PCA Chapter 148

Early the next morning, Su Cen and Qu Ling’er bid farewell to the Zhang family and found the small path at the foot of the mountain as described by Madam Zhang. Indeed, it was overgrown with weeds, seemingly untraveled for a long time.

 

Qu Ling’er was completely unwilling. He fully believed what the villagers had told them and feared being taken away by those coffins, never to return to Chang’an City or see his Brother Qi again. He had pleaded with Su Cen all night, but to no avail. Su Cen had mastered the skill of shutting his ears and closing his eyes to ignore everything while studying, and had simply fallen asleep, soon snoring away.

 

Qu Ling’er resigned himself to his fate. Once his Su-brother had made up his mind, not even nine oxen could pull him back.

 

Before leaving, he insisted on finding an old monk at the village entrance to draw some talismans for him. The monk pointed out that drawing talismans was a Taoist practice, not Buddhist—at most, he could recite a passage from the scripture for the dead.

 

In the end, Qu Ling’er somehow managed to obtain talismans from the old monk and solemnly hung them around his neck with a red string. Su Cen quietly glanced at them—the six characters “Om Mani Padme Hum” were written in a wild, flowing style that looked profound—sufficient to fool someone like Qu Ling’er.

 

The journey was quite difficult. The weeds were half a person’s height, and although autumn had arrived, the summer heat hadn’t subsided. Combined with the frequent rain in the area, the humid heat was unbearable, and insects were particularly troublesome. After walking all morning, both were soaked through with sweat, their legs covered in mosquito bites, yet they hadn’t seen a single person.

 

At high noon under the blazing sun, Su Cen suggested they rest under a large tree and take the opportunity to satisfy their hunger.

 

Qu Ling’er had fashioned a straw hat from leaves to wear on his head. Leaning against the tree trunk, he scratched at the mosquito bites on his legs while complaining: “Brother Su, wouldn’t it be better to complete our inspection and return to Chang’an City quickly? Why must we suffer like this? At the very least, we could have revealed our identities and brought that Magistrate Ma along—at least then we’d have someone to clear the path for us.”

 

Su Cen was resting with his straw hat covering his face. Hearing this, he lifted it slightly and said, “Back then, even Lord Chen and Lord Zhang couldn’t discover anything when they investigated officially as representatives of the Dali Temple. Do you think bringing along a magistrate who’s too afraid to enter a cave would yield any results?”

 

“At least having more people would give us courage,” Qu Ling’er mumbled.

 

“You really believed what they said,” Su Cen fanned himself with the straw hat. “People are frightened not necessarily because things are inherently terrifying, but more often because of what they imagine—they scare themselves. If you can see through appearances to the essence, some things simply fall apart on their own. Want to hear my thoughts?”

 

Qu Ling’er sat up straight, “Tell me, Brother Su.”

 

“People don’t just disappear without reason. Since they come from coffins and disappear into coffins, I suspect there must be secret passages or hidden doors underneath. When that person arrived, probably the entire village was doing something in these passages, which is why he didn’t see anyone.”

 

“Who would build secret passages in coffins?” Qu Ling’er pouted. “And how do you explain that person dying after returning, and the coffin that appeared at his door from nowhere?”

 

“The person might have died because he was already ill, or perhaps he developed some acute condition later. As for the coffin, that’s even simpler—what’s so strange about placing a coffin during the dark of night? If it were me, I could think of a hundred ways to place a coffin at someone’s door.”

 

“You make it sound so simple,” Qu Ling’er secretly rolled his eyes and muttered, “One or two things might be easily explained, but when so many strange occurrences are intertwined, is it really that simple?”

 

Su Cen put his hat back over his face, “It’s precisely because it’s not simple that we need to investigate.”

 

After the most intense midday heat had passed, they set out again. Qu Ling’er tied his pant legs and sleeves tightly with straw rope and covered himself with a thin shirt, then stubbornly battled the mosquitoes like a pig that doesn’t fear boiling water.

 

In contrast, Su Cen continued with his sleeves fluttering as usual, completely unconcerned about the small flying insects.

 

Qu Ling’er expressed admiration with just his exposed eyes: “Brother Su, aren’t you afraid of getting bitten?”

 

“I am,” Su Cen replied calmly, “but mosquito bites itch, and heat rash from covering up also itches. Since it’s going to itch either way, I can’t be bothered to worry about it.”

 

Qu Ling’er: “…” That actually made sense.

 

It wasn’t until the sun began to set in the west that they spotted the boundary marker of Lu Family Village. After walking a bit further, they saw a dwelling—a solitary hut about two li from the village proper, just an ordinary thatched cottage with no coffin visible at its entrance.

 

“Is… is anyone here?” Qu Ling’er hid behind Su Cen, cautiously observing the cottage. “The sun hasn’t set yet, so does that mean no one’s home?”

 

Su Cen stepped forward, about to knock when a gentle breeze passed by, and the door creaked open on its own.

 

Su Cen’s raised hand froze in place as he stared at the desolate courtyard, momentarily unsure what to do.

 

“Brother Su, why did the door open by itself?” Qu Ling’er’s words stuttered. “Is, is it a ghost?”

 

“Ahem, ahem…” A floating cough came from behind them, as if in response to Qu Ling’er’s mention of ghosts.

 

“Ahhh! Brother Su, save me!” Qu Ling’er immediately jumped, his hair standing on end as he leaped three feet high, screaming directly into Su Cen’s ear.

 

Su Cen rubbed his ear and turned around to see an old man with graying hair who had appeared behind them, carrying half a bundle of firewood. The setting sun behind him cast a long shadow, making his facial expression somewhat obscure, but his eyes gleamed brightly as he examined the two of them suspiciously.

 

“Stop screaming, it’s a person.” Su Cen covered Qu Ling’er’s mouth and was about to turn back to explain to the old man, but saw that he had already walked past them with his firewood and entered the courtyard. As he passed, the old man chuckled lightly: “What a rare sight, two breathing creatures have come in.”

 

Qu Ling’er’s legs went weak, nearly causing him to kneel. “Bro-Bro-Brother Su, he said we’re breathing creatures. Is he going to eat us?”

 

Su Cen watched the old man’s retreating figure, “Would you prefer if he said you weren’t breathing?”

 

After entering, the old man didn’t close the gate but went straight to the firewood room to cook. This at least indicated that he wasn’t too concerned about them, so Su Cen dragged Qu Ling’er into the courtyard.

 

The small yard was no different from any ordinary household. Near the fence were some small plots cultivated with cabbage and eggplant growing well. Behind the gate were hoes, rakes, and other common farming tools—no weapons that could cause harm.

 

Su Cen settled Qu Ling’er in the yard and went to the firewood room to chat with the old man.

 

“Elder,” Su Cen cupped his hands in greeting, “we are traveling physicians passing through your area, hoping to ask for some water to drink.”

 

“Water to drink?” The old man paused his work and snorted coldly, making no effort to hide the mockery in his eyes. “You walked twenty li of mountain terrain just to ask for water?”

 

It was exactly twenty li from the foot of the mountain near Jinghe Village, so this old man clearly knew the area well. Though his pretense was seen through, Su Cen showed no embarrassment and replied with a composed smile: “To be honest, I actually came to find someone.”

 

“Oh?” The old man continued stuffing firewood into the stove. The dancing flames illuminated the deep furrows of his face. “Who?”

 

“Lu Xiaoliu,” Su Cen said calmly. “Do you know him, elder?”

 

The old man’s movements paused, “What relation are you to him?”

 

“You know him?” Su Cen’s face lit up with joy. “Xiaoliu and I used to work together at a marquis’s household. He took good care of me then. Later I heard he had gotten into trouble and was sent back to his hometown, so I came all this way to find him.”

 

“You’re mistaken. There’s no one named Lu Xiaoliu in this village.”

 

“Isn’t this Lu Family Village?”

 

“Lu Family Village? Heh,” the old man laughed with undisguised mockery, “this hasn’t been Lu Family Village for a long time.”

 

The water in the iron pot began to boil. The old man stood up to get a strainer, but Su Cen, catching the hint, picked it up first and handed it to him. The old man took the strainer and scooped the rice from the pot into a steamer basket, acting completely entitled, without even raising his head.

 

Seeing that the old man had no intention of continuing the conversation, Su Cen bowed slightly and said, “Sorry to disturb you,” before turning to leave the firewood room.

 

Just as he reached the doorway, he heard a sigh from amid the smoke and fire: “Young man, let me give you some advice—go back where you came from. Don’t wade into these troubled waters.”

 

In the courtyard, Qu Ling’er was playing with some free-range chicks. Seeing Su Cen emerge, he came over holding a chick: “Did you find out anything?”

 

Su Cen shook his head, “Let’s go.”

 

“Oh.” Qu Ling’er put the chick down and followed Su Cen toward the exit.

 

“What do we do next?” Qu Ling’er asked.

 

Su Cen stood at the doorway for a moment, looking at the houses rising and falling in the distance, and said: “Enter the village.”

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t take the old man’s words seriously; rather, such warnings made him believe even more strongly that this village was unusual. Judging by the old man’s attitude, he definitely knew Lu Xiaoliu and likely knew about the events of that year. His reluctance to speak only suggested that those events were of great significance—Su Cen had not come to the wrong place.

 

After walking a few steps, they suddenly heard a rustling sound behind them. Both turned back to look and saw that the little chick had followed them out and was standing just a few steps away, looking up at them with its tiny bean-sized eyes.

 

“Hey, this chicken likes me,” Qu Ling’er laughed. “Brother Su, what should we do?”

 

Su Cen gave him a look: “What do you think?”

 

Qu Ling’er thought seriously: “Roast it?”

 

Su Cen: “…”

 

In the end, Qu Ling’er had to return the chick under Su Cen’s watchful gaze. Just as he pushed open the gate, he saw the old man setting up a table in the yard. The old man looked up at Qu Ling’er, nearly causing him to throw the chick in fright.

 

“This chicken ran out, I’m helping you bring it back…” Qu Ling’er sheepishly put the chick down. Even though he was doing a good deed, somehow he felt like a chicken thief.

 

Just as he turned to leave, he heard the old man ask from behind: “Are you going into the village?”

 

Qu Ling’er turned back and nodded, “Yes.”

 

The old man let out a cold laugh through his nose.

 

“What’s wrong?” Qu Ling’er asked.

 

The old man raised his head to look at Qu Ling’er, enunciating each word deliberately, as if intentionally saying it for him to hear: “That village, after nightfall… has ghosts.”

 

 

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