༺ 𓆩 Chapter 94 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
Zhao Mingyue harbored many secrets within her heart — an inner world entirely at odds with the foolish, naïve persona she usually projected. Anyone who had spent even a moment with Zhao Mingyue would never suspect she bore the scars of a tragic childhood.
They simply wouldn't believe it.
Even Bai Yu felt that this girl Zhao Mingyue was far too skilled at concealing things in her heart, but no matter how well she could hide them, she was still just a young woman not yet twenty years old.
From the shadow cast by Zhao Mingyue's footsteps, Bai Yu watched silently.
Today, the only source of courage Zhao Mingyue had — was her.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the compound.
Not once had she ever imagined she would return here one day; that she would have the chance to confront these people. To ask them what had really happened all those years ago. How her parents had died. Where her sister had gone.
One thing she was certain of — these people were absolutely, undeniably connected to it all.
But what did it matter, even if she knew the truth?
Could she really come back?
Was she even capable of returning?
If she came back, it would surely mean death—no, even calling it a one-in-ten-thousand chance of survival would be far too generous.
Rather, if she returned on her own, what awaited her would be far more terrifying than death itself.
All these years, she had kept saying she was searching for clues about her sister's whereabouts, and she had tried to make the effort. While juggling her studies and working part-time jobs to support herself, she had done her utmost to search.
In reality, she had simply been deceiving herself.
Did she really have no clues?
She did. She knew more than she let on. But what could she do with that knowledge?
She feared this place. Feared everyone in it. Feared every corner, every breath, every shadow. Her courage simply wasn’t strong enough to overcome that fear. Over time, fear turned into avoidance. She avoided the truth. Dragged others into that avoidance with her.
Throughout all these years, she had remained a steadfast atheist.
That’s what she told others, and perhaps even tried to tell herself. How could there be ghosts or spirits in this world? When people died, all that remained was an empty husk—there was nothing left behind.
Zhao Mingyue took a deep breath and looked toward the mottled, blackened walls of the courtyard; through the open gate, she stared at the dim lights flickering inside the small building.
All these years had passed, and yet, nothing had changed.
The courtyard was still thick with the stench of rot — filthy black sludge that could never be properly cleaned clung to the ground. In the corners, decaying cardboard boxes bulged with who-knows-what. Animal entrails hung from the drain, bloated and undissolved.
Decay was everywhere. The entire house was soaked in shades of gloom, as if time itself had abandoned this place. And the people who lived here — each one of them seemed like they belonged to a world in desperate need of judgment.
“Bai Yu, you know,” she murmured internally, “if nightmares had levels, this courtyard would be the highest tier in my heart. After dreaming of this place, I’d wake up in fright and not sleep again for the rest of the night.”
“I’m searching for my sister. And this place—this place is the most likely to hide a clue.”
“Even so, I always thought I’d never return. Not in this life.”
“So… thank you. When we get back, I’ll give you a reward.”
“As for what it is—please, allow me to keep it a secret.”
After speaking these words to Bai Yu in her heart, Zhao Mingyue summoned her courage and formally pushed open the half-closed gate, stepping into the courtyard.
The old door let out a long creak.
Inside the house, more than ten figures simultaneously lowered whatever they had in their hands. In unison, their heads turned stiffly, their eyes falling upon Zhao Mingyue standing at the entrance.
The interior was lit by a dull, yellowing light.
Because of the dimness, Zhao Mingyue could make out only two tables of people. At first glance, it might have seemed like a lively family gathering. So many people seated together — one could almost mistake it for a joyous occasion.
And by all accounts, it should have been.
After all, today marked her grandmother’s ninetieth birthday — a celebration, by any measure, worth honoring.
But upon closer inspection, the strangeness emerged.
It was an old tradition of Pingshan Village, perhaps.
The courtyard was full, the house packed, yet not a single voice rose in conversation. A suffocating silence hung over everything. The air was thick, oppressive, heavy enough to crush the chest.
Seeing this, Zhao Mingyue’s nerves flared once more.
She felt a shiver run through her, and her leather jacket tightened ever so slightly around her shoulders. The chill that already clung to the garment now dug in deeper, and the cold shock jolted her into clarity.
"Uncle, didn't you tell me to come back? Well, I'm back!"
“And just as well—I’ve got some questions for you!”
Steadying her composure, Zhao Mingyue actively walked toward the courtyard. Along her path, she ignored the ritual offerings placed throughout the yard and strode directly to the doorway.
The interior of the house was somewhat larger than it appeared from outside, with two tables placed within and more than ten shadowy figures seated around them.
Zhao Mingyue recognized every single one of them.
She even remembered how she was supposed to address each of them — something her mother had taught her when she was young. Back then, she’d resisted, pushed against the customs and formality.
But now those names came flooding back unbidden.
Yet the courage she had just mustered began to dissolve the moment her eyes adjusted to the scene inside.
Because those dozen or so sharp-tongued, mean-spirited relatives—
They had all been turned into wax corpses.
Unlike the decay outside, what filled the room was eerily pristine. The waxy figures bore no signs of pain. Quite the opposite — they looked jubilant. Their expressions were frozen in twisted delight; mouths stretched wide into grotesque grins, eyes staring with unnatural sharpness.
Before she could even see their mouths move, Zhao Mingyue heard it.
"Mingyue, why are you only just arriving now?"
The voice came from the head of the table — her uncle.
His expression was a contorted scowl, mouth gaping wide, eyes bulging with feigned fury.
"Exactly, exactly! Mingyue, just look at the time. You’re only here now? We’ve already finished eating."
"Tsk tsk, this child came empty-handed."
"Aren’t you still in school?"
"If you ask Second Aunt, you’d be better off dropping out. You're not bad-looking, and you’re the right age. Let me introduce you to a decent young man. Settle down, live a good life — that’s better than chasing nonsense, isn’t it?"
Before she had even stepped inside, the chattering voices reached her ears first.
And yet, not a single person in the room was actually speaking.
Not a single mouth moved. The waxen lips of her relatives remained perfectly still. Only the smallest shifts occurred — subtle twitches in their expressions, fleeting gleams in their eyes.
The illusion of speech.
But not a sound was truly theirs.
The look in their eyes gave Zhao Mingyue the chilling illusion that these people — these wax corpses — were still alive.
"Silence!" her uncle's voice rang out again. "Mingyue, we've been waiting a long time for you!"
A terrible quiet fell once more.
That one sentence echoed in her ears, repeating itself in the darkness.
"Why aren't you coming in? Are you afraid? Afraid of what we've become?"
A low, hollow laughter broke out across the room. Dozens of wax corpses laughed together, their voices cold and eerie, a chorus of death mocking the living.
"Don’t be afraid. As long as you behave and do what you're told, all your past mistakes will be forgiven," said one.
"We'll even help you… become like us."
Wind howled through the cracks in the house, cold and biting; the dim overhead bulb flickered violently, threatening to go out as the laughter grew louder and more distorted.
"With so many elders present, why aren't you speaking!"
"You’re not even going to wish your grandmother a happy birthday?"
The wax corpses within the room were unraveling, emotionally unstable, their expressions shifting into spasms of laughter and madness.
At that moment, Bai Yu reached out to Zhao Mingyue through their telepathic bond. Her voice in Zhao Mingyue’s mind was calm but urgent.
—"These wax corpses… they’re all vengeful ghosts."
—"From how they’re acting, it looks like only fragments of their memories remain."
The implications were terrifying.
—"Don’t panic. Your grandmother hasn’t appeared yet. But look closely — two seats at the table are still empty. One’s for your cousin. The other… I don’t know who it’s meant for, but whoever it is, they’re crucial."
Zhao Mingyue’s eyes flicked to the table.
There was no food.
Of course there wasn’t.
Everything laid out was ritual offerings. Incense, rotting fruit, old coins — tributes meant for the dead.
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