Chapter 50: Nightfall

Chapter 50: Nightfall

Before Chen Shouyi even reached the bottom of the stairs, he could hear Chen Mu’s voice.

"Honestly, such a sinister affair—everyone else is running away from it, yet you’re rushing headlong into it. You’re really obsessed with money."

"Mom!" Chen Xingyue clung to Chen Mu’s arm, whining.

"I’m a Martial Artist Apprentice, what’s there to be afraid of? Their whole family is fine."

"What if that filthy thing recognizes people?" Chen Mu still couldn’t relax. "Even their relatives didn’t dare go. Why should you, an outsider?"

"If things go bad, I can always run! And if I can’t even run, then staying at home wouldn’t be safe either. Mom, just relax!"

"You’re going to be the death of me."

"Alright, alright. Since you’re both going, just be careful at night and look out for your brother," Chen Dawei interjected.

Chen Shouyi, who had been watching Chen Xingyue’s antics with amusement, couldn’t help but open his mouth in protest.

I’m plenty strong already!

But in the end, he said nothing.

If he spoke up, they’d just think he was bragging.

He resolved that as soon as social order was restored, he would take the Martial Artist Apprentice assessment.

One shouldn’t underestimate the status of a Martial Artist Apprentice—it was a mark of social standing in itself.

To put it another way, it was like gaining political privileges in advance, along with corresponding rights and duties, akin to joining the militia.

Especially in a small place like Dongning, having the title of Martial Artist Apprentice made people look at you differently, often with a mix of awe and envy—an instinctive reaction from ordinary folk toward those who could easily take their lives.

If Chen Xingyue weren’t a Martial Artist Apprentice, their parents would never have agreed so easily to let them go.

And of course, no one would have come to ask for her help in the first place!

---

The cold moonlight carried a faint chill.

Two figures, one tall and one short, walked one after the other.

The alley was quiet, with only the crisp sound of their footsteps echoing.

Chen Xingyue wore a cotton tracksuit, a sword case slung over her shoulder, and held her phone in front to light the way.

Chen Shouyi stared at her phone and finally couldn’t hold back his question.

"How do you still have battery?"

"I charged it in the car. Didn’t you know?"

Chen Shouyi: "..."

If Chen Xingyue hadn’t reminded him, he would’ve completely forgotten that cars could charge phones.

---

The houses in this neighborhood were all self-built, European-style two-and-a-half-story homes, each with its own yard. Thanks to unified planning, the layout was orderly, without a hint of chaos.

Only, their house was by the street, so stepping out meant entering the road.

Chen Shouyi rarely wandered around the neighborhood, and now that he was walking through it, everything felt unfamiliar.

It wasn’t even 7 p.m., yet the streets were completely empty.

If not for the faint glimmers of light from the houses on either side, one might think everyone had gone to bed early.

Old Man Wang’s house was easy to find.

A black canopy had been set up in the yard, dark and unsettling.

The iron gate was closed.

The two approached and knocked. After just two raps, the door quickly opened.

The one who answered was Wang Debiao’s wife, A Fen—a middle-aged woman in her forties, dressed in white mourning clothes with a black cloth flower pinned to her chest.

Her face was haggard, with deep bags under her eyes.

Her eyes left quite a deep impression on Chen Shouyi—they were filled with fear and unease.

But then again, anyone faced with such a situation would likely be unable to remain calm.

"Oh, Xingyue, you're here. Please, come in."

"Auntie, hello," Chen Xingyue said.

Chen Shouyi followed suit with a greeting and stepped inside behind her.

The courtyard was permeated with a faint stench of decay.

It was eerily quiet, with pitifully few people around.

Aside from Old Man Wang's elder brother and his two sons, only Wang Debiao's wife, A Fen, was present. None of the other relatives had come, clearly too frightened to show up.

The moment they saw Chen Xingyue, it was as if they had spotted a lifeline. They hurried over to greet her.

Old Man Wang's elder brother, a man in his seventies or eighties, rose unsteadily from his seat and was the first to approach.

"Xingyue, we're counting on you this time. You Martial Artist Apprentices have strong yang energy, the best at suppressing evil aura. I just hope my younger brother can rest peacefully tonight. We living folks can't take much more of this torment."

Older folks tended to be superstitious, and after something like this, it was hard not to believe.

Chen Xingyue, facing such a situation for the first time, was at a loss, her face flushing red. "Well... I'm not sure if it'll work?"

"Even if it doesn't, it's fine. Just having you here puts us at ease," Wang Debiao forced a smile and said.

Whether the evil aura could actually be suppressed was secondary—what mattered was the reassurance her presence brought.

"Yes, yes!" Old Man Wang's second son chimed in, afraid of scaring Chen Xingyue away. "Right now, my father's corpse is tied up. There's no danger."

"Xingyue, please sit!" A Fen quickly urged. "And Dawei's son, don't just stand there."

She addressed Chen Xingyue by name, but when it came to him, it was "so-and-so's son."

The difference in how they were addressed reflected the disparity in their standing among the group.

Chen Shouyi didn’t mind. He was long used to it.

"You came with Xingyue, right? I almost didn’t recognize you," A Fen said with a strained smile as she brewed tea and brought out snacks.

Chen Shouyi responded with a perfunctory reply.

...

The night grew deeper.

They sat together, sipping strong tea and chatting.

The atmosphere of grief had long since vanished after the events of the past two days, replaced only by fear and unease.

As they talked, the conversation inevitably turned to what had happened the previous night.

There seemed to be some regret in their words—perhaps they shouldn’t have taken the corpse back and should have let the police handle it.

Listening to their fragmented accounts, Chen Shouyi pieced together what had happened.

That day, after Old Man Wang's corpse was shot by the police, it had collapsed like a real corpse, motionless on the ground.

The police had no idea how to handle it—this wasn’t part of their job, and they’d never encountered anything so bizarre before.

Chen Shouyi guessed those officers must have been terrified too.

Just then, the deceased’s family arrived. After explaining the situation, the police told them to take the body back.

The whole thing had been a series of twists and turns.

After listening for a while, Chen Shouyi zoned out silently.

He glanced at Chen Xingyue, who was engrossed in playing a game on her phone.

He couldn’t help feeling it had been a miscalculation. He should have brought a book—even if it was just the common language dictionary to memorize, it would have been better than sitting here with nothing to do.

Feeling bored, Chen Shouyi got up and paced around the courtyard. His gaze drifted toward the mourning hall, and unable to suppress his curiosity, he walked over. The others glanced at him but made no move to stop him.

By now, it was already midnight. The flickering candlelight cast a dim, yellowish glow inside the room. Two white candles burned on the altar table, their flames dancing as they had already burned more than halfway. The air was thick with a strange mix of corpse stench and incense. Behind the altar table hung a white cloth curtain, and behind it lay Old Man Wang's corpse.

Subconsciously, Chen Shouyi softened his footsteps as he slowly walked past the curtain and took a closer look at the body. The corpse was tightly bound to the bed with ropes, its skin sallow and devoid of any trace of blood. The funeral shroud draped over it appeared excessively loose, a clear sign that the body's muscles had atrophied.

Since being retrieved the previous night, the corpse had not been cleaned. The dust-covered, dark-gray funeral shroud bore several bullet wounds, the injuries marked by dark, damp stains. Given the shroud's gray color, it was impossible to tell whether the stains were blood or the corpse's own fluids.

Aside from the bullet wounds on the body, the most prominent injury was on the head—a bullet had entered diagonally through the cheek and into the brain, leaving behind a horrifying black wound.

Just then, Chen Shouyi suddenly noticed a peculiar detail about the corpse. The shriveled, aged fingers had nails that were unnaturally black, appearing dark and ominous.

Moreover, the fingers were twitching slightly from time to time.