Chapter 29: He Yulan

A scorching sun rose to the zenith, steaming the damp stone path into a mist of vapor, and the entire He Family Village was shrouded in warm, humid sunlight like a giant steamer.

The scattered firecracker debris piled along both sides of the street had been dried and brittle by the blazing sun, crunching under the boy’s footsteps.

After parting from Feng Yu, Ning Zhe ran alone through the empty street; a faint smell of gunpowder drifted in the moist air, and distant pops and crackles reached his ears, making him understand why the long path he had just walked had been deserted.

He arrived at an arched bridge upstream of the river, stood before the railing, and gazed far into the distance—he could already see the He Family mansion Zhang Yangxu had described.

Broad eaves hung with large red lanterns, a three-story wooden structure stood atop a foundation of stone blocks, towering among ordinary homes that were mostly one or two stories high, like stars surrounding the moon; even the courtyard wall was over three meters tall, standing out conspicuously.

The crackling sounds Ning Zhe had heard earlier came from the direction of the mansion; from afar, he could see several servants in blue shirts and small caps lighting firecracker after firecracker on the mansion’s front steps, the explosions piercing the alleys as red paper fragments flew through the smoke.

A set of red-lacquered tables and chairs stood to the left of the steps; an elderly man with white hair and beard sat at the table, pen in hand, surrounded by a noisy crowd as if waiting in line for something.

Ning Zhe crept closer quietly and saw a villager approach the desk, gently peel off the yellow paper stuck to his forehead, and place it before the elder.

The yellow paper on his face read: 【He Renliang】

The elder picked up his brush, wrote a curling string of small characters on the paper, then nodded slightly.

“He Renliang” reattached the yellow paper to his forehead; a servant beside him immediately let him pass, allowing him to walk through the main gate into the brightly decorated He Family mansion.

Ning Zhe could not make out the exact characters the elder had written on the yellow paper; he only saw the crowd at the mansion’s entrance slowly inching forward amid the noise, each yellow paper passing through the elder’s brush, each person entering the gate.

“This scene feels familiar,” Ning Zhe thought to himself.

As a child, he had gone with his grandmother to a relative’s wedding banquet in the village; the scene had been just as lively, firecrackers and clamor mingling together, Ning Zhe squeezing through the dense crowd with his grandmother to pay the gift money to the accountant.

If this crowd at the gate was lining up to pay gift money and eat the banquet…

Ning Zhe lifted his head, his gaze sweeping over the throng of heads, fixed on the main gate of the He Family mansion.

This vermilion gate was far grander than the Nanjie temple dedicated to the snake deity; flanking the gate, like at the temple, were a pair of red-character couplets on white paper:

【Welcoming the New Bride, Flawless as Jade】

【Farewell to the Old, Moon Full Yet Imperfect】

【Contentment Brings Joy】

“A wedding banquet? Is someone in this mansion getting married?” Ning Zhe couldn’t help but feel puzzled.

The current scene certainly resembled a red celebration, but even setting aside the eerie white-paper-red-characters, the content of these couplets alone made him feel something was deeply off. If he were the one getting married, Ning Zhe would never accept such couplets posted at the gate—they looked like bad omens.

“There are too many strange things in He Family Village. Even after I deduced the ghost’s rules, the village remains shrouded in fog everywhere.”

Ning Zhe exhaled softly, stopped dwelling on the unsolvable mysteries, and quietly circled around the bustling main gate, following the high wall to the side of the mansion.

The He Family mansion’s structure was overall shaped like a “ Hui ”; the main gate faced south, with side gates on the east and west, and a rear gate to the north, following the traditional north-facing orientation.

Ning Zhe did not use any of the four gates; instead, he went to a low neighboring house beside the He mansion, leapt nimbly onto its roof, and lay flat on the tiles, peering over the wall to observe the interior of the He Family mansion.

The courtyard was lively; tables and chairs filled the main hall and side rooms, with scattered guests seated at them. The three strings of firecrackers at the gate had not yet finished burning, and it was not yet time to serve food; Ning Zhe saw guests idly sipping tea and snacks, children chasing each other on the gravel path, and the kitchen bustling with activity.

It was just a typical rural banquet, nothing unusual.

If forced to name one oddity, it would be the couplets posted at the gate and the yellow papers stuck to the guests’ foreheads.

“Earlier, the ghost sent a message to Auntie using Zhang Yangxu’s identity, saying Ye Miaozhu died inside the He Family mansion.” Ning Zhe scanned the area but found no trace: “Where is her body? Where is Zhang Yangxu?”

With lingering doubts, after observing everything, Ning Zhe no longer hesitated—he leapt from the roof, grabbed the top of the wall with both hands, and flipped over it in one motion.

The He Family mansion’s wall was built of stone bricks, over three meters high; for an ordinary person, climbing it would be difficult, and for a senior high school student who neglected physical training due to endless studying, it would be nearly impossible. But Ning Zhe was no ordinary student—his physical condition was excellent, the kind who always ranked first in physical tests and among the top in academics, a supreme overachiever. He scaled the wall cleanly, then used the mimosa tree planted against the wall to conceal his figure, slipping quietly to a row of guest rooms beside the main building.

The normally unused guest rooms were now filled with tables and chairs, many guests seated inside.

Confirming no one had noticed him, Ning Zhe leaned against the wall and exhaled softly.

At that moment, faint whispering came from within the window.

The sound was quiet, not like ordinary conversation, more like a rat sneaking into a granary and nibbling rice grains—clear, yet muffled. Ning Zhe focused his attention and heard a deliberately lowered female voice murmur:

“What? Your offerings were eaten too?”

“Of course they were. Picky eater too—left the bowl of rice untouched, only dug out a plum.”

“Your kid’s that mischievous? Dare to eat the snake deity’s offerings?”

“Not the kid’s fault—the children were playing right in front of me, never entered the vegetarian hall.”

“Then what else could it be…”

The villagers spoke not standard Mandarin but a thick Hakka dialect; fortunately, Ning Zhe had grown up in Guzhen and could barely understand them.

Several village women sipped tea and cracked sunflower seeds, chatting about stolen offerings, suspecting everything from naughty children to stray cats, each dismissing the others’ theories, none able to reach a definite conclusion.

Ning Zhe listened quietly until one woman spoke: “Do you think the offerings might not even be meant for humans?”

“Don’t talk nonsense—the Snake Goddess hasn’t manifested in ages, how could she come down to eat?”

“Who can say for sure…”

The women’s chatter dragged on until the three strings of firecrackers at the gate were finished, every table in the hall and rooms was filled with guests, and the aroma of meat drifted from the kitchen all the way to the guest rooms—the banquet finally began serving food.

“I’ll go call my kid over.”

A village woman wearing a square headscarf opened the guest room door and walked along the gravel path lined with stone bamboo flowers toward the main hall.

Seizing the brief moment of solitude, Ning Zhe stepped quietly, picked up half a stone brick from a storage pile, and followed her, striking her squarely on the back of the head with a clean, decisive blow.

The back of the head is one of the body’s most vulnerable fatal points; even a careless elementary school student falling and hitting their skull on a desk corner can easily die, let alone a deliberate blunt-force strike by an adult.

There was a dull crack—her body collapsed to the ground, instantly lifeless without a struggle.

The yellow paper stuck to her forehead fell off, reading: He Yulan.

Blunt trauma rarely causes uncontrollable bleeding; Ning Zhe casually used the woman’s own square headscarf to cover the blood on the back of her head, then shoved the fresh corpse into a lotus pond, concealing the nearness of death with bright green leaves and red flowers.

After finishing, Ning Zhe deliberately stepped with loud, clacking footsteps, retraced his path back to the original guest room, and softly knocked on the half-open door.

“Who is it?”

“Oh dear, my kid ran off somewhere—I can’t find him anywhere…”

A soft female voice emerged from Ning Zhe’s throat; as the guest room door swung fully open, his shirt and trousers transformed into plain hemp clothing, his previously pale, delicate skin darkened to the hue of a peasant’s.

This was the ghost’s rule:

—When those inside the room already assumed the person knocking was He Yulan, he became her.

Ning Zhe stole the identity of the village woman He Yulan and infiltrated the banquet.

(End of Chapter)