9. Empty Shell

Early the next morning, Luokui shouldered the bundle she had packed overnight, intending to find Steward Xu in the household to request leave. She had only taken a few steps when a heart-piercing scream suddenly erupted from somewhere: “There’s a dead body—there’s a dead body—” The sound pierced through the entire garden.

Luokui was so shocked she could barely stand, clutching a tree trunk, unable to move even a step.

The shrieks filtered through the thin paper windows, waking Lin Zifeng from his deep slumber. The wound on his face, scratched by cinnabar days before, itched terribly; when he touched it, he found the skin had already healed and the scab had come off, showing no sign of infection. Yet the itch seemed to spread beneath his skin, reaching his internal organs and making him quite uncomfortable. Though skilled in medicine himself, he could not determine the cause. Perhaps it was a sign of agitation, he thought, and resolved to prepare some medicine to clear heat and soothe the heart after dawn.

After a restless night, he had finally fallen into a deep sleep at daybreak, only to be awakened again by the commotion. As he opened his eyes, he glimpsed several large flying insects darting away from his bedside, vanishing into the corners.

Autumn had already begun—why were there still so many insects?

The uproar outside grew louder; something must have happened. He hurriedly dressed and rushed out to investigate, paying no mind to the insects.

A murder had occurred in the Lin estate. The gates were barred, no one allowed to enter or leave. Luokui’s plan to escape evaporated like mist. She locked herself in her room, not daring to step outside, and sent Qingyin to gather news.

Qingyin followed the voices to the scene—the quarters of the male servants. Already, a crowd of maids and servants had gathered, whispering in low tones. Small in stature, Qingyin easily squeezed through the throng. The deceased servant lay sprawled on his back in a corner of the courtyard, his features twisted in a grimace of agony, as if he had died in excruciating pain. Beside him lay a toppled water bucket.

Lin Zifeng arrived at the scene, hands behind his back, frowning as he examined the corpse. Steward Xu reported quietly: “The deceased is Wang Fifth. His roommates say he complained of a headache this morning, but it didn’t stop him from working. No one knows when he collapsed; when he was found, he was already dead. It appears he succumbed to some acute illness.”

Lin Zifeng said, “If it’s a natural death, have his family collect compensation and instruct the servants not to spread the word. It wouldn’t sound good if it got out. Have them remove the body at once.”

Steward Xu obeyed, ordering the workers to remove the door panel and place Wang Fifth’s body on it. As the corpse was lowered onto the panel, it emitted a hollow thud.

The crowd fell silent. Every eye turned in unison to Wang Fifth’s head. Lin Zifeng’s expression changed as well. The sound when Wang Fifth’s skull struck the panel was eerily reminiscent of—an empty shell.

Steward Xu, stunned, tentatively curled his knuckles and tapped lightly on Wang Fifth’s forehead.

“Hollow, hollow.”

Indeed, it was the sound of an empty skull. Wang Fifth’s brain seemed to have vanished.

Someone among the onlookers shrieked, “Wang Fifth’s brain was eaten by a ghost!”

A collective gasp erupted; the maids and servants scattered in terror, even the two who had been carrying the body fled, leaving Steward Xu unable to stop them. Overcome by panic, Qingyin tried to run as well, but her short legs were tripped by her skirt, sending her sprawling face-first into the dirt.

As she lifted her face from the soil, she saw a huge flying insect take off from a nearby leaf. The insect was the size of a dragonfly, its body adorned with vibrant patterns, its transparent wings shimmering with blue phosphorescence, and a sharp, inch-long stinger protruding from its tail—a bizarre and unsettling sight.

Qingyin had never seen such a creature. The pointed stinger looked capable of piercing flesh, and she shrank back, clutching her head and staying still. Moments later, Steward Xu cried out, “Ouch!” and slapped his own cheek sharply.

Lin Zifeng, already unnerved, jumped and barked, “What are you yelling about?”

Steward Xu replied, “The insect stung me!”

Staring at the corpse on the ground, Lin Zifeng was gripped by waves of terror. An empty skull? As a renowned physician, he had never heard of such a strange affliction.

As autumn deepened, the wind rustled through the bamboo groves, infusing the garden with a sense of desolation.

Qingyin, flustered, ran back toward her quarters, only to have a black cat dart out from the woods and block her path on the narrow trail. She paused, startled, and stood still.

The cat faced her, its fur bristling, eyes glowing gold with rage. Though it feigned ferocity, its body trembled with fear. A closer look revealed a deep, gaping wound on its back, stretching from left shoulder to right hip.

Qingyin murmured, “Is this one of the estate’s cats? I don’t recall seeing it before.” As she spoke, she approached, squatting to examine its injury. “Oh dear, how did you get hurt so badly?”

She reached out to stroke its head, but the black cat hissed, ears laid back, baring its sharp teeth.

Sensing its hostility, she withdrew her hand. “Let me take you to have your wound dressed.”

The cat only glared at her fiercely, refusing to cooperate. Qingyin wanted to help, but feared it might scratch her, so she stood up to leave. After all, Luokui was waiting for her to bring back news.

Unexpectedly, as she turned to go, her trouser leg was caught by the cat’s claw. Without warning, she lurched forward, sending the cat flying two feet away.

The fall left the already seriously wounded cat unable to stand, lying helpless on its side. Alarmed, Qingyin bent to inspect it more closely. The wound was deep, exposing its spine, with a fractured groove in the bone, as if struck by a heavy blow. Even more surprising, the injury showed signs of burning, as though inflicted by a red-hot iron whip. With such a grave wound, the cat was unlikely to survive. Despite its fierce demeanor, Qingyin could not abandon it to die. Seeing it too weak to resist, she gently picked it up and carried it toward the medicine storage.

The movement roused the black cat, which struggled weakly, clearly unhappy about being held.

“Hush, be good.”

The black cat—no, the Three-Tailed Xie Cat in feline form, Motu—was already exhausted from its injuries. The girl’s gentle voice drifted into its ears, making its ear-tips twitch involuntarily.

That day, Motu had not been cast into the blazing cauldron to be melted away. The celestial youth had dragged Motu’s massive tail toward the alchemy chamber, but stopped at a secluded corner, gently resting his hand on Motu’s head.

The youth appeared about thirteen or fourteen, his features refined, fingers slender.

“Motu, you may go,” he said, softly rubbing the great beast’s head before turning away.

The celestial youth had spared Motu.

Motu dared not linger, struggling to his feet and stumbling into the dense clouds of the celestial realm. He could not afford to seek a safe haven for his wounds, and instead hurried to the mortal world. As a divine beast, he craved belonging—the Celestial Lord was his sole support. Without the Lord’s affection, he scarcely knew his own identity. He was determined to find the girl before the Lord’s other servants did, deliver her to the Lord, and redeem his sins—then, surely, the Lord would forgive him.

After arriving in the mortal realm and assuming the form of a cat, his strength was less than that of an ordinary stray. He endured countless hardships, relying on the girl’s scent lingering in his memory, searching all the way from Jiao Prefecture, until at last he found her.

Now, she held him in her arms.

It was her. He had found her, Motu thought, extending his paw to scratch her sleeve.

I’ve got you now, you won’t escape.

Qingyin, carrying him steadily, felt her sleeve tugged and glanced down, seeing the black cat’s paw clutching it, as if dependently.

Her heart softened, and she reassured him, “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you behind.”

Motu was suddenly overwhelmed by grief and indignation. Once a divine beast, now reduced to an injured cat; his aggressive gesture was mistaken for affection—how humiliating! And all because of the girl holding him! The thought filled him with fury, and he fainted on the spot.

Qingyin felt the cat in her arms go limp and feared the worst, hastening her steps to the medicine store.

The pharmacist saw her with a cat, seeking medicine and bandages, and scowled.

“These supplies are carefully accounted for. If you take them and I’m asked where they went, how can I say they were used on a cat? I’d be scolded to death! It’s just a stray, not the master’s pet—if it dies, it dies, why bother?”

Qingyin fished out several coins—her monthly allowance—and pleaded, “Please, sir, let me buy them.”

The man glanced at her and couldn’t help but smile. “Such a kind little girl. Keep your coins, I’ll let you have some medicine.”

He handed over a box of ointment and bandages. Qingyin thanked him profusely, then set the cat on a chair, knelt, and began treating and wrapping its wounds. The injury seemed to have been exposed for days, making it too late for stitching. All she could do was apply ointment and bandage it, hoping it would heal—if the cat survived.

She wrapped the bandage tightly from shoulder to hip, wiped the sweat from her brow, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her skills at dressing wounds were not well-practiced, and the bandaging looked rather clumsy. To salvage her work, she tied a butterfly knot at the cat’s hindquarters.

Now it looked much better.

The pharmacist glanced over, surprised. “Miss Qingyin, your bandaging is quite adept—have you studied medicine?”

Qingyin replied quickly, “I come from a poor family, how could I have learned medicine? I just wrapped it at random.”

She carried the wounded cat back to her room and placed it on the bed, only for Luokui to scold her for dirtying the linens. Qingyin settled it in a basket by the wall instead. Before she could tell Luokui about the death in the estate, a middle-aged woman entered—the wet nurse of Yunie.

The nurse said to Qingyin, “Qingyin, Madam just saw Yunie and was so affectionate, she insisted on bathing him herself and wouldn’t let me help. Madam hasn’t cared for a child before and is bound to be flustered, so hurry in and assist her.”

Madam herself bathing the baby?

Qingyin hesitated. She vividly recalled Madam’s chilling expression the last time she saw Yunie. She doubted Madam would suddenly display motherly affection and volunteer to bathe him.

The nurse urged her again, so Qingyin agreed, reluctantly approaching Madam’s tightly closed door. Looking back, she saw the nurse had already left. She spun around and darted toward her own room.

Who knew what Madam might do to the child? That day, the way Madam looked at Yunie seemed full of hatred, as if she wished to flay him alive. If she opened the door now, she might see a scene of blood—just the thought made her shudder!

After a few steps, she halted. In her mind’s eye, she saw Yunie’s soft face, his gentle black hair, his small, adorable features. Her heart warmed, and without thinking, she returned, carefully knocking on the door.

Inside, Madam Zhu called out, “Who is it?”

Suppressing her fear, Qingyin tried to sound calm. “It’s Qingyin. The nurse said I should come help you.”

“Come in,” replied Madam Zhu.

Qingyin slowly pushed open the door, her heart in her throat. To avoid witnessing a gruesome scene, she involuntarily closed her eyes, nearly ready to scream.

She stood there, eyes shut, until Madam Zhu demanded, “Why are you just standing there? Prepare a dry towel for me.” Her voice was calm and gentle.

Summoning her courage, Qingyin opened her eyes. On the floor was a large basin filled with steaming water, fragrant herbs floating atop. Yunie sat naked in the water, Madam Zhu perched on a low stool nearby, smiling as she ladled water over him. Yunie was delighted, his chubby hands splashing the water, giggling happily.

It was unexpectedly harmonious.

Madam Zhu glanced at Qingyin, displeased. “Why are you still lingering?”

“Oh, oh.” Qingyin snapped to attention, hurried to fetch a towel, and discreetly wiped the cold sweat from her brow. Madam Zhu’s demeanor as she bathed the child was no different from any other mother. Yunie was clearly unharmed and enjoying himself. Had Qingyin misunderstood?

She handed over the towel, which Madam Zhu placed on her lap, then lifted the baby from the water, wrapped him in the towel, gently dried him, and carried him to the bed, swaddling him with affectionate ease.

Qingyin, embarrassed by her own misjudgment, carried the basin out in a daze. Standing in the courtyard, she was about to pour out the water when she paused. She lifted the basin higher, leaned in, and sniffed the bathwater. Her expression changed dramatically.

Something was wrong with the water.

Her family had run the “Celestial Herb Hall” for a century; everyone in the Zhou clan knew something about medicinal herbs. As the daughter of the chief proprietor, she had studied medicine from childhood and was familiar with all manner of herbs. Now, as she sniffed the water closely, an unusual fragrance filled her nose.

The scent was sweet, but not fresh, carrying an undertone of fishiness. Though she couldn’t identify the ingredients, it reminded her strongly of snake venom.

The water was poisoned!