Chapter Fifty-Four: The Child Leads the Way to the Mountain Estate, and the Learned, Courteous Steward Mouse
“Raise the sedan! Move along!” In the darkness, the hollow, playful voices of two childlike figures, one gold and one silver, echoed far and wide.
Inside the cave, the two paper lanterns burning with ghostly green flames were held aloft by these golden and silver children, while a bright red sedan chair hovered in the air behind them. Thankfully, no one was around to witness it—otherwise, the fright might have claimed a life.
Song Mo stepped into the ghostly sedan. Tang Yi, seated to one side, had already unsheathed his willow-leaf blade and held it across his lap, evidently wary of the inexplicable golden and silver children.
Song Mo picked an empty spot and sat down. He wasn’t particularly worried about any trap within the sedan; truthfully, if the shadow fiend really wished them harm, neither he nor Tang Yi could resist in the slightest.
Rather than trouble himself over their safety, Song Mo was more curious to discern who had sent these golden and silver children as guides.
If their aim was murder, all this would be unnecessary extravagance.
With this thought, Song Mo’s curiosity toward the mastermind behind the children deepened.
Yet he had no time to dwell on it, for outside, the golden and silver children began to sing another eerie ballad.
“Mid-seventh month,
A bride is wed,
Friends and kin wail until their hearts are dead,
Paper robes worn for wedding dress,
Never again will she see her beloved.”
The two children sang in turn, their ethereal voices swirling endlessly around Song Mo’s ears, encircling him from all sides, so much so that even Tang Yi frowned.
“Hey, you two, can’t we have something a bit more... lively?” Song Mo rapped irritably on the sedan’s door.
“Hee hee...”
“Hee hee...”
The two responded with guileless laughter, but the sound grated on Song Mo’s nerves, stinging his ears like a biting wind.
“All right, all right, have it your way. Pretend I said nothing.” Song Mo covered his ears, begging for mercy.
“Keep it down,” Tang Yi ordered, giving Song Mo a swift kick at his craven display.
No sooner had Song Mo and Tang Yi quieted than the golden and silver children, unwilling to let silence reign, broke into another ballad.
“Widow’s well,
A widow falls,
Strikes her head,
Brains do spill,
Feet to the sky in a grisly sprawl,
A corpse entombed in widow’s well.”
This time Song Mo was utterly at a loss—clearly, the golden and silver children had a taste for the macabre.
The cave was swept by cold gusts, and Song Mo and Tang Yi could hear nothing but the howling wind in their ears.
Before long, the ghostly sedan came to a halt.
“Guests have arrived, lower the sedan!” A raspy, aged voice called from outside.
“Hee hee...”
“Hee hee...”
The golden and silver children laughed again, only to be reproached by the elderly voice, slightly annoyed: “Little Gold, Little Silver, mind your manners before our honored guests, lest you incur the Young Mistress’s wrath.”
“Hmph...”
“Hmph...”
The two pouted, but the old voice warned again, “If you anger the Young Mistress, even the Young Master may punish you both.”
The golden and silver children instantly subdued, standing aside with their paper lanterns.
“Be careful. There’s demonic energy,” Tang Yi whispered, hand on the hilt of his willow-leaf blade, alerting Song Mo.
“Is it the shadow fiend?” Song Mo’s heart tensed.
“I think not. This demon’s aura is too raw, unable to conceal itself. Likely one who’s only recently gained its powers,” Tang Yi replied, shaking his head.
The old voice outside rose, now imbued with a stern dignity. “Honored guests, please disembark!”
“What now?” Song Mo steadied himself and asked Tang Yi.
“He doesn’t seem hostile. Let’s play it by ear—just stay cautious,” Tang Yi said, slipping his blade back to his belt, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.
Tang Yi lifted the curtain and stepped out first, Song Mo close behind. Before he even left the sedan, he heard Tang Yi gasp in surprise, seemingly startled by something.
Song Mo, inwardly mocking Tang Yi’s nerves, lifted the curtain and stepped down—only to find a shadowy figure standing beside the sedan.
When Song Mo looked more closely, his heart nearly stopped. The figure was clad in a gray long robe and jacket, its build human but noticeably short. That alone wasn’t so peculiar—after all, he’d grown up on tales of dwarfs and Snow White. He’d seen strange things before.
But this—this was beyond anything Song Mo had ever witnessed. The figure’s head was grotesquely wrong.
What was wrong about it?
It wasn’t a human head at all!
It was the furry, sharp-toothed, long-whiskered head of a rat!
This was unmistakably a rat demon!
Song Mo was so petrified he couldn’t even find his voice to scream.
“Good. If you dare make a sound, I’ll toss you to my children and grandchildren,” the rat demon said, nodding in satisfaction at Song Mo’s reaction.
And what might the rat demon’s offspring be?
Naturally, little rat demons.
Song Mo felt a chill run down his spine, and his gaze toward the rat demon brimmed with unease.
The rat demon burst out laughing. “Just teasing you. I am Shu Mingli, steward of the Mountain Residence. You may call me Steward Shu.”
Steward Shu? Rat Steward?
One had to admit, this rat demon, having gained intelligence, had quite a knack for names.
Shu Mingli—A gentleman knows propriety, and thus understands fate.
Shu Mingli made a gesture of invitation, and only then did Song Mo and Tang Yi realize they had arrived at a grand estate.
The place showed its age but exuded a refined charm, with imposing guardian beasts crouched on either side of the entrance.
On the stone pillars, vigorous calligraphy proclaimed: “A thousand green trees in the mountain’s stillness; the scent of blossoms lingering through the cold years.”
A plaque above the gate bore two large characters: Mountain Residence.
“Where are we? Is this still Sheepgut Mountain?” Song Mo gaped in surprise.
“Just a powerful illusion. We’re still inside the Fox Immortal Temple,” Tang Yi explained after a moment’s thought.
Song Mo silently marveled, “Such formidable sorcery—there’s not a single flaw I can see.”
Tang Yi glanced at the couplets, then peered into the Mountain Residence, frowning. “Why does it not feel like demonic energy? It’s more like a peaceful spiritual aura.”
Shu Mingli smiled mysteriously, offering no explanation, and gestured to invite them further. “My Young Mistress has long awaited your arrival. Will you dare to meet her?”
“Since we are here, how could we not greet our host?” Tang Yi responded calmly, meeting Shu Mingli’s eyes.
With Tang Yi having spoken, Song Mo could only follow in agreement.
“Little Gold, Little Silver, lead the way for our guests,” Shu Mingli said, his tone softening.
The golden and silver children, lanterns in hand, reluctantly led the way.
Song Mo and Tang Yi followed them through the gate, with Shu Mingli maintaining a courteous and attentive presence, pointing out the way to prevent any missteps.
As they entered the courtyard, a path paved with bluish-gray stone led straight to the main hall. The hall’s four dark red doors were slightly ajar at the center. Lattice windows along the side gallery stood open, airy and bright. In front of the gallery, rattan chairs and a table were set, with flowers in full bloom three feet away.
The main entrance, five bays wide, had barrel tiles and a curved ridge, with wooden doors and windows adorned in fine old carvings, unembellished by garish paint, the walls all polished to a watery sheen. Below, the white stone steps were carved with exotic floral patterns.
Song Mo sighed inwardly. The centuries-old Zhang family estate was considered grand, yet compared to this Mountain Residence, it was like mud to cloud.
The golden and silver children, lanterns aloft, led them through a crescent moon gate into the rear courtyard.
As they walked, Song Mo’s ears caught the anguished cries of a man and woman.
Looking up, Song Mo saw that on either side of the corridor’s stone pillars, a person was bound.
One man and one woman, stripped naked and tied like hogs awaiting slaughter, their bodies covered in wounds.
Both were so battered as to be almost unrecognizable, their faces like swollen pig heads. Only upon close inspection did Song Mo realize who they were.
Ma Xiaolian. Zhang Shanshui.