Chapter 570

A cold wind blew steadily; Qian Zhixiao felt icy, his face wet and sticky, and his nape ached as cold air continuously seeped in from behind his neck.

I can't sleep anymore; the nape is most vulnerable to chills—cold qi entering the body will make you sick.

The thought flashed through him; Qian Zhixiao strained to open his eyes.

He felt as if he had opened them, yet darkness still surrounded him—was he still dreaming?

He pinched himself hard; not only did his thigh throb from the pinch, but the pain in his nape grew sharper.

Only then did Qian Zhixiao realize: "That bastard Wu Zhihong actually dared to strike me!"

He clutched his nape and tried to rise…

Rise?

Qian Zhixiao touched the cold, round object beneath his hand and realized—it was a pebble…

He jolted upright and whipped his head around to look.

But tonight was pitch-black; only two or three stars faintly glimmered in the sky, their light so weak it was as good as none.

One couldn't see one's hand before one's face, let alone make out the surroundings.

Could it be that Wu Zhihong, seeing me in trouble, took the chance to kick me while I was down and sought revenge before I left Ji'an?

Qian Zhixiao gritted his teeth: "I never thought he was so petty—I misjudged him!"

Pan Yun looked at County Magistrate Wu.

County Magistrate Wu, standing silently aside: …

Qian Zhixiao groaned as he rose from the ground, took two steps forward, tripped, and tumbled face-first—his chest and abdomen pierced with pain; he scrambled frantically to his feet, the scent of grass and shrubs flooding his nose, not calming him but filling him with terror.

What on earth is this?

Is this a thicket?

No no no—there are pebbles here; it must be some kind of garden—so the place I fell is a flower bed?

He recoiled in panic, his back suddenly pressing against something cold—he froze, too terrified to turn around.

For as he leaned against the object behind him, his peripheral vision caught a face emerging from behind, pressed against his temple, peering at him.

Qian Zhixiao didn't dare move a muscle and clenched his eyes shut tight.

But the thing pressed against him didn't leave—instead, it let out a soft, chilling laugh, and cold fingers brushed his shoulder, then glided lightly across his cheek…

Qian Zhixiao snapped his eyes open and locked gazes with the woman pressed against him.

Qian Zhixiao's pupils shrank; he whispered sharply: "How dare you! Do you know who I am?"

The woman giggled sweetly, her crimson-tipped fingers sliding down his cheek as she lifted his chin and smiled: "Don't you recognize me, my lord? I'm so heartbroken."

Qian Zhixiao found her face familiar but couldn't place her; her air of prostitution made him snort: "Are you from Wan Chun Pavilion? Tianxian Pavilion? Or some secret brothel?"

The woman covered her mouth and giggled, then suddenly dropped her silk handkerchief, her face turning cold as she glared at him: "You don't recognize me? You truly don't recognize me!"

Two trails of blood trickled from her eyes, and four or five crimson gashes instantly appeared on her face.

Qian Zhixiao screamed "Ahh—!" and scrambled backward in terror: "You—you—what are you?!"

Her body tilted forward and instantly appeared before Qian Zhixiao, face nearly touching his: "Don't you remember me, my lord? You said my hands were beautiful…"

She raised her hand—once slender, beautifully painted with crimson lacquer—now twisted, nails broken, clearly snapped off by force.

Qian Zhixiao gasped, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed with a thud.

Pan Yun certainly wouldn't let him faint; with a swift motion, she raised a thick needle, stepped forward, yanked off his shoe, pressed on an acupoint, and drove the needle deep.

The terrified Qian Zhixiao screamed "Ahh—!" and sat bolt upright.

At that very moment, others who had encountered ghosts elsewhere were also screaming and crawling frantically in all directions.

Under Pan Yun's guidance, they gradually gathered in small groups.

Seeing Qian Zhixiao, a terrified scholar-official scrambled behind him and shouted at the male ghost chasing him: "Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I didn't want to do this—it was them, those officials who liked it! I only pretended to enjoy it like them—I never abused you myself!"

The male ghost, pale and refined, with an air of scholarly grace, stared at him without expression: "It was you, Master Fang, who brought me in. You handed me over to them."

"I didn't want them to kill you! I never imagined they'd be so cruel! Had I known, I'd never have sent you to them, Jingxing—believe me, believe me! I'm not a bad man! Vengeance has its target and debt its source—it was them who killed you! Go after them! Go after them…"

Pan Yun stood behind a tree, clutching a yellow talisman, murmuring: "Ask them—how many have they killed these years? Why did they kill them? He survived after Yang Ji's downfall—he must have something. Ask him where it is."

If he had nothing to protect himself, he'd have been purged like the others.

The male ghost's eyes shifted, his gaze falling from the scholar-official to Qian Zhixiao, and he asked coldly: "Why did you kill me? Why did you kill me?"

The female ghost appeared beside him, joining in the accusation: "Why did you kill me? Who is the true culprit?"

Qian Zhixiao staggered backward, his hand grasping the scholar-official's leg behind him—his mental thread snapped.

He grabbed the scholar-official behind him and began wildly punching and kicking: "It's you who ruined me! It's all your fault!"

"I liked to humiliate women, but they were my concubines—what business is it of yours? You were the ones who insisted on sending us girls to satisfy our desires! It's your fault!"

The scholar-official screamed like a dying animal.

At that moment, others, driven by the ghosts to this spot, began blaming each other and turned violent.

They had been bound by mutual interests; after Yang Ji's arrest, they quickly formed an alliance to protect one another.

Those they couldn't protect, they sacrificed as scapegoats, blaming them for crimes they had committed—and crimes they hadn't.

Among them were officials, scholar-officials, merchants, even thugs and ruffians.

As long as they held their scapegoats' families hostage, they were certain the scapegoats wouldn't betray them.

The proof was clear: they were right.

Yang Ji was arrested and taken to the capital; many were demoted or dismissed, some sentenced to immediate execution—no one dared expand the case to expose them.

In truth, had Yang Ji's crimes not been so brazen, and had Yang Shiqi not offended the Jiangnan literati, he would never have been touched.

Beating someone to death, seizing land…

Had the Jiangnan literati not wanted to teach Yang Shiqi a lesson, these charges would have been borne by others—Yang Ji would have escaped unscathed.

Thus, after Yang Shiqi resigned from office, Yang Ji's life or death no longer mattered.

Everyone no longer cared about Yang Ji's life or death.

Qian Zhixiao left officialdom of his own accord; he knew full well that if he stayed any longer, the next thing he lost wouldn't be his office, but his life—and his entire family's. He had left too many incriminating traces; even if he rose to the position of Chief Grand Secretary, they would still squeeze and twist him like clay in their hands.

Qian Zhixiao grew angrier with every blow, and when the clerk punched him in the brow, he shoved back furiously, roaring: "Fool! You're fighting for them! Do you know what they have in their hands?"

Before he finished speaking, a gentryman kicked hard, sending Qian Zhixiao sprawling, then sneered: "Who cares if you're Third rank or Fourth? Even Second rank must obey us! I say these people were killed by you—and they were killed by you! I've got the accounts written down!"

Pan Yun and County Magistrate Wu both looked up sharply at the middle-aged gentryman, forty or fifty, pale and fat, panting heavily.

He pointed at the circle of male and female ghosts surrounding them and shouted: "Aren't you here to seek revenge? Go on! They tortured and murdered you! Grievances have a source, debts have an owner—go after them, not me! Not me!"

"You say it's none of your business?" A hazy pink figure drifted out, speaking coldly: "We've been buried underground for years, our souls fragmented—we've forgotten who harmed us. Since we can't find them, we'll kill them all—"

The other lingering souls echoed: "Kill them all—"

Cold winds swept through, chilling necks.

Those trapped in the center finally stopped brawling and hurling accusations, huddling together in fear of the ghosts.

Compared to humans, they feared ghosts far more now.

!

Especially since these people's deaths were, in some way, tied to them.

"We said it already—it was the Prefect and his men who acted, not us…"

"Shut up! If you hadn't paid exorbitant sums to redeem them and deliver them to us, how would they have died?"

"I know who killed you!" The gentryman fell silent for a moment, then said: "I've recorded it all—who struck the blow, how they killed you. I can help you recover your memories. Go after them for revenge, don't kill me, don't kill me!"

He shouted: "You weren't bought by me! I didn't lift a hand to kill you! I'm innocent—I'm the most innocent!"

"I remember~~" A male ghost murmured softly: "He paints. He paints in his room~~"

"Yes, I painted every single one of you. I recorded it all. If you want to find your killers, spare me, spare me…"

Pan Yun and County Magistrate Wu exchanged glances. Pan Yun waved her hand—a gale surged, blinding everyone. In a flash, she grabbed the gentryman and yanked him out.

The gentryman screamed in terror. Pan Yun shoved a handkerchief into his mouth and tossed him bodily out of the courtyard.

Pan Yun left this behind: "You have one night. Don't actually kill them."

Upon hearing this, the lingering souls immediately thrilled, swaying with the wind, then burst into black mist. After a while, they reformed using the yin energy of the array, taking on their living forms again, laughing and chattering as they surrounded the people inside.

All night long, the magistrate's backyard echoed with wails and howls.

The Magistrate's Lady, staying in the adjacent courtyard, was too terrified to sleep a wink.

Pan Yun and the others stayed awake all night, dragging the gentryman to his home.

"What's your name?"

The gentryman, suddenly dragged from the yin-chilled courtyard into the sight of living people, looked dazed. When Pan Yun asked, his face was blank.

Pan Yun frowned in disgust and slapped his head: "I'm asking you—what's your name?"

Young Master Li quietly pulled the handkerchief from his mouth and answered for him: "His name is Fu Dainian. He holds the Licentiate title, excels in painting, especially beauties. One portrait of a beauty sells for a hundred taels. Rumor says he paints spring palace pictures too—one sells for a thousand taels."

Pan Yun's eyes widened in shock: "Spring palace pictures make that much? No—tell me, did you profit from those girls and boys?"

She struck his head repeatedly in rage: "Still claim you're innocent? I say you're the least innocent!"

County Magistrate Wu quickly stopped her: "Master Pan, don't damage his head—we still need evidence from him."

Pan Yun stopped.

County Magistrate Wu demanded where he hid the evidence.

But the once-weak Fu Dainian now hardened, clamping his mouth shut.

Pan Yun clenched her fist: "So you fear ghosts but not people? Speak—or I'll kill you."

Fu Dainian's face turned pale, yet he shook his head firmly: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Pan Yun snorted, seized his throat, and slowly tightened her grip.

Air was squeezed bit by bit from his chest cavity, none entering. His eyes bulged slightly, mouth gaping, fingers frantically prying at her hand—but he couldn't budge her an inch.

County Magistrate Wu sat waiting. When he reached his limit, he tapped Pan Yun's arm.

Pan Yun released him.

Fu Dainian collapsed, gasping with his mouth wide open. Pan Yun crouched, staring into his eyes: "Where's the evidence?"

Though dazed, Fu Dainian remained silent, still shaking his head.

Pan Yun: "So you fear ghosts more? Then I'll bring them back—you can have a deeper conversation."

Fu Dainian's voice was hoarse: "I don't know how you summoned these spirits, but I tell you this—don't waste your effort. I won't give you anything."

He looked up, eyes bloodshot, at Pan Yun: "If I don't hand it over, I'll just be torn apart by those ghosts. If I do, my entire family will be torn apart."

Pan Yun: "Someone like you actually cares for family?"

Fu Dainian gave a bitter laugh and lowered his head in silence.

Pan Yun sneered, stood, and pressed her hand on his head: "You know I summoned the spirits—so you know I have unusual methods, don't you?"

"You won't speak? I'll find out anyway," Pan Yun said. "I can seize souls and steal memories—no secret of yours can stay hidden."

Fu Dainian startled, panic rising inside, yet he forced calm onto his face: "If you had such power, you'd have used it already. Why go through all this trouble?"

"First, I didn't know which soul to seize. Second, it's a dark art—it harms me. But for my sister, I'm willing to risk it."

Pan Yun's fingers dug into his skull. Pain shot from the crown of his head straight into his heart.

Fu Dainian screamed in terror: "What sister? It has nothing to do with me—"

Pan Yun's face was icy: "I had an older sister who vanished years ago. I've long suspected you were involved! Nothing to do with you? You were there. Dare you say it's unrelated?"

A strange light flashed in Pan Yun's eyes. Her fingers tightened, gripping his scalp. She spoke slowly, each word deliberate: "I won't let any of you go. Not one. I've always valued loyalty and affection. For my sister, I'll endure heavenly retribution!

You care most for your families? Don't worry—after I kill you, I'll send your families down to join you. How you treated my sister, I'll treat yours the same!" (End of Chapter)