Chapter 51

Lin Wanmo took out a small silver box, its shape peculiar, resembling a miniature spirit shrine.

Shen Daye handed his tobacco pipe to Mao Sishu.

Mao Sishu reluctantly took it.

Shen Daye, embarrassed and angry: “What, you’re disgusted by me?”

Mao Sishu said: “Who would dare be disgusted by you? I don’t smoke—your tobacco stings and reeks in my mouth…”

Mao Sishu wiped the mouthpiece of the pipe several times with his sleeve.

Lin Wanmo opened the box, revealing dozens of shadow puppets, male and female.

Mao Sishu lit the pipe, drew a deep breath, and exhaled toward the puppets.

A gray-white smoke enveloped all the puppets; after a moment, they suddenly came to life.

“Cough, cough, cough—this weather grows colder every year…”

“Why are you calling us back again?”

“Dogwa, did you miss your father?”

“Girl, how did you end up like this? Oh my, you’re coming to join me soon.”

The small room erupted into chaos, dozens speaking at once, each calling out to their own descendants.

One puppet, hands behind his back, stepped up to Shen Daye and reached to touch his head: “Dogwa.”

Shen Daye had to lower his head for him.

“Father.”

It was his father, Shen Yongji.

The shadow puppets in the silver box were the ancestors of Riverwork Alley, from the first generation onward, who had died within the alley.

But those like Xu Yuan’s second uncle, who never inherited the alley’s legacy and left early, had no right to enter the silver box after death.

This object was Riverwork Alley’s “Ancestral Shrine.”

Mao Sishu’s mother kept saying how thin you’d grown, that you must not be eating properly, that even alone you shouldn’t treat yourself carelessly.

You don’t even mend your torn clothes—you’ll be showing your butt in another two days.

Bring me needle and thread, I’ll sew it for you…

She was about to cry: “Leaving my child alone in the alley to suffer…”

Wang Shen was also held by a pair of elderly puppet spouses, who asked after her health.

Her father kept muttering that he’d never arranged a marriage for his daughter in life, turning her into a true “old maid.”

Wang Shen’s eyes were about to well up when Lin Wanmo softly coughed: “Grandparents, your time here is limited—let’s get to the matter at hand.”

Shen Daye and the other three let out a collective sigh of relief.

The elders all agreed: “Mo Ya speaks rightly.” Then they sat down according to seniority—another round of polite refusals, another full pipe of tobacco passed.

Lin Wanmo stole a glance at the Ancestral Shrine—inside still lay a tiny shadow puppet.

Square face, thick brows, aged eyes, a short salt-and-pepper beard, three deep creases across his forehead.

Lin Wanmo sighed inwardly.

The only puppet in the Ancestral Shrine that had not yet come alive was Xu Yuan’s father.

The residents of Riverwork Alley were called “Criminals”—this was no mere social stigma from the mortal world.

For example, she couldn’t sell artisan-made goods to outsiders at fair prices; those from the alley who acted outside it inevitably suffered “Criminal Punishment”; and worse still… after death, their souls crossed the Yellow Springs but had no place to return!

Shen Daye had fully explained Xu Yuan’s situation to the elders, and told them of the current disagreement among the four.

The dozens of elders began to discuss it.

But unlike Shen Daye’s group, they had no decorum—within moments, they were arguing; when the senior ones lost the debate, they struck the younger ones on the head, shouting to crush them with seniority.

The juniors, too afraid to fight back, sprawled out at the elders’ feet: “Hit me! Kill me! I’m already in the grave—why are you still hitting me?”

In an instant, chaos erupted.

Shen Daye and the other three were long accustomed to this—every time they summoned the elders, it was always like this.

Once the “tobacco strength” faded and their time ran out, they would return to the box and swiftly reach a conclusion.

Usually, it was Xu Yuan’s grandfather who spoke first.

But today, for some reason, Xu Yuan’s grandfather remained silent, having only asked once at the start about Lin Wanmo’s condition.

After about fifteen minutes, the once loud, boisterous puppets suddenly grew weary.

“Time’s almost up.”

“Old Xu, say something.”

Xu Yuan’s grandfather rolled a pair of walnuts in his hands, grunted, but didn’t speak.

Just as everyone assumed he was making his final decision, another shadow puppet rose slowly from the silver box, its voice low yet steady:

“This is Ah Yuan’s ‘fate’—he must choose it himself.”

Lin Wanmo exclaimed in delight: “Master, you’ve returned…”

Xu HuanYang turned to look at his disciple… and his second wife; he seemed about to say something, but his body went limp, drifting softly back into the silver box.

Xu Yuan’s grandfather cleared his throat: “HuanYang is nearly back. This matter is grave—he came briefly to voice his opinion.”

With Xu HuanYang speaking, the other puppets all voiced their support.

Gradually, the tobacco’s power faded completely; the puppets on the table yawned one by one and drifted back into the silver box.

After the last one returned, Lin Wanmo closed the Ancestral Shrine and respectfully put it away.

Shen Daye snatched his tobacco pipe back from Mao Sishu: “Enough. Go back to your places. Do as Xu Yuan’s father said.”

Outside Shen Daye’s house, Lin Wanmo still wore a stiff expression: “Fourth Uncle, there’s another thing I need to tell you…”

……

In the back courtyard of the county yamen, Song Lu was busy applying a box of women’s face powder to conceal the redness and swelling around Fu Jingyu’s eyes.

Fu Jingyu’s whole body was stiff, utterly unaccustomed to it.

“It’s not necessary…”

Song Lu shot him a reproachful glare: “Sit still! Don’t fidget.”

After a while, Song Lu smoothed the powder evenly and held up a red-haired foreigner’s mercury glass mirror: “Look, can you still see it?”

Fu Jingyu relaxed completely; it was finally over.

The Fu and Song families were longtime friends; he and Song Lu had studied together since childhood under Master Ma Tianshou.

His junior was two years younger than him, and since the age of five, she had loved to pout and insist on “painting” him.

But after twelve, she no longer felt comfortable playing such childish games.

Today felt like reclaiming the joy of childhood.

Yet Fu Jingyu felt strangely uneasy…

“Let’s go, we have duties today.”

Each took their saber and hung it at their waist before stepping out.

Today’s prohibitions: no burial, no approach to Linhe, no conjugal relations.

Fu Jingyu and Song Lu arrived at He Gong Alley and entered from the western entrance.

Whether it was an illusion or not, Fu Jingyu felt the old woman running the basket shop was looking at him with unmistakable lack of “kindness.”

Wang Shen didn’t think the Purification Office was a good place—outside He Gong Alley, which they protected, nowhere in the world was safe.

The two young Captains of the Purification Office returned to the alley’s depths, standing before the Xu family’s gate; this time Song Lu stepped forward and knocked, and the door opened to reveal a beautiful woman.

She stood half a head taller than Song Lu, slender and elegant.

Song Lu had to tilt her small face upward to ask: “Where’s Xu Yuan?”

“Who knows!” The stepmother was in a foul mood today; the child was grown, had his own ideas. Even his biological mother couldn’t control him, let alone her.

Xu Yuan had left without eating breakfast.

He didn’t say where he was going. When Lin Wanmo heard the noise and rushed out, the boy had already slapped a talisman onto each thigh, shot over the courtyard wall, and vanished.

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(End of Chapter)