Heh… heh heh…
A child's laughter, twisted and strange, echoed in the periphery of his hearing, sending a jolt of pain through his skull. Jiang Dao's vision blurred, the dim light of the room warping around him. Through the haze, he could almost see it: a shadowy child standing near his bed, its eyes hollowed out, its mouth split into a grotesque grin that reached its ears, just staring and laughing.
With a muffled groan, Jiang Dao forced his eyes open. He woke with a start, sucking in ragged breaths.
The laughter vanished.
The light in the room slowly swam back into focus. The air was thick with the faint, calming scent of sandalwood.
Just another dream…
He pushed himself up, his hands trembling on the edge of the bed. His whole body was slick with a cold sweat.
It had been three days. Three days since he'd woken up in this world.
At first, he'd thought it was just some generic, feudal-era backwater. But the things he'd learned in three short days were bizarre, almost unbelievable.
To put it simply, this world contains things that are beyond human understanding.
Three days ago, the body's original owner had stumbled into an old, abandoned house and collapsed. That's when he'd been pulled through. Ever since, he'd been trapped in the same nightmare, night after night.
In the dream, a pitch-black child with empty eyes and a terrifying, ear-to-ear grin would just stand there, laughing at him. The first night, it was outside his window, its eerie smile visible through the glass. The next night, it was inside his room. Then, it started getting closer to his bed. With each passing night, the child crept a little nearer.
Tonight, it had been only twenty feet away.
If that were the only problem, he might have been able to handle it. But across Hengzhou City, a string of bizarre and gruesome murders had been cropping up. People were whispering rumors—stories of the dead rising and walking again. It was all insane, impossible.
Jiang Dao finally swung his legs out of bed. He coughed, pulled on his boots, and threw a heavy sable-fur cloak over his shoulders before cracking open the door.
Sunlight streamed in. It was nearly noon.
"Young Master, you're awake?" a voice called out. Biyu, one of the housemaids, was walking toward him with a bowl of lotus seed soup. She hurried over.
"What's all the noise outside?" Jiang Dao asked. He could hear shouting coming from the front courtyard.
"It's… it happened again," Biyu said, her voice trembling. "All the servants in the Jinyang district… they're dead. Now the rest of the staff are in an uproar, trying to leave."
She was terrified, and for good reason. The grotesque way the servants had died was enough to shake anyone, but it was also the relentless pattern of death that had settled over Hengzhou. It had been two weeks of this, and the city was in a full-blown panic. Now, the city gates were sealed. If this kept up, there was no telling how many more would die.
Jiang Dao paused, processing. "How many this time?" he asked. "Was it… the same as the others?"
"Yes. Six of them," she nodded, her eyes wide with fear. "Daoist Changbai is already there looking into it."
Daoist Changbai.
The name conjured an image. The Jiang family had hired the so-called "enlightened" Daoist priest two weeks ago, paying a fortune for his supposed ability to suppress evil spirits and offer blessings. To his credit, Changbai had managed to resolve a few strange incidents, which had earned him a measure of respect.
The problem was that the man was a parasite.
Since taking up residence, he had started acting less like a guest and more like the lord of the manor. The Jiang family was the wealthiest in Hengzhou, with business stretching across four prefectures. They had more money than they knew what to do with. But while they employed plenty of skilled guards, their martial prowess was useless against… whatever this was. These things weren't flesh and blood.
And so, Daoist Changbai, with his mysterious, magical arts, paraded around the estate with an insufferable arrogance. He demanded payment of 300 silver taels a day. He required five meals, each with meat and wine. He had servants attend to his every whim, maids to warm his bed, and he made frequent trips to the apothecary to demand expensive, rare herbs.
Lately, he'd grown even bolder, turning his attention to the Jiang family itself. Jiang Dao remembered how the Daoist had harassed one of his younger sisters, "joking" that she should come "serve" him for a few days. The poor girl had been so terrified she hadn't left her room since.
His father, Jiang Dalong, had just smiled and scraped, terrified of offending the man. He'd promised to find other, younger maids to send to the Daoist's chambers, anything to appease him.
This man is bleeding us dry, Jiang Dao thought. If he stays, he'll be the ruin of this family.
But the old Daoist guarded his secrets jealously. Both Jiang Dao and his father had pleaded with him to take Jiang Dao on as an apprentice, but he'd refused every time, always with some flimsy excuse. The old bastard planned to use his mystical leverage to live off the Jiang family for the rest of his life.
Making a decision, Jiang Dao started toward the front courtyard.
"Young Master, your soup—" Biyu called after him.
"Leave it," he said over his shoulder. "I've lost my appetite."
The front courtyard was a mess of quiet sobbing and angry shouts. Jiang Dao rounded a corridor and stepped into the open space. Several bodies lay on the mossy flagstones, covered by white sheets. The hands sticking out from under the fabric were a deep, bruised purple, like they'd been stained with ink. It was a gruesome sight.
These were the dead servants. Their families wept over them.
In the center of it all stood Pang Lin, the head of the guards. His eyes were wide with fury as he gripped a heavy iron staff, blocking the path of several men who were trying to leave.
"No one goes anywhere without the master's permission!" Pang Lin roared. "What do you think this is? A hotel? You can't just come and go as you please! Anyone who takes another step dies!"
The servants, their bags already packed, shrank back from his fury, their faces pale with fear.
"You're only brave because you know kung fu!" one of them shot back, his voice shaking. "If you're so tough, why don't you go fight the real monsters instead of bullying us?"
"Yeah! We're not dying with this family. You can't make us!" another yelled.
"We're unarmed! Picking on us doesn't make you a hero!" a third chimed in.
"He may not be a hero, but what does that make you?"
A new voice, cold and sharp, cut through the noise. A portly, middle-aged man in a silk jacket strode into the courtyard. It was Jiang Dalong, the master of the house. At his side, a goat-bearded old Daoist in a green robe watched the scene with a smug little smile. An escort of more than a dozen guards armed with steel sabers followed close behind, their presence a clear threat.
"The master has returned!" Pang Lin announced, hurrying to greet him.
The other guards quickly fell in line. The servants who had been trying to flee now looked trapped, their bravado evaporating. As the richest family in Hengzhou, the Jiangs had enough power to make a few servants disappear without the local magistrate batting an eye.
"Master…" they mumbled, staring at the ground.
"When times are good, I pay you three silver qian a month to live here," Jiang Dalong said, his voice dripping with ice. "Now, at the first sign of trouble, you scatter like rabbits. Do I look like I'm running a charity? Go on, ask around. See who else in Hengzhou will pay you that much. You eat my food, you live under my roof, and now you want to run? You think it's that easy? You all signed a ten-year contract. Don't think for a second you can just walk away."
The servants didn't dare look up.
Jiang Dalong let out a cold snort. "Pang Lin, post a guard on them. If anyone tries to run, cut them down immediately. I'll take full responsibility."
"Yes, Master!" Pang Lin said, his expression grim as he bowed.
"And as for the rest of you," Jiang Dalong continued, his cold gaze sweeping over the remaining staff, "don't think you can just slip away in the night. From now on, anyone who reports a deserter will receive a reward of fifty silver taels. Anyone caught covering for them will be executed alongside them."
A stunned silence fell over the crowd.
Fifty taels. That was more than they could earn in years.
Slowly, the servants lowered their heads. Any thought of escape had vanished. With a few nervous, shuffling laughs, the crowd began to disperse.