The wooden branch puppet tilted its head, a smile still plastered across its face, though a clear trace of puzzlement flickered in its eyes.
Because it failed to understand what He Zhuoming was saying, and it couldn’t speak for itself.
With neither of them speaking, He Zhuoming simply stared back at it with wide eyes. After a moment, the wooden branch puppet slowly grasped her meaning.
First, it shook its head gently to deny her remark about being foolish, then pointed to its throat and crossed the index fingers of both hands into an “X” over its mouth.
“You can’t speak right now?” He Zhuoming asked.
Lin Qingyun nodded.
He Zhuoming’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Before Lin Qingyun could respond, she slapped her own forehead. “Ah, I forgot, you can’t talk right now—are you sick?”
Lin Qingyun shook his head once more.
By now, He Zhuoming had completely pushed the corpse resting in the backyard out of her mind, her attention revolving entirely around Lin Qingyun. “Is it some sort of… backlash? Weren’t you killed once before? The price of resurrection or something like that…”
While making wild guesses, she inched closer to Lin Qingyun to examine him closely, hoping to figure out the cause of his sudden loss of voice from his appearance.
She barely managed to get a little close when Lin Qingyun pressed his index finger against her forehead and pushed her away.
He Zhuoming tilted her head back from the push and asked, “What are you doing?”
Lin Qingyun smiled, withdrew his hand, and—while He Zhuoming was still standing there looking baffled—swiftly and with lightning speed flicked her right on the forehead.
With a small cry of “Ow!”, He Zhuoming clutched her forehead, teary-eyed, and rolled backward onto the bed twice.
“That hurts!” He Zhuoming protested. “Are your fingers made of iron?”
Smiling, Lin Qingyun crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest and crossed his fingers into a large “X” again.
He Zhuoming sat up, rubbing her forehead. At this point, she and Lin Qingyun were separated by the distance of two or three people, but she still hadn’t figured out what his hand gestures meant, so she guessed wildly: “Are you saying you did something wrong, and you shouldn’t have flicked my forehead?”
Lin Qingyun shook his head.
“Are you saying your fingers aren’t made of iron?”
Lin Qingyun shook his head.
He Zhuoming’s jaw dropped. “Your fingers really are made of iron?!”
Lin Qingyun: “…”
He was beginning to lose his smile, and a strong urge to speak welled up inside him. All he had actually wanted was to get Xiao He to keep her distance and stop suddenly leaning in so close.
Yet Xiao He’s brain seemed a bit scrambled; his gestures had been so clear, but she kept completely missing the mark.
Seeing He Zhuoming cast suspicious glances at his finger, Lin Qingyun couldn’t help sighing and held out his hand for her to see.
He Zhuoming leaned forward to study it, then reached out to pinch it. After pinching Lin Qingyun’s hand, she pinched her own: they felt so different.
Lin Qingyun’s fingers were longer than hers, and his palm was larger.
Raising her head, she looked at Lin Qingyun’s head, neck, and shoulders, realizing that he was taller than her and broader-shouldered as well…
She had always treated Lin Qingyun as her peer, and before meeting him—before her transmigration—He Zhuoming hadn’t really liked boys her own age.
She felt those classmates in her grade were all foolish, mostly short, with grating voices, and were childish, crude, boring, disgusting…
Yet Lin Qingyun was tall, carried a clean fragrance, and looked cute when he smiled. Though his appearance was undoubtedly youthful, he lacked that simplistic, childish cutout feel of the boys in her memories—
There was a certain uprightness between youth and manhood; even with such handsome looks, his masculine presence was impossible to ignore.
Previously, Lin Qingyun had talked so much that He Zhuoming had never paid attention to this. But now that he had suddenly fallen silent, it became very easy for her to notice as she looked at him.
After pondering for a long time, He Zhuoming suddenly blurted out, “Qingyun! I just realized—”
Lin Qingyun watched her with a smile.
“—you’re a guy!”
Lin Qingyun: “…?”
He Zhuoming let go of his hand and began circling him, inspecting him with the gaze of someone discovering a new continent, though she kept a safer distance this time.
Unable to resist, Lin Qingyun reached out and pressed down on the top of her head. He Zhuoming hurried to bat his hand away. “I told you! Pressing on the top of my head will stunt my growth!”
Outside the door came the sound of the old man knocking and calling out. Knowing Lin Qingyun couldn’t speak right now, He Zhuoming proactively ran over to open the door.
It turned out the food was ready.
Handing the wooden food tray to He Zhuoming, the old man smiled ingratiatingly. “I’ve also boiled some hot water and prepared it in the backyard kitchen.”
“It’s just that I’m old, dizzy, and my eyes aren’t good; once the sun goes down, I fall into a deep sleep, and I’m afraid I won’t hear any calls during the night. If the esteemed musician and the young lady need hot water later tonight, you’ll have to trouble yourselves to go fetch it.”
“I’ve left embers in the stove, so the water should stay warm until around the third watch.”
Politely thanking the old grandfather, He Zhuoming carried the food back inside and placed it on the square table in the room.
There were two dishes delivered: a large bowl of stewed radishes and cabbage, a plate of braised beef, two large bowls of rice, two steamed white buns, and a polished bamboo tube.
Uncapping the bamboo tube, He Zhuoming caught a strong whiff of alcohol rushing out. She wrinkled her nose and quickly covered it back up.
Lin Qingyun still wasn’t eating. When she asked if he wanted a drink, he shook his head.
Believing that wasting food was a bad thing—and being extremely hungry right then—He Zhuoming ate Lin Qingyun’s portion as well.
Once the meal was nearly finished, she picked up the bamboo tube again, removed the lid, and sloshed the liquor inside. Having never tasted alcohol before, she found the smell both pungent and somewhat curious, so she dipped her chopsticks into it and touched a drop to her lips.
“So spicy! Ptui, ptui, ptui!”
He Zhuoming jumped up, spitting out the taste while tearing up from the spiciness.
Lin Qingyun had been looking out the window, but hearing the commotion, he turned to look at her. She was sticking out her tongue, hopping in place, and rushed over to tug at his sleeve. “Qingyun, Qingyun, Qingyun, water, water, water!”
Lin Qingyun spread his arms with an innocent expression.
With no time to guess what his expression meant, He Zhuoming reached out, unclipped the water skin hanging from his belt, unscrewed the cap, and took a large gulp of water.
Even after drinking, her mouth still felt fiery. Covering her face, she slumped listlessly onto the edge of the bed and watched Lin Qingyun walk over to the square table and pick up the bamboo tube that had held the liquor.
She grumbled, “It doesn’t taste good at all, the flavor is super weird, and it burned my mouth so much it hurts…”
Suddenly, Lin Qingyun tilted his head back and drank all the remaining liquor in the bamboo tube in one go.
As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed distinctly up and down. A moment later, he set the completely empty bamboo tube back on the table.
His complexion didn’t show the slightest change; it remained as pale and flawless as porcelain, with only his lips looking exceptionally glossy from the alcohol.
Stunned by his tolerance for liquor, He Zhuoming stared at the empty tube, forgetting even to complain, until Lin Qingyun walked right up to her and tipped the empty container upside down to show her.
“…Are, are you going to have more?”
Lin Qingyun blinked, a pensive look crossing his face—for once, the copy-pasted smile vanished, replaced by a different expression.
After a moment of silence, he shook his head and put the bamboo tube back down.
He had simply been curious.
Seeing Xiao He jump around and tear up from the spiciness, he had grown curious about the stuff she had just drunk—he wanted to know what the “wine” that made Xiao He cry actually tasted like.
Yet until he drank every last drop in the tube, he hadn’t tasted a thing.
Naturally, tasting anything was impossible.
Even a complete “Lin Qingyun” couldn’t taste the flavor of any food, let alone a few drops of blood stripped away from his body.
He couldn’t even smell it.
Realizing he could neither taste nor smell the wine, the wooden branch puppet felt a strange sensation come over him. It felt as though a hollow had opened up inside his heart, something sinking down and leaving him feeling slightly stifled.
Perplexed, He Zhuoming circled him once, tipped her head up to study his face, and remarked, “You aren’t red at all!”
“How is your alcohol tolerance so high?”
Lin Qingyun lowered his gaze and smiled, his pupils tracking her movements before he suddenly reached out and tapped her cheek with his index finger—he didn’t know why he did it; the action was completely devoid of thought.
Every inch of skin on the young girl’s face was flushed and burning from that mouthful of untasted, forbidden wine. When he touched her cheek, she froze noticeably, stopping her restless pacing.
The sky outside was pitch black. On this starless, moonless night, the only light source in the room was a single oil lamp. The scattered, dim glow made Lin Qingyun appear hazy and indistinct in He Zhuoming’s line of sight, his features blurred and soft.
Yet he was smiling again, a faint smile with dimples barely hovering, his dense eyelashes half-shielding his pupils.
He Zhuoming jerked backward, clutching her chest. She felt her face burning and her heart racing in chaos.
Turning around, she marched straight to the far corner of the room and began furiously fanning her face with her hand. But the effect was minimal; she even felt as though the breeze generated by her palm was hot. Leaning one hand against the wall, she let her gaze sweep frantically across the empty space before slowly drifting back to Lin Qingyun.
He was still standing in the same spot, his arms lowered at his sides—his curled index fingertip brushed against his palm, as if the heat from Xiao He’s face had burned all the way to his hand.
He Zhuoming gave a dry cough to clear her throat. “Um! Do you, do you feel like it’s really hot in here? Let’s go outside for a walk!”
Without waiting to see how Lin Qingyun would react, she pushed open the door and stepped out first.
The air outside was indeed much fresher than indoors. After taking a few deep breaths outside, He Zhuoming felt her heartbeat settle down from its previous chaos.
Before long, Lin Qingyun followed her out, coming to a halt by her side. He Zhuoming touched the cheek he had just poked and looked away.
“It’s pretty dark out… Tonight’s an overcast day…”
Receiving no reply and remembering that Lin Qingyun was mute right now, she couldn’t help regretting her words and lightly tapped her own mouth.
Holding back from hitting herself too hard, the second tap turned into a gentle stroke. She clicked her tongue, feeling that her tongue still tingled with a bit of spice and pain.
Her gaze drifted sideways to glance at Lin Qingyun, only to find that he was looking right at her as well.
The moment their eyes locked, He Zhuoming instantly retracted her gaze, staring down to pretend she was watching her step.
Her heart began pounding frantically again, bringing a subtle wave of tension and awkwardness. Eager to say something yet terrified that Lin Qingyun’s inability to speak would only make the atmosphere more awkward, she kept silent.
Walking along in quiet concentration, He Zhuoming looked up inadvertently and realized they had wandered into the post station’s backyard—she could even spot the handcart draped in white cloth not far away.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
To be fair, she wasn’t horribly terrified; after spending those days in the village moving bodies back and forth, she had grown somewhat immune to corpses.
What bothered her was what the old manager had said about the dead man being a disciple of an immortal sect.
She vaguely remembered a trope in the original novel where cultivators who died violent deaths turned into vengeful ghosts—something covered in one of the original male protagonist’s trial arcs.
There was no telling whether the cultivator who died in this post station was powerful or not.
Even taking a step back, supposing this deceased cultivator wouldn’t suddenly mutate into a ghost or zombie, the monster that had killed him was still out there.
While reading detective novels, He Zhuoming had learned a saying that murderers often returned to crime scenes to relish what they had done—what if monsters had similar weird habits?!
The more she thought about it, the more wrong everything felt, and the air even seemed chilly.
Wrapping her arms around herself, He Zhuoming urged Lin Qingyun, “I feel like this place is creepy… Let’s head back inside!”
Lin Qingyun blinked, feeling puzzled: It was Xiao He who had complained that the room was stuffy and wanted to come out for a walk. Yet not even the time it took to brew a cup of tea later, she was the one leading the charge to go back.
Xiao He was so fickle.
With no time to ponder what Lin Qingyun was thinking, He Zhuoming broke into a light jog back toward the main hall.
The front doors and windows of the hall were already shut tight, plunging everything into darkness save for the lights still shining from their room upstairs.
Suddenly, the overcast clouds parted, revealing a bright, full moon hanging high in the sky.
Moonlight pierced through the paper-lined doors and windows, casting a dim illumination over the main hall. A suspended dark shadow pressed against the surface of the door, and a vivid crimson red quickly bled through the paper—seeing this clearly, He Zhuoming felt her scalp tingle with fright and turned to flee backward.
Before she had taken two steps, she crashed straight into Lin Qingyun’s chest. Catching a glimpse of his face, she didn’t even have time to speak before grabbing his hand and running!
With only the backyard left as an option, the two of them had no choice but to head back that way.
Bursting into the backyard, He Zhuoming instinctively glanced toward the handcart: the cart was already completely empty, both the white cloth and the corpse having vanished without a trace!
With a tearful grimace, she wailed, “I knew it! Whenever you hang out with the male protagonist, you’re bound to run into either a corpse revival or a monster!”
Clinging to a final shred of hope, she turned back to Lin Qingyun and asked, “Can you beat it?”
Lin Qingyun turned as well to look toward the main hall, then smiled and shook his head at her.
As if on cue to match his gesture—a massive crash echoed from the main hall as the doors and windows shattered!
As for the old grandfather who had been guarding the post station, he proved to be a man of his word: he said he would sleep like the dead after nightfall, and sure enough, despite such a tremendous commotion, he remained utterly unresponsive, acting as if none of it existed.
Weeping softly, He Zhuoming dragged Lin Qingyun into the backyard kitchen, shoving every vat and barrel she could reach behind the door to barricade it.
Seeing this, Lin Qingyun followed her lead, actively searching for several heavy objects to push over and help secure the entrance.
Within moments, they had used up everything movable to block the door. Panting heavily, He Zhuoming climbed onto the cooking stove to catch her breath, looking up to see Lin Qingyun panting just as hard.
No matter what he did, Lin Qingyun always maintained a completely effortless composure, making this the first time she had ever seen him looking so ruffled: beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his short hair stood up in a messy tuft, and a few strands had even tangled with his long earring.
As she stared at him, Lin Qingyun suddenly lifted his gaze to meet hers.
Uncharacteristically, he wasn’t smiling, but instead pointed a finger suggestively toward his head. He Zhuoming had hauled two low stools over from the firewood pile earlier, and her already haphazardly braided hair had snagged several tiny dry twigs.
Confused, she blinked.
Frowning slightly, Lin Qingyun pointed at his hair again.
After a moment of thought, He Zhuoming experienced a flash of realization. “Oh, you can’t untangle that, right? I mean, really! What time is it right now? If your hair got tangled, it got tangled. When do I have time to help you untangle it…”
Realizing that He Zhuoming still hadn’t grasped his meaning, Lin Qingyun sighed inwardly, walked over to her, plucked the twig from her hair, and held it out for her to see.
He Zhuoming: “…”
Lin Qingyun smiled and handed the twig to her. Scratching her cheek, He Zhuoming lowered her head and snapped the twig into multiple pieces.
Leaning against the stove, the warmth of the stone wall radiated into He Zhuoming’s back. Right in front of them was the pile of barricades, and if they raised their line of sight just a bit, they could see the upper half of the kitchen door.
Like the door to the main hall, the kitchen door had a wooden frame with paper panels. Because the weather outside was clearing up, the moonlight made that upper half of the kitchen door glow brightly.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, He Zhuoming belatedly began to worry, whispering, “Oh no, we were so busy piling things up to block the door that we only covered the bottom half, while the top half is completely open—is this door sturdy? What if it comes in through the top half…”
Before she could finish, Lin Qingyun suddenly reached out and covered her mouth.
The moonlight shining through the upper half of the door was partially blocked as a human shadow hovered right outside.