After Being Forced into Marriage with My Paranoid Dead Husband - Chapter 11

When the recovering memories stalled once more, Shang Zhangheng did not recall much of any real use, but the overflowing yin energy ultimately dissipated by degrees, and Qing Ling finally felt a hint of the warmth proper to this season.

Yet he dared not relax. Stiff all over, he leaned against the folding screen until Shang Zhangheng straightened up, before cautiously asking, “What else did you remember?”

Watching Qing Ling’s deeply worried expression, Shang Zhangheng knew precisely what was running through the youth’s mind.

Rarely, the fierce ghost, whose heart was ordinarily filled with resentment and reluctance, suddenly felt an urge to laugh.

Curving the corners of his lips in a wicked smirk, the malicious evil spirit deliberately replied, “What did I remember? Well, quite a bit.”

Sure enough, Qing Ling’s expression tightened further.

Frowning, he bit his lip in trepidation and asked in a low voice, “Then, did you remember anything about the Qing family?”

Lowering his head again, Zhang Heng hovered close to Qing Ling’s neck and let out a low chuckle. “Are you really that afraid of dying?”

Qing Ling instinctively wanted to retort, “Nonsense, aren’t you afraid?” but the next instant he recalled that Shang Zhangheng was someone who had already died once. Following that, he realized this evil spirit was deliberately toying with him, leaving him simultaneously angry and vexed, a flush spreading across his fair cheeks.

“You!” Qing Ling reproached him with a mix of embarrassment and indignation, “Let go of me!”

Shang Zhangheng did not let go. Instead, he reached out to wrap an arm around Qing Ling’s slender waist and said candidly, “I won’t. You are my person, you are now, and when the time comes, you shall come with me as well.”

The natural, unquestioning obsession in his tone broke Qing Ling out in a cold sweat. He thought of A-yuan, who had died a violent death in the mountain valley; before death, A-yuan had clearly been such an honest and dependable person, yet after death, he had tried every trick to lure him into plunging off a cliff together. Miaoyuan had also said that what one was in life had nothing to do with what one became in death; an evil spirit was an evil spirit, entirely distinct from his own kind.

“Zhangheng.” Qing Ling’s voice trembled slightly. Tilting his head away, he looked remarkably pitiful. His lips moved for a moment before he pleaded in a soft whisper, “Let me go. I can set up a memorial tablet for you, burn paper money, and offer incense. Just let me go.”

“Set up a memorial tablet, eh?” Shang Zhangheng seemed to find this somewhat interesting. Raising his head, he pinched Qing Ling’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze, and asked softly, “And what shall be written on the tablet? The spirit tablet of my deceased husband, Shang Zhangheng?”

Qing Ling murmured quietly, “Yes. As long as you let me go, I will offer incense and worship to you every single day.”

If what Qing Congnan said was true, he might very well have lived until this day precisely because of Shang Zhangheng. But asking him to willingly march to his death was something Qing Ling could naturally never do. At the very least, he had to stay alive first. As for his peculiar constitution, he could always figure out other ways to deal with it later.

It wasn’t that Qing Ling had never thought of relying on Shang Zhangheng for protection, but this fierce ghost was hell-bent on taking his life. What if his memories completely recovered one day and he decided to go on a killing spree? How could he possibly survive then?

“No,” Shang Zhangheng refused, every single word crisp and absolute.

While Qing Ling thought as expected, he simultaneously felt a bitter ache in his heart.

Shang Zhangheng pulled Qing Ling extremely close, whispering clearly right beside his ear: “When everything is settled, I will take you away.”

Every word sounded as ambiguous and intimate as sweet lovers’ vows, yet to Qing Ling, it felt utterly chilling, this was clearly his death warrant.

Before dawn had broken, Qing Ling was invited onto a carriage. Qing Yuxiu had not yet been given a proper funeral, but nobody would fail to notice the absence of the mistress of the house during an ancestor-worship ceremony; Shen Qiuxin’s corpse had presumably already been discovered.

Following behind the carriage were several carts loaded with sacrificial offerings. Qing Ling only glanced at them roughly: row upon row of wooden crates, though what lay inside remained unknown.

Originally, Qing Ling was meant to share a carriage with Qing Wenlin, the concubine-born second young master whose birth mother had died early on in the Qing residence. However, he hadn’t expected Qing Wen (Qing Wenxu) to rush over just as they were about to set off. The eldest young master looked gloomy and menacing, exuding an aggressive aura as he glared at Qing Ling through gritted teeth.

“Bringer of bad luck,” Qing Wenxu said coldly.

This remark truly failed to ruffle Qing Ling in the slightest, but that didn’t mean he was going to swallow his insults in silence. In LinCang, the Qing family might appear to be a wealthy merchant household, but how large was LinCang after all? Furthermore, Shang Zhangheng, that fierce ghost, was a sword hanging right over the heads of everyone in the Qing family.

What if one day Shang Zhangheng remembered everything? Given the fierce ghost’s paranoid ruthlessness, he would undoubtedly send every single member of the Qing family packing. That truly would be treating everyone equally and keeping the scale balanced, leaving not a single person behind.

Therefore, Qing Ling merely sneered back, his voice indifferent. “Words have consequences. The precedent is still sitting right there in the estate.”

Qing Wenxu’s expression flickered slightly, a mix of shock and anger flashing across his face as he fiercely spat, “It really was you! A life for a life, the debts owed by my mother and my sister, you will pay them sooner or later!”

“That’s right,” Qing Ling lowered his eyes. “The one who took lives has already paid with her life.”

Perhaps his fate was the reason that drew the evil spirits here, but the female ghost who committed the murders clearly shared an unbreakable karmic tie with Shen Qiuxin; that had nothing to do with him.

Trembling with a gloomy, icy rage, Qing Wenxu was just about to speak when Qing Ling abruptly asked, “What are the sacrificial offerings?”

This question caused Qing Wenxu to pause for a moment. After all, he was the future head of the Qing family; he wouldn’t completely lose his mind simply from a few barbed remarks by Qing Ling. However, at the mention of the offerings, Qing Wenxu’s expression shifted subtly.

The very first person to discover Shen Qiuxin’s corpse had been Qing Wenxu, who went looking for her. He, too, had nearly been frightened out of his wits and had rushed in a panic to find his father. To his surprise, he ended up hearing certain deep-seated secrets of the Qing family from his father, which finally made him understand why those “sacrificial offerings” had to be prepared.

Giving Qing Ling a deep, meaningful look, Qing Wenxu said, “That is not something you should be meddling with.”

“Indeed,” the gentle and delicate Qing Wenlin said softly. “The offerings for the ancestral hall worship have always been prepared by Father in past years. Qing Ling, you’ve only just returned, so you don’t understand many things around the estate.”

Qing Ling spoke little and wasn’t particularly good at turning corners with his words. Although he didn’t quite catch Qing Wenlin’s implicit flattery, he could clearly hear the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

He couldn’t be bothered to pay any more attention to this pair of Qing family brothers when a familiar chill suddenly crept up beside him. Shifting his gaze slightly, he caught sight of the familiar dark hem of a robe, it was Shang Zhangheng, seated right beside him.

The Qing brothers sitting opposite couldn’t see him and their expressions remained unchanged, so Qing Ling didn’t make a sound either. Instead, Shang Zhangheng spoke first: “You Qing family members are truly fascinating. Every single one of you is weighed down by heavy karmic debts. Your good-for-nothing father and uncle even carry protective talismans on their bodies, presumably out of a guilty conscience. Guess who will die next?”

Qing Ling hesitated for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Qing Wenxu’s face without lingering.

Shang Zhangheng burst out laughing.

His little wife was somewhat different from what he had originally imagined. Weak, yes, but his temperament was cold, and he possessed enough ruthlessness.

“Why don’t you beg your husband?” Shang Zhangheng deliberately leaned close to Qing Ling’s ear, whispering, “To help you teach him a lesson.”

Lifting his eyes slightly, Qing Ling maintained a calm expression, though he was clearly tempted.

For eighteen years, the Qing family had treated him with almost total indifference, occasionally sending people to deliver a few supplies, but for the most part, they relied on Uncle Yu farming and hunting in the mountains, trading with passing foot peddlers for daily necessities. There had been one bitterly cold winter when Qing Ling fell ill for half a month, lacking both medicine and proper care. If he hadn’t stubbornly endured and fought through it on his own, he would have sickened and died right there in those deep mountains.

The Qing family harbored plots and schemes regarding him, and Qing Ling held deep resentment toward them as well. He didn’t understand any of that “repaying kindness with virtue” nonsense; he only knew that anyone who wanted to make things difficult for him shouldn’t expect to have an easy time either.

Qing Ling’s clear, ink-jade-like eyes fixed steadily upon Shang Zhangheng, the look in his gaze plainly spelling out: “Are you serious?”