Chapter Fifty-Three: Exactly Like the Lord of Ghosts

Deep in the mountains, an ancient village lay hidden, its winding path paved with mossy blue-gray stone. On either side, timeworn houses exuded an aura of age, each adorned with red lanterns that swayed gently in the night breeze.

“This village is way too quiet! Don’t tell me it’s... you know?” Fu Yang shivered, a sudden chill running down his spine as an unsettling thought crept into his mind.

Ahuang shook his head. “There’s no trace of ghostly energy here. Theoretically, it shouldn’t be.”

After walking a little further, they began to hear faint voices, tinged with the sounds of celebration.

People! Fu Yang and Ahuang exchanged glances, finally allowing themselves to relax a little. As long as there were villagers, the place was likely normal. They could spend the night here and return to River City the next day.

Having not eaten for most of the day, the four of them were as weary as stray dogs. There was no room for overthinking. They hurried toward the source of the voices.

Following the winding stone path to the edge of the village, they came upon a grand building, old and elegant, with a large open square before it—the gathering place for the entire village.

Now, the place was ablaze with lights and festoons, a throng of villagers milling about, revelry in full swing. Round wooden tables were arrayed across the open space, each beneath a lofty red lantern, the air thick with the mouth-watering aroma of dishes. Clearly, a grand banquet was underway.

Fu Yang was overjoyed. “Well, that explains why the rest of the village was deserted—everyone’s here! Is this the village gathering?”

His stomach rumbled in response.

Zhao Shanshan touched her belly, a little embarrassed. “We haven’t eaten in ages. The smell is driving me crazy.”

Fortunately, Ahuang’s cloth bag contained more than his arsenal of ghost-hunting tools; there was also some cash. If the villagers allowed, they could pay for a meal.

Still, crashing a local festivity as outsiders felt inappropriate, especially to people who cared about their dignity. The four hesitated.

Just then, a crisp, childish voice piped up behind them. “Who are you?”

They turned to see an adorable little girl with braided pigtails standing there.

She was dressed in Republic-era clothing, utterly charming. Beside her stood a beautiful young woman in a cheongsam, fanning herself, her smile radiant. A few men in servant’s garb trailed behind, resembling household retainers.

Fu Yang mused, “Rich folks these days have odd tastes—Republic-era cosplay, of all things.”

Ahuang, ever the fool for a pretty face, immediately tossed his hair and, feigning great dignity, offered a Taoist salute. “I am a disciple of Dragon and Tiger Mountain, traveling the mortal world. My friends and I lost our way here at night and stumbled into your village. We hope you might allow us to stay the night or have a bite to eat. Please forgive the intrusion.”

Fu Yang rolled his eyes inwardly. “What a pompous act, coming from a guy who couldn’t even get into college.”

The lady in the cheongsam hid her laughter behind her fan and replied gently, “Honored Taoist, well met. My younger sister is marrying the young village chief of Ronghua Village, and I am here for their wedding. We’re already running late—why don’t you all join us?”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly impose.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come along.”

With that, she took the little girl by the hand and led the way, the servants following behind.

The girl seemed particularly taken with Zhao Shanshan. “Sister, you’re so pretty!” she exclaimed, making Shanshan beam with delight.

“But, Sister, your clothes look so strange.”

“Strange?” Zhao Shanshan could only laugh, tempted to tell her that the little one’s own outfit—and her mother’s—were the real oddities. Why were modern people dressed in Republic-era fashion?

Through their brief conversation, they learned the woman’s name was Qin Wanyue, and the little girl was her daughter, Zhenzhen.

As they entered the wedding grounds, the festive atmosphere became palpable. It was the wedding of the village chief’s son, apparently to a wealthy family’s daughter, and the villagers were thrilled. Dozens of tables groaned with delicacies—chicken, duck, fish, beef, lamb—an extravagant feast.

The elegant woman seated Fu Yang and his friends at a table near the wooden stage at the front. The bride and groom would appear there soon.

Zhao Shanshan, with her girlish spirit, found everything novel and delightful. “Fu Yang, this wedding is fascinating! Held at dusk according to ancient rites, and everyone in Republic-era costumes—it’s so interesting!”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll do something creative like this when I get married,” Fu Yang replied.

Ahuang slung an arm around his neck, cackling, “You haven’t even graduated college and you’re already thinking about marriage?”

The little girl, Zhenzhen, noticed Liu Zhan staring hungrily at the food and giggled, “Uncle, if you’re hungry, just eat. It’s fine—just sneak a bite. No one will mind.”

She mimed rubbing her belly, her sly smile reminiscent of a crafty little fox—so adorable one could hardly resist pinching her plump cheeks.

Qin Wanyue nodded in encouragement.

That was all the invitation they needed. Starving, they began to wolf down the food. With the crowd and excitement, the villagers paid them no mind.

Suddenly, a harsh screech blared from the old microphone on the wooden stage. Then, the master of ceremonies strode onto the platform and announced with excitement, “Dear friends and neighbors, today is the wedding of our young village chief Liu Mengshu and Miss Qin, the second daughter of the Qin family! Now, let’s welcome both sets of parents to the stage…”

The crowd erupted with cheers, the atmosphere electric. Fu Yang and his friends, feeling a little self-conscious, joined in the applause.

Little Zhenzhen clapped her chubby hands, ecstatic. Then, she caught sight of someone approaching and grew even more excited, her cheeks flushing. She called out, “Liu Mingming, Mengshu is marrying my aunt today—aren’t you supposed to be the flower boy? Why are you here?”

A small boy had come to find Zhenzhen. He appeared to be the groom’s younger brother.

“They didn’t need a flower boy. Zhenzhen, I missed you, so I came to see you. I even brought you candy you like,” he replied.

The innocent exchange between the children was irresistibly amusing.

Ahuang and the others, absorbed by the wedding proceedings, didn’t turn around. But Fu Yang was struck by an uncanny sense of familiarity at the boy’s voice, as though he had heard it somewhere before.

“How odd… Do I know this boy?” he wondered, and instinctively glanced back.

And that single glance plunged him into icy terror, as if he had fallen into a frozen lake in the depths of winter. Every drop of blood in his body seemed to freeze, his mind buzzing—utterly stupefied.

Because Fu Yang saw that the little boy in the blue silk robe, chatting and laughing with Zhenzhen, looked exactly like the ghostly boy from the forestry college back in River City—identical in every way.