Chapter Sixty-Six: Hidden Within the Maze

Stepping into the building once more, Zhang Qinglin felt an indescribable sensation—whether fear or anxiety, he couldn’t quite tell. His heart raced incessantly, and as he passed through the second-floor corridor, the flickering lights gave him the uncanny impression that someone was standing there, appearing only when the lights went out.

Arriving at Xu Bin’s door, Zhang Qinglin stopped in front, unsure if Cheng Che would really be inside. He knocked twice, feeling his legs buckle beneath him. Wu Cheng’an immediately supported him, and after a moment, the door was pulled open from within.

“Who is it?” Cheng Che, bleary-eyed and half asleep, peered outside. The next second, he rubbed his eyes and, seeing Zhang Qinglin, excitedly flung open the iron gate, embracing him tightly. “Old Zhang, thank goodness you’re all right!”

Wu Cheng’an was left standing aside, watching them speechlessly. “If you don’t let go soon, you really might squeeze him to death,” he muttered.

Zhang Qinglin, exhausted, managed to say, “Good brother, just help me inside first.”

Cheng Che settled Zhang Qinglin onto the sofa. Zhang Qinglin looked around the room before asking, “Where’s Uncle Jiang?”

“Don’t mention him—he’s next door, drinking with Old Man Zeng. Forget about him. Did those people beat you up this badly? How did you escape? Where’s Uncle Xu?” Cheng Che scrutinized their tattered clothes and battered faces, surprised at how wretched they looked.

Clutching his injured wrist, Zhang Qinglin’s pale face and conflicted eyes gave away the turmoil within. He moved his lips and said, “Uncle Xu… he’s dead…”

“What? Dead… Ah, I hadn’t even paid him yet. How could he just be gone?” Cheng Che hadn’t known Xu Bin for long, but found him reliable. He always checked everything ahead of time, prepared well. He never expected Xu Bin’s life would end so abruptly.

Wu Cheng’an lay back on the sofa, unwrapping the bandage around his abdomen. The bandage was soaked in blood; his wound had reopened after fighting the woman in white. Fortunately, Uncle Wang’s medical skills were superb—the decayed flesh had been cleaned away, and the wound was healing quickly enough.

“You, go call Uncle Jiang back. There’s something we need to tell him,” Wu Cheng’an said, binding his abdomen.

Cheng Che’s eyes widened, brows raised, and he snapped, “Listen, Wu Cheng’an, I’m not your servant. We barely know each other. Watch your tone. Who are you talking to? If you want him, call him yourself…”

“So you really have a bone to pick with me,” Wu Cheng’an replied, picking up a glass of water from the coffee table and draining it.

Cheng Che crossed his arms and retorted, “That's right. Ever since you stopped acting like a fool, I feel like you’re hiding too much—who knows what schemes you’re up to.”

Zhang Qinglin wobbled, a wave of headache hitting him. “Enough, you two. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

All afternoon, Zhang Qinglin lay in the bedroom where he’d stayed before. He watched Cheng Che close the door and leave, then reached under the bed, feeling around until he found what he was looking for. Relieved, he drifted off into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Wu Cheng’an and Cheng Che sat in the living room, facing each other in silence.

Outside, Uncle Jiang’s heavy voice rang out, accompanied by pounding on the door. “Hey, kid, open up, open the door…”

Cheng Che glanced at Wu Cheng’an, who sat unmoved. Left with no choice, Cheng Che got up and opened the door, revealing Uncle Jiang reeking of alcohol, his cheeks flushed red like a monkey’s, swaying as he staggered inside.

Right behind him, Old Man Zeng appeared at the doorway, smiling brightly, though his eyes were full of regret as he looked inside. “It was a great chat today—don’t forget, we continue tomorrow… Ah, Little Xu came back without a word.”

“Grandpa Zeng, what are you saying? Uncle Xu hasn’t returned yet. You should go rest,” Cheng Che replied, glancing to the side.

“I’m tired, off to bed!” Old Man Zeng yawned and shuffled to his own door.

Cheng Che closed the door, wiping sweat from his brow. “That old man is so suspicious.”

Uncle Jiang stumbled to the coffee table, eyeing Wu Cheng’an and slurring, “Wu Qixu, you bastard, look at all the shameless things you’ve done…”

Wu Cheng’an glared at Uncle Jiang, who could barely speak, stood up, and pointed at him, shouting, “You think you have the right to call that name? Whatever he’s done, it’s nothing compared to the harm you brought to your own family. Have you no remorse at all?”

“Who are you to judge me? I’m done talking to you, hmph…” Uncle Jiang hiccupped, closed his eyes, and staggered toward another bedroom.

Wu Cheng’an grabbed his shirt, glaring at him. “Wu Lao Liu, did you take it or not…”

Cheng Che immediately intervened, pulling Wu Cheng’an’s arm aside, frustrated. “How can you be so rude to Uncle Jiang? He’s not Wu Lao Liu, he’s Uncle Jiang…”

“Heh… hehe… hahahaha…” Uncle Jiang suddenly burst out laughing and disappeared into the bedroom.

Wu Cheng’an was about to follow him when Cheng Che blocked his path, his tone fierce. “What are you trying to do? Didn’t you see Uncle Jiang is drunk? Can’t you let him rest?”

“You’d better move aside. This is between him and me,” Wu Cheng’an pressed forward angrily.

Cheng Che stretched his arm out, barring Wu Cheng’an. “Not until you explain what your relationship with Uncle Jiang is.”

Uncle Jiang collapsed onto the bed inside, soon snoring deeply.

Hearing the snores, Wu Cheng’an decided not to force his way in—dragging Uncle Jiang up now wouldn’t get any answers. He sighed, turned back to the sofa, and pulled from his pocket the jade ring, an artifact that had brought suffering to so many, including his own family.

It was not until eight or nine o’clock in the evening that Zhang Qinglin finally recovered, his limbs regaining strength, though his head still spun. He got up and walked out of the bedroom.

The living room was eerily quiet, though the lights were on. Zhang Qinglin noticed the door wasn’t fully closed. He called softly, “Uncle Jiang… Cheng Che…”

He glanced at the nearby bedroom, overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol, and saw Uncle Jiang fast asleep. Zhang Qinglin quietly closed the bedroom door. Just then, hurried footsteps and Cheng Che’s voice echoed from outside, as if something had happened. Without hesitation, Zhang Qinglin hurried out. His greatest fear now was that they were not safe here—would Wanqing soon find them?

At the stairwell on the third floor, Zhang Qinglin heard the voices coming from outside on the first floor. He was about to descend when a voice suddenly spoke behind him.

“Child, don’t rush. I have something to tell you.”

It was Old Man Zeng from next door. Zhang Qinglin turned to see him, looking different tonight—well-dressed, his hair tidied, standing before him with a serious expression.

“Grandpa Zeng, is there something you need?” Zhang Qinglin stared at Old Man Zeng, noticing his eyes were pitch black, as if hollow and devoid of whites.

“Child, there are two things I must warn you about. First, the person now lying in the common room is too cunning, with ill intent written all over his brow. He’s done much, yet never learned contentment. One day, he’ll get the punishment he deserves. Beware those whose faces are kind but hearts are not.

Second, and most important, I can no longer protect this old building. The malice and resentment here have grown too strong, and your own aura draws trouble. If you can leave soon, do not linger.”

Old Man Zeng shifted his head, his black eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Grandpa Zeng, do you mean Uncle Jiang? Is he the one with a kind face but a wicked heart? I’ll remember your words, but…” Zhang Qinglin began, but Old Man Zeng cut him off.

“Don’t ask too much. What you wish to know will come to you naturally. And remember—if someone calls to you from outside the crowd, do not go.”

With that, Old Man Zeng turned toward the corridor.

Zhang Qinglin was left baffled. He hadn’t even reached the ground floor—how did Old Man Zeng know someone would call to him? Suddenly, a terrified scream from a woman rang out downstairs.

Shaken, Zhang Qinglin realized Old Man Zeng had already vanished. He shook his head and headed downstairs.

Outside the entrance to the building, a crowd had gathered to the left, everyone talking at once. “Another death… Such a horrible way to go…”

“Cheng Che, what happened?” Zhang Qinglin approached, asking.

“It’s… it’s Old Man Zeng. I think he’s the one who died…” Cheng Che’s face was pale, unable to process it. He’d seen Old Man Zeng just this afternoon—how could he be dead, and in such a dreadful way?

Zhang Qinglin was even more stunned. Old Man Zeng had just spoken to him—how could it possibly be him?

He moved through the crowd and saw, near the wall, a man lying on the ground. The clothes matched what Old Man Zeng had worn earlier, but the face had been mauled beyond recognition. The man’s hand tightly gripped a pair of scissors bound with red string.

Wu Cheng’an crouched nearby, keeping his distance from the corpse, as if searching for something.

Someone else said this had to be Old Man Zeng—the build matched perfectly. Zhang Qinglin still couldn’t believe it. Old Man Zeng had just warned him moments ago.

“Child, come here. I have something for you…” A voice sounded behind Zhang Qinglin.

He turned to see a man outside the crowd, smiling eerily and nodding at him.

Quickly, Zhang Qinglin turned away, refusing to look. Yet the voice echoed again and again in his ears. He stood firm, keeping calm.

When the wailing sirens of police cars arrived, the voice finally faded.

The police investigated the scene. Some said a large black dog had killed Old Man Zeng. Others claimed they had only come out after hearing the screams.

The corpse was taken away, the crowd dispersed, and Zhang Qinglin and his companions returned to the third floor. At Old Man Zeng’s door lay a black dog. As they approached, the dog scrambled to its feet, bolted to the end of the corridor, let out a miserable howl, and leapt out the open window.

Wu Cheng’an gazed at Old Man Zeng’s door—the iron gate stood open, but the inner door was tightly shut. He strode to within three or four steps of the door, bent low, and examined it carefully.

He recalled twenty minutes earlier, when he and Cheng Che were inside and Old Man Zeng knocked. After Cheng Che opened the door, Old Man Zeng said nothing, turned away, and closed the door behind him. Then came another knock, and when the door was opened again, there was only the sound of howling. By the time they rushed downstairs, Old Man Zeng was already dead, surrounded by faint, sparkling lights like scattered golden dust—almost unnoticeable unless closely observed.

Now, at Old Man Zeng’s door, he found those same glimmering specks again, and they caught his attention.

“What are you looking at? Did you find something?” Zhang Qinglin asked.

Wu Cheng’an didn’t reply, crouching low, his brow furrowed as he stepped closer to the door handle, nearly pressing his face to the crack.

Cheng Che, arms crossed, watched in puzzlement. What was he doing? Did he want to enter Old Man Zeng’s apartment? Why not just go in—was he afraid they’d report him? But his sneaky posture was more like a thief.

“If you want in, no need to sneak…” Cheng Che stepped forward and with a “click,” turned the wooden door handle.

Immediately, a swarm of writhing golden bugs, each the size of a fingernail, crawled out from within. Cheng Che froze, stunned by the dazzling golden light. Several had already climbed onto the back of his hand, and when the pain struck, he frantically shook them off.

Wu Cheng’an had seen them earlier but hadn’t figured out what they were before Cheng Che’s impulsiveness made things worse.

Wu Cheng’an pulled Cheng Che aside, while Zhang Qinglin stood nearby, horrified—how could so many strange insects come from Old Man Zeng’s home?