Qing Wenxu’s corpse was discovered after dawn.
He died in the exact same manner as his mother and younger sister, a deeply tragic and gruesome demise.
Whether it was the female ghost or Shang Zhangheng, their targets for vengeance had all been locked onto those bearing the surname Qing. When Qing Congnan hurried over to the backyard upon hearing the news, Qing Ling stood at the doorway and saw a distorted, crawling female ghost trailing right behind him. Her next target was Qing Congnan himself, yet she maintained a certain distance, looking somewhat hesitant and wary.
Shang Zhangheng materialized beside him at some point, murmuring in a low voice, “Qing Congnan is wearing a protective artifact.”
Unconcerned with the commotion outside, Qing Ling turned his head to look at Shang Zhangheng and asked, “Judging by the timeline, Qing Wenxu and his sister shouldn’t have any grievances with her. Why wasn’t Shen Qiuxin the first to die?”
Shang Zhangheng let out a light laugh and countered with a question: “What do you think grievances are?”
Puzzling for a moment, Qing Ling replied, “The murderer who killed her, or an accomplice?”
“Exacted vengeance upon those people, naturally; yet ghosts and humans are entirely different.” Shang Zhangheng’s expression remained icy cold. He wasn’t looking at Qing Ling, but instead at the servants scurrying anxiously back and forth across the courtyard, his gaze sinister and aloof. “Perhaps even a minor offense committed during one’s lifetime is enough to invite a fatal disaster, or perhaps it’s simply picking the softest persimmon to squeeze. It’s just that such grievances can never truly constitute a karmic debt.”
Nodding, Qing Ling understood.
To put it bluntly, a fierce ghost was like an unreasoning wild beast, whoever offended it would face a tenfold or hundredfold retaliation. Yet this could not form a sufficient karmic retribution to justify full vengeance, meaning a ghost who took lives would ultimately drive itself to utter destruction.
Just as he was about to speak, the instant he raised his gaze, his expression abruptly froze.
The Qing family’s ancestral hall was not located outside the city, but it was quite remote. From here, one could see the undulating contours of distant mountain ranges, and the gentle sunlight filtering from behind the clouds poured downward. Yet Qing Ling watched as that warm, soft light was slowly and steadily eroded by a grayish-white mist, swallowed up until it gave way to an ominous haze.
A fog had risen.
In a season and at an hour when a heavy fog had no business appearing.
Dense, grayish-white mist rolled in, completely blotting out the sun and sky.
Qing Ling was far too familiar with this fog; he had once fled in utter panic through this very mist, only to discover with mounting terror that he had returned to that familiar small courtyard in the mountains. Recalling once more that nightmarish memory, Qing Ling instantly turned pale and took a step back.
Within the span of a few breaths, Qing Ling regained his composure, deducing the reason behind Shang Zhangheng’s actions.
With a complex expression, he met Shang Zhangheng’s gaze as the latter turned toward him. Letting out a slow breath, Qing Ling asked, “You, you’ve remembered, haven’t you?”
“Not entirely.” Reaching out, Shang Zhangheng gently stroked Qing Ling’s temples before cupping his face, a smile touching his lips as cold as frost and snow. “Just a play. You’re merely a spectator, what are you afraid of?”
The heart that had been pounding frantically within Qing Ling’s chest settled back into place.
Yet upon second thought, he felt a wave of sorrow: was he actually beginning to feel grateful and overjoyed simply because Shang Zhangheng wasn’t going to kill him…
“I’m afraid that once they’re all dead, it’ll be my turn,” Qing Ling admitted candidly, not without an element of probing.
Gently stroking Qing Ling’s cheek, Shang Zhangheng left behind a promise-like assertion: “It won’t.”
The ancestral hall had descended into absolute chaos.
When Qing Congnan ordered his servants to shroud Qing Wenxu’s corpse, his face was drained to an ash-white hue. Last night, when he moved those sacrificial offerings beneath the main house, he had suddenly experienced a pitch-black darkness before his eyes; the moment he opened them again, the coffin nurtured by the corpse-nurturing array had been forced open, completely empty except for a withered skeleton stripped of every shred of flesh, its upper body draped over the edge of the coffin in a posture that looked as though it had desperately tried to crawl out and failed.
All of Qing Congnan’s underlying confidence had vanished completely.
Whether it was his father or generations above him, though their talent was meager, they at least possessed some self-defense methods. By his generation, however, that little bit of sorcerer bloodline seemed to have been boiled away entirely; no matter how he studied, it was utterly useless, he simply lacked any natural talent, and the same went for his son.
He had hidden in the ancestral hall precisely because he knew a biological father lay buried beneath the earth, relying on him to crush that evil spirit. Never had he anticipated that while he inexplicably lost consciousness, his own father was almost hauled out of his resting place by the roots.
Upon emerging, the first news he heard was that his legitimate eldest son was gone too, and the method of death was one he found far too familiar.
The Second Branch family came over for a brief look before hastily departing, presumably frightened out of their wits as well. Qing Wenlin, who rushed over, turned deathly pale upon catching his first glimpse of such a gruesome corpse, ultimately unable to hold it back as he dashed into the courtyard to retch violently. Amidst the chaos, the ominous gray mist finally enshrouded the entire ancestral hall.
Only Qing Ling sat quietly inside his room, a picture of tranquil serenity.
Until someone knocked on his door. Without waiting for his permission, the door was shoved open, revealing Qing Congnan. His mind was entirely unhinged; though visibly struggling to maintain a facade of calm, he lacked even a hand to spare to wipe the cold sweat streaming down his forehead.
“Qing Ling,” Qing Congnan said, fixing his gaze on the unperturbed youth. He had always felt a subtle gloominess radiating from this child, though considering how he was born, he deemed it only natural, yet it still left him somewhat unsettled. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Your brother is dead, killed by the evil spirit as well.”
Qing Ling assumed he had come to place blame.
To his surprise, Qing Congnan’s next words were: “Now you are the only legitimate young master left in the Qing family.”
With a nonchalant, indifferent tone, Qing Ling offered an “Oh,” spreading his hands as he replied, “Even if you elevate me to the position of family head right now, there’s nothing I can do. Don’t you understand? Evil spirits lack human sentiment and reason; my staying alive is likely just because he finds me amusing, but I cannot command him. As for how to appease the fierce ghost’s resentment, you surely know better than I do.”
Dazed for a moment, Qing Congnan was half-persuaded, perhaps because Qing Ling’s demeanor was far too natural.
A ghost was a ghost, entirely distinct from a living soul; he knew a little about that much, but having no natural talent for such arts, he had never studied them seriously, understanding only the most superficial basics. He had simply followed the path mapped out by his living-corpse father, though his father had never calculated that a wrongfully killed fierce ghost would return after all these years to exact vengeance.
Qing Ling continued, “So I’m also curious: did you bring me back all along because you always believed the one by my side could accomplish various things?”
Qing Congnan’s expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before he forced a paternal smile. “H-how could that be? But this is a matter of life and death for the Qing family; if things continue like this, I’m afraid we’ll all die at the hands of that evil spirit.”
Qing Ling realized he was finally panicking.
Unlike his previous unshakeable composure, Qing Ling recalled what Shang Zhangheng had retrieved last night, deducing that he had likely performed other actions as well, such as that living corpse, which ought to have been Qing Congnan’s underlying pillar of calm all along.
Few individuals could remain serene in the face of death. The blade hovering over one’s neck, never knowing when it would fall to sever the head amidst a gush of blood—the agonizing, torturous process of awaiting death was a crucible of torment, one in which Qing Ling had constantly struggled.
Coldly watching Qing Congnan’s helplessness and panic, Qing Ling felt a surge of gratification within his hitherto unruffled heart that could well be called the joy of retribution.
Yet even at this juncture, Qing Congnan still refused to speak the absolute truth.
And Qing Ling was in no rush.
Judging by Shang Zhangheng’s attitude, he clearly had no intention of settling for a simple, straightforward massacre.
Bumping his head against a stone wall in Qing Ling’s room and realizing the ancestral hall was no longer safe, Qing Congnan could only order his servants to prepare carriages so they could return to the main Qing residence.
Things didn’t go smoothly, however. Before long, the Second Branch couple began quarreling with him in the front courtyard, though the delicate wife rarely intervened, the two brothers were shouting at the top of their lungs.
Losing his customary refined composure, Qing Conglan screamed hysterically in accusation: “Didn’t you say you had a plan?! What kind of plan is this?! Go back to the Qing residence, what good is going back to the Qing residence! We are not going back to any Qing residence with you, we’re going to Yanhua Temple!”
“Fine,” Qing Congnan sneered coldly. “Go ahead then. A bunch of bald donkeys scamming incense money, do you honestly believe crawling inside a temple means you won’t have to die?”
Qing Conglan sneered back, “Whether we die or not remains to be seen! Everyone who’s died so far belongs to your First Branch family. Qiulian was murdered by your household, so when she seeks revenge, she’ll only target your branch. A debt has its debtor and a grievance has its master; everyone knows how Shen Qiuxin and that pair of children humiliated her, don’t think nobody knows, this has nothing to do with us!”
Though Qing Congnan attempted to interrupt him several times, Qing Conglan refused to stop. He didn’t sound like he was arguing with Qing Congnan at all; rather, he seemed determined to broadcast every word to the invisible evil spirit, desperately reiterating his own innocence.
Standing in the background, Qing Ling listened and sneered internally. If they were truly so blameless and upright, why would they be terrified to this extent?
Sure enough, Qing Congnan soon raised his voice: “Nothing to do with you? Whose child that really is remains unproven! If I hadn’t taken her in as a concubine first, didn’t you tell Father you wanted to raise her as an equal wife? What kind of pure intentions did you have? If you want to leave, go ahead, see if she lets you go!”
“So what if she does? The one who actually made a move in the end was still you, wasn’t it?” Qing Conglan’s tone carried a mix of schadenfreude and mockery. “Or rather, Eldest Brother’s capacity for endurance is truly remarkable. For the sake of the family estate, you were willing to take a maid I’d already slept with into your own chambers. Now that trouble has come knocking, your First Branch can bear it yourselves, Wife, let’s go.”
The front courtyard had barely quieted down when someone came to summon Qing Ling and Qing Wenlin to depart. With the thick fog blanketing the world, even the path ahead was utterly obscured.
Feeling that the entire ancestral hall reeked of gloom, Qing Congnan kept reaching out with trembling fingers to touch the jade pendant hidden inside his robes against his chest, completely bereft of his wits.
The three of them sat inside the same carriage. Qing Wenlin’s face was also drained of color; as someone who truly had remained oblivious to all the dark deeds, he had finally realized that the continuous deaths in the Qing estate were far from coincidental.
Only Qing Ling sat with a completely normal, tranquil demeanor.
He had experienced it countless times already. Though his heart wasn’t entirely steady right now, since he didn’t know how far Shang Zhangheng intended to take this, and even with the fierce ghost’s promise, he couldn’t predict how long his role as a “spectator” would last, at least this time, the target wasn’t him. Sitting back and watching these people panic in utter disarray was actually rather entertaining.
Moreover, he could guarantee one thing: whether it was them or the Second Branch heading off to whatever temple, not a single soul would be able to escape this dense, clinging fog.
True to Qing Ling’s prediction, less than the time it took to burn an incense stick, the carriage came to a halt.
Frowning in irritation, Qing Congnan urged from within, “Why aren’t we moving?”
Before anyone outside could reply, Qing Wenlin let out a sharp, terrified shriek. Pointing a trembling finger toward the opened carriage window, he stared out with wide, horrified eyes and screamed, “Outside, outside is the ancestral hall!”
Leaning over to peer outside, Qing Congnan froze instantly, his blood running cold. The old, decaying black wooden gates of the ancestral hall loomed faintly through the gray fog, looking precisely like a grim pathway leading straight down into the netherworld.
At that very moment, another carriage approaching from the opposite direction came to a halt right before the gates of the ancestral hall as well. From within came the terrified shrieks of a woman and the angry, desperate barks of a man.
It was the fleeing Second Branch couple.