Chapter 45: The Truth: Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock…

He Zhuchun couldn’t figure out how the man came to love handing out Good Person Cards so much — the last one had been issued mere moments ago, and its recipient had been none other than Zhang Yin.

He said, sulking: “I’m a good person — and then what? Are you going to gift me some free Ritual Service next?”

Lu You smiled and answered: “What kind of Ritual Service would you like?”

He Zhuchun flared up instantly: “Stop talking to me. Talking to you makes my blood boil.”

Lu You just laughed on beside him.

That Ritual Service had consumed far too much energy. Lu You rested on the sofa with his eyes closed, conserving spirit, while He Zhuchun called the remaining workmasters upstairs, then reported to the police and notified them to come handle the relevant matters.

The police ran through their procedure on the scene. Lu You paid it no particular mind; he drifted groggy through the whole thing, wanting only for questioning to end so he could find somewhere to sleep.

Luckily, the two of them had only arrived in this city a couple of days ago — witnesses, at most. The police notified the real owner of the house, ran a routine interview with the two of them, and let them go.

When they came out of the station, the sky outside was still light. A message arrived on Lu You’s phone from Zhao Xiaochen: the address of a nearby hotel, with the claim that rooms for their rest had just been booked.

“Go,” Lu You said, eyelids low, his voice mild: “Go sleep.”

That sleep ran all the way until the sun sank west.

When Lu You opened his eyes, He Zhuchun was sitting in the chair by the bed, playing on his phone in the dark, the screen’s pale glare washing white across his face — he didn’t seem to care; it was probably some puzzle-type offline game, his finger swiping now and then, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Lu You closed his eyes again and rested a while before propping himself up on his arms.

He Zhuchun heard the movement and rose to switch on the light: “Awake?”

“Mm. What time is it?”

“After nine.”

“Late.”

“It is late.” He Zhuchun walked back and sat down again in the chair by the bed. “Want to go get something to eat?”

There was a small stir-fry place next to the hotel with good ratings. They went over and ordered two dishes and a soup. He Zhuchun always ate fast; once he was finished, he did nothing at all — just sat across the table watching Lu You chew slowly and carefully.

Only when Lu You had drained yet another bowl of soup did He Zhuchun finally say: “What time are we going back to the building?”

Lu You looked at him, faintly surprised: “How did you know I want to go back?”

“Because I’m the roundworm living in Great Immortal Lu’s gut.”

He Zhuchun leaned back as he said it, a single arm hooked over the neighboring chair’s back, adding with a smile: “That’s what they call — two hearts beating as one.”

Lu You nodded, solemn, and repeated: “Two hearts beating as one.”

Around ten-thirty, they crept up the stairwell, quiet as thieves, and unlocked the apartment door. By this hour the police were long off shift; caution tape ringed the place; Lu You stepped carefully over it and crossed the living room.

He Zhuchun followed behind, uncharacteristically silent.

The room was still as it had been by day — the living room littered with the overlapping prints of strangers’ feet. Lu You went first to the sofa to find his travel bag, dipped his brush in ink, and sketched something in fragments.

He Zhuchun wandered over and peered down into the pit — until his eyes met the mummy’s; staring into those two empty sockets, a wash of cold disgust passed through him, and only then did he finally shuffle away.

Gone one afternoon, this room seemed to have changed in nothing except the breath of strangers and their footprints. The living room clock still quarreled on, its hands striking out one grating tick for every movement.

He Zhuchun sat down beside Lu You, staring straight at the clock, touch and hearing synced in full. He counted silently, watching until the hour hand edged toward eleven.

Tick—

Tick—

Scratch—

Tick—

Scratch—

That familiar sound, like nails scraping across something, came again.

Zhang Yin’s soul had been delivered; his corpse lay quiet on the fourth floor, doing nothing. Yet at eleven, that same faint dry scratching went on drilling into the ears of the two of them.

Lu You’s brush halted. He looked at He Zhuchun’s unsurprised face and smiled: “How did you know?”

He Zhuchun asked, knowing perfectly well: “Know what?”

Lu You said: “Know that there’s another native here.”

He Zhuchun clicked his tongue, not too pleased: “Great Immortal Lu, I treat you as a smart man. You play dirty and call it fairness — and then you take me for a fool.”

“My fault.” Lu You’s apology was prompt and sincere; the curiosity remained: “Then can you tell me now? How did you know?”

“Because of the talismans.” He Zhuchun pulled from his person the talisman Lu You had given him last night. “From the moment the strange sounds began at eleven last night, that thing entered our home and tried to lure me out of the bedroom. It failed, and got scorched by the talisman — which means its Grievance Qi runs toward the malign, and it means harm to people, so the talisman self-ignited to protect me.”

“And the instant I touched that doorknob, your dear talisman burned me — one flash of heat that shocked me awake and saved my life. But afterward, when I went to touch Zhang Yin, your talisman didn’t stir in the slightest.” His face was insufferably pleased with itself:

“It was a little too easy to deduce.”

Lu You was genuinely startled at how early he had worked it all out; he offered his praise: “Very clever.”

He Zhuchun’s chin lifted a fraction: “Naturally.”

Done gloating, he immediately asked: “Your turn, then. Great Immortal Lu’s analysis is bound to be more complete than mine. Out with your one-two-three.”

“Fine.”

Lu You truly began: “First: the timing and the sound don’t match. The information Zhao Xiaochen gave us described thumping from eleven-thirty to three in the morning. But that first strange noise last night came half an hour early — and it isn’t even the same sound. That dry scratching doesn’t read like cloth or shoe soles. It reads like the scrape of fingernails.”

He Zhuchun asked: “How are you sure that first bout of noise wasn’t Zhang Yin?”

Lu You answered: “Because Zhang Yin’s hands and feet were bound when he died. Given his position at the time of death, he was physically incapable of any feat like scraping something with his fingernails. And — are you certain that sound came from downstairs?”

He Zhuchun stalled.

He thought back honestly: true — last night it was precisely because he could not pin down the sound’s position that the clock’s interference drove him into a temper, very nearly sending him storming out of the bedroom to pry the battery out of that dial.

Lu You granted him no time to dwell on the memory, and continued: “And there’s one more mismatch in the timing. Remember what Zhang Yin told us — that from eleven o’clock he can no longer stay on the fourth floor? Yet the convulsions of him reliving his death each night plainly begin at eleven-thirty. If being barred from home between eleven-thirty and three is his instinct refusing to let him discover the fact of his own death — then what explains that earlier half hour?”

He Zhuchun went silent for two seconds. Zhang Yin’s mad face floated up, and he breathed out a sentence the man had once said to the two of them: “…There’s a ghost.”

“Yes. A ghost — or rather, something he fears has appeared, and so he has to run out of the fourth floor.” Lu You’s right hand rested on the wooden armrest and began tapping again, slowly. He said:

“Second: Zhang Yin’s cause of death doesn’t hold.”

He Zhuchun said: “Do ghosts lie too?”

“It isn’t the ghost lying to people. It’s people who lied to the ghost.” Lu You’s gaze settled on the Yellow Joss Paper spread across the tabletop before him:

“Zhang Yin’s view in life was narrow. He believed he died for exposing the developers’ shoddy construction. But was it really worth that? Zhang Yin — an ordinary man dead twenty-odd years without so much as rippling society. A nobody so small his word carried no weight at all. Would developers truly fear the airy nothings that fell from such a man’s mouth?”

“There is only one possibility. He had a reason he had to die.”

He Zhuchun nodded, without pressing: “And third?”

“Third: the marks.” Lu You’s left hand pointed at the bedroom door. “At that height — never mind whether Zhang Yin meant you harm. Even if he did, even if he truly meant to hurt you, clawing at a door would never happen at that position.”

He Zhuchun startled.

He truly hadn’t noticed that detail last night. Now, hearing Lu You raise it, he looked again at that dense patch of fine scratches in the middle of the door panel.

So it was…

“And one more crucial point — supposing Zhang Yin really did carry that much killing malice.” Lu You paused slightly, still pointing toward the bedroom, his voice carrying absolute confidence in the power of his own talismans: “Why was the talisman on the fifth floor’s floor untouched — when the ones on the doors and windows were the ones that burned?”

The talisman on the floor was the nearest of all of them to Zhang Yin’s corpse.

“And when we saw Zhang Yin last night, there wasn’t a single burn mark on his body either.”

He Zhuchun nodded, deeply, as though in total agreement.

Lu You smiled and summed it up: “The answer is simple enough now. Last night, a ghost did enter our home — but the ghost was not Zhang Yin. And Zhang Yin’s cause of death is plainly bound up with this second one — so closely, in fact, that even Zhang Yin himself isn’t entirely clear on it.”

He Zhuchun’s lashes lowered, and he lifted the answer into the light:

“The Human Sacrifice Foundation Pillar.”

The Human Sacrifice Foundation Pillar — plainly put, the sacrifice of living people. In certain regions it was usually used for the situation where, before a project even began, problems of every kind piled up until the work could not start. Developers would conclude that breaking ground had damaged the local Feng Shui, or disturbed the local ghosts and gods — and so they would choose a living sacrifice. These sorcerous rites typically took children as their offerings, the intent being that a living soul would guard the project through to smooth completion.

And Zhang Yin’s cause of death…

“The child who died carried Grievance Qi too heavy to settle; he must have kicked up no end of trouble afterward. The developers needed a new soul to appease his fury — and at exactly that moment, Zhang Yin appeared.” Lu You’s face was blank of expression, but his voice had gone low and cold:

“Another man with no power and no standing, who still dreamed of giving the developers trouble. A fresh offering.”

Every riddle came undone.

Zhang Yin’s death. Zhang Yin’s madness. Zhang Yin’s fear…

The scratching and the clock’s tick-tock carried on together.

He Zhuchun asked: “Where do we go to find it?”

Lu You didn’t answer directly. Instead, he raised a question so abrupt it seemed out of nowhere: “The talismans we posted here last night — how many are left?”

He Zhuchun counted them off: “One on me. Half on the living room window. Half on the bedroom door. One on the floor. One on the window. And one on the empty room’s door.”

“Too many,” said Lu You.

He Zhuchun’s voice carried his confusion: “Too many what?”

“The talismans. There are too many.”

Tick…

Tick…

Tick…

The minute hand crawled slowly toward the “six” directly below.

Eleven-thirty.

The scratching stopped, abrupt.

The fingertips Lu You had been lightly tapping also stopped — then drifted up, light as a feather, pointing toward the empty room.

“The talisman on the empty room’s door — you got rid of it last night, didn’t you?”