All of them eager to escape, they ultimately ended up right back where they started. Pushing open the carriage door, Qing Congnan found himself face-to-face with Qing Conglan, both men staring at the shock mirrored on each other’s faces.
Gritting his teeth, Qing Congnan shoved the coachman aside and climbed up to the driver’s seat himself, muttering under his breath, “It’s nothing, it’s nothing. It’s just a petty ghost-wall trick. I have an ancestral jade pendant that repels all evils, I’ll drive us out myself. I’ll definitely get us out of here.”
Amidst the dense, thick fog, the two carriages parted ways, heading in opposite directions.
Roughly the time it took to burn an incense stick later, the carriage traveling in the reverse direction once again intersected before the gates of the ancestral hall.
With a flustered, disoriented grip, Qing Congnan clutched the reins. No matter how glorious the Qing family’s past had been, that was a matter of millennia ago. He had only ever witnessed his grandfather utilizing sorcery to manipulate the family’s business ventures during his childhood, such as watching a rival drop dead in the streets within days, or having unexpected windfalls continually delivered to the household. By his father’s generation, however, those abilities had already dwindled significantly, and by his own turn, he had never even laid eyes on what a ghost actually looked like!
His previous confidence stemmed entirely from the living corpse hidden beneath the ancestral hall; such supernatural phenomena were, in his eyes, the absolute pinnacle of miraculous power.
Yet year after year down in the vault, his father had claimed it was almost complete, yet eighteen whole years had passed without seeing him cultivate any kind of immortal, undying body, instead, he had been reduced by outsiders to a thoroughly dead, picked-clean pile of bone fragments!
Having served as family head for all these years, Qing Congnan grit his teeth and turned the carriage around once more, determined at all costs to return to the Qing estate first and issue a bounty: as long as the reward was high enough, someone would surely come to exorcise the evil spirits. As for the Yanhua Temple the Second Branch couple intended to visit, he had long since seen through the true nature of those wine-and-meat monks; not a single one of them possessed genuine skills, they were all merely frauds scamming incense money!
After racing through the thick fog for a prolonged period, things turned out contrary to his wishes: Qing Congnan still found himself returned once more to the front of the ancestral hall. This time, the Second Branch’s carriage was parked right there, the couple having already disembarked. Upon seeing Qing Congnan return yet again, Qing Conglan turned pale and said, “We can’t get out. Charging blindly is useless—let’s stop wasting our breath and instead put our heads together to figure out what we should do!”
Remaining silent for a solid moment, Qing Congnan finally grit his teeth and barked toward the interior of the carriage, “Get out. Back into the ancestral hall.”
The group sheepishly slunk back into the shelter of the ancestral hall. While the thick fog enshrouded the exterior of the grounds, not a single wisp penetrated the interior, as though deliberately enclosing them within this confined square inch.
Coldly watching this farce unfold, Qing Ling stepped inside the main house only to watch the two Qing brothers resume their bickering, revolving around the exact same stale, cliché reproaches. Too lazy to listen further, Qing Ling turned to leave, but suddenly felt a calculating gaze lock onto him. Raising his eyes, he met the stare of the gentle, seemingly fragile Second Branch wife, Zhao Yunrou.
“Alright, Master,” Zhao Yunrou softly interrupted their quarreling. “Although we’re trapped here, we’re all still alive. I imagine she lacks the capacity to slaughter all of us within a single day, and moreover, those deaths always occur in the dead of night, we still have time. Besides, why on earth would she trap all of us here within the ancestral hall?”
Qing Wenlin nodded hurriedly in agreement. “Yes, yes, we still have time! Let’s think of a way, figure out how to leave this place first.”
Though the words were spoken, had they genuinely possessed any viable solutions, they wouldn’t be standing here staring blankly at one another. Shrouded by the encroaching gray mist, the main hall, lined from end to end with spirit tablets, was plunged into a dim, lightless gloom that bred an oppressive, breath-stealing atmosphere.
Qing Congnan’s mind was in absolute turmoil.
Ever since waking this morning, he had continuously sensed an elusive, lingering gaze, as though someone were incessantly watching him. Initially assuming it was merely his imagination playing tricks, with the endless bizarre occurrences piling up, that sensation of being watched only intensified, as if somewhere hidden in the dark, a pair of scarlet eyes were glaring at him with unrelenting hatred and malice.
His eyes darted nervously back and forth.
“Eldest Brother,” Zhao Yunrou spoke up once more. “What Sister-in-law said that day wasn’t wrong. Our estate has been peaceful and safe for so many years, it all started from… the moment Qing Ling returned. Now so many people have died, and we’re trapped right here. It seems Qing Ling has been present through it all; is it possible that that thing actually followed him here? Could it be that thing can only operate in his vicinity?”
Qing Congnan’s gaze instinctively snapped to Qing Ling.
Everyone else turned their attention toward him as well, only to notice that Qing Ling had remained utterly composed the entire time, watching their panic-stricken scrambling with the detachment of an outsider. Even now, under the collective scrutiny of everyone present, he maintained a completely unperturbed, fearless expression.
Qing Ling had never intended to hide anything to begin with. Standing calmly under their varying gazes without a trace of panic, he didn’t even bother to waste his breath speaking. Slender and frail like a stalk of orchid, he carried an inherent, provocative aura of “And what can you possibly do to me?”
“Father,” Qing Wenlin whispered softly, “Second Uncle and Second Aunt make sense. If we leave him behind here, we’ll definitely be able to escape.”
Qing Wenlin harbored his own hidden calculations: on one hand, he genuinely believed that everything originated because of Qing Ling; on the other, with the First Branch’s legitimate eldest son now dead, if Qing Ling vanished as well, wouldn’t he automatically become the sole heir of the First Branch?
Exchanging meaningful, conspiratorial glances with one another, the group turned back toward Qing Ling, their eyes now flashing with undisguised, murderous intent.
“Men,” Qing Congnan commanded coldly, “tie him up.”
Not a single sound stirred from beyond the doorway.
absolutamente no one stepped inside.
Qing Ling couldn’t help letting out a cold, soft scoff, speaking with slow, unhurried deliberation: “Instead of wasting your energy on me, you’d be better off figuring out how to survive the night.”
His complexion turning drastically pale, Qing Congnan demanded, “Was it really your doing?”
With eyes as frigid as ice, treating these human lives as though they were utterly worthless, Qing Ling stared at Qing Congnan for a brief moment before offering a deeply meaningful remark: “She is watching you right now.”
Drained of what little color remained in his face, Qing Congnan trembled violently for a long moment, ultimately struck dumb by a paralyzing blend of terror and dread.
When you merely suspect something yourself, you can dismiss it as a trick of the mind; but the moment someone else articulates it aloud, it becomes utterly spine-chilling.
Striding forward with absolute swagger, Qing Ling bypassed the group and headed toward the backyard. Having zero desire to stand around acting the fool here, he preferred to return to his room and rest.
In a fit of panic, Qing Conglan reached out to grab him, but before his fingers even brushed Qing Ling’s sleeve, he felt a bone-chilling frost as piercing as shards of ice pierce his palm. Yelling in alarm, he yanked his hand back, staring at Qing Ling with an expression of acute wariness.
Casting a fleeting, effortless glance back, Qing Ling sent a shiver straight down Qing Conglan’s spine.
With Qing Ling’s parting curse of “Someone is watching you” lingering in the air, even though it had originally been directed at Qing Congnan, it now settled like a heavy, suffocating cloud of gloom over every single person present.
Even if nothing was happening, human imagination alone was enough to make one suspect an enemy behind every tree and bush; how much more so when they were trapped within such a bizarre, terrifying predicament.
Unaware of how deeply terrified the men in the front were, Qing Ling had already returned to his familiar little room, stretching out comfortably across the couch.
Having woken up at the crack of dawn, endured hours of being jostled in a carriage, and then spent the previous night being relentlessly tossed about by Shang Zhangheng, Qing Ling’s lower back ached and his legs throbbed; too exhausted to maintain an upright posture, he silently massaged his aching waist.
“So delicate.” Shang Zhangheng materialized beside the edge of the couch at some point.
Finding it utterly impossible to voice the actual reason for his discomfort, yet burning with quiet vexation, Qing Ling held his tongue for a long moment before pushing himself back up to counter, “And just who is to blame for that?”
The moment the words left his lips, the tips of Qing Ling’s ears burned an even deeper crimson.
He remained thoroughly naive regarding such matters, let alone matters of romance, yet he faintly sensed that saying something like this aloud sounded rather bizarre.
Unable to hold it back, Shang Zhangheng chuckled softly.
This young man was always full of contradictions: at times appearing chillingly indifferent to the point of lacking human warmth, while at other times remaining genuinely pure and endearing, much like a secluded, elegant orchid blooming fragrance in solitude, appearing innocent and harmless on the surface, yet housing a sharp, concealed blade within.
“Weren’t you acting quite impressive and imposing just outside playing the tiger’s mighty backing?” Shang Zhangheng crossed his arms, leaning back against the bedpost.
Kicking off his shoes, Qing Ling shuffled further inward, drawing his knees up to rest his back against the wall. After a long silence, he finally murmured, “It felt pretty exhilarating, actually.”
He lacked any genuine enthusiasm.
Years ago in the mountains, when he was strictly forbidden from stepping foot outside the courtyard, Qing Ling had endured it all. Even if he were destined to waste away his entire life in those mountains, it at least offered a tranquil sanctuary shielded from worldly strife; he had never enjoyed mingling with others anyway, finding even conversation a waste of time. Yet his very birth had perhaps been nothing more than an elaborate scheme, with the Qing family eager to harvest his vitality—how could Qing Ling’s life be considered anything more than a blade of grass in the eyes of these people?
Pondering for a moment, Qing Ling asked, “They’ve harmed plenty of people themselves; why haven’t those victims come back to exact vengeance?”
The children used as sacrificial offerings were also precious human lives, yet the only entities relentlessly hounding the Qing family were the miserably disfigured female ghost and the ancient ghost crawling out of an ancient tomb right beside him.
Unfazed, Shang Zhangheng replied, “If everyone who died could transform into a fierce ghost, wouldn’t the mortal realm descend into total chaos? It all comes down to a matter of coincidence and fate, but,”
Thinking it made sense, if becoming a fierce ghost were that simple to achieve vengeance, the earthly magistrates and officials would have nothing left to do, he heard the ghost shift the conversational tone, prompting him to lift his gaze toward the evil spirit.
“This happens to be an exceptional place, though,” Shang Zhangheng turned his gaze back to meet Qing Ling’s dark, lustrous eyes. “The corpse-nurturing array condenses yin and gathers baleful energy, making this place immensely perilous for the living. To think your good ‘father’ actually regarded this place as some kind of sanctuary, truly laughable.”
Exchanging a gaze with him, Qing Ling didn’t feel an immediate sense of shared doom, but he certainly harbored deep concerns for his own survival.
“Then…” Qing Ling asked softly, “Once matters here conclude, what will you do?”
At that precise instant, Qing Ling lost his ability to read the look in Shang Zhangheng’s eyes, a complex expression saturated with an overwhelming density of conflicting emotions.
After a prolonged pause, Shang Zhangheng slowly replied, “We are still a long way from the final conclusion.”
A slight measure of relief settled in Qing Ling’s heart. He mused silently that although the surname Shang was rare, throughout history, noble, aristocratic families bearing the surname Shang were certainly not unheard of.
He recalled reading in historical records of an ancient dynasty that successfully unified the realm and integrated multiple states; its imperial dynastic title was Zhou, while the imperial surname itself had been Shang.