Chapter Seventy-Four: Illusions and Realities

Chapter Seventy-Four

Speak of the devil, and he appears.

The two of them speculated that someone had led them to Doghead Village, suspecting the guide was Wu Dajing. Later, they found bloody fingerprints in the carriage, and with Wu Dajing’s mysterious disappearance—and no further memories of him—both surmised that the village elder might already have fallen victim to a vengeful ghost.

Yet the very man they had just presumed dead knocked on their door, alive and well.

In the isolated village, shrouded by night, even the audacious Zhao Fusheng felt the hair on her back rise.

“How terrifying,” she murmured, sighing. “So real, yet so false; illusion and reality blend, impossible to distinguish.”

“M-m-my Lady—” Zhang Chuan-shi was so frightened he could have wet himself. He was a self-taught practitioner, not a true agent—no, even true agents rarely encountered such grand and terrifying situations. Most of them were expendable, often dying in droves with each mission. Only the most seasoned veterans survived more than two ghost cases.

Everyone at the Demon Suppression Bureau spoke of ghosts with dread. He was just a humble coffin-maker—he had no business being here. He was not the sort to face vengeful spirits; he clung to life and feared death.

He turned to leave the carriage, but the thought of ghosts outside made him freeze. Tearfully, he squeezed closer to Zhao Fusheng. “My Lady, is… is he a ghost? What should we do?” Zhang Chuan-shi shook uncontrollably, cursing himself for not simply staying put at Wu Dajing’s home instead of following Zhao Fusheng here.

“Don’t panic,” Zhao Fusheng, though shaken to her core, maintained her composure.

She glanced at the lower right corner of the carriage, where the four fingerprints had now vanished completely.

“Where in this world could there be such coincidence?” Her eyes narrowed, sharp and incisive. “The moment we suspect Wu Dajing dead, he appears at once.”

Such a scenario made it seem as if the vengeful ghost had been with her all along, and her investigation triggered the ghost’s rule, automatically correcting any ‘logical errors’—like a bug being fixed. But ghosts were not intelligent; this correction was so rigid and coincidental it only deepened her suspicions.

To cover this up, it was highly likely that their cognition and memories would again be scrambled—perhaps this explained her previous memory loss.

“It’s a ghost. It must be a ghost!” Zhang Chuan-shi, hearing her words, felt even more certain that Wu Dajing outside was not human.

“We can’t let it in.”

“No,” Zhao Fusheng shook her head, glancing at him. “Not only must we let ‘him’ in, we must also see for ourselves who this Wu Dajing really is.”

Zhang Chuan-shi looked stunned, incredulous. Knowing Wu Dajing was no longer human, she still dared confront him—this officer’s methods were truly unfathomable.

“My Lady, but he’s a ghost—”

“You know he’s a ghost?” Zhao Fusheng gave a dry laugh. “If you trigger the ghost’s rule and it wants to kill, there’s no escape; if you haven’t, even traveling with it is safe.”

She recalled, in Beggar’s Alley, how she had dared to follow the beggar ghost to its lair—if not, she never would have forced Liu Yizhen to reveal the truth.

“If we don’t take the initiative, I fear we’ll lose all memory of Wu Dajing’s possible death again, and then we won’t even know he’s supposed to be dead.”

That was what finally convinced Zhang Chuan-shi. He feared the vengeful spirit, yes, but the thought of losing memories and unwittingly living alongside a ghost was enough to shatter his courage.

“I—” Zhang Chuan-shi trembled, deeply regretting following Zhao Fusheng to Doghead Village. Dealing with ghosts was too much.

“My Lady, please save me! If I make it back alive to the Demon Suppression Bureau, I’ll confess everything—I never want another ghost case, have mercy!”

Zhao Fusheng smiled at his plea but said nothing, simply replying, “Let’s go.”

She was the first to leap from the carriage.

Outside, ‘Wu Dajing’ continued knocking at the door.

Bang, bang, bang.

The village’s old door was so loose that with each knock, the frame shuddered.

Having announced himself, ‘Wu Dajing’ fell silent, pounding mechanically.

Upon hearing his voice, Wu Lifu’s family instinctively moved to open the door.

“Wait,” Zhao Fusheng stopped them. Wu Lifu hesitated. “My Lady?”

“Let me open it.”

“It’s just a door. No need to trouble you—” Wu Lifu wanted to show initiative, but Zhao Fusheng, knowing the identity of the ‘Wu Dajing’ outside was suspicious, stopped him.

She strode toward the door. Zhang Chuan-shi, terrified, hid behind Wu Lifu’s family, holding his torch aloft, babbling his loyalty, “My Lady, be careful!”

Zhao Fusheng ignored him and took her place before the door.

Though she had resolved to face the vengeful spirit, dealing with ghosts still put her under immense psychological strain.

She took a deep breath, unlatched the door, and pulled it open with force.

Creak.

As the door swung wide, a gust of night wind swept inside, nearly snuffing out Zhang Chuan-shi’s torch.

“Aaaah!” he shrieked, cowering behind Wu Lifu, trembling.

Wu Lifu wondered how a ‘dignitary’ from the city could be so frightened. Unaware of ‘Wu Dajing’s’ true nature, he simply thought the village elder had returned, and greeted him with relief, “Uncle Dajing, you’re finally back. You went to town to report the case three days ago. The officials have arrived, but we hadn’t seen you. Everyone was worried.”

Zhao Fusheng, opening the door, scrutinized the figure outside.

The night was as black as ink. Not even the moonlight could pierce the darkness beyond Doghead Village. By the dim glow of Zhang Chuan-shi’s torch, she could barely make out mist hanging in the air, enveloping the fields and meadows outside.

Ghostly mist!

This thought flashed through Zhao Fusheng’s mind, making her shudder. At dusk, the village had seemed normal, but now, after nightfall, it was shrouded in ghostly fog.

At the threshold stood an elderly man of about sixty, dressed in a loose dark-blue robe, a bright blue sash at his waist. His cheeks were gaunt, his skin deathly pale and tinged with black—he looked unwell.

“I was delayed on the road, ran into some trouble,” he said, turning to Zhao Fusheng. “So I let you go ahead and enter the village first.”

As he finished, something strange happened.

Wu Dajing’s arrival seemed to awaken in Zhao Fusheng long-buried memories. The interference in her mind suddenly shattered; images of the village elder arriving at the Bureau with Magistrate Pang and others flickered through her thoughts.

Then the three of them traveling together, with her conversing with Wu Dajing along the way. But she could not recall the content of their conversation.

Wu Dajing claimed he had left mid-journey for some matter, parting from her and Zhang Chuan-shi, who arrived first; he returned to the village only now.

Not only was this memory abrupt, but the idea that Wu Dajing would leave midway in such a serious ghost case was implausible—by nature, she would have questioned him closely. Yet while they had conversed, she could remember none of the content—this was the first oddity.

And as a key witness, she would never have let him out of sight—this was the second.

With these doubts, Zhao Fusheng was more convinced something was wrong with Wu Dajing.

Yet she did not expose him. As she’d told Zhang Chuan-shi, the ghost’s rule was to ‘conceal’ the truth, patching over inconsistencies. If she revealed the truth, the rule would shift again, likely interfering with her cognition and erasing her memory.

So Zhao Fusheng resolved to mark all memories related to Wu Dajing as ‘suspect,’ and played along, “Yes, yes, it was thanks to your directions that we found Doghead Village.”

Zhang Chuan-shi watched, terrified, as she conversed with the ‘ghost.’

And as she spoke, something even stranger occurred: suddenly, Zhang Chuan-shi found a memory of Wu Dajing guiding them to the village had appeared in his mind. If not for his wariness towards Wu Dajing, he would not have realized this memory was forcibly implanted.

Wu Dajing smiled at her words. “As long as you arrived safely. I’ll go home at once and tell Liyou to light a fire and prepare food for our guests.”

Wu Lifu’s family saw nothing strange and replied, “Dinner’s already done—just killed a chicken and a duck, it’s a feast!”

A woman chimed in sourly, “I wonder if the food is ready yet. Can we have some too?”

Wu Dajing was about to reply, but Zhao Fusheng spoke first, “Let’s not fuss tonight. Everyone should rest early—there’s time for talk in the morning.”

Cut off, the woman could only swallow her indignation and meekly agree.

Zhao Fusheng glanced at Zhang Chuan-shi. “Old Zhang, let’s go.”

Zhang Chuan-shi shook his head desperately, but a look from Zhao Fusheng made him shudder. She had left a deep impression on him; he dared not defy her.

“My Lady, it’s so dark—why not let the old man go home alone, and we could rest here at Wu Lifu’s?”

He wanted nothing to do with the ghost.

Zhao Fusheng shook her head. Journeying with a ghost was dangerous, but risk could bring reward. Having her memories wiped repeatedly left her uneasy—she needed to search for new clues, or else she might die without ever understanding how.

“I have things to discuss with Wu Dajing. You’ll carry the torch.”

Zhang Chuan-shi, glum and reluctant, secretly glanced at Wu Dajing, then nodded.

The three of them walked deeper into the village from Wu Lifu’s house, Zhao Fusheng leading the way like a native.

“Wu Dajing, after you left us today, what business did you attend to?”

Though well aware of the problem before her, Zhao Fusheng feigned ignorance and began her questioning as procedure dictated.

“I went to pay my respects to Wu Datong.”

As he spoke the name, a flood of information surfaced naturally in Zhao Fusheng’s mind: Wu Datong, father of the village chief Wu Liren, died on July 21st.

Before she even asked, Zhao Fusheng was certain she did not know these details, but as Wu Dajing spoke, it was as if his words were keys unlocking a sealed box of memories.

She realized that she had already investigated Wu Datong before her amnesia, but the influence of the vengeful ghost had made her forget everything.

She brightened—perhaps this was how to recover her memories. But if a vengeful ghost could disrupt cognition, could she trust these recollections? If her memories were flawed, that could lead to disastrous mistakes in handling a ghost case.

Touching the ghostly arm hidden in her sleeve, she asked, “Were you close to Wu Datong? You went to pay your respects after his death.”

“We grew up together—distant cousins,” Wu Dajing replied respectfully.

Zhao Fusheng’s eyes gleamed; she nodded. “That does sound close. This Doghead Village case, it’s—”

Her memories grew more chaotic. When it came to the case itself, she faltered, unable to recall the sequence of events.

Every attempt to remember brought a headache, as if a voice in her mind warned her: Stop thinking.

Rubbing her temples, Zhao Fusheng endured the pain and pressed on, piecing together what she could: Wu Dajing coming to the Bureau, recounting the ghost case, mentioning Wu Datong, whose son Wu Liren was the village chief—

Finally, her persistence paid off. She recalled: she had come to Doghead Village because Wu Liren’s entire family had vanished.

“Wu Datong’s son’s family disappeared.”

She said this, and Wu Dajing nodded without surprise. “Wu Liren’s whole family is missing.”

His words seemed to cure her amnesia; memories of Wu Dajing describing the case at the Bureau returned in a rush.

Since the disappearance of Wu Liren’s dozens of relatives, Zhao Fusheng should have started by investigating him. But Wu Dajing had first mentioned mourning Wu Datong. Guided by intuition, even with incomplete information, she now made the same choice as before her memory loss.

“How well did you know Wu Datong?”

Zhang Chuan-shi was surprised she asked about Wu Datong instead of Wu Liren.

Wu Dajing’s expression did not change. “I didn’t know him well before.”

At that, Zhao Fusheng immediately caught the oddity. “You didn’t know him well before—what about after?”

Wu Dajing halted, fixing his gaze on her.