Chapter 17: A Corpse Sinks to the Bottom of the Well

The scene above the ancient well lasted only for a fleeting instant. Soon, the image in the bronze mirror shifted, descending into the depths of the well itself.

Damp stone walls, the silent water, a heavy boulder blocking the mouth, no moonlight able to penetrate—these ought to be shrouded in darkness, yet within the mirror, every detail was clearly illuminated.

The miracle wrought by consuming merit revealed its immense power.

“I’d heard people say that Squire Wang had colluded with pirates, and, considering the gruesome fate that befell his entire family, I thought that red-robed female ghost must have been a victim of those pirates, drowned at sea, her resentment boiling over, returning as a vengeful spirit to seek retribution.”

“But now it seems the truth is not as everyone believed. There’s a deeper secret. Still, there’s no doubt that the red-robed woman’s corpse was submerged in this well.”

He was about to see a true supernatural entity. Fang Yue felt a tremor of anxiety; perhaps it was only his imagination, but a chill seemed to swirl around him.

Within the ancient well, just above the water, the vision lingered only briefly before plunging into the water below.

The well’s deep, clear water—though separated by a mirror and only a vision—sent a biting cold through Fang Yue’s very bones.

A mass of black and another of vivid red appeared, floating near the bottom.

Fang Yue’s eyes made out the details: the black mass was the woman’s long hair; the red was her robe, and within it, her body.

Her head hung low, a thick rope knotted around her neck. The other end was fastened to a heavy stone, anchoring her to the well’s floor. It was this stone that kept the red-robed woman’s corpse submerged, unable to float to the surface.

Witnessing this, Fang Yue was at a loss for how to feel.

He did not know whether she had been alive or dead when she was weighted and cast into the well. If alive, to be drowned, her neck bound so that even in death she would not rise—her tormentors must have been unimaginably cruel. If she was already dead when placed here, such measures—stone and boulder—spoke of anything but a natural death.

Though Fang Yue mourned her, he had no wish to seek the truth or avenge the red-robed woman. Those who harmed her were surely Squire Wang or his kin, but the Wang family had already been wiped out, every last one of them meeting a dreadful end.

He did not know if it was the red-robed woman, returned as a ghost, who had wrought their destruction, but in the end, all grudges dissolve with death.

“I only hope she may find peace after her vengeance is spent, to go on her way in the cycle of reincarnation, and not linger in the mortal realm to harm the innocent.”

Thinking of reincarnation, Fang Yue could not help but recall tales from his previous life of the Underworld. He wondered whether such a realm existed in this world.

“There are legends of the netherworld here, but in all the horrific visions I have seen, it never appeared.”

He considered using the “Illumination” divine power to peer into the underworld. The text claimed it could reveal anything between Heaven, Earth, and the Netherworld, but whether that was mere hyperbole or a hint at a real spiritual realm, he did not know.

But the moment the thought crossed his mind, the red-robed woman’s corpse—her head forever bowed in the mirror—suddenly lifted her face.

What kind of face was it?

Swollen. Deathly pale. Decayed.

Her features were bloated beyond recognition, flesh split and rotting, a ghastly sight. Bulging eyes, shot through with red veins, ruined by decay and nearly falling from their sockets.

Perhaps she had once been beautiful in life, but now, she was only a corpse, ruined by water and rot.

No, not merely a corpse.

Because Fang Yue saw her smile—a grotesque, twisted grin spread across her decomposed lips.

Her bloodshot, protruding eyes were fixed on Fang Yue, as if she could see him through the mirror itself.

A cold shudder swept over him, as if he’d been plunged into an icy abyss. Uncontrollably, he trembled.

Staring into that horrific face, he instinctively wanted to retreat, only to discover he could not move.

He was sinking.

Sinking.

As if something below was dragging him down with all its strength. The sensation was unmistakable—

Yes, he was being drowned.

Fang Yue instantly realized something was wrong and struggled with all his might, but he could not break free. Down he went, ever deeper.

Icy water filled his nose and mouth. He could not breathe. Suffocating, darkness overwhelmed him—

…

Bang.

Fang Yue’s knee struck the leg of the wooden table, making him wince in pain.

The candleholder atop the table wobbled, and the burning candle nearly toppled, but Fang Yue, quick of eye and hand, caught and steadied it.

Afterward, he collapsed onto the chair at the table, drenched in cold sweat.

The candle burned, emitting a faint hiss.

All around was silent, save for the barely audible sounds of joy and pleasure drifting from a neighboring room.

Fang Yue glanced about. In the dim candlelight, there was only a table, a chair, and a bed—simple, unadorned.

All that had just transpired seemed but a hallucination.

“To be alive—how wonderful.”

The thought flashed through his mind. The recent ordeal had left him shaken; he had tasted the flavor of death.

He knew he could not truly die. The moment he sensed danger, he had immediately withdrawn the “Illumination” power. Without the bronze mirror as a medium, the red-robed ghost’s strange influence faded away.

Yet, just by glimpsing her, she had managed to affect him. The terror and strangeness of supernatural beings in this world far surpassed what Fang Yue had expected.

A worrying thought crept in: “Could she have marked me because of this?”

He recalled tales of certain spirits who would latch onto the living over the slightest cause, never letting go.

This red-robed ghost was likely such a being. Those bailiffs and thugs who had slipped into the Wang estate’s back rooms to pilfer were all dead now, victims of her wrath.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Fang Yue stood and began to pace. He had used a divine power to spy on a ghost; if she now pursued him, he could hardly be surprised.

Knock, knock.

A soft tapping came from outside.

“Who is it?” Fang Yue’s expression tensed.

“It’s me, the inn’s servant. Sir, I’ve brought what you asked for from the kitchen.”

The voice outside was indeed that of the inn’s young attendant.

Fang Yue let out a breath. He realized he was getting jumpy.

He walked to the door, drew back the latch, and opened it.

The attendant stood there with a wooden tray, upon which rested five small dishes: butter, sesame oil, peanut oil, vegetable oil, and vinegar.

Fang Yue had requested these earlier, when he’d gone downstairs for fresh water.

Their original purpose? He had meant to test the jade pendant’s abilities.

But that pendant had long since fused into his body, manifesting as the “Divination” power—so now, these dishes were useless.

Fang Yue drew a few coins from his sleeve, placed them on the tray, and said, “I don’t need these anymore. Take them back; this is your tip for the trouble.”

The attendant muttered that this scholarly guest was rather odd—calling for items only to refuse them—but with a tip in hand, he had no complaints.

“Oh, by the way, who’s staying in the room next door, the one marked with ‘Chen’?” Fang Yue asked offhandedly.

The inn’s rooms were named according to the Thousand Character Classic: “Heaven, Earth, Black, Yellow. Universe, Vastness. Sun, Moon, Fullness, Decline. Stars arrayed in the sky. Cold comes, heat goes; autumn harvest, winter storage…”

The ‘Chen’ room was the source of those feminine sounds of pleasure, separated from Fang Yue’s ‘Lie’ room by only the ‘Su’ room.