46: Clear Clues

The previous two times, I had only heard others describe that eerie, chuckling laughter, and it never struck me as particularly intense. But now, hearing it with my own ears, the sound made chills race up my spine.

When the laughter emerges, someone is bound to die.

I knew that Uncle Zhong Fu must be attempting suicide at this moment, so I rushed forward and kicked at the courtyard gate, though I couldn’t break it open. Cao Guangshan was aware, too, that pallbearers would laugh strangely before killing themselves. He joined me, and together we smashed the gate down.

In the middle of the courtyard, Uncle Zhong Fu was kneeling upright, facing the direction of my grandmother’s grave, his head slightly raised. In his hands, he gripped a piece of discarded steel rebar, though I had no idea where he’d found it.

Fortunately, the rebar wasn’t particularly sharp, but Uncle Zhong Fu was struggling to drive it into his own body. Witnessing such a bizarre suicide attempt was terrifying, but it wasn’t my first brush with horror. I quickly regained my composure, dashed to his side, and tried to pry the steel from his grasp.

By then, the rebar had already begun to pierce his flesh, blood welling out. Cao Guangshan joined in, but Uncle Zhong Fu’s strength was astonishing, greater than the two of us combined.

Even more unsettling, his eyes appeared entirely black, the whites barely visible. He stared upward toward my grandmother’s grave, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

Seeing we couldn’t stop him from impaling himself, I gritted my teeth and shouted, “Knock him out!”

Cao Guangshan, trained in martial arts, stood and delivered a hand chop to the nape of Uncle Zhong Fu’s neck. The first blow didn’t do the trick, so he struck again, harder.

This time, Uncle Zhong Fu’s tense body shuddered; his eyelids began to droop. Feeling his grip weaken, I seized the moment and tore the steel rebar from his hands.

It hadn’t penetrated deeply, barely a centimeter or so. Once the rebar was in my grasp, Uncle Zhong Fu collapsed with a heavy thud.

After tending to his wound, Cao Guangshan said, “He’ll be fine. It didn’t go in far enough; otherwise, he’d be dead.”

Grateful he’d survived, I slumped to the ground, my body cooled by sweat evaporating in the night air. My mind trembled as I recalled the scene.

I knew if we’d been a minute later, even if we’d found Uncle Zhong Fu, he would already have been a corpse.

“His body is so cold—just like a dead man stored in a freezer,” Cao Guangshan muttered, crouching beside him. I reached out to touch his hand, and indeed, it was chilling.

Night had fallen completely.

Relieved that we had managed to prevent a death, I wondered whether this would finally break the so-called pattern.

Uncle Zhong Fu slipped into a deep sleep, his body gradually warming to normal. Unsure whether he’d change upon waking, Cao Guangshan and I carried him back to the new house.

Seeing us bring him back, the remaining three uncles visibly relaxed. Xu Buhuo, who had been in the woodshed studying the Soul Puppet, hurried over, pried open Uncle Zhong Fu’s eyelids for inspection, and said, “Just bandage the wound. He’ll be fine for now.”

As soon as Xu let go, I peered into Uncle Zhong Fu’s eyes myself and found them restored to normal. Xu asked what I was doing, so I explained what I’d seen earlier.

“You’re certain his eyes were mostly black?” Xu Buhuo stared at me intently, as if he’d stumbled upon a clue. I nodded, and Cao Guangshan did too, confirming that when Uncle Zhong Fu was attempting suicide, his eyes from afar seemed entirely black.

Upon hearing this, Xu narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and walked to the doorway, lost in contemplation. Sensing he’d discovered something, I followed him and asked.

“Does this mean part of our earlier speculation was correct?”

“Which part?” I asked.

“The part about the pattern. Their deaths aren’t random—they’re caused by possession. An evil spirit has taken over them, controlling their actions.”

Possession by an evil spirit?

I slapped my thigh, wondering why this hadn’t occurred to me before.

After all, even a madman would feel pain; no one could stab their own heart with a knife and smile without a trace of agony.

But possession changes things. The ancient texts say that once an evil spirit possesses someone, it seizes control of the body. Even if the person cuts off their own hand, they feel nothing.

Because the body and soul are connected, and when someone dies, the soul leaves, making the body insensate. Pain is, in essence, an experience of the soul. When an evil spirit possesses someone, it pushes their soul aside, making them lose all sense of their body—so nothing hurts.

“I suspected as much before, but without witnessing it myself, I wasn’t sure. Now, considering their bodies were all cold and stiff, it must be an evil spirit controlling them. The sudden madness is the process of possession. If the person’s spirit is stable, their yang energy remains strong and possession is difficult.”

Noting that their mental issues began during the day, I asked, “Can evil spirits appear during daylight?”

Xu Buhuo shook his head. “No. Whatever caused their madness must be something else. It takes time to weaken a person’s yang energy, which is why their symptoms start during the day. Once night falls, the evil spirit can possess them.”

The mystery was finally explained. I let out a long breath, thinking that now we had a way forward.

At that moment, Cao Guangshan’s phone rang. After listening, he came over and said, “The blood test results for last night’s deceased are in. Their blood contains the same substances as the previous victims. Analysis shows it’s some kind of hallucinogenic drug that affects the mind.”

This news clarified the source of the mental disturbances. Combined with possession-induced suicides, it was almost certain that these deaths were being orchestrated.

But why, at the moment of death, did the evil spirit make them face my grandmother’s grave? I hadn’t figured that out yet.

Now, the only thing left to determine was whether the mastermind behind all this was human or ghost.

Thinking of my grandmother, I asked, “Old man, if a person’s soul becomes a ghost, can it still be summoned?”

“It depends. Some can be summoned, some can’t. The souls of those who die naturally have no consciousness, so summoning is usually successful. But if the soul becomes an evil spirit, with its own will, whether it comes depends on its own wishes.”

Could it really be grandmother?

Though the strange suicides of the pallbearers had been explained, my suspicions toward grandmother grew firmer, especially after the failed soul-summoning last night.

Her coffin was opened in daylight, confirming her death. But last night, her soul refused to be summoned, suggesting she did not wish to appear.

Considering that all the pallbearers died under possession and my father’s prophecy, I was almost certain, as previously suspected, that all of this was grandmother’s design.

But why would she do this?

I couldn’t fathom it. She had always been kind and gentle, yet now appeared so ruthless, targeting the villagers—and especially those who’d carried her coffin.

“Don’t jump to conclusions. It might be her, but it might not. You know, she isn’t the only one behind all this,” Xu Buhuo said, noticing my suspicions. He was right; the clues pointed to evil spirits, but there were others in the village—like Jiang Yan.

Thinking of Jiang Yan’s disappearance, my suspicions shifted.

Every deed has its motive.

No grievance comes without a cause, no debt without a creditor. Evil spirits rarely kill at random. Sudden deaths usually imply a connection to the spirit—a debt to be collected.

Grandmother had no disputes with the villagers; she was respected. No clear motive there. But Jiang Yan—she had every reason.

Her suicide, though linked to the black handprint, was also driven by village gossip.

Words kill more surely than blades.

Jiang Yan’s life was already tragic; her birthmark affected her appearance, and she was never truly accepted. Old Mrs. Wang spread rumors, making things worse.

Thus, she ended up hanging herself in red, and grandmother’s encounter with her was filled with anger and resentment.

As for the black handprint seen by Grandpa Qin, it was probably a mistake—old eyes in the early morning, perhaps seeing things that weren’t there. Otherwise, why would the handprint disappear so quickly?

And how did Father know about all this? I couldn’t guess. Maybe people, sensing their own end, glimpse things unseen. Perhaps it was all just a dream.

The truth was becoming clearer.

With grandmother’s suspicions temporarily dispelled, I felt much relieved and returned to Uncle Zhong Fu’s side.

Looking at the three uncles and Zhong Fu, and suspecting Jiang Yan as the mastermind, I asked instinctively, “Uncle Sun Lin, do you remember Jiang Yan’s suicide eighteen years ago?”

At the mention of Jiang Yan, their gazes shifted unconsciously to the right side of my face, their expressions uneasy. Even Zhong Fu’s mother, tending to him, turned and asked, “Why bring her up now?”

Jiang Yan, without anyone noticing, had become a taboo in the village. Whenever her name was mentioned, the adults’ faces changed.

Keeping my composure, I said, “It’s nothing, I just want to understand something.”

“It’s all in the past. If you want to ask, ask,” Sun Lin replied calmly, showing little alarm.

“Among you, did anyone spread rumors about Jiang Yan back then?”

I was curious about this, because if any of the uncles were involved in rumors about Jiang Yan seducing men, then the mastermind behind these bizarre suicides was her.

And just then, I understood why Li and Qian, who died in succession, smiled toward grandmother’s grave at the moment of death.