The Invincible Female Ghost Is A Bit Of A Hopeless Romantic
Chapter 317: Liu Sanniang
Bab ini belum diterjemahkan ke Bahasa Indonesia
Naskah di bawah ini ditampilkan sementara dari versi English asli.
The wheel ruts stretched deep into the mountain.
At first, the ground was stone. The farther in they went, the wetter it became, until it eventually turned into packed black soil.
Small oil lamps were set into the walls on both sides. Their wicks were not cotton thread, but strands of extremely fine black hair.
The flames were weak. They only brightened when someone approached, as if sneaking a look.
Zhou Heng walked at the front, his short sword held low, its tip tracing the edge of the wheel ruts.
“The cart is heavy.”
“How many people?” Lin Zhaoxuan asked.
“At least two pushing, and one leading it.”
“Leading what?”
Zhou Heng did not answer immediately.
Up ahead came another sharp squeal of wheels scraping stone, followed by a faint panting.
It did not sound like an adult man. It sounded more like a crowd of children huddled together, none of them daring to breathe too loudly.
Song Qinghe raised her lamp and shone it at the corner of the wall.
Half of a small shoe protruded from the black soil.
Two faded red flowers were embroidered on its upper, while its sole was studded with fine copper nails, as if to keep the person wearing it from running away.
Xu Erxiao’s steps faltered.
“Whose is this?”
No one answered.
A-Lamp was not here, but he suddenly remembered the question she had asked: If someone is dead, can you still find them?
Xu Erxiao tightened his grip on the wooden piece in his hand. His voice came out somewhat muffled.
“I’ll go take a look.”
Lu Yuan raised a hand to stop him.
“Don’t step on the black soil.”
Xu Erxiao looked down and only then noticed that the black soil beyond the wheel ruts was densely covered in footprints, all cut off halfway. Some belonged to adults, some to children. Some pointed inward, others outward, but no matter which way they faced, they all disappeared at the foot of the wall.
Wang Cheng’an crouched and took out a blank sheet of ledger paper, laying it gently on the ground.
As soon as the paper touched the black soil, lines of pale gray writing appeared on it.
“Liu Family Gully, child household, one.” “Ma Family Gully, child household, two.” “Wang Family Village, child household, one.” “Little Stone Village, head of household’s name missing, temporarily preserved.”
Xu Erxiao’s expression changed.
“This isn’t a road.”
“It’s a transfer ledger,” Wang Cheng’an said.
“They’re treating the children’s names like cargo and sending them south.”
Lin Zhaoxuan reached out and touched the wall. A little black wax stuck to his fingertip.
“There’s a passage behind the wall.”
“The cart carrying the ledger takes the main road,” Lu Yuan said. “The real cargo goes through the passage.”
Zhou Heng searched along the wall and found a brick of a slightly lighter color beneath one of the oil lamps. He tapped it with the hilt of his sword. A hollow sound came from behind it.
Xu Erxiao had already picked up a shovel, but Lu Yuan pressed it down.
“Listen first.”
The six of them drew close to the stone wall.
Someone was speaking on the other side of a layer of brick.
“Why hasn’t B-Nineteen arrived yet?”
“It’s been held up above.”
“Holding what up?”
“They say a new registrar went into Liu Family Gully. The ledger can’t be handled the old way.”
“Those people from inside the pass?”
“And three from beyond the Great Wall.”
“I heard one of them is surnamed Lu.”
There was a brief silence on the other side.
Someone lowered his voice. “Is it the one who came out of Old Dragon’s Back?”
“That’s him.”
“What do we do?”
“The higher-ups want us to send B-Nineteen to Yongji Grain Depot. Don’t take it downriver yet.”
“But we’re short on child quotas.”
“Make up the difference from the side ledger.”
“Whose quota?”
“Whoever’s looking for a name. Use theirs.”
Xu Erxiao’s hand clenched around the gap between the bricks.
Wang Cheng’an looked at Lu Yuan.
“They’re going to make up the ledger with us.”
“Not with the people themselves,” Lu Yuan said. “They’ll make up the numbers with the names and evidence we’re carrying.”
Song Qinghe looked at the duplicate register behind Wang Cheng’an.
“Every name we recover creates another gap in the old ledger. They’re afraid there’ll be too many gaps, and the offering grounds won’t be able to hold.”
“That’s why they put us on the proof slip,” Lin Zhaoxuan said. “As long as they identify us as people accepting the offering quotas, the names we found can be put back into their registers.”
Lu Yuan nodded.
“That’s what the proof slip is for.”
Footsteps sounded from behind the wall.
“Someone’s coming.”
Zhou Heng raised his sword, and Lin Zhaoxuan quickly snuffed out the lamp. Lu Yuan signaled for everyone to retreat behind a recess in the stone wall.
A moment later, a brick was pushed open from the other side.
A long, thin face peered through the hole.
The man had a high nose bridge and tiny, glittering eyes. He looked outside, then pushed a bundle wrapped in black cloth through the opening. It hit the ground with a dull thud.
Then he lowered his voice and said, “Keep it steady. This one’s alive.”
Someone inside replied, “The living are worth more.”
“Cut the chatter. Move.”
The hole in the wall closed again.
Lu Yuan waited several breaths before going over to unwrap the black bundle.
There was no child inside.
It was a small wooden puppet, about the height of a palm.
The puppet had no features. A piece of iron was nailed to its chest, with two characters written on it:
“Xu Erxiao.”
Xu Erxiao froze.
A broken length of red cord was wrapped around the puppet’s left wrist.
It was exactly like the piece in the iron box in the old house.
“I’ll smash it.”
He raised the shovel.
“Don’t.”
Lu Yuan reached out and gripped his wrist.
“This thing is a substitute.”
“A substitute for who?”
“For you.”
Wang Cheng’an pulled out the transfer ledger they had taken from the rent collection office earlier and quickly ran his finger down the page.
“Lower Bay of Liu Family Gully, third guarantee bond… Liu Sanniang left the village with her son. Personal effects held in deposit.”
He stopped at a line written in very faint ink.
“Items: one wooden tablet, one red cord, one button.”
Xu Erxiao jerked his head up.
“Those are mine.”
“They were left behind back then,” Wang Cheng’an said. “Someone used them to make this substitute puppet.”
“Who?”
“Under the old rules,” Lin Zhaoxuan said, “if a child left the village without the clan’s permission, they had to leave a personal belonging as collateral. As long as the item remained, there was still a chance the name could be reclaimed.”
Song Qinghe said softly, “Liu Sanniang didn’t hand you over. She left those three things behind to hold off the people chasing her.”
“But why is my name still here?”
Wang Cheng’an touched the iron plate on the puppet’s chest.
“Because these people never released the collateral.”
Xu Erxiao stared at the four characters, his eyes slowly reddening.
“I’ll take it with me.”
“You can,” Lu Yuan said. “But not now.”
“Why?”
“They think the puppet is still here. That’s why they’ll keep following their route.”
Lu Yuan wrapped the puppet back in the black cloth, but did not put it back through the hole. Instead, he set it by his feet.
“Zhou Heng, can you open the door?”
Zhou Heng nodded.
“It’ll be loud.”
“I’ll cover it.”
Lin Zhaoxuan took three ink nails from his sleeve and drove them into the corner of the wall, the lamp base, and the ground. The ink lines formed a narrow triangle, and the light and shadows on the stone wall immediately blurred.
“Half a stick of incense.”
Zhou Heng took a deep breath and slid the tip of his sword into the edge of the lighter-colored brick.
He neither smashed nor pried at it.
He turned his wrist, guiding the blade along the seam between the bricks like a snake slipping through grass. A few seconds later, a faint click came from inside the wall.
The entire stone wall tilted inward by half a foot.
A wave of damp air, sour and heavy, rushed out.
Beyond it was an even narrower passage.
It was only wide enough for one person to pass sideways, and wooden racks lined both sides. Layer upon layer of wooden puppets filled the racks. Some wore little clothes, some had hair tied around them, and some had fragments of land deeds, torn household registers, or half a length of red cord pasted to their chests.
They had no faces.
Yet a small bowl sat in front of every puppet.
A name floated in each bowl.
“Liu Sanya.” “Ma Fusheng.” “Zhou Xiaoman.” “Xu Erxiao.”
Xu Erxiao stood still, his breathing unsteady.
Farther in, there was also “Wang Cheng’an.”
Wang Cheng’an froze.
The puppet wore a faded blue cotton jacket. A piece of abacus paper was pasted to its chest. It read:
“Son of Wang Shouyi, awaiting inheritance of father’s account.”
His face turned white.
“They recorded me too.”
“They didn’t record you,” Lu Yuan said, going over to examine the abacus paper. “They want to.”
The ink on the character “awaiting” was very fresh, as if it had only been added in the past few days.
“They couldn’t find Wang Shouyi, so they want to count you in his place.”
Wang Cheng’an pressed his lips together.
“My father’s account shouldn’t fall to me.”
“It shouldn’t,” Lu Yuan said.
Song Qinghe gently touched the bowl.
The three characters “Wang Cheng’an” inside it wavered, and another, smaller line of writing appeared beneath them.
“If the son refuses to inherit, transfer to a companion.”
Her hand stopped.
“This place is forcing people to take one another’s accounts.”
Zhou Heng looked at the rows of wooden racks, his voice cold.
“Whoever brings someone along might end up paying their debt.”
“That’s why it always makes people believe a name can only be in one ledger,” Lin Zhaoxuan said. “When one person’s name is withheld, someone else has to give up theirs in exchange.”
“But that’s not how you calculate accounts,” Wang Cheng’an suddenly said.
Everyone looked at him.
He walked to his own puppet and took an abacus frame from his clothes.
“My father used to say that borrowed accounts, unpaid accounts, and accounts held in trust all have to be recorded separately.”
“A child’s household is not rent grain.”
“A mother’s name is not her child’s.”
“And the name of someone living can never be used to pay offerings in place of the dead.”
He set the abacus frame down before the puppet. Though it had no beads, he still moved his finger across it as if sliding one.
“Liu Sanniang’s name belongs to Liu Sanniang.” “Xu Erxiao’s name belongs to Xu Erxiao.” “Wang Shouyi’s account must be investigated under Wang Shouyi.” “Whoever owes the debt must answer for it themselves.”
With each sentence he spoke, a fine crack appeared in one of the little bowls before him.
When he finished, the abacus paper bearing the words “Wang Cheng’an” suddenly caught fire.
The flame was tiny, curling the paper’s edges as it burned.
The iron plate on the puppet’s chest fell off and struck the ground with a clear clang.
Someone deeper in the passage roared angrily:
“Who’s ruining the register?”
The puppets on the wooden racks all turned their heads at once.
Fine cracks slowly appeared across their featureless faces. Black water seeped from the cracks, forming eyes, noses, and mouths, each one a different child’s face.
“Go!” Lu Yuan said quietly.
Zhou Heng covered the rear while Lin Zhaoxuan gathered the lines. The six of them ran deeper into the passage.
The puppet racks began to collapse.
One puppet after another rolled off the racks. As soon as they hit the ground, their limbs jerked straight, and their joints creaked like rubbing wood. They crawled incredibly fast, repeatedly chanting the names on their chests.
“Ma Fusheng… return to the register… Zhou Xiaoman… return to the register…” “Liu Sanya… return to the register…”
Xu Erxiao turned and swung his sword, severing the arm of the puppet at the front.
After the puppet fell, the three characters “Liu Sanya” floating in its bowl flew out and stuck to the forehead of another puppet.
“Chopping up the wood won’t help!” Song Qinghe shouted. “Break the bowls!”
Missing-Rim Liu was not with them, but Lu Yuan remembered what she had said earlier.
Don’t drink it. Don’t spill it. One at a time.
He drew his saber and swept it sideways, smashing a black bowl on the ground with the back of the blade.
The instant it shattered, the name inside did not fly away. Instead, it turned into a point of light and fell into the black soil.
The puppet suddenly went rigid.
Then the surface of the wood cracked, revealing a yellowed wad of paper inside.
The paper bore the child’s original name, along with a line of smaller writing:
“Not entered into offerings, awaiting a family member’s claim.”
Lu Yuan’s heart sank.
Some of these names had never been entered into the offerings at all.
They had simply been held here, waiting for someone to use them to fill an empty ledger one day.
“Smash the bowls,” he said. “Only the bowls. Don’t touch the paper.”
Xu Erxiao understood. He turned the shovel around and struck hard with its back. Wang Cheng’an picked up the Iron Abacus frame and smashed it at the little bowls as if swatting flies. Lin Zhaoxuan’s ink lines wrapped around the puppets’ limbs, Zhou Heng flicked the puppets aside with his sword, and Song Qinghe focused on lighting up the bowls.
Fragments of porcelain scattered throughout the passage.
Each time a bowl shattered, a name fell back onto the paper.
“Liu Sanya, not entered into offerings.” “Ma Fusheng, died of illness, never sent to the mountain.” “Zhou Xiaoman, moved to the northern lands.” “Zhao Xiaoshuan, father’s household acknowledged.”
Once some names appeared, the paper turned to ash on its own.
Others remained bright, as if waiting for someone to come and take them away.
Halfway through smashing bowls, Xu Erxiao suddenly stopped.
At the very top of the rack ahead was a black bowl larger than the rest.
There was no puppet in front of it, only a worn swaddling cloth.
The swaddling cloth had been tied in a knot, with red thread wrapped around it.
Song Qinghe shone her light on it. There was no name in the bowl, only two blurred characters that kept changing.
At one moment, they read “Erxiao.”
Then they became “Son of the Xu Family.”
Then they changed again to “Fatherless Child.”
Xu Erxiao’s face turned deathly pale.
“Is that mine?”
“It’s not the complete you,” Wang Cheng’an said. “It’s the entry they failed to finish recording.”
“Should we smash it?”
Lu Yuan looked at the rim of the bowl.
A deep four-finger mark was carved into it, exactly like the black imprint on the burnt paper from the old house.
“Not yet.”
“Why can’t we smash it now?”
“This bowl is connected to somewhere else.”
Lu Yuan brought the lamp closer. A hair-thin red line was reflected on the bottom of the bowl. It ran through the stone wall, in the same direction as the wheel ruts they had seen earlier.
“It’s the chief account being sent to Yongji Grain Depot.”
“Then I’ll carry it away.”
Xu Erxiao reached for the bowl.
The moment he touched its rim, a baby began to cry from inside the swaddling cloth.
Not one baby.
Many of them.
The cries came from inside the ritual cloth, growing more and more frantic. The characters on the black bowl changed rapidly, finally settling on a single line:
“Xu Liushi, compensation unpaid in full.”
Xu Erxiao jerked his hand back as if burned.
“They’re still counting my mother’s debt.”
Wang Cheng’an grabbed his hand.
“They haven’t succeeded.”
He took out a copy of the land deed and unfolded it in front of the bowl.
“Liu Sanniang had land, a household, and a name of her own.” “She didn’t trade her son for land or offer herself in payment for the child’s account.” “Your account is forged.”
A surge of black water welled up inside the bowl and rushed toward the copy.
Lu Yuan touched the paper’s corner with his saber tip, pinning it down.
“Zhaoxuan.”
Lin Zhaoxuan flicked his hand. An ink line passed through the four-finger mark on the bowl, binding it tightly.
“Zhou Heng!”
Zhou Heng struck the red line at the bottom of the bowl with his sword.
The line did not break, but a dull bell toll came from somewhere far away.
Deep in the mountain, something enormous seemed to turn over.
The entire passage shook.
The writing on the black bowl began to fade.
First “Son of the Xu Family” disappeared.
Then “Fatherless Child.”
At last, only the two characters “Erxiao” remained, crookedly floating on the surface of the water.
Xu Erxiao stared at them.
“Those two characters weren’t written by them either.”
He took the wooden piece from inside his clothes and placed it against the rim of the bowl.
The carved marks on the wooden piece were reflected in the black water.
The “Erxiao” in the water slowly became identical to the carving on the wood.
Then Xu Erxiao grabbed the shovel and brought it down with all his strength.
The black bowl shattered with a crash.
No black water splashed out.
The two characters that had surfaced inside the bowl turned into a warm yellow light and fell back onto the wooden piece. The newly carved words on its back also glowed for a moment:
“Son of Liu Sanniang, Xu Erxiao. He chose his own name, and does not belong to the child register.”
Xu Erxiao stood amid the shattered porcelain, looking down for a long time.
Then he pressed the wooden piece against his chest.
“I’m going to find my mother.”
Lu Yuan nodded.
“Let’s go.”
The Stone Door at the end of the passage had already been shaken open.
Beyond it was a downward slope, with wheel ruts deeper than before. A few grains of husk were scattered on the ground, mixed with paper ash and a broken copper bell.
Wang Cheng’an picked up the bell.
A fish with closed eyes was engraved on its body.
“Someone from Yongji Grain Depot left this behind.”
Song Qinghe looked ahead.
“They haven’t gone far.”
But Lu Yuan did not immediately give chase.
He turned back to look at the shattered bowls and sheets of paper in the passage.
“Cheng’an, how much can you take with you?”
“There’s too much paper.”
“Record the numbers first.”
Wang Cheng’an quickly took out his brush.
He recorded every sheet that still glowed, noting the rack’s position, the bowl’s number, and the village name. Xu Erxiao helped him gather the papers, Zhou Heng shoved the still-struggling puppets against the wall, and Lin Zhaoxuan used ink lines to seal every bowl that had not been broken.
As Song Qinghe shone her light, she quietly read out the words on the papers.
“Ma Family Gully, Zhao Xiaoshuan, father’s household acknowledged.” “Liu Family Gully, Liu Sanya, died of illness, not entered into offerings.” “Wang Family Village, Wang Shitou, moved away with his mother…” “Little Stone Village, nameless girl, one. Silver lock left in swaddling cloth, under investigation.”
When Lu Yuan heard the words “Little Stone Village,” his gaze shifted.
“Where’s the silver lock?”
Song Qinghe pointed to a wooden box on the lowest rack.
Inside lay a small longevity lock. Half a plum blossom was carved into its back. Its edges were blackened, as if it had been pulled from a fire.
Missing-Rim Liu had once fished a copper coin out by the righteous well.
Shen Yanshan had picked up a piece of red paper bearing the name “Xu Liushi.”
The mine tunnel, the righteous well, Liu Family Gully, Little Stone Village…
These places had not been scattered old accounts after all.
They were all connected by the same transfer route.
“Take it,” Lu Yuan said.
Wang Cheng’an wrapped the silver lock separately and wrote in the evidence register:
“Little Stone Village, nameless girl, one silver lock, plum blossom pattern, under investigation.”
When he finished writing, the sound of wheels rose again from deep in the mountain.
This time it was much closer.
And there was more than one cart.
Zhou Heng pressed his ear to the ground, and his expression changed.
“They’re back.”
“How many?”
“At least three carts.”
Lin Zhaoxuan gathered up the ink lines. “The passage is too narrow. If we retreat, they’ll block us in.”
“Down,” Lu Yuan said.
“We don’t know where the way below leads.”
“If their carts came from below, there must be an exit down there.”
Without further hesitation, they hurried down the slope.
The slope grew wider and wider, eventually opening into a vast underground granary. Thick wooden beams supported the ceiling, and dried ears of grain hung between them. But there was no grain in the granary, only row upon row of wooden carts covered in white cloth.
Sacks were piled on every cart.
Their mouths were tied tightly shut, but their sides bulged from time to time, as if something inside were breathing.
Zhou Heng was about to move forward when Lu Yuan signaled him to stop.
“Look at the wheels.”
The wheels were coated in wet mud.
It was not the mountain’s black soil.
It was riverbank mud.
Song Qinghe crouched to smell it, and her expression changed.
“Back-Yin River mud.”
“Yongji Grain Depot is beside the Back-Yin River,” Wang Cheng’an said.
“There’s a waterway here,” Lu Yuan said.
Sure enough, directly in front of the granary was a half-concealed iron door. Water could be heard beyond it, as if an underground river were flowing through the darkness.
At the other end of the granary, several people entered carrying lamps.
The man in front wore a gray wool coat and a felt hat. A scarf covered half his face. Four attendants followed him, each dragging a small cart.
New black bowls were piled on the carts.
The man spotted the wreckage on the ground and stopped.
“Who touched B-Nineteen?”
Lu Yuan stepped out from the shadow of a wooden cart.
“I did.”
The man raised his head.
The eyes above his scarf looked uncannily like those beneath the Paper Servant’s umbrella.
“Lu Yuan.”
He had pronounced the name perfectly.
Lu Yuan also saw the pin on his coat collar.
A fish with closed eyes.
“Are you from Yongji Grain Depot?”
The man smiled.
“A grain depot is just a grain depot.”
“Then what are these?”
Lu Yuan pointed to the sacks on the carts.
The man did not answer. He simply raised a hand.
The attendants untied the sacks.
What rolled out was not grain, but coarse porcelain bowls filled with black water. A freshly written piece of paper rested on each bowl.
The papers bore names.
Village names.
Dates of birth.
Some even listed destinations.
“Not everything being sent away tonight is a child,” the man said. “Some of it is old names you helped people recover.”
Wang Cheng’an took a step forward.
“Where are you sending the names you withheld from the offering grounds?”
“Where they belong.”
“Where?”
“To a place where names can never be lost again.”
“Bullshit!” Xu Erxiao shouted.
The man glanced at him.
“You’re Xu Erxiao.”
“I can go wherever I want, and I can call myself whatever I want. You don’t get to decide.”
“But your mother has been waiting there for many years.”
Xu Erxiao’s shovel shot up.
But Lu Yuan stopped him first.
“Have you seen Liu Sanniang?”
The man did not deny it.
“I’ve seen her register.”
“Where is she?”
“If her register is there, then she is too.”
“Who taught you that?”
The man fell silent for a moment, then suddenly took a folded sheet of paper from his clothes.
Lu Yuan’s name was written on it.
It was not a hastily written ledger sheet saying, “Next: Lu Yuan.”
It was an old document laid out like a household register.
It listed his birthplace and even the name of the village where he had lived as a child. There was also a note that had long ago been scorched black.
“Lu Yuan, original name pending verification.” “Birth mother…” The words after that had been covered in ink.
Lu Yuan’s gaze fell on the paper, and his fingers tightened slightly.
The man said,
“Don’t you want to know where you came from?”
“Don’t you want to know why Old Dragon’s Back kept a fragment of your record?”
“And don’t you want to know whose hands Gu Changgeng took you from back then?”
“Brother Lu,” Wang Cheng’an said quietly.
Xu Erxiao looked at him too.
Suddenly, the sound of the underground river grew louder.
The man held the paper out a little farther.
“Come with me to Yongji Grain Depot.”
“I’ll let you see the original register.”
“The people you’re looking for are all there too.”
Lu Yuan did not reach for it.
“Hold on to that paper.”
The man frowned.
“What?”
“Did you think you could make someone walk your road just by holding out a piece of burnt paper?”
Lu Yuan’s saber was already drawn.
“I’m looking for my name because I want to know who I am.”
“Not so you can put a price on me.”
The man’s eyes turned cold.
“Then that’s a shame.”
He moved the old record toward the torch.
Its edge had only just caught fire when Lu Yuan darted past the wooden cart and slashed at his wrist.
The man retreated quickly.
The blade did not touch his flesh, but it sliced the paper from his fingers. Half of the scorched sheet flew up, caught by Song Qinghe’s lamplight, and landed safely in Wang Cheng’an’s arms.
The smile vanished completely from the man’s face.
He waved his hand.
The four attendants all threw back their cloaks.
There were no human faces beneath them.
A black bowl was fastened around each of their necks.
Each bowl faced upward, with two characters floating inside.
“Nameless.”
The next instant, all four black bowls tipped over at once.
Black water splashed onto the ground, and every white-cloth-covered cart in the underground granary began to shake. Pale little hands stretched out from beneath the cloth, grabbing the edges of the wooden boards.
The man stood before the iron door and slowly retreated into the mist of the underground river.
“See you at Yongji Grain Depot.”
“Lu Yuan, the original register won’t wait much longer.”
The iron door slammed shut.
Lu Yuan did not chase after him.
He slashed through the lock on the nearest wooden cart.
The white cloth fell.
There were no children on the cart.
Only rows of clay figurines.
Each figurine had a name pasted to its forehead, but a hole had been dug in its chest. The holes were stuffed with grain husks, scraps of paper, and dried hair.
One figurine wore a tiny red cotton jacket.
A piece of paper on its forehead read:
“Liu Sanniang.”
Xu Erxiao froze.
Inside the hollow in the figurine’s chest lay half a piece of osmanthus candy, already blackened.
It was the half the old man had given him, the piece that had been missing.
