Mistress of the Underworld and Her Little Celestial Wife - Chapter 10

Mu Yin was so moved by Si Lingqing’s actions that she almost cried. All her life, she had wanted to raise a cute pet, but she never expected her first pet to be her wife.

Holding the cat in her arms, Mu Yin had the servants come in one by one to question them and took notes.

She found that what the servants said aligned with the butler’s account people in Nine Stars Gate had started dying ever since she got married, and all the victims were from the inner household. The disciples of Nine Stars Gate and those who paid tuition just to strengthen their bodies remained unharmed.

She even learned from one servant that the senior sister of Nine Stars Gate had visited the south courtyard yesterday.

After some thought, Mu Yin decided she needed to meet this senior sister.

“Young Madam, it’s time for lunch. What would you like to eat?” a female disciple asked as she entered.

Having sat for the entire morning, Mu Yin felt a bit stiff. She stretched and stood up. “If it’s just me eating, don’t bother preparing anything. I’ll just grab something outside.”

The disciple thought for a moment and nodded. “Understood, Young Madam. I’ll go buy some food for you right away.”

“Ah, wait,” Mu Yin called out to her. “Has Hong Zhuang not returned yet?”

The disciple shook her head. “Senior Sister Hong Zhuang is still in the inner household. Should I go fetch her?”

Mu Yin figured Hong Zhuang must be occupied since she hadn’t returned yet. Since she also planned to ask the senior sister of Nine Stars Gate some questions, she decided not to call for her.

“No need,” Mu Yin said as she stood. “Don’t bother buying food either. I’ll just see what’s available outside the gate. Make sure no one from the inner household enters the south courtyard without permission.”

Truthfully, even without Mu Yin’s orders, no one dared approach the south courtyard except for those summoned by the butler.

After the disciple left, Mu Yin bent down and picked up Si Lingqing, giving her a gentle stroke. “Come out with me for a meal?”

Si Lingqing glanced at her but neither agreed nor refused.

Taking the lack of resistance as consent, Mu Yin carried the little black cat out, intending to follow the same path she took yesterday to find food.

But as she passed through the corridor, something in the corner of the courtyard caught her eye.

Curious, Mu Yin stopped and looked over, spotting a door hidden among the waist-high weeds.

A door?

Why was there a door here?

Mu Yin stared at it, thinking that it must have been too dark last night and the weeds too thick for her to notice.

But none of the disciples or servants had mentioned a door here either.

Intrigued, she noticed the door was secured only by a simple wooden latch. The early spring weeds had long withered, so Mu Yin stepped on them to clear a path and approached the door.

The wooden door, weathered by time, had peeling patches, and through the cracks, she could vaguely make out the scenery outside.

Beyond it was a small path in the inner household, and another gate was visible, with servants coming and going likely the estate’s back door.

When Mu Yin opened the wooden door and stepped out, pushing open the back gate revealed a street paved with bluestone.

Though not crowded, there were people about, and even a few donkey carts hauling waste barrels passed by Mu Yin.

Was this… the backstreet?

With a ‘whoosh,’ a sudden gust of wind swept across the ground. Mu Yin instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes, only to feel something slap onto her face with a ‘smack’!

“What the hell?!”

Startled, Mu Yin reflexively let go, causing Si Lingqing to tumble to the ground. The little cat looked up at the flustered Mu Yin and merely twitched her small ears.

When Mu Yin finally peeled the object off her face, she realized it was just a piece of paper.

The paper was coarse, covered in messy, indiscernible marks made by some unknown substance.

“What is this?” Mu Yin couldn’t tell which side was up, turning it over and over before glancing down at Si Lingqing by her feet. “Can you make sense of this?”

The tiny cat couldn’t see clearly, so Mu Yin crouched down and placed the paper in front of her.

“A petition,” Si Lingqing said.

Mu Yin was stunned. This chaotic scribble was actually a petition?

She wasn’t completely ignorant, petitions in dramas were always neat and orderly. But this sheet was a mess, its edges worn and tattered. How could these ghostly scribbles be a legal document?

Mu Yin wanted to ask Si Lingqing more, but noticing people still moving about on the backstreet, she decided against it, fearing her talking cat might terrify ordinary folks. She resolved to eat first and then question the cat properly about the petition.

Food stalls were scarce on the backstreet, but luckily, there was one selling dumplings.

After sitting down and ordering a bowl, Mu Yin noticed another small stall nearby.

It was a fortune-telling booth.

A middle-aged man in his thirties, with a medicinal plaster on his face, sat with his eyes closed in meditation. Beside him, a banner read ‘Divination,’ and the table was draped with a cloth displaying not the Eight Trigrams but some strange symbols.

“Young lady,” the fortune-teller slowly opened his eyes and turned to Mu Yin. “I see darkness over your brow. A blood calamity awaits you in days to come!”

Mu Yin: “…”

Before arriving here, she had been a staunch materialist, dismissing all supernatural beliefs. Naturally, she didn’t buy into the fortune-teller’s spiel.

Sensing her skepticism, the man flicked his horsetail whisk with an air of wisdom. “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve provoked spirits. Within three days, a ghost will possess you!”

Mu Yin froze, then glanced at the black cat in her arms.

She wasn’t sure about being possessed, but she had definitely been… mounted by a ghost.

“But fear not!” The man declared righteously. “This humble Daoist will surely cleanse the evil and turn your misfortune into blessing!”

Hearing this, the dumpling vendor rolled his eyes and whispered to Mu Yin, “Miss, don’t listen to this charlatan. He’s been set up here for half a month, and not a soul has come for his services. He’s a fraud, don’t fall for it!”

The fortune-teller scowled. “Elder Wang, you mind your business, and I’ll mind mine. Must you interfere?”

Vendor Wang tossed his cleaning rag over his shoulder and chuckled, placing Mu Yin’s order in front of her. Quietly, he advised, “Eat up and leave, miss. You’re young, don’t let this swindler fool you.”

The middle-aged man didn’t respond, just stared fixedly at the food in Mu Yin’s bowl, unconsciously swallowing hard.

Mu Yin glanced at him and asked, “Do you want some?”

The man immediately straightened up and said breezily, “This humble one has long abstained from grains. I don’t consume such mundane mortal fare.”

“Oh.” Mu Yin said regretfully, “I was going to order you a bowl if you wanted some. Since you say so, never mind then.”

Hearing this, the man quickly turned back, pleading repeatedly, “Miss, miss, please have mercy! I haven’t eaten in three days, wuwuwu…”

Watching this grown man sob so pitifully, Mu Yin gave him an exasperated look before ordering another bowl from the vendor and handing it to the fortune-teller.

The man, apparently starving, wolfed down the dumplings without caring if they were scalding hot. He even asked the vendor for a small dish of vinegar and a clove of garlic. Between bites, he told Mu Yin, “Dumplings must be eaten with vinegar and garlic! As the saying goes, a meal without garlic is half the flavor missing!”

With that, he crunched down on a garlic clove, took another bite of dumpling, and closed his eyes in satisfaction.

Mu Yin found this bizarre. Didn’t this man claim to have abstained from grains? Why was he eating like this?

After finishing half the bowl, the man seemed more comfortable and slowed his ravenous pace. Noticing Mu Yin watching him, he clasped his hands in greeting only to hurriedly put them down when he realized he was still holding chopsticks and garlic. “May I ask the young lady’s name?” he said. “This humble one is Zhang Maozi.”

Zhang Maozi even wrote his name down for Mu Yin to see which characters they were.

After reading it, Mu Yin smiled in understanding. “Greetings, Immortal Zhang. I’m Mu Yin, ‘yin’ as in ‘sound.’ I live just ahead at the Nine Stars Gate.”

Zhang Maozi said, “I know. I saw you come out from there. And please don’t call me Immortal Zhang, I’m not an immortal yet.”

“You said you’ve abstained from grains, and you tell fortunes too. Isn’t ‘Immortal Zhang’ fitting?”

“Too much, too much! Just call me Daoist Zhang, miss. ‘Immortal’ is too grand, it might shorten my lifespan.”

“Ah, alright then. Daoist Zhang.”

After they finished eating, Mu Yin sat at Zhang Maozi’s fortune-telling stall and handed him the “petition” she was holding.

Having eaten her food, Zhang Maozi politely accepted the paper. After examining it, his expression turned grave. “Miss, where did you get this petition?”

“It blew right into my face when I stepped out earlier,” Mu Yin said curiously. “Can you tell what’s written on it?”

Zhang Maozi studied it for a while before shaking his head apologetically. “I can only tell it’s a petition accusing Mu Yuefeng, the sect leader of Nine Stars Gate. Beyond that, I can’t decipher the details.”

A petition accusing Mu Yuefeng?

Mu Yin pressed, “Then do you know who wrote it?”

Zhang Maozi gave her a troubled look and said quietly, “A ghost, naturally.”

Mu Yin: “?”

Zhang Maozi continued, “This petition wasn’t written by a living person. It was written by the vengeful spirits in Nine Stars Gate’s courtyard, accusing Mu Yuefeng of killing them.”

A ghost-written petition? Accusing her own father?

Mu Yin couldn’t help but think of those who had recently died one after another in Nine Stars Gate. She felt those ghosts probably didn’t intend to kill the servants who had accidentally wandered in, but rather the Mu Yuefeng family.

The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Mu Yin looked up at Zhang Maozhi and asked, “Then do you know how this petition should be handled?”

Zhang Maozhi smiled and said to her, “Of course, a petition should be submitted to the authorities.”

Then he continued, “But since this petition was written by a ghost, the human authorities certainly won’t accept it. You’ll have to take it to the ghostly yamen.”

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