Chapter Two: The Restless Rainy Night
Lunar Calendar, September 11
Ghost Market, Rainy Night.
Shen Hua donned her straw raincoat and bamboo hat before stepping outside.
The Ghost Market had been unusually deserted these days due to continuous rain. Normally, at this hour, it would be the liveliest spot in Nanjing city.
Shen Hua, twenty-two years old and originally from Danzhou, had arrived in Nanjing three years ago. She ran a tiny clinic in the Ghost Market, treating the living by day and the “others” by night. Earlier that day, she had received a letter with a hundred taels of silver enclosed. Inside, only a single line was written: “Second watch, Misty Pavilion.”
The messenger was a child from the Ghost Market. From him, Shen Hua learned that the sender was a middle-aged man dressed entirely in black, wearing a bamboo hat that obscured his features.
Since the Ghost Market was the only place without a curfew in Nanjing, Shen Hua couldn’t understand why the man hadn’t come directly to her clinic but instead chose a place under curfew. However, the large sum of money offered was enough to support her for two to three years, so she decided to take the risk. The streets of Nanjing were deserted, and even beggars were nowhere to be seen, driven indoors by the rain.
After half an hour, the signboard bearing the three characters “Misty Pavilion” appeared before her eyes. Shen Hua scanned the area—no one was around. As she reached the pavilion’s entrance, a shadow appeared behind her. Sensing someone approaching, she turned abruptly, but no one was there.
At that moment, the door creaked open halfway. Ignoring the shadow behind her, Shen Hua pushed the door and stepped inside.
Only those familiar with the Ghost Market knew that Misty Pavilion was more than just an inn; it was a gathering place for many wanderers of the martial world. What they did there, no one knew. Upon entering, a man holding an umbrella approached and asked, “Are you Miss Shen Hua?”
She nodded, meeting his gaze.
“Who are you?”
The man was thin as a bamboo pole and slightly hunched, his wrinkles visible even in the dim light.
“My master asked me to wait here for you. Please follow me.”
Without further questions, Shen Hua followed the man inside.
“Why no lights?” he asked.
Shen Hua replied coldly, “Oil is too expensive.”
She had never been to Misty Pavilion before; all she had heard was that the owner was a woman. The hunched man led her into the main hall. As the door opened, a strong scent of alcohol and a roar of voices hit her. Shen Hua glanced around: seven or eight tables, each surrounded by drinking men and women, all clearly figures from the martial world judging by their attire.
Curious eyes turned toward the young woman arriving so late. Shen Hua withdrew her gaze and removed her bamboo hat. Suddenly, a voice called out, “Ghost doctor Shen Hua, who are you treating tonight?”
Recognizing the mockery, Shen Hua sneered coldly, “If you know me, then you should know I only treat ghosts at night.”
With that, she ignored the man and followed the hunched figure upstairs.
Once Shen Hua disappeared upstairs, the onlookers’ curiosity grew. Someone asked the man who had spoken why he called her a ghost doctor.
He drank deeply before answering slowly, “She has a special ability. Her eyes are not like ordinary people’s.”
Interest sparked at the neighboring tables. “What kind of ability?”
The man scoffed, “Didn’t she just say? She treats ghosts at night.”
A skeptic stood up, pointing at the man. “You’re talking nonsense. If she’s a ghost, where would she have an illness?”
“Well, I don’t know. Maybe this ghost is a pervert,” the man replied with a grin, prompting laughter.
Only a pair of eyes behind the counter watched the upstairs floor attentively.
Misty Pavilion had three floors: the first for dining, the second for ordinary rooms, and the third reserved for those with some standing in the martial world or those who could afford five taels a night.
Shen Hua followed the hunched man to the third floor but immediately sensed something amiss. Her gaze fixed on the innermost corner of the left side. The man noticed her hesitation and asked, “Miss Shen?”
She seemed to guess something. She knew wealthy tenants wouldn’t lack candles or lanterns, yet here, not a single light was lit, and not even a whisper could be heard. Even if they slept early, complete silence was unnatural.
“Is it the innermost room?”
The man appeared surprised but then smiled, “No wonder my master sent for you. You do have some skill.”
“Please, come in.”
After Shen Hua entered, the door slammed shut behind her, followed by the click of a lock. Yet she paid no mind. She paused, staring into the pitch-black room, then said, “I’m paid to work. No need for such formality.”
Silence filled the room, but outside, ears listened intently. Shen Hua sighed softly, placing her bamboo hat on the table before sitting down and sipping the tea on the stand.
“I’ve drunk the tea. If you don’t come out soon, I’ll leave, no refund.”
She tried to rise but was pulled back down by an unseen force.
Calmly, she took a copper bell from her pouch and shook it three times in the air. Then she said, “You dress well enough to afford the whole floor.”
A wisp of grey smoke materialized into the form of a middle-aged man wearing a cloak and a jade crown holding his tied hair. His face was a bluish-purple, and a fine jade ornament hung at his waist.
The man looked at Shen Hua without a word. She guessed from the smoky aura that he harbored resentment and asked, “How did you know me? And how did you get the person outside to understand your thoughts?”
Suddenly, the man bowed to her, his eyes reddened, lips parting.
“After death, I found nowhere to go. A few days ago, I drifted to a ruined temple where other spirits told me about you. Then I sent a dream to the old servant in my mansion, the one I trusted most.”
“Your servant can write?”
Shen Hua had suspected the letter was not penned by the hunched man, and now she was half convinced by this explanation.
The spirit shook his head, “He had someone write it.”
Shen Hua asked again, “What unfinished business brought you to summon me today?”
The spirit suddenly fell silent. Shen Hua stood, studying the ghost before her. “Jiang Guanghe, you want me to avenge you? You gave me a hundred taels of silver, not gold. Besides, murder is illegal.”
Jiang Guanghe was a tea merchant in Nanjing, a name Shen Hua had heard before, though the details of his death were unknown. Nanjing was a complicated place: merchants were wealthy but lacked status; officials had status but little money.
Jiang Guanghe removed the jade ornament from his waist and placed it beside Shen Hua’s hand. She pondered quietly as she examined it but said nothing.
He then pointed to a wooden box on the chair beside her. “Inside are things I bought in life—rare treasures.”
Shen Hua opened the box, glanced inside, then smiled faintly. “I cannot meddle in others’ karma.”
The mist around Jiang Guanghe thickened; he trembled, and his lips darkened.
“Listen to me,” Shen Hua’s tone grew colder. “I will gather evidence of your murder and hand it over to the right people. What happens afterward is beyond my control.”
Seeing her consent, Jiang Guanghe’s spirit dissolved into white smoke swirling around the room before vanishing. Soon after, a faint light appeared, and the door opened. The hunched man peeked out, forcing a smile at Shen Hua.
Satisfied, she pocketed the jade ornament and glanced toward a corner inside the room, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Miss Shen, my master?”
“He’s gone.”
Shen Hua donned her bamboo hat and took a few steps before turning back to look at the room. The hunched man followed her gaze; only the wind whispered in response.
“Go back for now. Within five days, I will gather the evidence and come to find you in the city.”
Before the man could speak, Shen Hua was already descending the stairs. On the second floor, she nearly collided with someone.
“Oh, watch out, guest.”
She looked up to see a woman dressed in crimson, fanning the air with a folded fan, a delicate fragrance emanating from her. Shen Hua nodded coldly, “Sorry.”
In the first-floor hall, the drinking crowd remained. Shen Hua paused, fixing her gaze on the man who had spoken earlier. Slowly, she approached the table, smiling faintly yet piercingly.
Her actions puzzled the onlookers. The man at the table stood, his scalp tingling as goosebumps rose. Still, pride kept him steady as he grit his teeth and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Are all martial wanderers tongue-tied like you?”
The man said nothing.
Lowering her voice, Shen Hua added, “Do you often smell burning at night?”
The man swallowed hard, clenching his fists, fear creeping into his eyes. “Shen Hua, you…”
He hesitated.
“If you have trouble, find me at the Ghost Market. Five taels per visit.”
Raising an eyebrow, she left the hall.
Outside Misty Pavilion, the rain had lessened considerably. The streets remained empty except for occasional stray cats and dogs and the whistle of the wind. Shen Hua recalled sensing not only Jiang Guanghe and the hunched man on the third floor but a fourth presence—perhaps not even human.
On her way back to the clinic, she passed a graveyard. Normally deserted, especially at night, she distinctly heard voices nearby. She had intended to ignore them, but her unusually keen hearing caught every word.
“In three days, Nanjing will face a major case. Let’s see how they handle it.”
“Those things should have all been delivered by now. The rest depends on the thunderstorm in three days. I’ll have people stir things up in the city. The wine is still pure and fragrant.”
Two men’s voices reached Shen Hua’s ears.
She had no interest in their conversation and took a shortcut back to the Ghost Market. A few people were present now, though still few.
Just as she opened her clinic’s door, a strange fragrance enveloped her, and she collapsed, losing consciousness.