Chapter Fifty-Six: The Woman in Red

Zhang Qinglin had no other options; in Wuzhou, they only knew Xu Bin. If they wanted information, he had to agree to Xu Bin's terms.

Xu Bin drove them to his home in Wuzhou, an old three-story apartment building. He lived on the top floor. The sky was still dim, and the neighborhood was silent. The three stepped out of the car and entered the building.

Before entering, Zhang Qinglin noticed a few windows lit up, perhaps early-morning workers rising for their daily grind. Their steps echoed with creaks on the staircase. As they reached the second floor, they nearly collided with a person wearing a mask and a hat. A strong, pungent odor wafted past as the person hurried downstairs, glancing back furtively at Zhang Qinglin.

Zhang Qinglin watched him leave, the smell gradually fading. At the stairway to the third floor, Cheng Che called out to him. Zhang Qinglin turned and climbed up, but as he passed the second-floor corridor, the stench struck him again. He gazed down the dark hallway, feeling it was endless and cold.

Cheng Che's voice snapped him back; he continued upward, covering his nose with his arm, and asked, “What’s downstairs? Why is it so smelly?”

“It’s awful…” Cheng Che also glanced down curiously.

“Fishmongers,” Xu Bin said, pausing at the third-floor landing.

The stairway was cluttered with items—old furniture from some unknown household blocked Xu Bin’s door. Xu Bin eyed a wooden table, then turned toward the shadowy right side and shouted, “Hey! Old Zeng! Don’t leave your junk by my door. Tomorrow I’ll have it all sold off!”

Only Xu Bin’s voice echoed in the corridor; no one replied. Annoyed, he shoved the table aside, opened the door, and went in.

As Zhang Qinglin followed, he noticed the iron door next to Xu Bin’s moved slightly, but no one emerged, and the movement ceased. Zhang Qinglin ignored it, closed the door behind him, and entered the apartment.

Inside, he was assaulted by the smell of smoke and alcohol. The entire place reeked, and the coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles—proof Xu Bin had been home the previous night. Cheng Che surveyed the two-bedroom apartment; it was fully furnished.

“Uncle Xu, you live here alone?” Cheng Che asked from one bedroom doorway.

“Why? Want me to find you an auntie? At my age, no one cares anymore…” Xu Bin replied, opening the window above the sofa, gathering the beer bottles from the table, and setting two chairs. He placed the box containing the jade cups on the table and said to Zhang Qinglin, “Everything’s here. Come take a look.”

Cheng Che, clutching his stomach, asked if Xu Bin had anything to eat. After a night of chaos, his stomach was growling again.

Xu Bin pulled a beer bottle from a box, tossed it to Cheng Che, and said, “This’ll fill you up.”

Zhang Qinglin sat at the table and took the two jade cups from the box.

Cheng Che, holding the beer, said, “Nice, but some snacks would go well with it.”

Xu Bin squinted at Cheng Che, then went to the kitchen.

“So, see anything unusual?” Cheng Che whispered, placing his beer on the table.

Zhang Qinglin gazed at the jade cups and shook his head.

Just then, a sudden banging at the door startled both Cheng Che and Zhang Qinglin, who stood up warily.

Who would knock at this hour?

Xu Bin heard it, put down what he was doing, and walked out of the kitchen, puzzled by the late visitor. Standing at the living room entrance, the knocking grew louder. He didn’t open the door but called out, “Who is it?”

No answer, but the knocking persisted. Annoyed, Xu Bin flung the door open to confront the culprit, “Who’s there? Can't sleep at night?”

The iron door swung open, but no one was outside. Zhang Qinglin’s gaze passed over Xu Bin’s shoulder and noticed an iron rod lying horizontally at the lower right corner of the door—a spot that had been empty when they entered.

Xu Bin closed the door, turned back, and said, “It’s fine. Don’t worry, this place is safe. They won’t find us so quickly.” He started to walk, but another round of knocking came from behind. This time, Xu Bin opened the door and cursed, only to be met with a barrage louder than his own.

“You little rascal, you finally came back, messing with my stuff! Your wife said she’d watch it for me, and now it’s ruined. Where’s your wife? Call her out, I want to talk to her!” The voice belonged to an elderly man.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che exchanged glances. The old man mentioned Xu Bin’s wife, but Xu Bin had never married.

“Old Zeng, are you losing your mind? My wife?” Xu Bin retorted.

Zhang Qinglin stepped forward, seeing that the old man before Xu Bin was about seventy or eighty, leaning on an iron rod, trembling as he peered inside.

Old Zeng squinted and said earnestly, “Ah… yes, I just saw her go in, wearing a red coat, quite eye-catching…”

“You’re seeing things. You mean Wang Jiu’s wife downstairs. Go home, get some sleep!” Xu Bin quickly replied, waving him away.

Without waiting for Old Zeng to respond, Xu Bin shut the door, listening as the iron rod tapped against it. Soon, the noise faded.

Xu Bin prepared two dishes, and the three sat at the table. The dim lighting made it impossible for Zhang Qinglin to discern anything special about the jade cups, so he put them away, intending to inspect them in daylight.

Each had a bottle of beer; they drank and chatted. Old Zeng, it turned out, was a solitary elder, surviving on the charity of neighbors and a distant relative.

Zhang Qinglin asked Xu Bin about the downstairs fishy smell. Cheng Che was curious too. Xu Bin explained that the second floor's third unit belonged to Wang Jiu, a fishmonger with a beautiful wife. Every festival, they’d share fish with the building. Since Wang Jiu went to Beijing, neither he nor his wife had been seen.

Oddly, the hallway had never smelled so strongly before. Even a fish seller’s home couldn’t stink up the entire building with salted fish.

Xu Bin took another swig and joked, “Wang Jiu’s wife is really something—looks, figure, charm. How did she end up with that fat fool? Wang Jiu is like a toad who got a swan; even if it chokes him, it’s worth it!”

As they neared the end of their drinks, a loud, rattling noise erupted outside, echoing through the building. Before they could react, the overhead light flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness. Xu Bin stood up and told them to stay put while he checked if the fuse had tripped.

Zhang Qinglin set down his beer and glanced at the large mirror beside the table. Suddenly, a figure in red appeared, drawing closer. Startled, he realized there were only three people in the room—who was this in the mirror?

He shifted his gaze; the area opposite the mirror was empty.

A chill brushed the back of his neck. Instinctively, he touched it, feeling icy air on his hand, causing him to shiver.

Though not superstitious, he recalled reading that some people could see things others couldn’t in darkness—either from fear or because they possessed a certain sensitivity to the supernatural.

Zhang Qinglin couldn’t tell if what he saw was real. He’d just heard Cheng Che’s voice beside him, but now everything was silent, as if the world had frozen.

A sly, ingratiating laugh sounded behind him. Zhang Qinglin stood up and turned. Outside the window above the sofa stood a woman in red.

Her hair reached her shoulders, softly curled. Her features were indistinct, but she appeared to be smiling. Zhang Qinglin froze; the woman outside resembled Wang Jiu’s wife, as described by Old Zeng and Xu Bin.

“Zhang, what are you looking at?” Cheng Che’s voice sounded nearby.

Zhang Qinglin jolted, turned to see Cheng Che’s red face illuminated by candlelight, and was startled. “Nothing,” he stammered.

He glanced back at the window; the woman was gone.

“Ah… Someone’s dead… Someone’s dead…”

A shout came from outside. Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che rushed out, meeting Xu Bin coming from the left. The voices came from downstairs.

Cheng Che went to the stairwell and looked down, seeing several residents, newly awakened, hurrying out.

“What happened?” Old Zeng shuffled out from his doorway.

Xu Bin, his face grave, approached Old Zeng and said, “You’re nothing but bones now—don’t join the chaos. I’ll check it out; you stay inside and don’t cause trouble.”

Descending to the second floor, the fishy stench intensified, burning their eyes and, combined with the alcohol, made Zhang Qinglin gag.

At the third door of the right-hand corridor, a crowd had gathered. Several women fled, screaming and crying.

Beams of light swept the room—someone had a flashlight since the power was still out and dawn hadn’t broken.

Zhang Qinglin followed Xu Bin into the doorway, assaulted by the smell of not just salted fish, but rotting meat.