Eight hair buns

For a moment, silence reigned; no one spoke, and a chilling, eerie atmosphere enveloped the surroundings.

Luokui pleaded, “Qingyin and I don’t dare to enter that courtyard to retrieve the young lady’s belongings. Could you please help us…”

No sooner had she finished speaking than the crowd burst into exclamations and scattered in all directions. Who would dare to go into an abandoned courtyard at midnight to fetch a dead person’s possessions? It wasn’t just a matter of being frightened to death—what if they attracted vengeful spirits? No one dared take such a risk!

Luokui, frantic and on the verge of tears, suddenly noticed one of the young house servants—a short yet sturdy youth—remaining behind. Hopeful, she grasped his arm and asked, “Dongzi, can you help us?”

Dongzi nodded. “The young lady was kind and good-hearted. Even if she’s become a ghost, I doubt she would wish me ill. I’ll fetch all her things for you right away.” Luokui thanked him profusely.

Though Dongzi was small in stature, he was strong. He shuttled between the deserted courtyard and the Violet Pearl Garden over a dozen times, finally moving all the young lady’s belongings back, drenched in sweat by the end. As he set down the last flower stool, he said, “See, I told you the young lady was good and would not frighten me. Here I am, safe and sound, having seen nothing strange at all. As long as one’s conscience is clear, there’s nothing to fear from ghosts or spirits.” With that, he bade them farewell and left.

Yet Dongzi’s words left Luokui even more despondent. It was only when Qingyin called out that she managed to collect herself and, together, the two girls carefully wiped away the dust from Lin Yiran’s belongings, restoring everything to its place.

They worked late into the night, but the mistress still did not return. The two girls sat together on the steps at the doorway, dozing off in each other’s arms. Who knew how much time passed before Qingyin gradually roused, only to catch a whiff of a familiar fragrance—Madam Zhu had returned. She kept her eyes tightly shut and dared not move.

Madam Zhu paused for a moment before the two girls but did not disturb them. She entered the room alone, her footsteps so light that not a sound could be heard. Only when the door was closed did Qingyin dare to open her eyes. She saw the crescent moon sinking low on the horizon, about to disappear.

The next morning, sunlight flooded the courtyards of the Lin estate, making everything appear beautiful and serene, as if last night’s eerie events had never happened. Madam Zhu used the late lady’s bedding and dressing table without the slightest hint of avoidance, her demeanor perfectly natural. When Qingyin and Luokui came in to attend her, they were initially uncomfortable, but soon adapted.

Just as Luokui was regaining her composure, she suddenly noticed a new portrait on the wall. Glancing up, she could not suppress a startled cry, her face turning deathly pale. Madam Zhu asked, “Luokui, do you find the painting beautiful?”

Luokui lowered her head, her legs trembling, and replied in a barely audible voice, “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

Qingyin looked up as well and saw that the painting depicted a lady in white standing beneath a banana tree, graceful and gentle, the very image of an elegant noblewoman. In her arms she cradled a snow-white ermine, the scene exuding warmth and gentleness.

The woman in the portrait was so lovely—what had frightened Luokui so?

Madam Zhu’s voice came again: “Luokui, do you still recognize her?”

Tears welled in Luokui’s eyes; she dared not even lift her head. “I do. It’s the young lady.”

“So you still remember her.” Madam Zhu let out a slow sigh, casting Luokui a long, cold glance before continuing with a smile, “I found this painting among the young lady’s odds and ends. The master painted it for her back when she was still in the boudoir. She cherished it and kept it safe all these years.”

Lin Zifeng, however, felt quite differently. Early that morning, he stormed into the room. When his gaze fell on Lin Yiran’s portrait hanging on the wall, his expression grew even gloomier.

Madam Zhu was seated at her dressing table, with Luokui combing out her long, black hair.

Lin Zifeng’s face, reflected in the bronze mirror, looked faintly warped and twisted. Madam Zhu did not turn to him, but instead smiled at his mirror image and asked sweetly, “Has the wound on your face healed, husband?”

Wound? Lin Zifeng paused, only then recalling the scratch she had left on his cheek a few days earlier. It had merely been a red mark, not even breaking the skin, and after two days it was barely visible, though it still itched persistently.

But he had no mind for such trivialities now. All around him, the familiar furnishings and decorations pricked at his heart.

Suppressing his anger, he asked in a low voice, “Zhusha, what on earth are you playing at?”

Madam Zhu arched her brows. “Husband, don’t overthink. I served the young lady for many years and was deeply attached to her. Last night, I was overcome with longing and brought her old things here for comfort.”

Her words did nothing to lighten Lin Zifeng’s mood; his eyes remained clouded and dark. “Deeply attached? I never saw any sign of it.”

Madam Zhu let out a soft sigh. “Sometimes you don’t realize a person’s worth until they’re gone.”

Lin Zifeng gritted his teeth. “Zhusha, who are you putting on this mad act for? Don’t forget that when she passed, you showed her not a shred of kindness.”

“Indeed. How much did she hate me when she died?” Madam Zhu laughed coldly, her eyes shadowed. In a low voice, she murmured, “Lin Zifeng, may the pain I suffer today be repaid to you a hundredfold.”

The venom in her words sent a shiver through Lin Zifeng, and Luokui, who was combing her hair, turned pale as well.

Madam Zhu’s smile returned in an instant. Fixing her gaze on Lin Zifeng through the mirror, she asked, “Do you also remember the lady’s final words, husband?”

Lin Zifeng shook as if in a fit, his eyes bloodshot. Whether from anger or terror, he rasped, “Madwoman,” and swept out, his steps hurried and disordered.

Madam Zhu chuckled softly. By then, Luokui had finished with her hair, and she took up the water basin, head bowed, eager to escape from this increasingly unhinged mistress. But Madam Zhu called after her, “Luokui, your ‘Morning Clouds Near Fragrance’ coiffure is the loveliest of all.”

Luokui started violently and looked up, only to see Madam Zhu holding the bronze mirror, admiring her own reflection with obvious satisfaction.

Luokui’s face twisted in terror. The basin slipped from her hands with a crash, water splashing everywhere. Qingyin hurried to help her clean up. Crouching to wipe the floor, Qingyin noticed that Luokui’s hands were trembling uncontrollably, as if she had suffered a terrible fright and was struggling to suppress her panic.

Madam Zhu looked down at the trembling girl, the corners of her lips curling into a chilling smile.

When the two girls finished tidying up, they hurried out of the room. Luokui all but fled, nearly breaking into a run. Qingyin, seeing her strange expression, rushed to catch up, calling, “Luokui—sister—!”

Luokui’s knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground. Qingyin ran to help her up, but she was too small and weak to lift her. Luokui stared blankly ahead, her face ashen, her voice trembling. “Qingyin, did you hear? Did you hear what she said?”

Qingyin, anxious, replied, “Madam simply praised your hairdressing skills. Why are you so frightened?”

Luokui clutched her hand, her palm slick with cold sweat, and wept, “I must be possessed. How could I have done her hair in that style?”

Qingyin was bewildered. “What are you talking about, sister?”

“That ‘Morning Clouds Near Fragrance’ style—it was the young lady’s favorite in life. Just now, in a daze, I did it without meaning to. Could I be possessed by her spirit?”

Qingyin tried to comfort her. “You’re overthinking. You must have remembered the young lady while combing her hair, and your hands repeated what was familiar. It’s nothing unusual.”

Luokui shook her head desperately. “If this had happened before, the mistress would have slapped me. But… you saw it—she wasn’t angry at all. She even said…” At this, she shuddered.

Qingyin finished for her, “She said your ‘Morning Clouds Near Fragrance’ was the loveliest.”

Luokui quickly covered her mouth. “Don’t say it! Do you realize, those were the words the young lady always used to praise me. I can’t help but feel… the mistress has become the young lady.”

A chill crept over Qingyin as well.

Luokui wiped the frightened tears from her face with her sleeve and stood up. “I can’t stay here any longer. I must leave at once—right away.”