Chapter Thirty-Five: The Dead Cat

The young man named Wei didn’t spare me a single glance along the way, and never mentioned that night’s events. Naturally, I had the sense not to bring it up either.

The village was remote, surrounded by vast expanses of lush forest—so different from my hometown’s barren, sheep-grazed rocky hills. As we reached the entrance to the village, a small group was already waiting to receive us. Clearly, the young master Wei had arranged everything in advance.

Stepping out of the car, I noticed the group’s uneasy reverence, as if facing someone truly important. And in a way, young master Wei—heir to wealth and power—certainly was. Yet, beneath their nervousness, there was a trace of excitement.

The leader, a middle-aged man, stepped forward and addressed young master Wei with utmost politeness, “Young Master Wei, it’s truly a relief to have you here to help us—”

Before he could finish, Su Feiyong interjected, “It’s Second Master.”

The man faltered, visibly embarrassed. Having to call someone much younger “Master” wasn’t something everyone could take in stride as Zhuang Xingrui did. Still, he quickly composed himself and corrected, wearing a fawning smile, “Second Master, it’s wonderful that you’ve come to help us. We’ve prepared your rooms and will take you there right away.”

Young master Wei remained as aloof as ever, his face impassive behind dark sunglasses, treating the villagers as if they were invisible.

The village itself was small and the car couldn’t enter, so we left it outside and followed the middle-aged man into the village. As we walked, he briefed us on the situation. He was the village head, Huang Wenyang. After all those incidents Su Feiyong had told us about, they had taken the dead livestock to the vet—none of them died from disease. They’d also invited several exorcists, those who claimed to banish spirits, but none had been able to find the source of the haunting.

As I listened, I studied the surroundings. The village seemed fairly prosperous; each house was well-built and respectable. One old brick house, glaringly out of place among the new structures, caught my eye. Its neighbors were clearly of recent construction, making the old house stand out awkwardly.

A pair of eyes peered from behind the half-open door—a small boy. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on us, not a hint of fear for strangers, more like he was scrutinizing us.

Our eyes met as we passed. Suddenly, he darted out, ran straight at me, and shoved me hard. The movement was swift and forceful—I nearly stumbled and fell.

“Zeyu, stop that nonsense!” Huang Wenyang hurried over, grabbing the boy and pulling him away.

The child was dark-skinned and thin, maybe five or six years old. His face was expressionless, but his large, protruding eyes bored into me unrelentingly. Huang Wenyang dragged him back to the old house and scolded him sternly, “Stay here and behave yourself. Don’t cause trouble!”

He shut the door, then turned to me apologetically. “I’m very sorry. The boy changed after he lost his mother.”

“What happened to his mother?” I asked.

“She took her own life a year ago.”

“She took her own life? How could that be? Is he living with his father now?” Xiao Qingwan asked, sighing.

Huang Wenyang glanced toward the old house, then leaned in and said quietly, “He has no father. To put it simply, his mother never married, so no one knows how the boy came to be.”

Xiao Qingwan was taken aback. “So how is the boy managing now?”

“His mother was my relative—my niece, to be exact—so I’m taking care of him now. But enough about that, our rooms are just ahead.” He quickly steered the conversation away and led us forward.

I glanced at the incongruous old house, thinking that an illegitimate child and a suicide were certainly considered disgraceful matters here. Yet, Huang Wenyang made no effort to hide it from us outsiders. His expression was odd too—on one hand, he spoke openly, but on the other, he seemed unwilling to dwell on the details.

Our rooms were spotless, with fresh bedding. For me, such hospitality was already more than adequate. I wondered how young master Wei would feel, since he hadn’t brought any of his own things.

Huang Wenyang suggested we rest first and then inspect the dead animals later, but Su Feiyong insisted we go at once.

Nearly every household had lost livestock, but the earlier deaths had already been buried. The most recent was the cat that died at Huang Wenyang’s home the night before—a cat he’d raised for three years, always robust and healthy, yet even it hadn’t been spared.

We made our way to Huang Wenyang’s house. The dead cat lay in the yard—a fat, well-fed animal, almost the size of a pig, a testament to its comfortable life. Its death seemed a real pity.

“I found the cat dead this morning, just like the others—no wounds, nothing obvious. It’s very strange,” Huang Wenyang said.

Examining the cat, I saw its death had been gruesome—its eyes bulged wide, a trickle of blood at its mouth, the very image of one who died with grievances unresolved.

Young master Wei kept his distance, flanked as always by his two sharply dressed bodyguards.

I couldn’t glean anything more, but as Master Ma’s apprentice, I couldn’t just stand aside. I pressed my hand over the cat’s heart, but felt nothing unusual through the bones.

Xiao Qingwan showed no fear, turning the dead cat over with growing curiosity. Suddenly, she gripped its twisted face and rotated it fully, revealing its ghastly expression.

Her boldness startled me.

Realizing she’d gone too far, she cast a furtive glance at young master Wei, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She quickly released the cat and shook her hands as if to rid them of the sensation.

“Did you notice anything?” I asked.

She hesitated. “This... this cat...”

Bang! The front door was kicked open. A tall, burly man strode in, rough and imposing. “I’m back! Damn, why are there so many people here?”

Though the weather wasn’t cold, it was late autumn and a bit chilly, yet the man was shirtless, his clothes slung carelessly over his shoulder. An enormous tiger tattoo sprawled across his left arm, and his short, curly hair was dyed a garish yellow. Everything about him, from his bearing to his manner, screamed “thug.”

Huang Wenyang’s face darkened and he hurried forward. “Why are you back now? Didn’t you say your work out of town would keep you away a while longer?”

“I finished. That old man was such a coward—two punches and he paid up! Who are all these people?” The man strode over.

Spotting the dead cat, he sneered with satisfaction. “That cat’s dead at last! Damn thing scratched my hand before. Good riddance!”

He kicked the dead cat twice.

Xiao Qingwan frowned.

“Don’t kick it! The cat is an ancestor spirit! You damned fool!” Huang Wenyang scolded, rushing to stop him, his face creased with worry.