Ghost Play
Town of Lasting Fortune, at the entrance.
Beside the stone tablet engraved with the town’s name, Zheng Que stood motionless, head tilted upward.
The massive skeletal hand blotted out the entire town, yet under the moonlight, its gloomy, pale bone color seemed to shimmer with a flawless jade-like brilliance amidst the hazy night mist, terrifying, eerie, and sinister, yet it cast not the slightest shadow upon the ground.
This skeletal hand had no shadow.
Not only did it lack a shadow, but as it hovered mid-air, its surroundings remained pristine, the bone color clear as if washed. He could not detect even a trace of Yin Qi on it.
It was not that the skeletal hand lacked Yin Qi, but rather that its realm was too high, far exceeding the limits of what the 【Spirit Eye Technique】 could detect.
This situation he had only encountered once before, on his master, Daoist Qu. The 【Spirit Eye Technique】 was equally incapable of seeing through his master’s cultivation.
This enormous, eerie skeletal hand was not a ghostly entity of the 【Tongue-Tearing Hell】 realm.
In an instant, Zheng Que understood why, over the past few days, he had been unable to detect any abnormalities when using the 【Spirit Eye Technique】 to observe those shadowless people.
This massive skeletal hand was the culprit that had stolen everyone’s shadows.
And those who had lost their shadows had become part of it.
Now, his own shadow had also been targeted.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, Zheng Que’s consciousness gradually began to blur.
In a simple side room, beneath a newly hung crimson canopy, lay bedding embroidered with mandarin ducks frolicking in water.
On a nearby table, a pair of crudely crafted dragon-and-phoenix candles burned, their warm, flickering light casting a layer of enchanting warmth over the entire room.
Zheng Que opened his eyes, glanced around, and a look of confusion crossed his face. Where was this?
“Husband…”
At that moment, a voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum sounded behind him.
Zheng Que immediately turned to look. A figure dressed in slightly worn skirt and robes sat on the edge of the bed, a bright red cloth covering her head. From her wide sleeves, a pair of pale, delicate hands peeked out, seemingly nervously clasped together on her lap.
In the candlelight, the figure appeared somewhat blurred.
Zheng Que stared at her for a moment, then suddenly remembered something.
This was Sun Cui’er, the wife his mother had painstakingly arranged for him.
He was Zhao Lao’er?
Zheng Que instinctively felt something was off, but his thoughts were unusually rigid at that moment. Almost instinctively, he felt he should do something.
So, Zheng Que walked over to Sun Cui’er, lifted the red cloth covering her head, and revealed a face that seemed lovely and fresh, yet upon closer inspection, he couldn’t quite make out her features clearly.
Meanwhile, Sun Cui’er kept her head lowered, not daring to look at Zheng Que’s face, as if deeply shy.
Looking at Sun Cui’er, a sudden, intense impulse surged within Zheng Que. He stepped forward and pushed her down onto the bed.
Sun Cui’er offered no resistance, lying on the bed as soft and pliant as if boneless, seemingly overwhelmed with bashfulness.
Zheng Que hesitated no longer and leaned down. However, just as his body was about to make further contact with Sun Cui’er, a chilling aura seemed to pour down from above his head. The shadow of death abruptly descended, and every pore on his body seemed to scream in terror.
This was a warning of death.
The keen intuition granted to him by the Book of Life and Death.
Zheng Que’s previously dazed mind suddenly cleared.
Wrong.
He was Zheng Que, not Zhao Lao’er.
As his thoughts raced, he looked again at Sun Cui’er, only to see that beautiful yet blurred face suddenly become clear: pale cheeks, crimson almond-shaped eyes, a slender and graceful figure, delicate and charming, with a purplish-black bruise on her neck.
This was Qing Li.
At this moment, there was no trace of shyness on Qing Li’s face. Her expression was strained, and she kept opening and closing her lips, mouthing the words “human race brat” to him, but her body remained completely immobile, unable to make any sound.
Zheng Que’s expression changed. He immediately scooped Qing Li up from the bed and fled straight toward the door.
Bang!
Zheng Que kicked the door open. Outside, a chilling wind blew, and leaves from the large tree in the courtyard fell like a sudden downpour, pattering urgently against the ground.
Without hesitation, he dashed out of the courtyard gate.
But just as Zheng Que rushed out of the courtyard gate, the surroundings transformed once more.
Rotten straw, half-decayed, lay draped over a low wall. The compacted dirt ground, three low thatched huts, and in the corner, an old well with worn railings. Beside it, Cui Ni’er, head bowed and sleeves rolled up, was drawing water from the well, beating clothes with a wooden mallet.
Thump, thump, thump…
Amid the monotonous pounding, Zheng Que stood not far from the well, looking around in slight bewilderment, his consciousness growing hazy once again.
At that moment, a familiar voice came from outside the door. “Cui Fugui, your daughter is grown now. Will you agree to this marriage or not?”
Zheng Que turned to look and saw a gray-haired woman in a slightly worn skirt standing at the doorway. She held a basket filled with pastries and fruits, staring unblinkingly at him.
This was Old Madam Zhao from the Zhao family, who had come to propose a marriage for her son, Zhao Lao’er.
Was he Cui Fugui?
Puzzled, Zheng Que glanced at Cui Ni’er washing clothes nearby and immediately replied, “No way!”
“My Ni’er will marry no one!”
“Hurry up and leave. Don’t even think about scheming for my Ni’er!”
Old Madam Zhao snorted coldly. “You old fool! Better not let your daughter be alone, or I’ll snatch her away even if I have to!”
With that, she picked up her basket and turned to leave.
Zheng Que looked back at Cui Ni’er, who was still bent over washing clothes. Suddenly, the girl spoke up. “Father, help me fetch another bucket of water.”
Hearing this, Zheng Que didn’t hesitate and immediately walked to the well to draw water.
“Hehe…”
“Drown you… drown you…”
The shimmering water at the bottom of the well echoed with playful sounds, crisp childish voices reverberating within. Zheng Que sensed nothing unusual. He grabbed the bucket by the well and tossed it down, beginning to draw water.
Splash… splash… splash…
The wooden bucket, now filled with well water, was quickly pulled up. Along the way, it occasionally swayed and spilled a little water. Under Zheng Que’s pull, the bucket rapidly approached the mouth of the well.
The daylight revealed the contents of the bucket. It was filled to the brim with a bright red liquid, unmistakably blood.
Zheng Que still felt nothing amiss and reached out to lift the bucket, now just below the mouth of the well.
At that moment, the familiar sensation of ice-cold water pouring over his head struck him once more.
Overwhelmed by the pervasive aura of death, Zheng Que shuddered and snapped out of his dazed state once again.
He hurriedly let go.
Plop!
The bucket fell back down.
Zheng Que turned to look at Cui Ni’er beside him. She was dressed in white, her long hair tied high with a wooden hairpin, pale and elegant, slender and graceful. The purplish-black bruise on her neck was startling to behold.
This was Qing Li, not Cui Ni’er.
Qing Li looked dazed, clearly no longer as lucid as before, her hands still mechanically scrubbing the clothes.
Zheng Que’s expression changed. Just as he was about to take Qing Li and flee, the surroundings shifted once again.