47: Scars

Previously, witnessing such bizarre deaths, I had always assumed it was connected to Grandmother. But now, I realize I was mistaken.

If the one causing these deaths is Jiang Yan, then everything makes sense.

That smile—it could be interpreted as smugness, or as mockery.

Eighteen years ago, when Jiang Yan stirred up trouble, Grandmother dealt with her ruthlessly, sowing seeds of enmity between them. But because Grandmother was formidable, Jiang Yan could only lurk in the shadows, appearing only when my soul was lost. Once Grandmother passed away and Jiang Yan was freed from her threat, she began to take action, controlling the pallbearers one after another, leading each to a strange death.

After death, their faces would be turned toward Grandmother's grave with a smile, as if wordlessly declaring to her: "Look, now I will kill off everyone who came to bury you."

When I voiced my discovery, Xu Buhuo nodded slightly and said, "That's possible."

The more I thought about it, the more certain I became. Otherwise, why would the dead be smiling at Grandmother's grave? There had to be a reason.

However, since that night, Jiang Yan had vanished without a trace. I couldn't figure out her intentions. On the one hand, she claimed someone wanted to harm me—and indeed, I was being targeted—yet on the other, she disappeared, as if someone was hunting her too.

Just then, Uncle Sun Lin's words drew me out of my thoughts. He said, "Back then, Old Woman Wang had a foul mouth. Everyone present had some small grievance with her, so she began to spread rumors that we were all involved with Jiang Yan. That's why she was cursed."

The answer was just as I had expected.

Another uncle added, "Actually, at the time, most of the men in the village were implicated. Your father as well. You should've seen it—the scene was chaos. More than a dozen women would gather at Jiang Yan's door, saying the most awful things."

Uncle Sun Lin continued, "Yes, those women would believe any rumor. Clearly nothing happened, but they made a scene anyway. You can't imagine how helpless we felt back then."

With that, the earlier doubts were explained.

Guessing and speculating, I finally understood who was behind all this, and felt a little relief.

"Ziwu, are you asking all this because you think it's connected to Jiang Yan?" my mother suddenly asked.

I nodded and replied with conviction, "Almost certainly. Brother Li, Uncle Qian, and Uncle Zhong Fu—all are connected to her. She possessed several of the uncles and orchestrated these bizarre suicides."

At the mention of Jiang Yan's return, the three uncles' faces darkened, and my mother frowned slightly. I asked her why, and she said she had interacted with Jiang Yan while she was alive. Based on her own impression, Jiang Yan didn't seem the type to take lives so wantonly.

"People's hearts change," Uncle Sun Lin interjected. "You know how chaotic things were back then. Perhaps the turmoil left her with deep resentment. Otherwise, she wouldn't be like this even in death."

My mother opened her mouth to speak, but in the end said nothing. Clearly, she wanted to defend Jiang Yan but couldn't find the words.

"By the way, I experienced a hallucination earlier—almost strangled myself," I said to Xu Buhuo at the door, recounting the incident. I knew that while we were out searching for Uncle Zhong Fu, he had been inside studying the Soul-Consuming Puppet, and perhaps he'd made some progress.

Before the hallucination, I hadn't thought much of it. I believed my willpower was strong enough to resist. But after just one episode, I realized I had underestimated the situation.

The hallucination was so real—utterly indistinguishable from reality.

"It seems the one who made the Soul-Consuming Puppet is even more formidable than I thought. The one controlling the corpse ghoul is likely the same person," Xu Buhuo said after a moment's silence. He then went back into the woodshed to continue his research. I watched for a while but couldn't make sense of it, so I returned to the main room—Uncle Zhong Fu had woken up.

Uncle Zhong Fu was still somewhat shaken, but after some reassurance, he calmed down and, when asked about his disappearance earlier, shook his head and said he didn't know. He only remembered chatting with Cao Guangshan and the others, and then waking up like this.

At last, we had managed to prevent a death. While I was relieved, I remained cautious, knowing now that this string of strange deaths was different from what I'd first imagined.

In the beginning, not knowing the cause, I thought these events had been meticulously arranged, and that stopping one link in the chain might prevent all the others. But in reality, Jiang Yan was manipulating everything. Though dead, her vengeful spirit retained its cunning, ready to possess other uncles and carry out more deaths until her vengeance was satisfied.

As for the hallucinogen in their blood, I suspected it had been administered long ago—perhaps Jiang Yan had tampered with the village’s drinking water years before. Cao Guangshan had investigated, and none of the uncles had recently consumed anything unusual, confirming that the substance had been dormant in their blood, waiting to be triggered as needed.

It was hard to imagine that a vengeful spirit like Jiang Yan could devise such an insidious method.

Now that this was about revenge, she would not rest until her goal was achieved. To prevent further incidents, I decided to alternate shifts with Cao Guangshan.

Around one in the morning, Xu Buhuo was still studying the Soul-Consuming Puppet. By then, he was no longer just observing; he began to scrape away the black paper covering its surface with a knife.

Gradually, the human skin beneath was revealed. When all the black paper was removed, exposing the face below, I could no longer remain calm.

I had always wondered—Liu Laizi had nothing to do with these events, so why had he died so suddenly and then been turned into a human skin puppet by the ghost-faced corpse?

Now, the answer was clear.

The mastermind needed a piece of human skin to make the puppet. Liu Laizi happened to be the chosen material. He was killed, and the ghost-faced corpse turned his skin into the puppet's covering.

The choice was simple— the village chief was incapacitated, his wife disliked Liu Laizi, and he had no family. No one in the village would mourn him; some might even rejoice, as Liu Laizi had done many wicked things over the years.

This discovery made me think of the black handprints.

Xu Buhuo had mentioned before that when my grandfather and father died, their bodies might also have borne black handprints. My mother confirmed that while she wasn't sure about my grandfather, my father's body did have such marks.

This felt like a breakthrough.

The black handprints showed someone was behind this. If they appeared when my grandfather died, I could deduce the hidden enemy's age—definitely not young.

Grandfather died over thirty years ago, so this person would now be at least sixty years old—otherwise, they couldn't possess such skill.

The older, the craftier. Their method of making Soul-Consuming Puppets even impressed Xu Buhuo. This person had to be over sixty.

There were fewer than twenty elderly villagers over sixty still in good health.

From this, I realized the one targeting me—and the village—was one of the elders.

After sharing these thoughts with Xu Buhuo, he decided to question the village elders at dawn. If there was a problem, we would find it.

Bit by bit, the tangled web was beginning to unravel.

I took the first shift that night. After a while, Xu Buhuo went to rest, leaving me alone in the main room with Grandmother’s old books. I began to study the eight characters of destiny, physiognomy, and other esoteric arts.

The more I read, the more engrossed I became. I felt no sleepiness, even when it was time to switch with Cao Guangshan. I thought I’d call him only when I grew tired.

Tap. Tap…

Suddenly, a faint sound came from outside.

The first time, I thought I’d imagined it. But then the tapping echoed in the courtyard, making me tense up and hurry to the window.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard that sound.

The corpse ghoul had returned.

I didn’t know why it came in the middle of the night, only that it was nothing good. I peered through the window, watching it pace back and forth in the yard.

Was it taking a stroll?

Seeing it wander aimlessly, I couldn’t understand its purpose. It was just like someone sleepless, pacing out of boredom.

Could it be a hallucination?

Thinking of what happened earlier, I wondered if this was another hallucination. After all, hallucinations felt completely real—the only difference was something ever so slightly off.

Normally, if the corpse ghoul came, it would enter or leave, not just wander the yard. This behavior was highly irregular.

To be sure, I pinched myself hard—the pain was sharp. I remembered how, even in my hallucination when Grandmother tried to kill me, I still felt pain. Hallucinations weren't like dreams; the pain was real.

Twenty minutes passed. The corpse ghoul was still pacing.

Frustrated, I tapped my finger against the glass, hoping to draw its attention. It paused, glanced my way, then continued pacing.

Something was wrong.

I was on the verge of panic—torn between going outside to check and fearing this was no illusion, that the corpse ghoul outside was real. Yet staying inside made me unbearably anxious.

In the end, I clenched my teeth and forced myself to wait indoors. Even if it was a hallucination, going outside might endanger me, just as it had when Grandmother appeared.

So I buried myself in my book again, trying to ignore the ghoul outside, growing more absorbed by the moment.

"Idiot!"

Xu Buhuo's furious shout exploded in my ear, jolting me so hard I saw stars. Only then did I realize I was already outside in the courtyard.

Ahead, Xu Buhuo was driving back the corpse ghoul. In the struggle, he tore the sleeve from its left arm.

In the dim glow from the house, I suddenly caught sight of a scar, ten centimeters long, on the ghoul’s left forearm.

At that moment, my mind went blank with a thunderous shock.

In my memory, there was only one person dearest to me who bore an identical scar on their arm.