she was framed, her name entered into the ledger and made a target for the ghost, she hadn’t lashed out or turned the ghost on innocent townsfolk.

When the ghost killed, she had set out at dawn to find him—showing courage and resolve.

Their conversation since then had shown her to be calm, restrained, and astute.

If she hadn’t claimed to be an officer of the Demon Suppression Division and a ghost tamer, he would never have believed she was one who coexisted with ghosts.

Most importantly, she was courteous and well-mannered. When he mentioned the disaster in Beggars’ Alley, she was genuinely angered on behalf of innocent civilians.

In other words, even though she commanded ghosts, she remained lucid—and even compassionate.

For the first time, the young man’s composure slipped as he looked at Zhao Fusheng with curiosity. “Are you really a ghost tamer?”

Ghost tamers were said to be moody and inhuman—completely unlike her.

But if she wasn’t, how could she dare enter such a dangerous place alone?

Zhao Fusheng ignored his pointless question. Seeing him try to change the subject made her even more annoyed. She snapped, “Don’t dodge the issue!”

As a ghost tamer, she had been speaking amicably before, but now, her stern tone lent her the true gravity of a Demon Suppression Division officer.

The youth lowered his gaze and answered, “Perhaps it will leave to seek out other survivors whose names are in the ledger—”

The Confucius Temple had stood for forty years. In that time, countless people had received its charity. Not just beggars—merchants, travelers, anyone who took a bowl of porridge had their name recorded.

Those who took the porridge and gave their names never thought much of it; perhaps they were just drawn by the Liu family’s reputation and casually took a bowl. Afterward, they probably forgot all about it, never realizing that this minor act could, years later, bring disaster upon them.

What’s more, the ghost in Beggars’ Alley killed not just individuals, but entire families.

If it escaped Beggars’ Alley, the destruction it could wreak was unimaginable.

Even more concerning, the ghost would only grow stronger with each kill.

The young man had mentioned as much—the ghost, after more than a month of hunting and killing, had reached at least the Sha level.

If it continued unchecked, it would surely advance further. Once it did, how would anyone ever resolve the next calamity?

This must not be allowed to worsen!

For the first time, Zhao Fusheng felt a sense of true resolve. She finally understood the meaning of what the Investiture of the Gods had told her: “As an officer of the Demon Suppression Division, you are responsible for the safety of your county. You must fulfill your duties and protect the people.”

Fan Bishou had once casually said that as long as a ghost disaster left your own jurisdiction, it was someone else’s problem. If local officials couldn’t deal with it, the court would have to. If the court failed, the people were left to their fate.

At the time, Zhao Fusheng hadn’t truly grasped it. But having witnessed the ghost’s killings with her own eyes the night before—seeing a life snuffed out—she realized that no words could capture that horror.

She could not allow this ghost to grow stronger and escape!

“No way,” she said coldly.

“That’s how other ghost disasters have been handled—” The young man was not angered by her reproach; instead, he replied calmly.

Zhao Fusheng interrupted, “I don’t know how others handle things. Tonight, I’ll see if I can find a way to end this ghost calamity.”

At that, the young man was surprised, then smiled faintly.

He clearly didn’t believe that a newly appointed officer like her could deal with a Sha-level ghost in Beggars’ Alley.

Though he did not voice his doubts, Zhao Fusheng could sense his skepticism. She did not argue further.

Changing the subject, she suddenly asked, “By the way, what’s your name?”

Having settled the main business, Zhao Fusheng suddenly recalled a serious issue.

As she spoke, her hand unconsciously drifted to her waist, touching the jade-green book. A chill crept from her fingertips up her palm; instantly, her hand went numb with cold—clearly, the ghost sigil in the Soul Ledger had sensed her movement and was crawling up her wrist.

But soon, the sensation faded like the tide.

The young man, unaware of her thoughts, answered, “My name is Liu Yizhen.”

“Liu?” Zhao Fusheng caught the significance and asked, “Are you a descendant of the Liu family from back then?”

The records had mentioned that after the Liu family’s downfall, Liu Huacheng sold off their property and moved the whole family out of Wanan County.

But she hadn’t expected that the one left to guard the Confucius Temple was also named Liu, most likely a blood descendant of the Liu clan.

Yet knowing his surname, she realized Liu Huacheng’s arrangement made sense. After all, for the Confucius Temple to distribute charity for forty years—even if it was thin porridge, the cost over time was considerable. Such a sum was far better entrusted to family than outsiders.

Still, a question lingered in Zhao Fusheng’s heart: Leaving aside the matter of money, since the temple’s main purpose was to suppress the vengeful ghost, what kind of Liu descendant would so faithfully carry out Liu Huacheng’s orders—neither embezzling out of greed nor fleeing out of fear, but remaining here, day after day, for forty years? Such a person, so devoted to their promise, could almost be called a living sage.

Just as she wondered, Liu Yizhen nodded. “Yes—”

Zhao Fusheng was still a bit skeptical, but she had her own way to verify. She suppressed her doubts and anger at the truth behind the calamity, then cheerfully took out the jade book again.

“Look, my name’s been entered into your ledger, right?”

She recalled how her name had been recorded last night, and since this ghost took victims by name, she felt uneasy. She should find a way to balance or restrain this.

“...” Liu Yizhen stared at her, not understanding her intent.

Zhao Fusheng sneered inwardly, not caring whether he was truly confused or pretending. She handed the Soul Ledger to him.

“I see great potential in you. The way you dared to come and go in Beggars’ Alley during this ghost crisis—”

Liu Yizhen explained, “When I went in and out, the ghost domain hadn’t formed yet.”

“That’s not important. The fact is, you stayed here even as the ghost appeared and continued distributing porridge. That takes courage and resourcefulness. You’re exactly the kind of talent the court needs.”

“...”

Liu Yizhen’s lips parted, but he said nothing.

Zhao Fusheng grinned, reaching for his wrist. “Join the Demon Suppression Division. We have many positions available, and we need young people like you to put your talents to use.”

“If you join and make contributions, the court will not treat you unfairly. Should the court reward merit, I’ll make sure you get what you deserve!”

Liu Yizhen instinctively drew his hand back.

Zhao Fusheng’s smile remained, but her gaze turned cold. “You know as well as I do how the ghost disaster in Beggars’ Alley is tied to the Liu family. We’d best solve this together.”

She was determined to bring Liu Yizhen into the fold and would not let him refuse. “If we can work together, that’s best. We’re civil people, after all; resorting to force is not my preferred method.”

She drew out her words, smiling at him. “But—”

“You misunderstand,” Liu Yizhen interrupted with a gentle smile, his tone earnest. “We are indeed at fault in this matter.”

He continued, “You’re right. I should take responsibility and join the Demon Suppression Division. If I can atone for my family’s mistake, I’m willing. I have no objection. It’s just that I still have unfinished business and cannot return with you just yet.”

(End of chapter)