After Being Forced into Marriage with My Paranoid Dead Husband - Chapter 4

“I’ve never heard of our estate having a young master raised outside before.”

“Chunmei from the front courtyard said that Steward Liu, who went out a few days ago, went specifically to fetch this young master.”

“Tsk, this matter is bizarre. You said that the young master was found lying right in front of the main gate, but what about Steward Liu and the others?”

The whispering voices of the two young maids outside the window stopped simultaneously. After a long while, the voice that had consistently refrained from speaking piped up again, sounding somewhat skeptical: “Dead.”

“Ah? De, dead?”

“I heard about it just now when I went to fetch medicine. The Master sent people out to search, and Steward Liu and his men… they all died in the small woods outside the city. I heard they were all hanged and hanged with white silk at that.”

After another long pause, the other voice let out a shuddering chuckle laced with an inexplicable undertone. “Then heaven has truly opened its eyes. This young master of ours is simply too ominous.”

The two chattered back and forth outside while Qing Ling, who had been awake for quite a while, listened in silence from inside.

He was lying on an exceptionally spacious bed outfitted with soft mattresses and quilts. His injuries also seemed to have been properly tended to. The surrounding environment was utterly unfamiliar, vastly superior to his dilapidated little courtyard in the mountains. The windows featured carved and painted floral designs, and the furnishings were exquisite and refined—a scene he had previously only read about in books, yet had never been able to truly picture.

Now that he saw it, Qing Ling only felt as though a heavy stone were pressing down on his chest, suffocating him to the point of breathlessness.

He felt as though he had inexplicably been dragged into a terrifying, massive web, where horrifying, sinister faces hung from intersecting silk threads: the rotting A-Yuan, the hanged Steward Liu, and—that pair of eyes filled with venomous, malevolent hostility.

It was pure malice, coupled with an extreme, marrow-deep hatred, resembling an antique, rusted bronze sword whose concealed sharpness could strip away a layer of flesh and blood at the slightest touch, chilling one to the bone.

Yet where had that evil entity gone?

Qing Ling recalled that his last memory was in the carriage, inexplicably losing consciousness. Needless to say, it was undoubtedly the handiwork of that thing. However, right before losing consciousness, he seemed to have heard something or perhaps it was merely an illusion but in any case, he had successfully arrived at the Qing residence just as he wished.

As for the two people outside, they were likely servants of the Qing clan as well. They seemed to dislike that Steward Liu, otherwise they wouldn’t have cheered for his death. Qing Ling cared little for the lives and deaths of those people, but he had caught a key word white silk.

He too had nearly died beneath that strip of white silk yesterday, if not for…

Qing Ling closed his eyes coldly.

To hell with “if not for.”

That thing was like a beast guarding its prey, likely just unwilling to let him die at the hands of some other miscellaneous evil entity.

Qing Ling had remained silent throughout. Steward Yu Bo had taught him to read and understand propriety, and had also told him that one day the Qing clan would come to fetch him back. Yet looking at it now, the servants of the Qing clan hadn’t even known of his existence prior to this. Acting was better than reacting, but the two maids outside hadn’t discussed anything particularly useful, rambling haphazardly back and forth.

Until the door was pushed open and a maid dressed in goose-yellow garments walked in carrying a bowl of medicine, appearing to be only around thirteen or fourteen years of age.

Their gazes met. Qing Ling did not feign unconsciousness, calmly meeting the maid’s astonished stare.

“You… no, Young Master Qing Ling.” The maid immediately stepped forward obligingly, placing the medicine bowl aside. “This servant is An’er. When did the Young Master wake up? Why didn’t you let anyone know?”

With that, she reached out to support Qing Ling’s arm, but the next instant she violently yanked her hand back and even stepped back a pace, her expression a mix of bewilderment and faint terror.

Qing Ling was also slightly startled. He had never been accustomed to such service, but the other person’s reaction was clearly abnormal.

“Just woke up.” Qing Ling sat up by himself, unobtrusively touching his arm without finding anything amiss.

Yet An’er still wore a shaken expression, hurriedly offering a bow as she said, “This—this servant will go inform the Master.”

Even as she hurried out the door, her complexion remained deathly pale. Through her clothes just moments before, she had felt a bone-piercing, freezing chill. Although it wasn’t midsummer, how could a living person feel as cold as a block of ice? It felt just like… a corpse.

Qing Ling quickly awaited his biological father—the head of the Qing household who tightly clutched the clan’s assets: Qing Congnan.

Qing Congnan was just past forty years of age, wearing a dark blue robe embroidered with patterns, his hair tied up with a scholar’s hairpin and sporting a beard. Well-fed and plump with a ruddy complexion, upon seeing Qing Ling he hurried forward, repeatedly calling him “my child,” asking how he had fared all these years and lamenting how hard his journey had been, displaying a truly utmost degree of solicitude.

After Steward Yu Bo left, Qing Ling rarely spoke with anyone and took a moment to adjust to his biological father’s sudden intimacy, simply offering a couple of soft responses until Qing Congnan heaved a sigh, adopting a heavier tone as he said: “Ling, do not blame your father for raising you in the mountains. Even a fierce tiger will not devour its cubs; how could your father not wish to bring you back? But when you were born, the timing was ill-fated, attracting the covetous gaze of… unclean things.”

At this point, Qing Congnan’s expression turned somewhat peculiar, resembling a faint trace of disgust.

Recalling what Master Miaoyuan—whom he had met on the mountain path had said about his “peculiar destiny,” alongside Qing Congnan’s mention of his inauspicious birth date and the frequent bizarre occurrences over the past few days, it seemed everything followed a traceable line of logic.

Qing Congnan continued: “Your mother died because of this as well. To protect your life, your father had no choice but to take it upon himself to arrange a ghost marriage for you, leaving you in that ancient tomb beneath Dragon-Slaying Mountain. Otherwise, how could you have survived until today? A few days ago, when there were unusual disturbances at Dragon-Slaying Mountain, your father knew that entity had agreed to offer its protection, and immediately sent people to fetch you home. I only regret that it was delayed so long before you finally returned.”

No wonder that evil entity kept calling him “my wife” they had actually truly been wed as husband and wife in a ghost marriage.

Qing Ling found it absurd to the extreme, his mind spinning rapidly.

At first glance, these words sounded precisely like those of a father racking his brains and meticulously scheming for his child’s safety, yet upon closer inspection, the loopholes were numerous. As far as Qing Ling knew, the territory of Great Xia was vast, governing thirty-in-eight prefectures. Lincang was merely a small city in Ming Prefecture on the southeastern border, not to mention—how much capability could a mere merchant family residing in Lincang possibly possess?

How did they know there was an ancient tomb beneath Dragon-Slaying Mountain, and how did they manage to arrange that ghost marriage? And what about the so-called “unusual disturbances”? A few days ago… wasn’t that precisely the timing of that evil entity’s appearance? The journey required a full day and night by carriage; how did the Qing clan learn of what happened inside Dragon-Slaying Mountain so quickly?

Qing Ling knew that Qing Congnan had no intention of explaining further, and even if he asked, he wouldn’t necessarily hear the truth. He held no emotional attachment toward this father he was meeting for the very first time, so he simply nodded and asked seemingly offhandedly: “Where is Steward Liu? I fell asleep in the carriage last night and woke up right here.”

A momentary shift crossed Qing Congnan’s face resembling fear before he quickly composed himself, smiled, and said, “Pay him no mind. As long as my child has returned safely, that is all that matters. In a few days, we shall visit the ancestral hall to pay respects to our forebears, and you can offer incense to our ancestors so the Qing lineage knows you have returned to acknowledge your ancestry.”

After that, Qing Congnan never mentioned Steward Liu and his party again, clearly demonstrating an extreme reluctance to broach the subject. Offering a few more perfunctory, trivial expressions of concern, he excused himself on the pretext of pressing official matters.

Qing Ling watched him leave calmly, regarding this biological father with an expression no different from how he would view a stone by the roadside.

Today, Qing Congnan had cleared up many of his doubts, and everything sounded entirely rational and justified on the surface—yet it crumbled under deeper scrutiny. And more importantly, there was that evil entity!

Qing Ling gripped the quilt tightly, his already pale knuckles losing whatever remaining trace of blood they had. From beginning to end, Qing Congnan hadn’t uttered a single word about how he intended to deal with that evil entity. All that talk of “husband and wife” and “protection”—the killing intent that entity held toward him had nearly condensed into substance!

As for why it hadn’t made a move yet, perhaps it wanted to keep him around to toy with and humiliate him for a few more days, or perhaps for some other reason; but that evil entity was like a wild beast, and sooner or later, it would claim his life.

Qing Ling gritted his teeth.

He did not want to die.

Much less did he want to die so unclearly and incomprehensibly at the hands of an evil entity.

.

Qing Ling only suffered external injuries that were not severe, allowing him to get out of bed by the following day. However, Qing Congnan had given instructions for him to properly recuperate and even exempted him from offering morning greetings, treating him as though he had simply been relocated from the mountain courtyard to the Qing residence. As the eldest branch’s third young master who had been cast outside for eighteen years, not a single soul came to visit him.

Qing Ling knew that apart from the legitimate eldest son born to the current matriarch of the Qing clan, he also had a concubine-born second elder brother. Aside from Qing Congnan’s visit the previous day, Qing Ling had not laid eyes on anyone else.

Moreover, there was another matter Qing Ling could not wrap his head around.

Ancestor worship usually took place during major festivals, Qingming, or the winter solstice. With the Dragon Boat Festival having just passed, what kind of ancestor worship ceremony was this?

Leaning against the corridor pillar beneath the eaves, Qing Ling let out a sigh. He had nowhere to gather information; this courtyard was allocated only two minor maids An’er, whom he had briefly crossed paths with that day, and Fu’er, the one gossiping with An’er outside.

That maid named An’er was exceptionally strange, seeming too terrified to meet his gaze. Every time Qing Ling called for her, An’er would hurriedly lower her head, and occasionally he could catch genuine, unfeigned panic and terror in her eyes.

He managed to pry quite a bit of information out of Fu’er, however. For instance, the Qing ancestral hall was located in an ancient residence in the southern part of the city, and ancestor worship was conducted annually without fail. Yet whenever Steward Liu was brought up, Fu’er steadfastly refused to elaborate further, though Qing Ling suspected she knew something. After all, on the day he woke up, he had heard Fu’er remarking outside that Steward Liu’s death was “heaven opening its eyes.”

White silk, death by hanging Fu’er had spoken those words upon hearing of that specific method of death. That strip of white silk that had nearly claimed his life seemed to carry some hidden backstory.

The final streak of crimson from the setting sun melted into the night. Qing Ling twisted the sleeve embroidered with water-cloud patterns, intending to stand up and return to his room, when his entire body was abruptly enveloped in an extremely chilling, familiar aura.

He stiffened entirely.

Then, he felt an icy, lifeless embrace bind him tightly from behind.

He was back that evil entity!

“How pitiful,” the voice mocked, cold and gloomy, the faint breath it stirred up equally devoid of warmth as it sneered and continued, “You racked your brains trying to escape all the way here, and what did it get you?”

Qing Ling remained silent for a long moment before speaking with hesitation and a somewhat subtle tone: “So you actually know how to speak this many words.”

The evil entity presumably hadn’t expected him to come back with such a remark, rendering it temporarily speechless.

Man and entity fell into this bizarre silence once more, the atmosphere throughout the entire courtyard growing as quiet as a falling pin.

Qing Ling hadn’t meant anything else by it. After all, during their previous encounters, this entity’s voice had been dry and slow, incapable of stringing together more than a few words at a time. But if it could converse normally, he wasn’t entirely without a chance to negotiate and maneuver with this entity.