Chapter Sixty-One: Past Causes and Consequences

Chapter Sixty-One

Earlier in the Demon Suppression Bureau, it was said that apart from Wu Liren, Wu Datong had another young son. Yet now it was claimed that before Wu Liren was born, Wu Datong had already fathered an eldest son. The accounts were inconsistent; rather than blaming Wu Dajing’s senility, it was more likely he was under the influence of a vengeful ghost.

But the interference in memories was the same, and given the mention of a sinister aura emerging from Wu Datong’s son, Zhao Fusheng could conclude that the ghost, reluctant to be spoken of, was most likely Wu Datong’s "eldest son."

"This is Wu Datong's eldest son, his name is—his name is—" Wu Dajing’s hand still hovered in the motion of flicking away dead skin, but when he tried to recall the name of Wu Datong’s eldest son, he simply couldn’t remember.

"What was his name? I can't recall." As he spoke, Wu Dajing’s eyes reddened, his lips cracked, and his expression grew wild—something was clearly wrong with him.

Zhao Fusheng sensed the ghostly aura intensifying; blood-red veins thickened in Wu Dajing’s eyes, and blood began to seep from his nostrils.

This is bad!

Her pupils contracted. With a flick of her sleeve, the beggar ghost’s arm she kept hidden slid into her palm. Clutching the shriveled limb, Zhao Fusheng struck Wu Dajing’s head forcefully, rebuking him sharply:

"If you can’t remember, then forget it!"

A sharp thud echoed.

Only ghostly strength could counter a ghost. After the blow, the lingering poisonous aura dissipated instantly.

The madness in Wu Dajing’s eyes faded, his expression turned dazed. Zhao Fusheng’s heart hammered; she quickly straightened her right arm and loosened her grip, letting the ghost arm slip back into her sleeve.

The skin paper in the ghost hand silently turned to ashes; Zhao Fusheng’s heart bled as she heard the Divine Register prompt deduct another point of merit.

Fortunately, her strike had a clear effect, forcing the ghost to retreat once more.

"Master Zhao—" Wu Dajing was oblivious to what had just happened. As he spoke, blood trickled down his upper lip and into his mouth.

"Ah, ugh—ugh—what’s happened, I’m bleeding—" The village elder cried out, but quickly sighed and wiped the blood away with his hand.

"It must be the strain from these days of travel; my symptoms are worse."

Zhao Fusheng hadn’t yet thought of how to comfort him, but he had already found a reason to convince himself.

He seemed entirely unaware he was haunted by a ghost, his life hanging by a thread.

"You..." Zhao Fusheng hesitated, about to speak, but Wu Dajing calmly said:

"No need to worry, Master. This is an old ailment." He chuckled, wiping the blood onto the carriage wall. Still with blood in his mouth, he spat several times onto the ground, causing Zhang Chuan-shi, who was driving, to turn his head and curse:

"You damned bumpkin, spitting everywhere—disgusting."

Wu Dajing, embarrassed by the scolding, hurriedly scraped the bloody spittle from the ground with his foot.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Zhao Fusheng quickly stopped Zhang Chuan-shi:

"Silence."

Zhang Chuan-shi glared fiercely at Wu Dajing but dared not retort to Zhao Fusheng.

"What's the cause of your symptoms?" Ignoring Zhang’s indignation, she questioned Wu Dajing.

"When did they start?"

"You wouldn’t know," Wu Dajing sighed, "this ailment runs in my family. My mother used to have nosebleeds too."

"Did you see a doctor?" Zhao Fusheng’s heart stirred at his words. A dreadful thought flashed in her mind as she watched Wu Dajing, who remained unaware.

"Nosebleeds, what’s odd about that..." Wu Dajing was surprised by her concern. "In the countryside, bleeding is common. Who needs a doctor for that?"

Noticing blood droplets on his beard, Zhao Fusheng pointed it out. He lowered his gaze and quickly wiped it away.

"Your mother didn’t have this nosebleed problem early on, did she?" Zhao Fusheng asked, masking her intent.

Wu Dajing, with blood on his hand, almost wiped it on the carriage wall but, glancing toward the front, saw Zhang Chuan-shi diligently driving. The old man was fierce and had scolded him several times already, so Wu Dajing hesitated, finally wiping the blood beside his cloth shoe before answering:

"Early on? No, no." He shook his head repeatedly. "My mother was always robust, never had this problem."

"When did the nosebleeds begin?" Zhao Fusheng pressed.

Wu Dajing pondered, his face clouded with confusion.

Page Two

"When... My old mother’s been dead for decades..." But suddenly, his eyes brightened as if recalling something.

"I vaguely remember, my third son was eight that year."

This prompted Zhao Fusheng to recall an event.

"So, it was the year Wu Datong’s eldest son was born?"

As she spoke, a sharp itch flared in her arm; she couldn’t resist rubbing it hard through her sleeve, only stopping when the irritation turned to pain.

Mentioning Wu Datong’s "eldest son" brought another moment of confusion to Wu Dajing’s expression.

Zhao Fusheng pressed on:

"You said earlier, when your third son was seven, Wu Datong hadn’t married yet. One day, he excitedly announced he’d found a bride."

Her memory was keen.

Given the case’s connection to ghosts, she missed no detail, replaying Wu Dajing’s words mentally, determined not to overlook any clue.

"Ah! Yes, yes!" Wu Dajing nodded after being prompted. "Master, your memory is remarkable."

"A year later, Wu Datong’s son was born. Your mother helped deliver the child, didn’t she?" Zhao Fusheng asked, now almost certain.

"Yes, yes." Wu Dajing nodded eagerly.

"And your mother passed not long after Wu Datong’s son was born?"

"Half a year!" he replied, clapping his hands. "How could I forget my mother’s death date? Old age!"

He sighed twice.

"I remember now, my mother died on September 17th, Wu Datong’s son was born July 31st." Having been struck by the ghost arm, the vengeful ghost’s influence was temporarily suppressed, and memories flooded back to him.

"That day, my mother returned from helping with the birth and lamented—"

He hesitated, wary, but Zhao Fusheng’s unwavering gaze compelled him to continue, despite his reluctance.

"These things shouldn’t be spoken of, but with Wu Liren’s family missing, dead or alive unknown—"

He paused, then changed tack.

"But Master, can you keep this confidential? I’m old, my life doesn’t matter, but my family spans several generations—over a dozen mouths. If Wu Liren finds out I’m gossiping about his family, he won’t spare me."

In these remote villages, the village chief was akin to a petty emperor, able to decide a family’s fate.

Sensing the importance of what Wu Dajing was about to say, Zhao Fusheng replied:

"This concerns a ghost case. I can’t guarantee complete secrecy, but I assure you Wu Liren won’t trouble you or your descendants."

This case involved vengeful ghosts; Wu Liren’s family was likely already dead, the bodies merely unfound.

Even if he lived, Zhao Fusheng’s current status meant she could easily protect Wu Dajing’s family from reprisal.

"That’s good enough for me." At her words, Wu Dajing’s anxiety eased, and he continued:

"My mother said that on the day the child was born, something strange happened." He recounted the memory with terror.

"We’d never seen Wu Datong’s wife before, only knew of her existence. Until then—"

"My mother arrived at his house, where he kept his wife tightly hidden. The door was locked, windows boarded up. The woman was barely alive when my mother arrived; she grabbed my mother’s hand and cried, 'Mother, save me.'"

The lighting was dim; Wu Dajing’s mother didn’t see the woman’s face clearly but could tell by her voice that she was young.

Wu Dajing raised two fingers:

"My mother guessed she was under twenty."

Wu Datong was no young man then—an infamous old bachelor in the village, poor and elderly. Who would marry off a young daughter to such a man?

"Though the girl was thin, her hands were soft, no calluses. My mother suspected Wu Datong had abducted some young lady..."

He sighed.

"That’s what she thought, but there was no time for questions—the girl was in critical condition, and before the child was born, she died."

With the mother gone, how was the child delivered?

Zhao Fusheng’s eyes flashed. Wu Dajing lowered his voice:

"Wu Datong panicked and took a knife to his wife’s belly."

Zhao Fusheng had anticipated this, but she still frowned at the account.

Wu Dajing’s mother was horrified by Wu Datong’s actions. When she collected herself, Wu Datong was already cradling the child, calling for help.

Such an event meant the room was lit by oil lamps; only then did Wu Dajing’s mother see the surroundings clearly.

Page Three

"The entire room was awash in blood!" Wu Dajing said.

"The child was odd, cold all over, nothing like a living infant—"

Wu Dajing’s mother was experienced in caring for newborns; she had helped deliver three grandchildren, each assisted by the village midwife.

But no matter how she tried, this newborn neither cried nor fussed.

"What was strange was that the child’s eyes were open, seeming alive." Wu Dajing remembered every detail vividly:

"My mother guessed that perhaps, because his mother died in childbirth, the child was trapped in the womb for too long, missing the moment to enter the world, thus losing his soul?"

He spoke with clarity, no longer muddled as before—even Zhang Chuan-shi, up front, turned to look at him curiously.

"Afterward, Wu Datong cursed his luck and drove my mother home."

She was frightened and hurried away, fearing Wu Datong might kill her.

Though she’d watched him grow up, and was technically his elder, his character had grown increasingly odd with age.

No one knew where he had found a hidden young wife who wouldn’t show herself, died in childbirth, and he dared to cut her open for the child.

"My mother suspected the girl’s identity was unusual." He continued, "Afterward, nothing more was heard about Wu Datong’s child, but my mother soon began to bleed from her nose, then fell bedridden."

Before long, she passed away.

"After her death, some people came to the village asking if anyone had seen a young woman; apparently, a wealthy family’s daughter from the county had gone missing—"

At this point, Wu Dajing glanced at Zhao Fusheng.

"I remembered my mother’s last words, and guessed it must have been her!"

"Did you report it?" Zhao Fusheng asked.

Wu Dajing’s gaze dodged, and he stammered:

"No, I wouldn’t dare—" He waved his hands, shaking his head like a rattle.

"The visitor was well dressed and anxious, a bit fierce. I only guessed, didn’t dare stir up trouble. Besides, it was Wu Datong’s matter, not mine—why meddle in such affairs?"

Zhao Fusheng let out a cold laugh.

He wanted to defend himself, but Zhao Fusheng didn’t press the issue.

"And then?"

"Nothing came of it. How could they find her?" Relieved to return to the original topic, Wu Dajing continued,

"I only guessed, never confirmed. Even if it was her, after all these years, the body would be long buried—how could anyone find it?"

Besides, the visitors were only checking villages, with no evidence. After routine questions, they left quickly.

Wu Datong had kept things hidden well enough to avoid exposure during that crisis, escaping unscathed.

"Not long after, Wu Datong came to borrow money." Perhaps Zhao Fusheng’s questions had made Wu Dajing nervous, so he quickly shifted the topic back.

"He said his mother was coughing blood, near death. He wanted to borrow money, and after she died, bury her and take the child to make a living elsewhere, leaving Doghead Village."

Clearly, the incident with the missing girl had made Wu Datong uneasy, prompting him to flee.

Zhao Fusheng mused, "Coughing blood?"

"Not sure," Wu Dajing replied, "No one in the village dealt with him anymore. After getting a wife, he wouldn’t let us visit. Anyway, not long after, his mother died."

"I lent him some copper coins, helped with the funeral, and once his mother was buried, he left Doghead Village."

"Did you know where he went in Wan'an County, or what he did?"

Wu Dajing answered,

"I heard he found a job in the city. Later, he sent money back through someone, mentioning his employer’s surname was—was—" At a crucial moment, his memory faltered again.

Perhaps the ghost arm’s power was too weak to suppress the invisible ghost, or maybe age and the decades that had passed had muddled his recollection.

But this past was the ‘cause’ in the ghost case; Wu Datong’s history led to Wu Liren’s family’s disappearance, the ‘effect.’ Losing this thread would hinder Zhao Fusheng’s investigation.

Her heart tightened, about to speak, when Wu Dajing finally remembered, joyfully:

"I remember now—his employer’s surname was Zhang, and he ran a shop in the city making paper effigies!"