Chapter Seventy-Eight: Banishing the Soul

Mr. Hu had not spoken a word since entering the room. He kept his head lowered, fastening the last button on his shirt.

The moment Mr. Hu walked in, Zhang Qinglin felt a sense of familiarity, as if he had seen this man somewhere before, though he couldn’t quite place him. Soon he noticed that, even with his head bowed, Mr. Hu’s sharp, black eyes darted about, scanning the room.

Ahem... Old Xu cleared his throat. Seeing Mr. Hu ignore him, he continued, “Mr. Hu, forgive our offense. The incident happened unexpectedly, and if anything was inappropriate, we will be sure to make amends in the future.”

Mr. Hu finished with his buttons, ran his fingers through his hair to push a few stray strands from his eyes, then raised his head, his gaze steady and direct. “There’s no need for empty words. If you want me to save someone, then follow my instructions exactly.”

“Please, just say what you need,” Old Xu responded without hesitation.

Mr. Hu’s keen eyes swept the room. “First, prepare a bowl of plain water, half a bowl of ash—preferably from burnt wood charcoal—a pair of bamboo chopsticks, a bowl of chicken blood. Everyone except for the one tied up and this person here will leave the room, and stay away. Even if you hear something, do not enter. Post your men by the main gate to stand guard.”

As Mr. Hu gave these instructions, he gestured at Zhang Qinglin to stay behind. Old Xu glanced at Zhang Qinglin, then sent Ayong at the door to fetch the items Mr. Hu required.

Uncle Jiang’s face showed surprise and concern. He stepped forward. “If you need help, I can stay. Xiaolin, you go wake up Yueyue.”

Zhang Qinglin listened as Mr. Hu listed a series of ordinary things for Old Xu to prepare. At Uncle Jiang’s call, he snapped out of his daze and started toward the inner room.

Mr. Hu immediately raised his hand, stopping him. “Was I not clear? He stays, everyone else out!” His voice was firm and commanding, and Zhang Qinglin froze in place.

“We’re short on time, no more delays. Mr. Jiang, please fetch your daughter, and the rest of you, leave,” said Old Xu, giving Uncle Jiang a meaningful look.

Before leaving, Wu Cheng’an patted Zhang Qinglin on the shoulder. The two exchanged a glance, and Zhang Qinglin watched as Old Xu’s men led Wu Daoyi out of the room, following Uncle Jiang and the others.

Once everyone had left, Zhang Qinglin glanced at Mr. Hu again. The room now felt empty and echoing. Suddenly, Cheng Che began to rage, straining against his bindings, his face twisted into a menacing scowl, his eyes fixed fiercely on Mr. Hu in the center of the room.

Just as Zhang Qinglin was about to step forward to restrain Cheng Che, Mr. Hu called out, “Wait!”

Moments later, Ayong returned with the required items, placing them on a side table as instructed before quickly leaving.

Mr. Hu approached the table, picked up the half bowl of ash, dipped the bamboo chopsticks into the bowl of chicken blood, then used them to lift some ash and drop it into the bowl of water.

The water instantly turned murky, and the blood-soaked ash sank to the bottom. Mr. Hu picked up the bowl of chicken blood, turned his head and glared at Zhang Qinglin. “You. Come here.”

Zhang Qinglin obeyed, unable to utter a word as he regarded Mr. Hu’s gaunt, stern face.

“Take out the item,” Mr. Hu said, not even looking at him, as he dipped the chopsticks into the chicken blood again and traced a circle on the table.

Seeing Zhang Qinglin hesitate, Mr. Hu continued, “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to save him? Do you think carrying a dead soul’s object is amusing? If you don’t hand it over now, don’t blame me for not warning you—if it comes out by itself, things could get ugly.” With that, he set the chopsticks on the bowl and extended his hand toward Zhang Qinglin.

Zhang Qinglin was confused for a moment—what did he mean by ‘a dead soul’s object’? Suddenly, realization struck. He quickly pulled from his pocket the jade leaf pendant left by Meihua.

He was about to place it in Mr. Hu’s hand when Mr. Hu barked, “What are you doing? Put it here.” He closed his hand and pointed at the blood circle on the table.

Zhang Qinglin placed the jade leaf pendant within the circle traced in chicken blood, but nothing seemed to happen. Mr. Hu then had him take the bowl of murky water and follow him to stand before Cheng Che.

By now, Cheng Che had become utterly crazed, struggling madly as Zhang Qinglin and Mr. Hu approached. Mr. Hu instructed Zhang Qinglin to throw the water over Cheng Che.

The mixture of chicken blood, ash, and water splashed over Cheng Che’s face and chest. Instantly, veins bulged on his cheeks, his eyes widened and reddened, and he let out a strange, furious roar.

Mr. Hu’s expression shifted. He told Zhang Qinglin to hold down Cheng Che’s arm, the one covered with red welts, while he quickly dipped the chopsticks in chicken blood and struck the black handprint on the arm. Each time the blood touched the mark, a wisp of white smoke rose up and Cheng Che screamed in pain.

Once the whole arm was covered, Mr. Hu had Zhang Qinglin step back, not to get too close. He then poured chicken blood in a circle around the chair where Cheng Che sat, tossed the bowl aside, murmured a few words, and Cheng Che grew even more agitated.

At that moment, Zhang Qinglin noticed that the jade leaf pendant, placed within the blood circle, had vanished, leaving only a puddle of green liquid.

A bloodcurdling scream rang out, and Cheng Che collapsed into the chair, drenched in sweat.

Mr. Hu leapt forward as if to seize something, but was forced to spin around, abruptly turning his gaze on Zhang Qinglin. “Stand still. Don’t move.”

Suddenly, Zhang Qinglin saw a woman standing before him—the very same Meihua he had seen the previous night. Her face shifted slightly as she glanced sideways at him. Zhang Qinglin panicked, stumbling back a step as the woman’s face drew nearer.

Mr. Hu strode over, bowl of chicken blood in hand, and with a swift motion, flicked the blood-soaked chopsticks at the woman.

With a scream, she darted aside, her face twisted with malice as she reached out and lunged for Mr. Hu.

But before she could reach him, Mr. Hu was already at the table again, mixing more ash into the chicken blood and stirring it quickly. “Don’t worry. The one who killed you has been caught. You can move on now—stop tormenting the living.”

He threw the mixture over the woman; wisps of white smoke rose from her body.

In an instant, she vanished into the smoke. Zhang Qinglin watched, his nerves taut with fear. Mr. Hu returned to Cheng Che, glanced at him, and said, “It appears to be over.”

“Do you mean he’s all right now?” Zhang Qinglin hurried to Mr. Hu’s side, looking anxiously at the unconscious Cheng Che.

Mr. Hu gave a slight nod, then shot Zhang Qinglin a glance. “Who said he’s fine? You—go and have them bring in the man at the gate!”

Zhang Qinglin wasn’t sure what Mr. Hu meant, but did as he was told, relaying the message to Old Xu outside.

Old Xu sent someone to the main gate, and sure enough, they caught a man who had been lurking outside, trying to sneak in.

The man was disheveled, and as he was brought into the courtyard, he brushed past Zhang Qinglin. Zhang Qinglin noticed an ornament hanging from the man’s neck—he was the killer of Meihua.

Zhang Qinglin followed them to the door but was stopped by Mr. Hu, who told him his help was no longer needed and warned him not to enter lest he ruin things.

Shut outside, Zhang Qinglin walked under a large tree in the yard, his gaze fixed on the house. He prayed for Cheng Che’s safety.

A ray of sunlight flashed before his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as if he could see straight through the door to the events inside. He didn’t feel anything terrible would happen, but his brows remained furrowed with worry, too preoccupied to notice anyone else nearby.

Uncle Jiang glanced at him. “Xiaolin, nothing happened to you in there, did it?”

Zhang Qinglin turned. “No. Mr. Hu is truly a remarkable man. I’m certain Cheng Che will be all right this time.”

Uncle Jiang lowered his gaze to the fallen leaves at his feet. “Yes. Xiaolin, you’ve come to Wuzhou and so much has happened—there was even real danger. I feel I’ve let your father down. I haven’t taken good enough care of you.”

“Please don’t say that, Uncle Jiang. You’ve been like a father to me, sending me to school and teaching me to be a good person. My father would be grateful if he knew.”

Uncle Jiang raised his head. “I know you’ve been searching for your father all this time. Truth is, I want to find him too—hoping he’s still alive. But there’s not a single clue about where he went... He must still be alive!”

Suddenly, Zhang Qinglin remembered something. He hurriedly took out the photo Xu Bin had given him before he died and handed it to Uncle Jiang, pointing to the unfamiliar face in the picture. “Uncle Jiang, do you know this man?”

Uncle Jiang studied the two men in the photo. Aside from Zhang Qinglin’s father, the other face struck a chord. “This is... the son of Old Dog from the west end of the village. Yes, it’s him! Xiaolin, where did you get this photo? Was it in the old house?”

“No, Cheng Che found someone to investigate my father’s disappearance, and that person found it,” Zhang Qinglin replied.

“How did he get this photo?” Uncle Jiang’s brow furrowed. “Where is he now?”

“He’s dead... Uncle Jiang, you’ve seen this photo before? You recognize this man too?” Zhang Qinglin saw the shock on Uncle Jiang’s face. Clearly, he knew both the photo and the man in it.