Shen Liang was stunned for a moment.
“Your subordinate... does not remember.”
During the period after his death when he had transformed into a malevolent ghost, his memories had been fragmented. Most of the images were blurry and disconnected. He could not even remember exactly how many people he had dragged into the water; he only remembered the expressions on their faces as they struggled.
But he was certain of one thing—he had never dragged Squire Zhou into the river.
Why was that?
“Given my state back then...” he began hesitantly, “logically speaking, it would have been impossible for me to let him go.”
“He was my master, the man who caused my death. At least half of my hatred was directed at him.”
“If he had appeared by the riverbank, I would have stopped at nothing to drag him into the water and exact my revenge.”
Beside him, Plague Rat scratched his head in frustration and chimed in, “Could it be that your mind was too muddled at the time, and you simply didn't recognize him?”
“Impossible.” Shen Liang shook his head, his tone resolute. “Even if my mind was clouded and I couldn't remember everyone's face, Squire Zhou was different.”
So why was he unharmed?
And Aunt Sun's corpse looked as if she had only recently drowned.
Shen Liang felt as if his brain had turned to mush. It turned out his death was not as simple as he had thought; there were so many hidden secrets behind it.
The group fell silent for a moment.
The light inside the granary dimmed a bit more. The beam of light filtering through the crack in the door narrowed, reflecting the changing sky outside.
Squire Zhou remained squatted on the ground. The trembling of his shoulders gradually subsided, but he did not raise his head, nor did he move.
Just then, a sound suddenly came from outside the door.
Thud, thud.
Someone was knocking.
The sound was very soft, tentative and cautious.
Squire Zhou's body instantly tensed up. Like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he bolted upright from the ground, dashed to the door, and pressed his ear against the wooden panel to listen.
Two more soft knocks sounded from outside, even quieter this time, followed by a tender child's voice.
“Uncle Zhou... are you there?”
Squire Zhou relaxed for a split second, only to tense up again immediately.
He quickly slid the bolt open and pulled the wooden door back just a crack, only wide enough for him to poke half his body out.
Standing outside was a little boy of about three years old. He was thin, wearing a visibly oversized old tunic with a hem that dragged down to his knees.
His face was dirty, smeared with mud and rainwater, and his large, dark eyes stared up at Squire Zhou.
“Uncle Zhou, have you seen my mother?”
“She went out yesterday saying she was going to pay back the money for the rice, but she hasn't come back yet...”
Squire Zhou's face instantly drained of color.
He opened his mouth, but it took him a long while to squeeze out a sentence: “Your mother... isn't here.”
“She... she might have gone somewhere else. Go look for her in other places.”
The little boy tilted his head, looking toward the crack in the door behind Squire Zhou. He didn't peer inside, but simply asked again, “Then have you seen Mr. Shen?”
“Mr. Shen borrowed some rice from our family before. My mother said she was going to return it to him...”
“I don't really understand. Did she go to look for Mr. Shen? Is Mr. Shen there?”
Squire Zhou's hand tightened on the door. He lowered his gaze, avoiding the little boy's face, and his voice became very low and hoarse. “...Shen Liang isn't here either.”
“He has gone on a long journey.”
The little boy blinked, seemingly confused, but he did not press further.
Squire Zhou fell silent for a few breaths.
Then he turned his head, casting a swift glance at the straw mat half-hidden by dry grass deep within the granary, and then at the half-open clay jar in the corner.
His throat bobbed. He turned around, fished out a small cloth bag from a sack near the door, filled it halfway with rice, stuffed a handful of dry jujubes inside, tied the opening tightly, and shoved it into the little boy's arms.
“Take this.”
“You've been running around for so long, you must be hungry. Go home quickly and cook some congee.”
“Don't run around in the streets. Lin’an County is flooded; it's not safe outside.”
The little boy cradled the bag of rice blankly, looking down at it before looking back up at Squire Zhou.
“Uncle Zhou, when you turned around just now, I think I saw something inside your room.”
“Something white... What is it?”
The remaining color instantly drained from Squire Zhou's face.
Before he could speak, the straw mat half-hidden by dry grass deep within the granary suddenly twitched violently.
White slime erupted from the clay jar. Startled, Shen Liang instantly charged toward the little boy, stretching out his pale ghostly hand in an attempt to block the glob of slime.
But his fingertips passed right through the slime, as if moving through an illusion.
Carrying several white droplets of water, the slime traced an arc through the air, bypassed Squire Zhou's side, and lunged toward the small figure outside the door.
Before the little boy could even cry out, he was completely enveloped by the white slime.
The slime covered every inch of his skin, boring into his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears.
His body convulsed violently within the slime. His large, dark eyes cast one final look at Squire Zhou before the light in his pupils faded.
The entire process took only a few breaths.
The little boy collapsed to the ground, his body curled into a ball. A deathly white hue seeped from beneath his skin as his limbs twitched slightly.
Then, he went completely still.
Squire Zhou stood at the doorway, as if nailed to the spot.
His lips trembled, the muscles on his face contorted, and his hands shook so violently that his fingernails dug into his palms, leaving bloody marks.
He took a step back, and then shut the door.
The sound of the bolt sliding home was exceptionally grating in the quiet granary.
Squire Zhou slid down against the door, burying his face between his knees as he clutched his head. His shoulders shook violently.
Hoarse, broken sobs escaped through the cracks of his fingers.
Squatting by the door, Shen Liang stared at Squire Zhou's curled-up form, then looked back at the closed wooden door.
His fingers were still extended, frozen in the position where he had tried to intercept the slime, slightly curled as if trying to grasp something that no longer existed.
He had failed to stop it.
Standing nearby, Taotie looked at Shen Liang's dejected state. He rubbed his hands awkwardly, scratched his head, and hesitated for a long while before finally speaking: “Thin man...”
“Don't take it too hard.”
“These are all illusions. It already happened a hundred thousand years ago.”
“What we are seeing is just a memory projected by the array. We can't change anything.”
Shen Liang didn't look back, his voice muffled. “...I know.”
Taotie wanted to say more, but finding himself too tongue-tied to offer any useful comfort, he shut his mouth and looked toward Chen Zhou for help.
Chen Zhou had been standing in the center of the granary. Having listened to Taotie's words, his eyes flickered slightly as he spoke thoughtfully.
“Taotie is absolutely correct.”
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