Chapter Seventy: A Dead Rat

“Where are the cloth shoes? Aren’t they just…” Cheng Che pointed to the floor beside the kang. But when he blinked and looked again, the embroidered red cloth shoes were no longer there on the ground.

They had vanished!

Cheng Che’s words were abruptly cut off. He rubbed his eyes hard, unable to believe what he saw.

He had never encountered such a baffling situation before. “Old Zhang, what’s going on? The shoes are gone, how can that be?”

Zhang Qinglin also stared at the floor in disbelief. He’d been paying attention to the woman on the wooden chair the whole time—who would bother about the shoes? But now the shoes were missing, and even the wet marks on the floor had vanished with them.

“Cheng Che, we’ve really run into something unclean this time. Think—since you’ve been here these past two days, what have you come into contact with?” Zhang Qinglin’s gaze swept over the woman on the wooden chair. He turned his face slightly and whispered to Cheng Che.

After all, it was Cheng Che who found the dead rat. Maybe he had encountered or touched something strange, and that’s why something unclean had followed him back.

“What could I have touched? We’ve been together the whole time. I haven’t even gone out for a stroll. Besides that old lady’s family this morning and my uncle, I haven’t seen a single stranger. Old Zhang, what could I possibly have encountered?” Cheng Che’s agitation was evident, and his tone carried a hint of annoyance.

Zhang Qinglin nodded slightly without saying more. He knew it might not be Cheng Che’s fault. The old house had been uninhabited for years; without people living in it, it was bound to attract something after all this time. But what was odd was that after the old lady appeared in the morning, this woman called Meihua had suddenly shown up in the evening. What exactly did she want?

They had experienced many strange things before, but never anything as bizarre as this. The woman still sat on the wooden chair, but now, the previously bare feet were clad in those red cloth shoes, swinging back and forth.

Her expression was subtly shifting. She lowered her head, then suddenly looked up and gave a chillingly eerie smile, murmuring, “Who would have thought these shoes fit me so well… hee hee hee…”

“Damn, it really is a ghost! Old Zhang, let’s get out of here!” When Cheng Che saw the shoes on her feet, his eyes widened. He staggered, falling to the floor with a thud, then scrambled up and rushed toward the door.

Zhang Qinglin slid off the kang as well. He saw Cheng Che at the door, pushing and pulling, but the door wouldn’t budge.

A jolt of fear shot through Zhang Qinglin. No wonder Cheng Che had shouted so loudly just now, yet Uncle Jiang and Wu Cheng’an hadn’t reacted at all.

Panicked, Cheng Che turned and said to Zhang Qinglin, “The door won’t open—we’re seeing ghosts… Is this your doing?” He then shouted at Meihua on the chair.

“The door can’t open right now. Why are you so afraid? What are you scared of? I’m not going to eat you.” Meihua still sat on the wooden chair as she spoke.

Zhang Qinglin stood facing her, glancing around. It was still the east wing of the old house, but to the right against the wall was now a cabinet over a meter tall, with a delicate box on top. It looked like one of those dowry boxes a bride’s family would give their daughter. To the left, near the door, was an altar table with two burning candles, their flames glowing an eerie green.

It was the same room, but now there were more things in it. Zhang Qinglin couldn’t figure out why. He watched Cheng Che by the door; Cheng Che looked tense and unnatural, staring nervously at Meihua on the chair. Zhang Qinglin whispered, “Do you notice anything strange? There seem to be more cabinets in here.”

Cheng Che glanced around nervously. He’d been too anxious just now to notice any changes. But now, when he saw the greenish candlelight flickering near the door not far away, his face fell. “That… that candle, it’s a mourning candle…”

“What do you mean? I’ve never heard of that. Cheng Che, how can you tell it’s a mourning candle?” Zhang Qinglin’s gaze flicked to the candles on the altar table.

Cheng Che moved to Zhang Qinglin’s side, eyes fixed on Meihua. He whispered, “I heard it from someone who knows a bit about the supernatural. If you suddenly see a candle burning in a dark place, and its flame gets greener and greener, and if the dripping wax is red, then once the candle burns out, whoever saw it will die. Look—the light’s getting greener. That’s a mourning candle, Old Zhang. We have to find a way out.”

Zhang Qinglin said nothing, staring ahead.

“Brother, what’s wrong? Don’t you believe me? I’m telling the truth! And yes, there is a way to stop it. If this candle appears, it means whoever placed it wants our help with something. Is it her who put it here? Ask her!” Cheng Che’s voice was low, his eyes never leaving Meihua.

Zhang Qinglin paused, then looked straight at Meihua and asked, “Did you bring these cabinets in? Are those candles yours?”

Meihua tilted her head slightly, her gaze falling on the flickering green candlelight. She nodded lightly and replied, “I lit them. Granny once said, if you can’t solve your own problems, light the candle and someone will come to help. But I’ve burned quite a few already, and no one’s been able to help me…”

“So it was her,” Cheng Che muttered.

“What problem do you need help with? Tell us—maybe we can help,” Zhang Qinglin said after some thought.

Meihua stared at Zhang Qinglin, her expression going stiff. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, her face as if transformed, her gaze lifeless. Slowly, she said, “My name is Meihua. I was murdered. My name is Meihua. I was murdered…”

Cheng Che shrank back, hiding behind Zhang Qinglin, his voice trembling. “She… she must be the dead Meihua.”

“Who killed you? Why did he do it?” Zhang Qinglin steadied himself, trying to stay calm and clear-headed.

Pain gradually twisted Meihua’s face. She replied, “That day, I was walking alone by the river, picking up fallen branches. Someone held me down, tried to take advantage of me. I fought back, tried to escape, but he shoved me into the water. I screamed for help, but no one came. I struggled desperately, reaching for the weeds, but they slipped further and further away. I saw someone standing on the bank, grinning wickedly. I couldn’t see his face before I sank beneath the water.”

“So you want us to find your killer? But you didn’t see his face—how can we help you?” Cheng Che asked, raising his voice.

Meihua nodded, then took something from her person and placed it in her palm. It looked a bit like a button, but not quite. It was larger than a normal button and a unique shade of emerald green.

“What is that? Is it from him?” Zhang Qinglin couldn’t quite tell what she was holding.

Meihua extended her hand and nodded. “Yes. When he pushed me, I grabbed it from his neck. I remember, when they pulled my body from the river, someone took it from my hand. If you find who took it, that person is my killer.”

Zhang Qinglin stepped closer, with Cheng Che following. Up close, they saw that it was a lustrous jade leaf pendant.

This wasn’t the sort of thing an ordinary person would wear. If a man wore it, he was likely a businessman, since it symbolized prosperity and success. Besides, in those days, rural folk rarely wore such precious items.

“This is going to be hard, Old Zhang. Meihua’s been dead for over twenty years—her bones are long gone. The killer has probably left this place ages ago. Where would we even begin?” Cheng Che shook his head, doubting they could find the culprit with so little to go on.

Zhang Qinglin said nothing, intently studying the jade leaf. He asked, “Meihua, what did the man look like?”

“He was tall, not fat, had a long face, a black mole beside his nose. Unless you catch my killer, I will never rest in peace…” As she finished, Meihua’s eyes widened, and she suddenly let out a piercing howl.

She snatched up the dead rat from her lap and hurled it at Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che.

The abrupt turn left both men stunned. As the vile dead rat flew toward them, Zhang Qinglin turned his head, shielding his face with his arm.

When he lowered his arm, everything before him was dark. He heard a rooster crowing outside. With a start, Zhang Qinglin sat up, drenched in sweat. He glanced over—Cheng Che was still snoring away.

So it had all been a dream!

After sitting for a while, dawn gradually broke. Cheng Che still slept. Zhang Qinglin sat at the table outside, still thinking about the dream. At that moment, Wu Cheng’an came over and, seeing Zhang Qinglin’s pale face, asked with concern, “Didn’t sleep well last night? Maybe you should rest at home today.”

“I’m fine. Let’s get ready. I’ll go wake Cheng Che.” As Zhang Qinglin straightened up to stand, a shout came from the east wing.