Records of the Halls of Ten Thousand Affairs: Chapter 6 The Grievance of the Drudging Soul (Part 2)

Records of the Halls of Ten Thousand Affairs: Chapter 6 The Grievance of the Drudging Soul (Part 2)

Beneath the bright daylight, Zhou Xu’s nerves were frayed taut by Chen Jiu’s unsettling question.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Early spring in Qiu City brought erratic weather, and he suddenly felt so cold that he wanted to layer on more clothes.

Chen Jiu’s words were perfectly accurate, matching his dreams exactly. Countless times, he had wanted to pat the child on the shoulder, yet inexplicable fear had always held him back.

He dreaded what face might greet him if the child turned around something he knew he could never bear to see.

“Stay tonight,” Chen Jiu grinned. “What if… she has more to say to you?”

Zhou Xu shook his head in disbelief, stumbling backward several times. Then he fled to his car, jumped in, and drove away without a second glance.

Xu Xin stared in shock and chased after him, shouting, “Manager Zhou! Aren’t you staying for the ritual?!”

The only reply was a cloud of exhaust fumes. Chen Jiu waited for her, then turned and walked away. Snapping out of her daze, Xu Xin hurried to catch up. “Master! When did you get here?!”

“Got a job,” Chen Jiu replied casually.

“What a coincidence! The job you took is about Mengran…” Xu Xin paused, realizing the wording was awkward, and corrected herself. “We’re really fated to meet.”

She greeted Xiaoxuan on Chen Jiu’s shoulder. The cat affectionately nuzzled her hand.

Chen Jiu said nothing.

This was an urgent request she’d received the night before a karmic debt owed by her master.

When the old Taoist had traveled across the country in his youth, he’d accumulated many karmic favors from meals. When the request came, he’d urged her to go at once and repay the kindness in his place. It just so happened that the Li family’s seventh-day memorial fell on this day.

“Master, do you think Manager Zhou is suspicious?” Xu Xin asked carefully.

“I might as well tell you,” Chen Jiu said. “Most of what I said earlier was bluffing to rattle him. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

Xu Xin looked stunned, having believed every word.

“But he definitely carries karmic guilt,” Chen Jiu adjusted Xiaoxuan on her shoulder, who was slipping down. “When you questioned him, his guilt was practically written all over his face. A little bluff was all it took to scare him into fleeing. Though not directly responsible, Li Mengran’s death is absolutely connected to him.”

Before entering the Li residence, Chen Jiu put on her Taoist robe and set Xiaoxuan on a tree branch, patting its hindquarters. “Go play,” she said. She did not want the black cat disturbing the lingering spirit.

“Boundless Heavenly Honour,” Chen Jiu bowed respectfully to Li Mengran’s parents.

The elderly couple awkwardly returned the bow. Their old friend had told them his disciple would come, but they had not expected such a young girl. They exchanged confused glances.

That night, neighbors who had come to help left after the meal, leaving only close relatives to keep vigil with the grieving parents.

Chen Jiu stood before the altar and chanted incantations in an ancient tongue, her voice quick and resonant. By the time the seventh-day rituals were complete, it was nearly dawn.

Xu Xin dozed off at the tea table. Mother Li approached gently. “Xinxin, why don’t you stay here tonight?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Auntie. I took time off for this.” Xu Xin patted her face to wake herself up.

The remaining guests helped clean up and left one by one.

The elderly couple struggled to bid everyone farewell politely. Soon, only four people remained in the mourning hall.

In the profound silence, one of the white candles on the altar suddenly went out. Father Li rushed to relight it, only for it to extinguish again moments later.

Goosebumps broke out across the middle-aged man’s skin. He stared tremblingly at his daughter’s smiling portrait, swallowing hard.

“She refuses to leave,” Chen Jiu said abruptly.

Mother Li’s knees buckled. She fainted on the spot, having endured days of grief on the verge of collapse. The reality of her daughter’s wrongful death was the final straw.

Xu Xin hurried forward to support her, half-carrying her to a chair.

Father Li’s eyes turned red, his fists clenched. He turned to Chen Jiu. “Master, can you find out who killed my daughter?”

Chen Jiu asked, “If you suspected foul play, why did you block the police autopsy?”

Father Li thought she was spreading rumors. His voice trembled with grief. “My daughter died a terrible death already! Why make her suffer even in death?”

Without replying, Chen Jiu tossed six copper coins. The divination result was identical to the one she’d given Xu Xin.

She sneered. “If you truly cared for your daughter, you would face the truth.”

Xu Xin was utterly confused, glancing between them. She couldn’t understand why the couple had blocked the autopsy if they too suspected murder. Why rush the body back to the funeral parlor?

Father Li broke down in tears. “I only wanted her to leave this world clean and innocent… Why is that so hard?”

Grief overtook him, and he fell to his knees, pounding the ground. A draft swept through the hall, snuffing out another candle.

“Stop crying,” Chen Jiu said. “Your sorrow only traps her further.”

Clenching his jaw, Father Li forced back his sobs and wiped his tears roughly with his sleeve.

Chen Jiu drew her wooden sword, lifted a yellow talisman to reignite the extinguished candles, and said, “My master only told me to help you, not how. I will follow my own methods. Do you agree?”

Father Li’s expression hardened. “Just tell me who killed her. I will give my life to avenge her!”

“Enough,” Chen Jiu raised a hand to stop him, frowning. “If you persist like this, I cannot help you at all.”

She glanced at Xu Xin, who suddenly understood. She rushed to help Father Li. “Uncle! Master Chen’s divinations are always accurate. I’ve consulted her myself. I promise she will do everything she can!”

Father Li hesitated, looking at Chen Jiu, then at his daughter’s portrait. He finally closed his eyes tightly.

“Little Master, I ask for nothing else. Please tell my daughter to rest in peace. And make whoever wronged her repay their debt!”

Chen Jiu bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment.

Xu Xin asked nervously, “Should we all step outside?”

“Yes,” Chen Jiu replied gently. “Do not listen or peek at anything you hear inside. Sleep through the night if you can.”

Xu Xin nodded vigorously.

With no other choice, Father Li helped his wife up and stumbled out of the hall.

Once the doors closed behind them, Chen Jiu flicked her finger. The wooden door shut tightly on its own.

She walked to the coffin and whispered incantations.

Midnight was the hour of peak yin energy. Only a few flickering candles lit the altar, along with a dim overhead bulb that flickered intermittently.

Chen Jiu flicked a talisman between her fingers. A flash of green light flickered in her eyes. On the altar, Li Mengran’s portrait seemed to smile faintly, and blood-red tears slowly trickled down its cheeks.

An old book on the table flipped rapidly on its own, stopping on page 44 a painting of a funeral procession with paper money fluttering in the wind.

Chen Jiu paid no mind to these petty illusions. She tossed a talisman, which hovered above the coffin and ignited.

She spoke to the empty air. “Li Mengran, your spirit is already weak. Do not waste your energy on trivial tricks.”

The air turned eerily still, as if an invisible presence shrank back.

Chen Jiu picked up a peach wood sword and flipped the book to page 66. “Double six for smooth sailing,” she said flatly.

A soft, weary sigh echoed from the darkness. “Can you truly help me?”

“I would have sent you on your way already if I could not,” Chen Jiu replied.

“I am trapped beside my backpack. I cannot leave. I can only visit people in their dreams.”

Chen Jiu asked, “Did you visit Xu Xin?”

“Her?” Li Mengran’s voice brightened slightly. “She’s too timid. I would scare her to death.”

So she had not visited Xu Xin. The dreams were merely her friend’s longing manifesting in sleep.

“Let’s get to the point,” Chen Jiu said, walking to the table and pouring herself cold tea. “Tell me what happened. I’ll see how I can help.”

“I meant to jump,” Li Mengran recalled slowly. “But the moment I stepped out, I regretted it.”

Staring down from the high ledge, the view was nothing like what she’d seen through the window. Panic and fear overwhelmed her. She did not want to die.

A gust of wind blew, and she realized her back was soaked in cold sweat. She was suddenly wide awake.

But as she tried to pull her leg back, her heart raced violently. Her vision went black. She lost all control of her body, and plummeted from the building.