She smelled the singed scent of her own hair being scorched by the heat wave.
The shouting below the platform grew even louder.
Through the flames and thick smoke, the figures below became blurry—distorting, swaying, and waving their arms like a horde of demons and monsters dancing before a bonfire.
Peering through the firelight, Hong Xiu saw that their faces had elongated and warped, their features squished together and the corners of their mouths stretched to their ears, looking exactly like the painted-skin ghosts she had heard storytellers describe in the streets.
She didn't feel afraid; instead, she found it rather amusing.
These decent people, usually so well-dressed and respectable, revealed their true colors the moment they were put to such a test.
She recalled the rumors that had circulated among the commoners.
Before the severe drought in Jiangnan, there had been a massive flood.
After the floodwaters receded, bloated corpses littered the ground, left unburied and unattended.
Then came the plagues and famines. People died every day both inside and outside the city walls, and the coffin shops could barely keep up with the demand.
After that, rumors began to spread that the souls of those who had died with lingering resentment had transformed into ghosts, roaming the night to harm the living.
Some claimed to have seen deathly pale figures by the riverbanks; others drew water from wells only to haul up half-rotted arms; and some said that from the barren wasteland south of the city, weeping and wailing could be heard every midnight, sounding like a funeral lament.
Hong Xiu had merely listened to these tales as a form of entertainment in the past.
Once a person died, they were dead. No matter how little she knew of the world, she knew that the deceased would be guided by ghost bailiffs to another realm.
The universe had its order; how could it allow vengeful ghosts to linger in the mortal realm?
Moreover, her Southern Tang had always been protected by a goddess, keeping evil spirits at bay.
Whenever the girls of the Music Registry couldn't sleep at night, they would huddle together to tell ghost stories. When they grew too frightened, they would cling to one another—terrified yet eager to hear more—only to laugh and welcome guests the very next day as if nothing had happened.
But now, she suddenly wondered: what if those rumors were true?
What if those people had died so miserably and with such resentment that they truly became vengeful ghosts after death?
Was her death today not miserable enough? Was she not wronged?
If she could turn into a vengeful ghost after death, just how terrifyingly ferocious would she be?
Draped in red robes, with long hair, and a face as beautiful as peaches and plums hidden beneath a charred, blackened mask.
She would wait for a late night when the streets were empty and everyone was asleep, and find a lone night traveler.
She would emerge from the shadows of an alleyway, dragging her charred, rotting body, approaching him step by step. He would collapse to the ground in terror, trembling as he begged for mercy.
Then, she would crouch down, cup his face with her blackened fingers, and ask with a smile:
“Didn't you say I possessed a beauty that could topple cities and empires? Then look at me now—am I still beautiful?”
And then, she would strip the skin right off his face.
That hypocritical face of his, that skin that changed masks on a whim—she would tear it off with her own hands.
The more Hong Xiu thought about it, the more intriguing it seemed, and the corners of her mouth curled upward once again.
The fire had already reached her feet. Tongues of flame licked her body, climbing higher and higher.
The pain was excruciating. Waves of agony from her flesh roasting in the fire surged through her. Her entire body trembled, her teeth chattered violently, yet she continued to laugh.
“She's laughing? She's still laughing! The temptress is indeed possessed by an evil spirit!” someone shouted from below.
Hong Xiu squeezed a sentence through her clenched teeth: “Just you wait.”
“If I... become a ghost... I will surely become the most ferocious evil ghost.”
“I will come back for you.”
The fire engulfed her, and thick smoke poured into her throat, choking back the rest of her words.
The last things she saw were the Grand Preceptor's expressionless face on the viewing platform, Vice Minister Zhang's back as he cowered behind the Grand Preceptor like a frightened quail, and Yun Niang standing in the crowd, covering her mouth with a handkerchief, her eyes curved with laughter.
Then came the raging fire, sweeping over her from all directions and pulling her into its depths.
And then, there was nothing.
...
On the other side, Hong Xiu, who had just witnessed her own past life's demise, calmly waved her silk fan.
She raised the fan to cover her mouth and let out a soft yawn.
How many times had she replayed that memory in her mind?
It had been a hundred thousand years.
During the first few years after she became a vengeful ghost, she had relished those memories every day, thinking of the Grand Preceptor's face, Vice Minister Zhang's cowardly display, and Yun Niang's sneer, plotting how to skin them one by one and hang their hides on the city gates.
Later, as her body count grew, she had lost track of them all.
Still later, she had cultivated the Path of Extreme Emotions and sealed those ancient memories at the very bottom of her sea of consciousness, too lazy to ever dig them up again.
Viewing them again today through the array's projection didn't evoke any fresh emotions.
She simply felt that her past self had been rather noisy.
Why shout so loudly? Even when her throat was burning raw, she still had to scream a few more words.
But she had indeed gotten her wish.
She had become the most ferocious, world-plaguing evil ghost, bringing disaster to an entire region after her death.
This memory was indeed the most pathetic moment of her mortal life.
But so what?
Did they think they could exploit her emotions to bait her into a trap?
Shen Liang had been baited several times; the moment he caught the scent of paper ash, he would lose control, simply because that deep sorrow had taken root in his heart, aching at the slightest touch.
She, however, was different.
Hong Xiu folded her silk fan, tapped it gently against her palm twice, and let out a mocking sneer.
“Do you think you can shake my resolve with these dusty, ancient memories?”
“I am someone who could even lay hands on myself. Why would I fear watching my own death once more?”
“Even if I wanted to cry, it wouldn't be here.”
As soon as her voice fell, the scene before her blurred once again. After several folds and shifts, it transformed into the appearance of the Music Registry.
Hong Xiu showed little interest. In the illusion, she saw that on the day after she was taken away, the Grand Preceptor's men had already surrounded the backyard of the Music Registry so tightly that not even water could trickle through.
After kneeling for a long time, the mute was hoisted up by two soldiers, one on each side, and thrown into the woodshed in the backyard. A heavy iron lock was snapped onto the door from the outside.
Lying flat on the cold ground, he peered out through a two-finger-wide gap beneath the door. He saw the soldiers' boots pacing back and forth and heard the faint, chaotic voices of people shouting in the distance: “Seal it up, seal it up!” and “Don't run around!”
He wanted to go out.
He clawed at the gap beneath the door, digging all ten of his fingers into the crack, trying to pry it open.
The door didn't budge. Wooden splinters pierced deep beneath his fingernails, and beads of blood welled up, trickling down his fingers.
He seemed unable to feel the pain, with only a single thought remaining in his mind.
It had already been a day, and she still hadn't returned. He had to get out and find her.
But he couldn't get out.
He heard the footsteps grow more distant, the voices fade away, and the backyard gradually fall into silence.
The sky turned dark and then bright again. He lay prone on the dirt floor of the woodshed. He had no idea how much time had passed; his stomach rumbled with hunger, and acid welled up in his throat, but he didn't move an inch.
He simply remained there, pressed against the gap beneath the door, his face glued to the ground, waiting.
By the time the sound of footsteps echoed outside once more, the sky was a hazy gray. Dawn had just broken.
Someone unlocked the woodshed and kicked the door open.
The mute struggled to climb to his feet but tripped over the threshold, tumbling forward and slamming his chin hard against the bluestone pavement.
A maid in a green dress stood at the doorway. She belonged to Hong Xiu's quarters.
When she saw him, her eyes darted away guiltily, and she turned her head.
“Hurry and leave,” she said.
“Something terrible happened out front. Miss Hong Xiu won't be coming back.”
The mute scrambled up from the ground, his eyes locked onto her in a deathly stare.
The maid felt her skin crawl under his gaze and took a step back. “D-don't look at me like that! I don't know anything!”
“The news came back early this morning... They said... she was publicly executed by fire at the sacrificial altar west of the city...”
Rate on N.U.
