Something's Strange

The old Taoist took a sip from his tea bowl, asking slowly, "You suspect that scholar is up to something odd?"

Shen Hui didn't answer directly. Instead, he took a sheet of yellow paper from his bosom, carefully wrapped his hair in it, and tucked it into his sleeve.

"We ate together last night, and though his words and actions were a bit arrogant, he still knew proper manners."

He sat back down in his own seat as he spoke, taking a sip of the now-cold congee. "But this morning, he got up acting like a completely different person, putting on airs at every turn and ordering that Stationmaster around like a servant."

The old Taoist said dismissively, "Maybe he was tired from yesterday's ordeal and didn't feel like keeping up the act today?"

Shen Hui shook his head. "It's different. His arrogance comes from deep within—unpleasant, but not hateful. But today..." He paused, his tone turning thoughtful. "It's too much like a performance."

The old Taoist didn't reply, just stroked his beard, signaling for him to continue.

Shen Hui paused again before saying, "This man, though mediocre in skill and timid by nature, is quite good at reading people. Earlier, he saw my displeasure written on my face, yet he completely ignored it. Such behavior seems deliberately provocative..."

"Oh?" The old Taoist grew interested. "What's his aim?"

Shen Hui finished his cold congee and pushed the bowl aside.

"Perhaps he wants us to think he's arrogant and rude, to stir up some conflict. That way, when it's time to deal with that widow later, he can find an excuse to beg off and not go."

The old Taoist set down his tea bowl, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're saying he's trying to avoid it?"

Shen Hui neither nodded nor shook his head, only said, "If my guess is right, within the time it takes an incense stick to burn, he'll send someone to say he can't travel with us."

No sooner had he spoken than a soft knock came at the door.

The Stationmaster's cautious voice filtered through the door panels, tinged with fear:

"Honored Taoists... that Scholar Li just said he's suddenly caught a chill, his head aches terribly, and he's afraid he can't go to Zhang Family Village with you all..."

The old Taoist looked at Shen Hui. Shen Hui took a sip of his already-cold tea, his expression unchanged.

"See? What did I say?"

The old Taoist frowned, silent.

"Understood!"

Shen Hui didn't get up, calling out loudly toward the door:

"Go ahead and prepare the carriage and horses. My master and I will set off immediately to see what's strange about that widow in Zhang Family Village."

Hearing this, the Stationmaster sighed with relief, hurriedly bowed in acknowledgment, and quickly withdrew to make arrangements.

The old Taoist stroked his graying beard, his eyes full of doubt.

"You saw clearly that the scholar was feigning illness to shirk his duty and deliberately avoiding trouble. Why then grant his wish and let him go?"

A faint smile curled at the corner of Shen Hui's mouth as he poured tea for the old Taoist.

"Master, if he wants to put on a show, I'll play along. This is turning his own scheme against him, luring the snake out of its hole."

Just then, the sound of hooves striking the ground came from outside.

The Stationmaster's voice came through the door: "Honored Taoists, the carriage is ready."

Master and disciple pushed open the door to find a blue-canopied cart waiting in the courtyard, a chestnut mule impatiently pawing the ground with its hoof.

On the carriage shaft sat a young man, about twenty years old, holding a bamboo whip in his hand. Seeing the two emerge, he nimbly jumped down and cupped his hands in greeting:

"If you find this book enjoyable, to avoid losing track next time, please remember to bookmark it."

"Honored Taoists, this humble one is Zhang Qi, your driver."

Shen Hui nodded. He first helped the old Taoist into the cart, but didn't climb in himself right away. Instead, he stood by the cart, turned back toward the courtyard, and said loudly:

"Master, the two of us are heading to Zhang Family Village this time. We must find out what demon or ghost is causing trouble and disturbing the people's peace. As for those two cowards who shrink from their duties, let them rest at the station. That way, when we Subdue Demons and Exorcise Evil, we won't have to watch out for their lives and be tied down."

With that, he lifted the curtain and climbed into the cart, patting the wooden boards. "Let's go."

Zhang Qi acknowledged with a shout, cracked his whip, and the mule cart rumbled out through the courtyard gate.

Shen Hui leaned against the cart boards, chatting idly with the driver. He learned that the young man was the Stationmaster's nephew, usually running errands delivering letters nearby, and had been roped into driving today by his uncle.

This Zhang Qi was extremely talkative, his mouth never stopping the whole way.

Passing a cloth shop, he said the fabric was shoddy goods passed off as quality. Passing a tavern, he claimed the cook skimped on oil and salt. Even the candied hawthorn seller on the street corner wasn't spared—he laughed at the man's hawthorns being too small.

Not only was his mouth unruly, but the bamboo whip in his hand was restless too.

When they reached the bustling market, the streets were crowded with pedestrians.

He would occasionally reach out with his bamboo whip and poke anyone walking too close to the cart. After poking them, he'd snicker and urge the mule to hurry along.

Inside the carriage, the old Taoist tapped lightly on the wall, asking with interest, "And what do you plan to do next?"

Shen Hui replied with a smile, "Since he's pretending to be sick to hide away, he must be up to something secret. Let's turn back to the station now and probe his background."

With that, he lifted the carriage curtain and said to the driver Zhang Qi, "Turn toward Confucian Temple Street in the West Market. My master and I need to buy some yellow paper and cinnabar, just in case."

Zhang Qi acknowledged, shook the reins, and the mule cart turned into a narrow alley.

Confucian Temple Street was the narrowest street in Qu County town, lined on both sides with shops selling brushes, ink, paper, incense, candles, and various sundries. The mule cart couldn't go any further here, so Shen Hui had him wait at the street entrance, saying they'd come find him after making their purchases.

Zhang Qi had just crouched by the roadside to pull out his pipe when Shen Hui and the Old Taoist, using the bustling crowd as cover, twisted and turned through the alleys before reappearing at the back wall of the post station.

The two circled around to the front courtyard and pushed the door open.

The post station was eerily quiet. The leftover scraps in the front hall had already been cleared away, the tabletop wiped to a gleaming shine, and the folding fan Scholar Li had dropped earlier was nowhere to be seen.

Shen Hui exchanged a glance with the Old Taoist, then lightened their steps as they crept toward the back courtyard.

Scholar Li was staying in the West Wing.

Shen Hui approached, pressed himself against the wall, and listened carefully. There was no sound at all from inside the room.

A thought struck him. He sidled up to the window, wet his index finger with a bit of saliva, and tried to poke through the window paper to see what was going on inside.

But the moment his fingertip touched the paper, Shen Hui froze.

This window paper wasn't the usual coarse kind—it was thick Mulberry Bark Paper, tough and resilient. Even a splash of rain on an ordinary day wouldn't ruin it, and a single dab of spit couldn't soak through at all.

"Tch, so TV dramas really do lie," Shen Hui grumbled inwardly.

Just as he was about to try another method, the Old Taoist beside him suddenly tugged at his sleeve and spoke with a smile: "Don't bother. There's no one inside."

Shen Hui paused at that, straightened up, and looked at the old man. "No one?"

The Old Taoist stroked his beard with a grin, his eyes teasing. "What now? What do you plan to do?"

But Shen Hui had already snapped back to himself. He bared his teeth in a grin. "No one's good. No one means we can get things done."

With that, he stopped skulking around and strode boldly through the door.

The room was simply furnished. The teacups were overturned on the table, and only some leftover ink remained in the inkstone.

Shen Hui searched the place thoroughly—opened the cabinets, checked under the bed, even pulled apart the pillowcase and shook it out. In the end, he found nothing.