Chapter Forty-Nine: Trust Without Reason, Unfathomable Heart

“The path of a thousand spirits comes from the heart. I am the source of all evil, though I never wished to be so.” The woman in white stood there, her hand trembling as she wiped the blade, her voice heavy with emotion.

Zhang Qinglin watched her mutter to herself. She was growing increasingly agitated, her whole body shaking. He furrowed his brow, worried that at any moment she might turn, brandish the scalpel, and peel the skin from his face.

“No, he forced me into this. He ruined me, then dared to humiliate me, saying I was not worthy of him—ha, ha, ha…” The woman suddenly burst into laughter, a chilling, unnatural sound. She put down the scalpel, staggered to the table covered in masks, picked up one, and smiled grotesquely at it.

Zhang Qinglin glanced discreetly at his feet, trying to figure out a way to loosen the ropes binding him. He kept a wary eye on the deranged woman as he searched for something sharp to cut the cords. But most of all, he hoped that Brother Xun or Wu Cheng'an would find them and come to their rescue.

There was nothing beside him, and the chairs to which they were tied were a meter from the table. Zhang Qinglin tilted his head, glancing at the lifeless man in the chair to his left, his helpless gaze lingering on the bloodied face. He wondered what words the man had said to this madwoman that led to his strangulation. His eyes fell to the man's lap, where a pair of scissors lay.

A glimmer of hope sparked in Zhang Qinglin. He pressed his feet to the floor, rocking the chair, trying to inch closer to the dead man and retrieve the scissors. But his movements caught the woman's attention.

She turned abruptly, dropping the mask, snatching up the scalpel from the basin, grabbing a vial of medicine, and marched toward him.

Seeing her approach, Zhang Qinglin summoned all his strength, lifted the chair, and twisted forward. He leaned, and with a crash, collided with the woman, knocking her to the ground.

He fell as well, but the woman quickly scrambled up, grabbing the vial and lunging at him.

At this critical moment, Zhang Qinglin struggled to lift the chair again and rammed it at her. She retreated, and he pitched forward, crashing into the dead man. The woman was knocked down, and both Zhang Qinglin and the chair-bound man fell to the floor. The scissors dropped from the man's lap, and Zhang Qinglin, eyes fixed, managed to grab them and hurriedly cut the ropes binding him.

The woman, her face twisted in rage, staggered to her feet. “You wicked men, why can't you behave?” she snarled, gripping the scalpel and shouting at Zhang Qinglin.

“Qinglin, watch out!” Jiang Xinyue, now fully alert after the chaos, saw the ghostly woman from the graveyard about to stab Zhang Qinglin and cried out in terror.

Freed from the ropes, Zhang Qinglin stood, heard Jiang Xinyue’s warning, and turned, grabbing the woman’s wrist as she held the scalpel.

But she was strong; the scalpel inched closer, despite his efforts to resist. It was about to pierce his heart.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a bang. Brother Xun and Wanqing rushed in; Wanqing took two strides forward and kicked the woman in the shoulder. She staggered, released her grip, and turned to fight Wanqing.

Brother Xun swung his fist, striking her face. Wanqing, seeing Brother Xun join the fray, hurried to Zhang Qinglin’s side to check for injuries. Zhang Qinglin shook his head, saying he was fine, then ran to Jiang Xinyue and untied her.

Cheng Che hurried in, heading straight for Jiang Xinyue. He held her, asking, “Xinyue, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Jiang Xinyue, tears streaming, shook her head repeatedly.

The woman in white, battered and bloodied, still swung the scalpel wildly, lunging at Brother Xun.

Wanqing urged them to be careful, then rushed to help Brother Xun.

At some point, Wanqing drew a pistol and fired a shot at the woman.

Zhang Qinglin stared in shock. The woman in white slowly knelt, then collapsed.

Wanqing and Brother Xun stepped forward, surveying the scene.

“Is everyone alright? I fired the gun—police will be alerted. We must leave immediately!” Wanqing said as she put away the pistol.

“Hey, Old Zhang, isn’t Wu Cheng'an with you?” Cheng Che glanced around, not seeing Wu Cheng'an, and asked.

Zhang Qinglin replied, “It’s bad. We were in a yard full of human-faced masks, confronted by someone trying to kill me. Wu Cheng'an fought with him.”

“Let’s go! We’ll talk outside…” Brother Xun said, leading the way.

They left the terrifying house, following a small path. Suddenly, Wu Cheng'an came running toward them.

“Hurry, the police are here,” he said urgently.

As he spoke, sirens wailed in the distance.

Zhang Qinglin glanced at Wu Cheng'an, noticing his pale face, and grabbed his arm, asking, “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing, just a scratch. Hurry, or we’ll be too late,” Wu Cheng'an pushed him, taking up the rear as they walked quickly.

Following Brother Xun eastward, they passed several homes where lights had come on—likely awakened by the gunshot.

Once out of the village, their vigilance eased. Wu Cheng'an held his waist, sweat dripping from his brow. He walked to a large tree and slowly sat beneath it to rest.

Zhang Qinglin fetched a bottle of water and went over, handing it to Wu Cheng'an.

Wu Cheng'an straightened and took it. Zhang Qinglin noticed blood on his hands and said, “I’ll get you some medicine.”

But when he returned with the first aid kit, Wu Cheng'an was gone. He looked around but saw no sign of him.

“Where is he? Cheng Che, did you see Wu Cheng'an?” Zhang Qinglin stopped Cheng Che as he walked by.

Cheng Che looked confused. “No, weren’t you two together? By the way, Old Zhang, you said someone tried to kill you—what happened?”

Before Zhang Qinglin could answer, footsteps and chaos erupted from the village—police must have found the house.

Moments later, Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che climbed the hillside opposite the village entrance. From there, they saw Captain Gao and several officers escorting three or four people from the village.

Among them were the wounded woman in white and the old lady—not an illusion after all. The problem must have been with the oil lamp she carried. Watching them being loaded into the police cars, Zhang Qinglin felt a wave of relief.

As the woman in white boarded the car, Zhang Qinglin saw her long hair torn away, along with her horrifying face.

She clutched the bundle of skin and hair, glaring furiously at the police behind her.

Zhang Qinglin froze, staring at the fair, handsome profile—unable to calm himself. “She” was actually a man.

Brother Xun came up behind him and said, “Stop staring. Let’s go.”

“Wu Cheng'an is injured and missing. I can’t leave until I find him,” Zhang Qinglin told Brother Xun.

Brother Xun replied, “Don’t worry, he’s with Peng.”

Back in the car, Zhang Qinglin saw Wu Cheng'an already in the back seat, eyes closed, resting. Zhang Qinglin didn’t disturb him.

Everyone got in, and the car set off.

The journey was mostly silent. Jiang Xinyue slept, traumatized. Cheng Che muttered a few words. Wu Cheng'an, after returning from Li Qingpeng’s, was somber and withdrawn. Wanqing continued driving.

Zhang Qinglin looked out the window. Sunshine filled the world, yet his heart was heavy and burdened. Seeing the road sign for “Wuzhou,” he felt a rush—whether from long-lost familiarity or painful memories, he couldn’t tell. His eyes stung, filled with regret and remorse.

After all these years, he had found no trace of the killer or his father.

Entering Wuzhou City, Wanqing took them to a luxury hotel, saying they would rest for a day.

Zhang Qinglin knocked on Wanqing’s door. Jiang Xinyue opened it, quickly pulling him inside.

“Qinglin, did you come to see me? I lost the River Society Map. You’re not really angry, are you? I was so frightened—I don’t even know where I lost it,” Jiang Xinyue said, clutching his arm, aggrieved.

“How could I blame you? As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. Where’s Wanqing?” he asked, patting her head.

Jiang Xinyue explained that Wanqing had changed clothes after they arrived, then went out with Brother Xun and Li Qingpeng.

Zhang Qinglin had come to ask Wanqing why they were in Wuzhou. If it had nothing to do with him, he wanted to return home.

He looked at Jiang Xinyue, suddenly remembering something. “Yueyue, can I ask you about something?”

“What is it? There are no secrets between us—just ask,” she said, handing him an apple.

“Yueyue, is Uncle Jiang’s hometown in Shandong? Does he have any other relatives there?” Zhang Qinglin inquired.

Jiang Xinyue looked puzzled, scanning him up and down. “Qinglin, why ask that out of the blue? You’ve lived with us since you were five—you know this well.”

“Yes, but when Uncle Jiang left, didn’t you notice anything odd? I just want to know if he has any family besides you.”

“My dad has only me and you as his godson—no other relatives. Why? Have you heard from him?” Jiang Xinyue pouted, tapping his forehead.

When he was young, Aunt Mei had told Zhang Qinglin that Uncle Jiang was an orphan, brought to Shandong by his grandmother during a famine. After she died, he met Aunt Mei, settled in Shandong, then had Yueyue.

But Wu Cheng'an claimed Uncle Jiang was his second uncle. Someone was lying.

Returning to his room, Cheng Che was absent. Wu Cheng'an stood by the window, gazing at the bustling street below.

Zhang Qinglin closed the door and walked over. “How’s your wound? I shouldn’t have left you alone yesterday—you got hurt because of me.”

“It’s nothing. By the way, you haven’t told me who that person was—why did he try to kill you? Was he also at the mining area?” Wu Cheng'an asked, still staring ahead.

“Honestly, I don’t know who he is or why he’s after me. Since I was young, they’ve been chasing me. They’re likely connected to the ones who killed my family.”

“It seems you’ve been through much. Will you tell me your story?” Wu Cheng'an asked.

Zhang Qinglin looked sideways at him. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I feel you’re still hiding something from me.”

“Do you think I lied to you in the tomb? In this world, you can trust anyone, or trust no one—it’s your choice. Even if I swear everything I say is true, you might never fully believe me, because we barely know each other.”

Listening to Wu Cheng'an, Zhang Qinglin realized he was right; trust had yet to be forged between them.