Chapter Sixty-Two: The Timing Matches

Chapter Sixty-Two

Wu Dajing spoke without intent, but the listener took it to heart.

Zhang Chuan-shi, driving the carriage, suddenly trembled and turned his head, meeting Zhao Fusheng’s sharp gaze.

“You’re talking nonsense…” he blurted out, his thin mustache quivering.

“Are you anxious?” Zhao Fusheng’s smile was ambiguous as she questioned him.

“I’m not.” At her words, Zhang Chuan-shi reacted as if pricked by a needle, nearly jumping from his seat.

His actions were as good as a confession.

After his outburst, Zhang Chuan-shi felt a pang of guilt and dared not speak further.

“Continue.” Zhao Fusheng did not pursue the matter with Zhang Chuan-shi.

This ghostly case seemed to involve the Zhang family of Wan’an County. Her mind raced, considering the possible connections.

“Yes.” Wu Dajing, bewildered by Zhang Chuan-shi’s rebuke, felt anxious, unsure where he had erred again.

Fortunately, the Demon Suppression Bureau’s Lady Zhao was fair-minded and always stood by him, which eased his worry somewhat.

“A few years later, Wu Datong returned, bringing with him a son—Wu Liren.” He rushed to add, “It’s said he married outside and the child was left by his wife.”

Wu Datong’s return was like coming home in glory, causing a stir in the village.

He had made a fortune outside, and upon his return, hosted feasts for everyone and renovated his house. People from many neighboring villages came to witness the excitement.

“The rest you know: Wu Datong devoted himself to finding concubines for Wu Liren and fathering children. Later, Wu Liren was elected village chief, until this strange incident occurred.”

Zhao Fusheng was indeed familiar with the general outline of events.

Yet she still had questions, so she addressed Wu Dajing, “Now I’ll ask, and you answer.”

Wu Dajing nodded repeatedly, “Yes, yes!”

“You said Wu Datong left for the city after his mother’s funeral,” Zhao Fusheng prompted.

“Yes.”

“His mother died soon after the birth of his first son. The woman who bore his eldest was of unknown origin, likely a lost heiress; he may have abducted another’s daughter, killed her, and, afraid to speak out, buried the body and quietly left the village.”

Wu Dajing seemed uneasy at her words, but with Wu Datong dead and Wu Liren’s family missing, his courage grew and he nodded, “Yes.”

“Before that, his father had died early, leaving him alone with his widowed mother.” Wu Dajing had already mentioned this and wondered why Zhao Fusheng asked again.

But as the Demon Suppression Bureau’s acting chief, her authority compelled him to obey, even in confusion.

Just as he prepared to reply, Zhao Fusheng pressed, “His mother died, the abducted woman died—so he lived only with the newborn child?”

Wu Dajing was stunned, and after a moment, responded, “Child?”

Zhang Chuan-shi, driving, also asked, “What child?”

During their conversation, the carriage had unknowingly left the city.

The road outside was in disrepair, uneven and jarring. The trees lining the path grew thick, their branches blocking the sunlight, casting deep shadows and making everyone feel a chill.

Zhao Fusheng sensed the presence of a fierce ghost again, faint but persistent, as if separated by a veil, elusive and intangible.

“Wu Datong’s eldest son was born by the abducted woman—the child your mother delivered,” she declared.

Wu Dajing’s eyes opened wide in realization, “Yes—”

“In Doghead Village, besides you, he had no close acquaintances. If he went to the city, he couldn’t leave the child behind, could he?” Zhao Fusheng fixed her gaze on Wu Dajing, “He took the child with him when he left?”

“Yes, he secretly took the child, even borrowed some food from me before leaving—”

Wu Dajing nodded instinctively, then looked up in confusion, asking, “Lady, what did you just ask?”

Zhao Fusheng had the answer she sought.

---

Her ear began to itch again—the site of her previous injury, now scabbed over. She scratched, and a large piece of dead skin came off.

This made Zhao Fusheng alert.

Anything abnormal invites suspicion.

One scab was nothing, but a second sizable piece was alarming.

She recalled Wu Dajing scratching his backside in the Bureau, which the others dismissed as a village elder’s lack of manners. But now it seemed odd.

During his first bout of itching, he had just mentioned Wu Datong’s eldest son.

On the carriage, Wu Dajing had scratched himself several times, and when recalling the birth of Wu Datong’s son, he tore a large piece of dead skin from his scalp.

“Troubling,” Zhao Fusheng sighed. She had unknowingly been attacked by the fierce ghost again.

The first time, she hadn’t even noticed.

“What’s troubling, Lady?” Zhang Chuan-shi, hearing her sigh, turned to see Zhao Fusheng holding a thin object about an inch long.

It was as thin as cicada wings, resembling a shed snake skin.

“What’s that, Lady Zhao?” he asked.

Zhao Fusheng replied calmly, “It’s dead skin.”

She took out a rolled scroll from her sleeve, spread it open, and placed the dead skin inside.

Zhang Chuan-shi was dumbfounded.

After inserting the dead skin, Zhao Fusheng’s pupils contracted—she reopened the scroll.

Inside, two pieces of skin of different sizes were affixed. She carefully lifted the newly added piece, matched its direction, and finally pressed it against the original nail-sized scab.

The two pieces fit together seamlessly.

Zhao Fusheng closed the scroll again, her expression unreadable.

Zhang Chuan-shi’s face alternated between pale and green, casting furtive glances at Zhao Fusheng.

“I may have encountered a ghost,” Zhao Fusheng said.

Wu Dajing and Zhang Chuan-shi were startled, but while Wu Dajing shivered, Zhang Chuan-shi remembered Zhao Fusheng was a ghost tamer, thinking perhaps she was joking, and laughed twice, “Hahaha, Lady, what a jest.”

Zhao Fusheng ignored him and looked at the trembling Wu Dajing, “You said Wu Datong found work in the county and later had someone return the copper coins he borrowed from you, right?”

Now certain that Wu Datong’s ‘son’ was a taboo, and every mention brought itching and peeling skin, Zhao Fusheng deliberately avoided the topic.

Without mention of the ‘son,’ Wu Dajing’s memory improved.

He nodded, and Zhao Fusheng asked, “How much do you know about his employer?”

Wu Dajing thought carefully, “Not much. The man who brought the money said Datong had achieved great things, helping at Lord Five’s paper shop. He’d done Lord Five a great service, earned a reward.”

He added, “I heard Lord Five’s surname is Zhang, a prominent figure in Wan’an County, a guest at the gentry’s tables. That’s all I know.”

He finished, looking distressed, “Lady, I truly don’t know more.”

Zhao Fusheng nodded, “I think I know who Lord Five is.”

A Zhang, running a paper shop, a notable in Wan’an County, a guest at the gentry’s tables—almost naming Zhang Xiongwuh.

“Old Zhang, did your uncle ever hire a servant named Wu Datong?” she asked Zhang Chuan-shi.

Zhang Chuan-shi inwardly groaned.

He had never expected a ghost case from the obscure Doghead Village to involve Zhang Xiongwuh.

Zhao Fusheng was already wary of him due to the Paper Zhang connection, and now this case was entangled with the Zhang family...

The more he thought, the more uneasy he grew, protesting, “Lady, you wrong me—”

“This was decades ago! Wu Datong would be an old man by now—I was just a child then! How could I know?”

He pleaded, “Besides, my link to Paper Zhang is distant; I only use his name for living, it has nothing to do with me, Lady—”

“Why so anxious?” Zhao Fusheng smiled, “I’m not accusing you. I don’t know about your later words, but you’re right about one thing.”

Her tone was neutral, but Zhang Chuan-shi, having suffered under her before, dared not take it lightly, and was about to speak when Zhao Fusheng continued,

---

“It truly was decades ago.”

Zhang Chuan-shi nodded vigorously. Zhao Fusheng then asked, “But exactly how many decades? Have you counted?”

“This…” Zhang Chuan-shi hadn’t expected her to turn the topic to time.

But Zhao Fusheng’s question wasn’t really for him. She turned to Wu Dajing, “You said Wu Datong was thirty when he had yet to marry, then one day brought home a girl, had a son, his mother died, and he left—what year was that?”

“Thirty-one!” Wu Dajing quickly replied, unsure of the significance.

“Are you certain?” Zhao Fusheng pressed.

“Certain!” Wu Dajing insisted, “I said, when his son was born, my third child was eight, and Datong left at thirty-one—yes, thirty-one!”

“He left at thirty-one and died this July, so he left forty years ago,” Zhao Fusheng said meaningfully.

“Forty years ago—”

This shocked Zhang Chuan-shi, who murmured in disbelief.

Now he dared not assert the case was unrelated to Zhang Xiongwuh. Zhao Fusheng had recently solved the ghost case of Beggar Alley.

That case had arisen because, forty years ago, Zhang Xiongwuh and Su Long created a fierce ghost to suppress the headless ghost.

The timing and character traits were too coincidental, as if an unseen hand connected these unrelated ghost cases.

“Yes! Forty years ago,” Wu Dajing said, still confused, “Lady, what about forty years ago?”

Zhao Fusheng didn’t answer him but recalled another detail, “You said Wu Datong’s eldest was born July 31, correct?”

“Yes—” Wu Dajing started, but Zhao Fusheng cut him off, “No.”

“But yes, Lady, my mother saw the child born that day—” Wu Dajing scratched his head.

“No,” Zhao Fusheng shook her head.

The clues from the Liu Clan ancestral hall ghost case and Doghead Village ghost case formed a meticulous ‘mind map’ in her memory:

“The Liu Clan ancestral hall ghost case happened June 15.”

She knew the timeline well: Han Dynasty year 206, June 15, was Liu Huacheng’s birthday and the outbreak of the ghost case in the southern city.

Now, although the fierce ghost hadn’t appeared in Doghead Village’s case, the threads were unraveled, the origin and rules of the killings partly discerned.

Zhao Fusheng could now confidently say that the disappearance of Wu Liren’s family was indeed related to the fierce ghost, likely Wu Datong’s mysterious ‘eldest son.’

She reviewed the entire matter:

Years ago, Wu Datong, by vile means, acquired a woman and fathered an illegitimate son. To escape pursuit, he fled to Wan’an County and, by chance, joined Zhang Xiongwuh’s paper shop as a worker.

(She had doubts about this.)

Zhang Xiongwuh was no ordinary man, possessing some strange, unconventional talents and cunning.

Wu Datong’s recruitment couldn’t be mere coincidence—he must have had something Zhang Xiongwuh valued.

(Based on the messenger who returned Wu Datong’s money, Wu Datong had done Zhang Xiongwuh a great service and received a reward.)

This must be viewed in light of the timeline.

Forty years ago, did Zhang Xiongwuh have a need for someone to accomplish a great deed?

Zhao Fusheng immediately thought of the stolen coffin nail!

How did the coffin containing the headless ghost in the Liu Clan ancestral hall, guarded and sealed, have its nail stolen?

At first, she suspected Zhang Xiongwuh of using some unconventional trick, but now, combining Wu Dajing’s clues, a bizarre idea surfaced: did Zhang Xiongwuh use Wu Datong to steal the coffin nail?

The thought made Zhao Fusheng’s heart race, as if the fog of the past thinned a little more.

But she soon realized she might be rushing.

Because of the timeline!

All these deductions hinged on the coincidental ‘forty years ago,’ but there was something off—the timeline.

As Zhao Fusheng previously noted, the Liu Clan ancestral hall ghost case was in Han year 206, and Wu Datong’s departure from Doghead Village was also Han year 206, but in different months.

One in mid-June, another at least after August.

Where was the discrepancy? Or was her reasoning flawed?

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No leave today; I’ll push the leave slip to tomorrow. No updates tomorrow, so don’t refresh the page.