Chapter 9: The Funeral Sedan Chair

Xu Qi arrived by carriage at the foot of Guanyin Mountain, following the mountain’s base northward until she reached a centuries-old camphor tree. The leaves, a riot of red and green, fluttered like shedding scales in the wind, evoking a deeply poetic scene.

Beneath the tree stood a tea stall, where she indeed spotted Tan Jiuding leisurely sipping tea while propping up one leg, a horse tethered nearby. He still bore the look of a man not quite trustworthy, clad in the same half-worn, plain, pleated garments.

Xu Qi disembarked and approached with the constable. The tea master, who had been in lively conversation with Tan Jiuding, fell silent upon their arrival and busied himself elsewhere, offering no greeting.

Such an unusual way to receive guests.

“Did Mingliu die?” Xu Qi asked bluntly.

Tan Jiuding responded with a grunt, gesturing her to sit down. He then tossed some silver coins to the constable, dismissing him to drive the carriage back. Now, only the two of them remained.

“I had the body examined; it was indeed a sudden death from dysentery, exhaustion of qi and blood.”

“That’s too coincidental. Could it be…” Though the tea stall was nearly empty, Xu Qi lowered her voice, “...like Zhao Qing?”

“Hah, if that were true, it would be quite interesting.”

Xu Qi understood Tan Jiuding was referring to the fact that a killer had somehow infiltrated the city prison to wreak havoc. She had once said there was “no evidence,” and that curse had nearly cost her life twice—still, they failed to catch the culprit.

Now, their only clue was the elusive “Chunpo Mountain Temple.”

“You really found the temple’s location?”

Tan Jiuding chuckled twice, quite proud, lifting his teacup. “Not only found it, but I heard something intriguing.”

Xu Qi’s eyes widened like a starving fox spotting fresh meat, leaning closer to the table, eager to be fed. “What intrigue?”

The man smiled softly. “Come along, you’ll see when we arrive.” Finishing his tea, he rose and left three gold coins on the table—far too much for a pot of tea.

Xu Qi glanced quickly, still pondering, but the tea master pocketed the coins without a second look, as if they were nothing.

The reins were untied, and a tortoiseshell hand reached out before her face.

Faced with the invitation, Xu Qi couldn’t tell if her expression was annoyance or bashfulness.

“Are we really going to ride together?”

“We’re betrothed; is there any need to avoid suspicion?” Seeing her scold him, Tan Jiuding dropped the teasing tone and explained, “The post station allows only one horse per person. No extras. We’ll have to make do.”

Xu Qi sighed and reluctantly placed her leg over the saddle, climbing onto the horse.

Once outside the camphor tree’s shade, a chill immediately swept over them. It was past Frost Descent, nearing early winter. Though the autumn sky was clear and crisp, the wind atop the horse was unforgiving.

Xu Qi pulled her collar tighter, silently gauging their direction, confirming they were heading northwest and gradually climbing a mountain path.

The hills near Suzhou each had their own character—not towering, but each challenging in its own way.

Some paths were slick with moss, making every step perilous; others were jagged gray rock, difficult to navigate.

Thankfully, they had horses, sparing their feet the ordeal.

Yet Tan Jiuding deliberately kept her close, his chest pressing against her back from time to time. The warmth of his embrace left her frozen, stiff and aching.

The mountain was awash in late autumn’s splendor: trees ablaze with color, wild chrysanthemums in full bloom, clusters upon clusters, breathtakingly beautiful. But Xu Qi had no mood to admire the view.

Just as she thought they should have caught sight of Taihu Lake, her vision was suddenly blocked by a black wall.

Looking up in surprise, she saw the “wall” was a towering mass of branches thrusting skyward, giving the illusion of a stormy sea crashing in.

“What is this…?”

Could such a millennial tree still stand near Suzhou?

Xu Qi felt a sense of wonder.

The ancient tree’s gnarled roots twisted, its life long since drained by tightly bound vines, turning it into a massive, dark tombstone of tragic devotion.

All around was thick growth—except this patch was silent, devoid of insects or birds, separated from the world, its colors chillingly dull.

“Do you see it?”

Following Tan Jiuding’s finger, Xu Qi spotted a length of frayed hemp rope hanging from a thick branch, swaying lightly in the breeze.

That dangling rope was an ill omen.

“Up ahead is Gan Hua Village. In the past six months, four newlywed women there have been found hanged. The villagers worship a forbidden spirit called ‘Chun,’ for whom they built a witch’s shrine halfway up the mountain. Sound familiar?”

“Chunpo is a person?”

No wonder she had never heard of such a strange name for a spirit or demon.

Tan Jiuding helped her down from the horse. Xu Qi eagerly moved closer to examine the ancient tree but was abruptly stopped.

“Don’t get too close. It’s unlucky.”

Tan Jiuding’s serious tone made Xu Qi blink in surprise, then burst out laughing. “A dignified inspector of the imperial court, and you believe in such things?”

The man clicked his tongue, a faint blush coloring his ears. “Not really, but it’s best to avoid dealings with demons and evil spirits.”

Just as Xu Qi was about to tease him, he grabbed her wrist. “Someone’s coming.” With one hand holding the horse and the other pulling her, he quickly led her into the thick underbrush beside a tree to hide.

The dense wild growth and tall grass concealed them well.

In no time, a procession emerged along the narrow path in the distance.

It was a wedding party, but everyone wore bright red—red clothes, red shoes, red headscarves.

Two people led the way, followed by four carrying baskets and boxes, a generous dowry by the look of it. In the middle, a small sedan chair swayed unsteadily on two bearers’ shoulders.

Yet the group played no music, sounded no drums, and no one smiled. The entire party moved like red puppets, drifting like shadows. It seemed less like a wedding and more like a funeral.

Hearing Tan Jiuding mention the four brides who died in the village, Xu Qi suddenly felt ill at ease.

As the sedan chair neared, urgent shouts came from deeper in the path: “Stop the chair! Stop the chair!”

The voice was frantic and seemed effective, causing the procession to slow.

The speaker appeared disoriented, rushing forward wildly. Before the bearers could steady the chair, she lunged and grabbed the sedan poles.

“Where did this madwoman come from?” The wedding party reacted, quickly moving to restrain her.

But the village woman was stubborn as a mule, refusing to let go, clinging as if sewn to the pole.

“Let go! Put her down! Someone will die!”

“Nonsense! Stop her!”

The two sides grappled at the narrow path’s entrance, grass and mud flying, a chaotic, ugly scene.

The dense thickets had cleared a small patch of ground.

The sedan chair rocked wildly. The bearers swayed left and right, straining with all their might but failing to steady the floral-topped chair.

One of the lead bearers was pushed and fell. Letting go, the sedan chair pitched like a capsizing ship, losing balance and tipping over.

“Ah!”

A scream tore from the fallen bearer’s throat—

A pair of feet clad in embroidered red shoes suddenly shot out from beneath the chair’s curtain, flipping directly before his nose, then swinging back!

The chair tipped front to back, and those feet appeared again!

“Help! Help!”

The bearer scrambled and tumbled in the mud, terrified.

The scene stunned everyone—those fighting openly and those watching secretly.

The village woman screamed a ghostly wail, seizing the moment to break free, rushing forward and tearing the bright red curtains apart, finally revealing the sight Xu Qi dreaded most—

The bride’s crimson veil was twisted into a rope, with the woman hanging, her legs limp, swaying gently.

She was already dead.

Hidden in the grass, Xu Qi pressed her hands tightly over her throat to stifle her horror.

Peeking through a crack, she saw the corpse’s face was smiling.

The half-hanging rope on the ancient tree branch still swayed with the wind, perfectly matching Tan Jiuding’s words about its ominous nature.