Chapter Thirty-Nine: Hidden Truths

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“Maybe you should ask her uncle, the village chief... I only married into the village two years ago, so I don’t really know. I need to head inside now.” The woman, her belly round with pregnancy, rose to her feet and walked toward the house, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation.

“Wait, what’s her name again?” I asked.

“Huang Yunlei.” As soon as she spoke, the woman seemed to realize she had let something slip. She quickly clamped her lips shut, shot me a glance, and hurried inside, closing the door behind her, as if afraid I might press further.

It felt as if saying even one more word would bring trouble upon herself.

There was no way nothing was wrong here. How did Huang Yunlei really die?

Even Xiao Qingwan picked up on the strangeness. “She’s deliberately avoiding the topic. Is there some hidden truth behind Huang Yunlei’s suicide a year ago?”

“Calling it a suicide is too perfunctory. Who would suddenly lose all hope without reason, especially when she had a son?” I said.

Xiao Qingwan nodded. “You’re quite sharp.”

“All thanks to my master’s good teachings,” I replied with feigned modesty.

“So, should we go ask Zeyi directly? After all, it’s about his mother. He should know at least something, and there’s no reason for him to hide it.”

I shook my head. “Not right now. People working in the fields will be coming back soon. We’d better use this time to ask a few more people. Otherwise, by tomorrow morning, we might not be able to find anyone.”

That boy Zeyi gave me a very complex impression. Something about him didn’t match his age, and his bulging eyes seemed to constantly scrutinize everyone around him. Maybe he truly knew something, but my instincts told me we wouldn’t get anything from him.

As dusk fell, people returned from school and the fields. Xiao Qingwan and I questioned several more villagers. Their reactions were all the same as the pregnant woman’s—evasive, unwilling to say more. We got nowhere.

That was interesting. If they really didn’t know, it would be one thing, but their reactions suggested everyone knew but dared not speak. It wasn’t just about Huang Yunlei’s death; her entire existence seemed taboo in this village.

Night crept in as we made our way back to the village chief’s house. Everyone was gathered in the main hall—Zhuang Xingrui and the boy surnamed Wei were both there.

“I was just about to call you. Dinner will be ready soon,” said Huang Wenyang.

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Dinnertime at this hour wouldn’t be considered early in the city, but it was a bit early for the countryside. Perhaps Huang Wenyang didn’t want us to feel neglected, so he moved the meal up.

He gave me a hesitant look. “Did you two go around asking questions in the village?”

News really traveled fast here. We hadn’t spoken to many people at all, yet every little thing seemed to be common knowledge in this village—far more so than in my own hometown!

“I just felt sorry for that child and wanted to find out more about him. By the way, why doesn’t he go to school?” I asked.

“That child isn’t cut out for studying. He was expelled... But these days, education’s still important. I’ll try enrolling him in another school next spring...” Huang Wenyang’s words trailed off as he left the living room.

I watched his departing figure—he was certainly “concerned” about Huang Yunlei’s affairs.

Turning back, I caught the Wei boy watching me. I returned an innocent, harmless smile.

Dinner was lavish, with Huang Wenyang explaining that he’d specially invited a villager who once worked as a chef in the city to cook authentic... Cantonese cuisine! The only local specialty on the table was the mountain rice wine, brewed with a unique variety of rice from the Li ethnic mountains. But even that wasn’t homemade—it was store-bought, so who knew if it was authentic.

The Wei boy sat right next to me. Given his status, I’d expected him to either disdain the food or at least eat at a separate table, but he was surprisingly down to earth.

He ate with remarkable finesse, more refined even than Xiao Qingwan—never a trace of oil on his lips.

Up close, his skin looked even better than I’d realized: smooth and delicate, like a peeled egg, almost excessively flawless.

When he turned to look at me, I averted my gaze, thinking to myself that for a man to look like this was a bit much.

After dinner, I took a bath and went to bed early.

As I lay there, I reviewed everything I’d learned today. During the questioning, I’d observed everyone’s reactions. They fell into two groups: those who avoided the subject as if it were the plague, and those who tried to hide something, afraid their secret might be discovered. Huang Wenyang belonged to the latter.

People in the second group must be connected to Huang Yunlei’s fate. To uncover the truth, I’d have to find a way to make them talk. Unless I found a breakthrough, it would take some effort.

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The night deepened. My mind wandered, shifting from reviewing the day’s investigations to worrying about my own predicament. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

I’d always been the type to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, never troubled by insomnia. But ever since what happened at the Mid-Autumn Festival, I’d found it harder and harder to sleep—probably because something was weighing on my mind, keeping my nerves taut and leaving me unable to let go. Anyone who knew their days were numbered would find it hard to eat and sleep as if nothing had happened.

I lay there with my eyes half closed for half the night before finally admitting defeat. I sat up and instinctively reached for my phone to check the time, only to remember I’d lost it on the ghost ship. A minor regret—the phone wasn’t expensive, but now I’d have to buy a new one. Thankfully, I’d memorized all the important numbers.

Speaking of which, what was the Wei boy’s real purpose in coming here? Old Ma had said his intentions weren’t so simple.

I pressed the switch to turn on the light. The bulb flickered with a brief yellow glow, then went out. I tried several more times, but nothing happened.

Great—just my luck.

Luckily, the moonlight tonight was bright, streaming in through the window so the room wasn’t completely dark.

I got out of bed and went to the window, thinking I might as well enjoy the moonlight to distract myself. Suddenly, I caught sight of a figure walking alone in the village. Bathed in the clear moonlight, the tall, slender silhouette looked very familiar—it was the Wei boy!

Did he always keep such unusual hours, sleeping by day and wandering at night? Where was he going at this hour, moving with such purpose? He definitely wasn’t just restless and wandering aimlessly.

After the ghost ship incident, I’d developed a strange unease about his solitary actions. I told myself to just pretend I hadn’t seen anything and go back to sleep. He’d survived last time; surely nothing would happen tonight.

Yet curiosity—and maybe a natural sense of justice—got the better of me. I reasoned that his two bodyguards barely left his side all day, but now, at this hour, he’d slipped out alone. He must be up to something secretive. For someone so delicate and pampered, could he really handle being alone out there?

In the end, I couldn’t resist. I slipped out of my room.