Chapter Twenty: The Phone Rang

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Le Dong looked up toward the stairs, where Madam Hu was descending slowly. Her face was frighteningly pale, as if layered with heavy foundation, nearly deathly white—reminiscent of a corpse preserved in a mortuary.

“Madam, you’re up,” Xiao Zhao, who was sitting at the same table, quickly stood and greeted her respectfully.

Yet Madam Hu gave no response and moved straight to the dining table. Her movements were far more stiff than usual, like a rusty-jointed puppet—or perhaps like someone still getting used to their own body.

“Creak…”

The wooden chair at the table was pulled out, and Madam Hu sat down carefully. This sudden action caused Zhao Zhenren across from her to freeze. He hesitated, staring at her, chopsticks suspended mid-air. When Madam Hu looked up, his face turned even paler than hers.

Le Dong, standing behind him, clearly saw Zhao Zhenren’s Adam’s apple bob once, as if he swallowed something bitter. The next moment, Zhao Zhenren hurriedly shoveled a few bites of food and nearly fled the table.

“What’s wrong with that old bastard?” Cai Kun elbowed Le Dong quietly, asking.

Le Dong withdrew his gaze and didn’t answer immediately, lowering his head to continue eating his breakfast.

He just had a feeling that something was off but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Madam Hu rarely spoke, but she had never been as silent as today—utterly mute from start to finish, with only the crisp clatter of utensils filling the air.

“Old Cai,” Le Dong lowered his voice, “don’t you think Madam Hu seems strange today?”

Cai Kun, mouth full of steamed bun, glanced at the table and mumbled, “Maybe her old flame hurt her last night. She’s probably just upset.”

Le Dong rolled his eyes at Cai Kun’s answer and didn’t press further, but the doubt in his heart lingered.

After several dozen minutes, when Madam Hu finished breakfast and rose, Cai Kun, picking at his teeth, cheerfully approached to greet her: “Hey, Madam, you look really well today.”

“Clack…”

Madam Hu stopped, slowly turned to Cai Kun, and a faint, unnatural smile crept onto her lips.

That smile was so unfamiliar, so alien, that one could hardly associate it with Madam Hu.

After the smile, she still didn’t utter a word.

Her pace quickened, and as she passed Le Dong leaning against the sofa, he keenly noticed her right hand—the hand that should have been well cared for, belonging to a noblewoman, now cracked and blackened, knuckles swollen and deformed, as if aged by decades in an instant.

Le Dong’s eyes widened, wanting to see more clearly, but Madam Hu had already drifted upstairs, leaving only a faint, lingering scent of perfume behind.

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“Strange…” Le Dong murmured to himself.

Not long after Madam Hu went upstairs, Steward Ma descended, his eyes cold and fierce as they swept across everyone in the living room. “Where did Madam Hu go?” he asked sharply.

Xiao Zhao, tidying up disposable dishes, pointed outside the courtyard: “Just saw Madam go out.”

Steward Ma nodded, took a few steps, then suddenly said, “By the way, Zhao Zhenren will come down later to arrange tonight’s ritual. You guys,” he gestured around, “follow his instructions to set up the living room. No dawdling.” With that, he pointed to a corner where some boxes had been unpacked, then turned to leave.

“Hmph, another ritual…” Cai Kun sounded reluctant.

“Cut the crap, Old Cai. Let’s work first,” Le Dong said, recalling the ghost marriage and the scene it conjured. A sense of unease stirred within him; he felt this ritual was not so simple.

Over the next few hours, the four men arranged the living room per Zhao Zhenren’s instructions into a grim ritual altar.

At the center stood a massive offering table draped with yellow talisman paper, surrounded by white candles. The entire room was set up like a mourning hall, filled with the strange scent of incense mixed with tar.

“All done. Rest now. We’ll deal with things tonight,” Zhao Zhenren said, satisfied with the setup, dismissing the group.

The four left in response. Le Dong deliberately stayed last, noticing that Madam Hu and Steward Ma had joined Zhao Zhenren, and the three seemed to be engaged in conversation.

To glean information, Le Dong hid at the stairwell corner, holding his breath and focusing.

“…Madam looks very unwell,” Steward Ma’s voice floated over, “She ate breakfast then went back to lie down…”

“Normal,” Zhao Zhenren’s voice was resolute. “Madam Hu’s body is weak. The old master’s lingering yin energy affects her like this. I’ll perform several rituals to weaken that energy, then she’ll be fine. Madam Hu, you best sleep separately from your wife these days to avoid the yin energy clinging to you.”

Madam Hu’s husband nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes, I’ve noted your words, Master.”

The three descended the stairs and caught sight of Le Dong standing at the corner. They immediately stopped talking. Steward Ma shot him a cold glance as they brushed past.

In that fleeting moment, Le Dong’s nose twitched, picking up a familiar fragrance—the perfume scent from Madam Hu.

Among the three, Madam Hu’s husband could reasonably have such a scent on him, but Le Dong set aside his confusion and returned to his room.

Inside, Xiao Zhang was sitting on the bed playing with his phone. Le Dong boredly lit a cigarette and walked out to the balcony, staring absentmindedly at the low hill behind the villa.

He wondered what the ritual tonight would bring. Would the spirits of Su Juanjuan and Hu Dawei appear again? As he pondered, his hand instinctively touched the copper coin in his pocket.

“Le Ge, why do you like coming to the balcony so much?” Xiao Zhang’s voice suddenly came from behind. “Could it be that hill holds a treasure?”

Le Dong exhaled a smoke ring, turning to the cherubic face, and smiled wryly. “No treasure, just hope…”

“What kind of hope?” Xiao Zhang asked curiously.

Le Dong didn’t answer, instead asking, “Xiao Zhang, do you believe there are ghosts in this world?”

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Xiao Zhang paused, then grinned broadly. “I do, but I’m not afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Because ghosts fear people with blood on their hands.” Xiao Zhang proudly raised his hand. “I used to work in a slaughterhouse, killed a lot of animals. My hands are bloody.”

Le Dong chuckled at the answer and patted Xiao Zhang’s shoulder. “Makes sense.”

Xiao Zhang gave a sheepish laugh and tilted his head toward Le Dong. “Le Ge, you’ve been acting kind of jumpy since yesterday. Did something happen?”

Le Dong hesitated briefly, then decided to warn the young man, “If… I mean if there’s a murderer in this villa, and our phones have no signal, what do you think we should do?”

Xiao Zhang’s expression turned serious. He countered, “If it were you, Le Ge, what would you do?”

Le Dong fell silent for a moment, his eyes sharpening. “Either run, or fight back and kill him.”

Xiao Zhang gave a meaningful smile. “Same here.”

The two chatted casually like that until dusk.

Le Dong glanced at his watch and didn’t stay in the room any longer. Instead, he went with Cai Kun to the villa’s courtyard.

He anxiously pulled out the phone he had stolen from the delivery guy and waited nervously.

“What if that fat guy got a replacement SIM card?” Cai Kun whispered.

Le Dong shook his head. “Don’t know. But this is our only chance. If no replacement, and Steward Ma really controls the signal, then when he contacts the delivery guy, the signal will definitely be on.”

The two hid behind the bushes in the corner of the yard, eyes fixed on the phone screen.

Time ticked by, but the phone remained silent.

“Le Dong! Cai Kun!” Zhao Zhenren’s voice suddenly called from the villa’s entrance. “The hour’s come. The ritual is about to start. Hurry up and help!”

“Damn it…”

Le Dong cursed silently as he was about to stand when the phone in his hand suddenly vibrated.

He quickly signaled Cai Kun to shield him and checked the screen—caller ID read “Dad.”