第一章:归来
中华民国十九年初夏（1930年）.苏州潮湿闷热.
沈云卿站在府门前,手里提着一个半穿的皮箱.他的白衬衫被汗水浸透,汗湿地贴在背上.朱红色大门上的黄铜门环锈迹斑斑,守门的石狮左眼上有一道裂痕,像是一道裂痕.屋顶翻起的屋檐和角落默默刺入铅灰色的天空.一切都熟悉,却又带着一丝令人不安的奇异感.
五年.他回来了.
"少爷!"
管家沈福从侧门跌跌撞撞地走了出来,灰色布袍皱巴巴的.看到云清时,他急刹车,泪水在浑浊的眼眶中打转."你...你终于回来了."
"傅叔."云卿放下行李箱,心头一紧——沈福左太阳穴上有一道新疤,深红色,像蜈蚣一样盘旋."家里有什么问题吗?"
沈甫避开了他的目光,喉结微微上下动."主人和夫人...等你很久了."他接过行李箱,声音压得很低."少爷,无论你看到什么,都不要惊慌."
月门内,庭院死一般寂静.
云清记得——过去这个季节,院子里的海棠花应该盛开.女仆们会在树下绣花,笑声如风铃在屋檐下叮当作响.现在,大多数海苹果树已经枯萎,零星的花瓣散落在地上,没有人清理.几个仆人匆匆走过.看到他,他们像见了鬼一样一惊,迅速躲进走廊深处.
最奇怪的是那些符咒.
黄色的纸张上刻有辰砂铭文,贴满了每扇门楣,在闷热的风中轻轻飘动.桃木剑挂在窗格上,井边站着石守者,甚至走廊的柱子都缠绕着褪色的红线.整座宅邸宛如一具被咒语缝合在一起的尸体.
"云青——"
他的母亲从月门后冲出来,手指痛苦地掐进他的手臂.她消瘦,几乎认不出来,太阳穴有白斑,眼睛布满血丝.
"母亲..."
"那幅画,就是那幅画!"她的声音嘶哑,指甲几乎刺破他的衬衫."你父亲...他快疯了,整天对着画说话,不吃东西...云青,救沈家,救你父亲!"
"什么画?"
母亲张口欲言,但正当她开口时,主厅的门吱呀一声打开了.
沈怀善站在阴影中.
云青屏住了呼吸.他的父亲,曾经高大挺拔,如今却像一根老竹竿一样驼背,脸颊凹陷,眼窝发暗,胡须凌乱且花白.只有他的眼睛异常明亮,像快熄灭的炭火中最后的余烬.
"云青."父亲的声音干涩如裂开的泥土."进来吧."
书房的门窗紧闭,闷热与檀香和霉味交织在一起.父亲锁上门,然后从一个古玩柜里的秘密隔层里拿出一卷卷轴.他的手剧烈颤抖,花了三次才解开绑绳.
卷轴一展开,云青脖子上的汗毛竖了起来.
是个新娘.
一件绣有金色和凤凰的华丽红色婚纱,半张脸上戴着带有珠饰流苏的凤凰王冠.露出的那半边皮肤洁白如石灰,而她的嘴唇却鲜红如血.她端庄地坐在梳妆台前,铜镜映出同样的脸——只是镜中的嘴角微微上扬.
无论云青站在哪里,那位画中女子的目光都紧随着他.
"这是谁寄来的?"
"我不知道."父亲点燃了一支烟,烟火在昏暗中闪烁."五年前你登上这艘船的那天,这幅画出现在书房里.只有一封信——"他从卷轴上抽出一张泛黄的纸.上面用血色墨水写着一行小而规则的文字:
沈师傅,二十年前在白石岭许下的诺言该履行了.
"什么承诺?"
His father was silent for a long time, cigarette ash sprinkling to the floor. "The year you turned two, the Shen family was drowning in debt. I was at my wit's end and went to Ci'en Temple to seek a divination. The abbot said... I needed to arrange a yin marriage (spirit marriage) to change my fortune."
Cold sweat broke out on Yunqing's palm.
"There was a girl in the neighboring village named Bai Xiumiang. She died in childbirth at eighteen. Her family found me and said if I would use your birth characters to conduct a posthumous marriage with her, her dowry would go to the Shen family." His father's voice grew lower and lower. "That sum... happened to be exactly enough to cover the debt."
The study was so quiet only breathing could be heard.
"You agreed." Yunqing heard his own voice sound eerily cold.
"I... I thought at the time, it was just a formality." His father stubbed out the cigarette, covering his face with both hands. "The agreement was that twenty years later, when you turned twenty-two, we would set up a memorial tablet for her and provide perpetual offerings. I thought that was all..."
"What happened these past five years?"
"Ever since this painting arrived, every night at the hour of Zi (midnight), there would be the sound of a woman weeping." His father looked up, eyes bloodshot. "At first it was in the servants' quarters, then it moved to the main courtyard. The maids said they saw a woman in red wedding clothes combing her hair by the well. The servants quit one by one, refusing to stay no matter how much money we offered." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. "Until last month, I saw with my own eyes... she walked out of the painting."
Yunqing snapped his gaze back to the scroll.
"She stood right by my bed, asking me—" His father imitated a kind of shrill tone, chilling to the bone, "'Master Shen, where is my husband? You said twenty years later, he would come to see me.'"
Suddenly, a wind rose outside, making the talisman papers rustle noisily.
"You turn twenty-two in one month." His father grabbed Yunqing's wrist; the hand felt as cold as a corpse's. "She said she wants to see you. Just one meeting, and she'll spare the Shen family."
"What if I don't?"
His father didn't answer, just slowly began to roll up the scroll. Before the last section of the painting was hidden, Yunqing saw—
The bride's hand, originally resting on her knee, had lifted. Her index finger was slightly bent, pointing directly at him.
At the same time, a faint, elusive fragrance permeated the study—like old rouge mixed with the smell of earth.
"She's already waiting for you." His father's voice was light as a sigh.
A sudden scream erupted from the main hall.
When Yunqing rushed out, he saw his mother slumped on the bluestone ground, her face ashen as she pointed a trembling finger at the central courtyard—
On the rim of the ancient well, plastered with talismans, sat a pair of embroidered shoes.
Bright red satin, embroidered with golden mandarin ducks. The toes pointed inward, as if someone was sitting facing the well.
They were damp, still dripping water.
Chapter 2: The First Meeting
Just past the hour of Zi (midnight), Shen Yunqing lay awake in the dark.
Outside the window, the talisman papers rustled in the wind, like countless night moths battering against the panes. He tried to use the logic he'd learned in Paris to explain it all—his father, under business pressure, hallucinating; servants spreading rumors; those talismans merely psychological comfort. But the wet shoe prints by the well were still etched in his mind.
Creak—
That wasn't the wind.
It was footsteps. Extremely light, extremely slow, each step seeming to tread on thick carpet, yet piercingly clear. Accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric, a shasha sound, like silk dragging across bluestone.
Yunqing held his breath, slowly turning his head.
Moonlight filtered through the window paper, casting a slender silhouette upon it. The silhouette stopped in the courtyard, opening an umbrella—the ribs clearly outlined. The canopy must have been red, because the moonlight passing through it dyed the window paper a dull, blood-like hue.
He saw the silhouette slowly turn.
The neck turned at an angle unnatural for a living person, like a puppet pulled by strings—click, click—until it finally faced his window completely.
"Shen Yunqing—"
The voice seeped through the window paper, thin as a sliver of ice, yet each word distinct:
"You've finally... come back."
Yunqing sat up abruptly, sweat drenching his sleepwear.
Outside the window was empty.
A dream? He threw off the covers and got out of bed, bare feet meeting the cold floorboards. He pushed open the window. Night wind rushed in, carrying the musty scent of well water. The bluestone flags in the moonlight shimmered with dampness, not dew—
It was a trail of footprints.
A woman's embroidered shoe prints, small and delicate, winding out from the direction of the well, each step leaving a shallow puddle that glistened in the moonlight. The direction of the footprints... led to his father's study.
Yunqing threw on an outer coat and pushed open his door.
The mansion was deathly still. Talismans swayed gently under the eaves; the shadows of the peach-wood swords danced menacingly on the walls. He followed the trail of dampness through the corridors, stopping outside the study door.
A sliver of candlelight leaked from the crack, flickering.
And there was murmuring.
Not his father's voice. A woman's voice, soft and melodious, humming some tune. Like a nursery rhyme, or an opera aria, fragmented and indistinct.
Yunqing pushed the door open.
The candlelight flickered violently.
On the desk, the painting scroll was fully unfurled. The bride in the painting was gone, leaving behind a stark, blank expanse of xuan paper, as if the person had just stepped off the page.
And sitting in his father's customary Huanghuali round-backed armchair was precisely her.
The grand red wedding dress appeared almost black in the candlelight, the gold-embroidered phoenix seeming to rise and fall slightly with her breathing—she was actually breathing. The beaded tassels of the phoenix crown were pushed aside, revealing her full face. Her skin was extremely white, white like fine xuan paper; her lips extremely red, red like freshly dipped vermilion. Beautiful? Yes. But it was a beauty carrying the chill of a coffin, a beauty that made one afraid to look directly.
She raised her head and looked at Yunqing.
"Our first meeting." She rose, performing a graceful bow, her skirt not stirring in the slightest. "My husband."
Yunqing's nails dug into his palm; the pain convinced him this wasn't a dream.
"Bai Xiumiang?"
"That is me." She smiled, the curve of her mouth exactly matching the painting's. "Twenty years. You've grown up."
"What do you want?"
"Marry me." She said it lightly, as if commenting on the weather. "Complete the ceremony from back then. My tablet enters the ancestral hall, perpetual incense, our status as husband and wife settled."
"Impossible." Yunqing heard his own voice go dry. "Separated by life and death—this goes against the natural order."
"The natural order?" She laughed softly, a sound like shattering porcelain. "Did your father think of the 'natural order' when he took my dowry? Did he think of the separation of life and death when he used your birth characters to wed me?"
She took a step forward. The candlelight stretched her shadow, twisting it to cover the entire wall.
"Shen Yunqing, do you think I only want a name?" She raised her hand, slender fingers touching her own neck. "Guess, how did I die?"
Where her fingertips traced, a deep purple ligature mark slowly appeared, flesh seeming to turn outward, as if from a rope just removed.
"The midwife said I died of postpartum hemorrhage." Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "But I remember clearly—just as the baby's head crowned, someone looped a white silk cord around my neck from behind. I struggled, kicked over the brass basin, blood and water spilling everywhere... but it was no use. The baby was stuck beneath me, and we both stopped breathing together."
Yunqing's stomach churned.
"Do you know who hired the killer?"
He dared not answer.
"It was your father, Shen Huaishan." As she spoke the name, a flash of blood-red light appeared in her eyes. "Back then, he came to our village to buy tea, sweet-talked me with pretty words... When I got pregnant, he said the Shen family couldn't marry a village girl, threw me ten silver dollars and told me to 'deal with it' myself."
She took a jade pendant from her sleeve, green and lustrous, tied with a faded red cord.
"This was his personal belonging. He said 'seeing this jade is like seeing me.'" The pendant swayed in her palm. "I was a fool, really believed he would come back for me. When my belly grew too big to hide, when my parents threatened to beat me to death, I clung to that last shred of hope and went to Suzhou to find him. Guess what I saw?"
Yunqing remained silent.
"He was grandly marrying your mother, the daughter of the Suzhou Chamber of Commerce president." She sneered. "Even the sedan chair was carried by eight men. I called out to him from the crowd. He glanced at me, that look in his eyes... like looking at a stray dog on the roadside."
The candle flame crackled, a spark popping.
"Later, he sent someone to find me, said he'd arrange a place for me to have the baby, give me some money afterward." She stroked the ligature mark on her neck. "The day I went, the midwife was already waiting. When the birth was halfway, the white silk cord came down."
She raised her head. There were no tears in her eyes, only a lifeless black.
"After I died, he didn't even buy me a coffin. Wrapped me in a straw mat and tossed me into a mass grave. Then he turned to my parents and said he was willing to arrange a posthumous marriage for me, give me a resting place, as long as they gave him my 'dowry'—my mother's lifelong savings, two gold hairpins."
Yunqing staggered back a step, his back hitting the doorframe.
"You don't believe me?" Bai Xiumiang handed the pendant over. "Go ask him. Ask if he remembers Bai Xiumiang from the foot of White Stone Ridge. Ask if he remembers this jade he personally tied around my neck."
The jade felt icy cold in Yunqing's hand. Holding it up to the candlelight, he saw on the front were carved the characters "Huai Shan," on the back, "Long Life and Hundred Years"—the birth jade every Shen family descendant received.
"Now I give you a choice." Bai Xiumiang's voice suddenly drew near. Yunqing looked up sharply to find her standing a step away, emitting a strange odor of old earth and face powder."Either, follow the full three letters and six etiquettes, light the red wedding candles, complete the spirit marriage ceremony with me. I enter your Shen family ancestral hall, and our enmity is settled."
"Or—" She stretched out her hand, pale fingers almost touching Yunqing's cheek. "I will go find Su Wanyan. That properly betrothed fiancée of yours, the Su family young lady everyone in Suzhou knows."
Yunqing's pupils constricted. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Why wouldn't I dare?" She chuckled lightly. "Let your father taste what it's like to watch a loved one die before his eyes. Just like my parents, when they found me in the mass grave, my body already rotting, the baby in my belly..."
She didn't finish.
Outside the window, the wind suddenly stopped. All the talisman papers hung motionless at once.
From the shadows in the corner of the study came the faint cry of an infant.
Only one cry, then it was gone.
Bai Xiumiang's figure began to fade, like ink drops dispersing in water, thread by thread. But her voice remained clearly in the air:
"You have three days. Three days from now, at the hour of Zi, I want your answer."
As the last trace of red dissipated, the scroll on the desk rolled up by itself with a snap.
Yunqing stood in place, the icy jade clutched in his palm. The candles had gone out at some point. Moonlight streamed in from the window, falling on the empty armchair.
On the chair, there was a small puddle of moisture.
Slowly seeping into the wood, forming a vague pattern—
Like a curled-up infant.
Chapter 3: Seeking the Truth
At the first light of dawn, Shen Yunqing pushed open the study door.
Shen Huaishan was slumped over the desk asleep, an empty wine pot beside his hand. Morning light crept over the windowsill, falling on his graying temples; those white hairs looked especially stark in the light.
"Father."
Shen Huaishan jolted awake, his bleary eyes meeting Yunqing's gaze. He instinctively tried to force a smile, but it froze on his face—he saw the jade in Yunqing's palm.
"This... how did this get to you..." He reached to snatch it, but Yunqing closed his fist.
"Bai Xiumiang gave it to me." Yunqing's voice was terrifyingly calm. "She said it was the love token you gave her."
Shen Huaishan seemed to have his bones removed, collapsing back into the chair.
"She said she was strangled. She said the one who hired the killer was you."
The air in the study solidified. In the distance, a rooster crowed, once, twice, tearing through the morning stillness.
"Is it true?"
Shen Huaishan's lips quivered, finally squeezing out: "Yes... but it wasn't my intention..."
Yunqing closed his eyes. That last shred of hope shattered.
"I was nineteen that year, went to White Stone Ridge to buy the new tea crop." Shen Huaishan's voice was dry, like sandpaper on wood. "I stayed at her house for half a month. Her father was a tea farmer, she was... she was a girl steeped in mountain spring water, eyes so bright you could see your reflection."
He trembled, reaching for the wine pot, found it empty, and dropped his hand despondently.
"I promised to marry her. Said I'd bring it up with the family once back in Suzhou." He gave a bitter smile. "But my father—hearing she was a tea farmer's daughter—smashed his teacup on the spot. He said the Shen family was trying to forge ties with the Su family; marrying a village girl would make the whole Chamber of Commerce laugh at us."
"So you gave her money, sent her away?"
"I gave her a hundred silver dollars!" Shen Huaishan suddenly grew agitated. "In those days, a hundred silver could buy ten mu of land in the countryside! I said once the child was born, we'd have it adopted, she could marry a good man, be well-provided for all her life..."
"And then?"
"She refused. She came to Suzhou pregnant, looking for me, right when I was getting engaged to Yulan (Yunqing's mother)." His voice dropped. "I panicked, had the steward settle her in a cottage outside the city, found a midwife. I only instructed them to take the baby once born, send it to an orphanage... I truly never told her to kill anyone!"
Yunqing stared at him. "How much did you give the midwife?"
"F-fifty silver dollars..."
"A normal delivery cost two silver dollars." Yunqing enunciated each word. "Father, fifty silver to buy a life—in those troubled times, that was enough."
Shen Huaishan's face turned utterly ashen.
"Now she wants revenge." Yunqing said. "Either I marry her, or she kills Su Wanyan. She said she wants you to taste the pain of losing a loved one before your eyes."
"Wanyan?!" Shen Huaishan shot to his feet. "No! We can't afford to offend the Su family, not to mention..."
"Not to mention the business would collapse?" Yunqing laughed, the laugh full of mockery. "Father, twenty years later, you still only know how to calculate accounts."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Shen Huaishan grabbed his sleeve, fingers icy cold. "Yunqing, I'll hire Taoists, hire eminent monks, spend everything I have! There must be a way..."
"She's not a ghost." Yunqing pried his fingers off one by one. "She's the person you pushed down a well. The well lid pressed down for twenty years, and now she's climbed out."
In the morning light, the shadows of father and son stretched long, separated by an unbridgeable chasm.
The Su residence was in the south of the city, built by the river. Pink walls and black tiles set against green waters, it held more elegance than the Shen mansion. As the steward led Yunqing through the corridors, he heard the sound of a pipa lute from the rear garden.
Ding-ding-dong-dong, playing "Moonlit Night at Xunyang." The technique wasn't top-notch, but each note was clean, like raindrops on bluestone.
Under the wisteria arbor in the back garden, Su Wanyan held the pipa, her profile edged in gold by the morning light. She wore a moon-white cheongsam with pale purple wisteria embroidered at the collar, her long hair loosely coiled at the nape. Hearing footsteps, she looked up.
The prepared words in Yunqing's throat stuck.
She had extremely clear eyes. Not the clarity of innocence, but the clarity of having seen storms yet still choosing lucidity. Now these eyes reflected his image, holding just the right amount of curiosity and a trace of understanding.
"Young Master Shen." She set down the pipa, rose, and gave a slight bow. "I've heard much about you."
"Young Lady Su knew I was coming?"
"The Shen household was rather noisy last night." Wanyan gestured for him to sit, personally pouring tea. "The night watchman said after the hour of Zi, there was the sound of a woman weeping from your house. This morning at the market, they're already saying Master Shen is haunted by a vengeful spirit."
Yunqing gave a wry smile. "Suzhou has no secrets."
"Then," Wanyan pushed the teacup toward him, "is it true?"
He was silent a moment, then took the jade pendant from his bosom and placed it on the stone table.
Wanyan didn't touch it, just looked quietly for a moment. "Bai Xiumiang?"
"You've heard the name?"
"Three years ago, I accompanied my mother to Ci'en Temple to offer incense. By chance, I saw a memorial tablet in the Hall of the Departed." Wanyan's voice was soft. "No name, no surname, just 'Lady Bai of White Stone Ridge.' The abbot said she was a poor soul, died in childbirth, had no one to make offerings, so the temple kept a place for her."
She looked up at Yunqing. "At the time, a jade piece just like this was placed before that tablet. The abbot said a devotee left it, comes every Qingming Festival to add oil and incense money, but never leaves a name."
Yunqing's fingers tightened. "My father?"
"Perhaps." Wanyan paused. "Young Master Shen, have you come today to warn me to avoid danger?"
"Yes."
"And then?" Wanyan asked. "If I avoid it, what do you plan to do?"
Yunqing didn't answer.
Wanyan sighed softly. "I've known since I was fourteen that I was to marry you. Every year when the Shen family sent New Year's gifts, they'd include your photos from France. I watched you grow from a youth to a young man, read your letters about Parisian cafés, sunsets on the Seine. I thought, though we've never met, it feels like I've known you for a long time."
She picked up the teacup, her fingertips slightly pale. "And now you're back, but because of an old debt, you have to go marry a dead woman?"
"I can't let you be in danger."
"What if I said," Wanyan set down the teacup, looking directly into his eyes, "I'm willing to take that risk?"
Yunqing was taken aback.
"I want to see her." Wanyan's voice was firm. "Not as your fiancée, but as a woman. Perhaps I can understand her hatred. Perhaps... I can find a third way."
"It's too dangerous. She's not ordinary..."
"I know." Wanyan interrupted him. "But I've read books, heard many stories. Vengeful spirits linger because they have unfinished wishes. If she only wanted your life, why wait twenty years? What she wants... perhaps isn't revenge at all."
A breeze blew through, wisteria petals showering down, landing in her hair.
Suddenly, Yunqing realized that in this marriage arranged by their families, he had never considered what kind of person she might be. He thought she'd be a demure young lady from a good family, or perhaps a spoiled young miss. He never expected a woman willing to face a vengeful ghost head-on.
"Why?" he asked.
Wanyan smiled, the smile tinged with bitterness. "Because if it were me, wronged and dead for twenty years, I'd become a vengeful ghost too. Putting myself in her shoes, that's all."
In the distance, bell sounds drifted over—the morning bell from Ci'en Temple.
Yunqing looked at the woman before him, morning light dancing on her eyelashes. He suddenly remembered Bai Xiumiang's blood-red eyes, remembered her venom when she said, "I'll find Su Wanyan."
Two women. One died because of his father. The other was in danger because of his father.
"Three days from now, at the hour of Zi, she wants my answer." Yunqing finally said. "If you truly wish to see her... come to the Shen house then."
Wanyan nodded. "Alright."
As he rose to leave, Yunqing reached the garden gate and couldn't help looking back.
Wanyan had picked up the pipa again, tuning it with lowered head. Sunlight filtered through the wisteria arbor, casting dappled light and shadow on her. She suddenly looked up and gave him a faint smile.
At that moment, something in Yunqing's heart stirred gently.
Leaving the Su residence, he felt for the jade pendant in his coat. The jade glowed warmly in the morning light; the place carved with "Huai Shan" seemed to have a faint crack.
As if it had been smashed hard once, then carefully mended.
He suddenly remembered his father's words: "I truly never told her to kill anyone."
But if the midwife really acted on her own, why did his father secretly make offerings at Ci'en Temple every year for twenty years?
Why didn't he dare tell the whole truth?
Yunqing gripped the pendant tightly, the cold seeping into his palm.
Three days left. He had to find that midwife.
Chapter 4: The Three Confront
After nightfall, Shen Manor was like a massive tomb.
As Yunqing led Wanyan through the Moon Gate, a lantern under the eaves suddenly went out. Wanyan paused, glanced up at that patch of abrupt darkness, said nothing, just gently squeezed Yunqing's arm.
In the study, the moment Shen Huaishan saw Wanyan, the teacup in his hand crashed to the floor.
"You... how could you bring her here?!"
"I asked to come." Wanyan gave a slight bow. "Uncle, since this matter originated with the Shen family, it must be settled."
"Preposterous!" Shen Huaishan's face turned livid. "Yunqing, do you know who she is? She's the only daughter of the Su family! If anything happens to her, the whole of Suzhou will..."
"Will know about the Shen family's scandal from twenty years ago." Wanyan finished calmly. "Uncle, you can't wrap fire in paper."
Shen Huaishan opened his mouth, then finally slumped into his chair.
The painting scroll hung quietly on the wall in the candlelight. The bride in the painting maintained her posture from the previous night, though upon closer look, her fingers seemed slightly more curled, as if waiting for something.
The hour of Zi arrived precisely.
The candle flames suddenly all shrank, darkening the study. Moonlight slanted in from the window, landing squarely on the painting. The painted woman's eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight.
"Miss Bai." Wanyan stepped forward, her voice soft yet clear. "I am Su Wanyan."
The painting showed no reaction.
"I know you hate the Shen family." Wanyan continued. "If I were you, I'd hate them too. But Yunqing is twenty-two now. Twenty years ago when this happened, he was still in swaddling clothes. The person you hate shouldn't be him."
"Then who should he hate?" The voice came from the painting, cold as well water. "Hate his father? But he enjoys the Shen family's money, wears Shen family clothes, used the Shen family name to study abroad—half that money is the price paid for my life!"
Wanyan shook her head. "The father's debt repaid by the son—that's the logic of the old society. This is the Republic era now. The law says each person is responsible for their own actions."
"The law?" Bai Xiumiang scoffed. "Young Lady Su, born into wealth, you probably don't know what 'the yamen gate faces south, those with reason but no money need not enter' means, do you? Where was the law twenty years ago when Shen Huaishan killed me? Where was the law when my parents went to the county yamen to file a complaint and were beaten out with clubs by the guards?"
With each sentence she spoke, the red in the painting deepened a shade, as if about to seep blood.
"So I should find him." Wanyan pointed at Shen Huaishan. "If you want revenge, find the right person."
"If I could get near him, why would I wait twenty years!" Bai Xiumiang's voice suddenly turned shrill. "He has a protective talisman on him, given by the abbot of Ci'en Temple! I can't touch him, can't harm him! Only at the moment the spirit marriage ceremony is completed, at the juncture of yin and yang, can I manifest fully—"
She paused, her voice suddenly dropping, carrying bone-deep venom: "—can make him watch with his own eyes as his only son, in the wedding chamber, bleeds from all seven orifices, just like I did back then!"
Shen Huaishan trembled all over.
But Yunqing stepped forward, shielding his father. "If that's the case, why didn't you just kill me last night?"
Silence from the painting.
After a long while, Bai Xiumiang's voice sounded again, this time with a trace of bewilderment: "I... I don't know."
"You do know." Wanyan said softly. "Because you hate Shen Huaishan, not Shen Yunqing. You've watched him grow up, watched him go to France. Every Qingming Festival, did you go to Ci'en Temple to see the tablet his father set up? Did you secretly look at the photos he sent back too?"
The painting scroll began to tremble slightly.
"Miss Bai, you should be thirty-eight this year." Wanyan's voice grew even softer. "If not for that misfortune, you might have had your own family by now, a child as old as Yunqing. Watching this child who should have called you 'Auntie' grow up, could you really bear to let him die?"
"And what about me?!" Bai Xiumiang shrieked, the red in the painting churning violently. "My child?! He didn't even get to cry once! He never saw the light of day, just rotted with me in a mass grave! Why?!"
Her weeping spilled from the painting—not the mournful wail of last night, but heart-wrenching sobs suppressed for twenty years.
"I just... I just wanted to wear wedding clothes once..." she choked out. "Shen Huaishan promised back then that once the new tea was harvested, he'd come with a grand procession to marry me. I secretly embroidered the bridal veil, even imagined how the phoenix crown would look... But what came was a white silk cord, a mass grave, a spirit marriage arranged with a two-year-old child!"
The candle flames shrank further; the study was almost entirely dark. Only moonlight illuminated the painting, the painted woman's face blurred in the light and shadow.
"What if..." Yunqing suddenly spoke, "what if I gave you a wedding?"
The weeping stopped.
"Not a spirit marriage." Yunqing looked at the painting. "A real wedding. With guests, a wedding feast, the bowing ceremony—even if just an act. Afterward, I'll see you off for reincarnation, erect a tombstone for you and the child, make offerings every Qingming. I'll also make my father turn himself in, make the truth of what happened public."
Shen Huaishan jerked his head up. "Yunqing, you—"
"Father." Yunqing didn't look at him. "This is what I owe her. And what you owe her."
Deathly silence filled the study.
The red in the painting slowly faded, returning to normal ink and color. Bai Xiumiang's voice became very light, light as a sigh:
"You really... would give me a wedding?"
"Yes." Yunqing said. "But on one condition—after the wedding, you must leave, never trouble any member of the Shen family again, including Wanyan."
"What about her?" Bai Xiumiang asked. "Is Young Lady Su willing to play along in this act?"
All eyes turned to Wanyan.
Wanyan stood quietly there, moonlight illuminating half her face. She looked at the painting for a long, long time, so long Yunqing thought she might refuse.
"I'm willing." She finally said. "But I want to be your bridesmaid."
Yunqing was stunned.
"A bride getting married always needs sisters to see her off." Wanyan walked toward the painting scroll, reaching out to gently stroke the surface. "Miss Bai, would you let me see you off on your journey?"
In the painting, a drop of ink slowly trailed from the corner of the bride's eye.
Like a tear.
"Alright." Bai Xiumiang's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "Three days from now... I want the most splendid wedding."
As soon as the words fell, the scroll rolled up by itself with a snap.
The candles in the study simultaneously regained their brightness.
Shen Huaishan collapsed in his chair, face ashen. Wanyan walked to the window, looking out at the moonlight, her back slender yet straight.
Yunqing looked at the scroll on the wall. He didn't feel relieved; instead, his heart felt heavier.
He had a feeling Bai Xiumiang had agreed too easily.
Too easily for a spirit who had harbored hatred for twenty years.
Outside the window, a stray cat somewhere let out a piercing cry, like an infant's wail.
Wanyan suddenly turned. "Yunqing, on the wedding day, I want to invite someone."
"Who?"
"The abbot of Ci'en Temple." She said. "Since we're sending her off, let it be done cleanly, thoroughly."
Yunqing nodded. He looked at his father; Shen Huaishan still hung his head, shoulders trembling slightly.
Whether from fear or guilt, it was hard to tell.
The moonlight slowly moved out of the study, darkness gathering once more. That scroll hung quietly on the wall, casting a long shadow in the candlelight.
The shape of the shadow vaguely resembled two people.
One adult, holding a child's hand.
Chapter 5: A Special Wedding
Three days later, the hour of Zi.
Red lanterns were lit throughout Shen Manor, lining the corridors all the way to the main hall. But the lanterns didn't hold celebratory red candles; they held white candles. The candlelight was a stark, deathly white, illuminating newly pasted talisman papers along the corridor—passing-on talismans personally inscribed by the abbot of Ci'en Temple.
The main hall was arranged like a cross between a mourning hall and a wedding hall. In the center stood three chairs side by side: one empty, draped with bright red silk; on the left sat Shen Yunqing, wearing a dark blue long gown, a white flower pinned to his chest; on the right was Su Wanyan, in a plain white cheongsam, a small blood-red begonia flower tucked in her hair.
There were no other guests. Only Steward Shen Fu and two old servants stood with bowed heads outside the door, faces pale as paper.
The painting scroll had been taken down from the wall and laid flat on the incense altar. The bride in the painting was unusually vivid today, every gold thread of her wedding dress distinct. The corner of her mouth was slightly upturned, as if truly smiling.
"The hour has arrived."
The abbot's voice was low. He stood before the incense altar, holding a bronze bell, followed by four young novice monks carrying a wooden fish, a sounding stone, and sutra scrolls. The old man's eyelids drooped, his expression unreadable. He just tapped the wooden fish rhythmically.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Amid the wooden fish beats, the red on the painting began to flow.
Like water, or blood, slowly seeping out from the edges of the paper, pooling on the incense altar. That pool of red writhed, rose, elongated, gradually taking human form—phoenix crown, wedding dress, red bridal veil.
Finally, those embroidered shoes lightly touched the green brick floor without a sound.
Bai Xiumiang stood firm.
The veil swayed slightly; she seemed to be looking around. Then she raised her hand and lifted the veil herself.
Yunqing's breath caught.
Today, her complexion actually held a trace of a living person's rosiness; her lips were no longer that frightening blood-red but a light rouge color. Only her eyes remained bottomless, like two ancient wells.
"Thank you, everyone." She spoke, her voice gentle. "For holding this absurd wedding for me, this widow."
She walked to the central chair and sat. The bright red wedding dress was a stark, startling red under the white candlelight.
"Begin." the abbot said.
There was no celebratory music, only the wooden fish and sutra chanting. The novice monks began reciting the Rebirth Mantra, their voices droning, echoing in the empty hall.
"First bow to Heaven and Earth—"
Yunqing and Wanyan rose, facing the dark night sky outside the door, and bowed deeply.
Bai Xiumiang also stood. She didn't bow to Heaven and Earth but turned eastward—the direction of White Stone Ridge. She knelt, not in a bow, but slowly lowered herself until her forehead touched the ground, holding the position for a long time.
As if bidding farewell to the mountains and waters of her homeland, to the eighteen-year-old self she could never return to.
"Second bow to parents—"
The parents' seats were empty. Shen Huaishan was locked in the west wing; Yunqing hadn't allowed him to come. But Bai Xiumiang knelt again, this time bowing to a small, nameless memorial tablet on the incense altar—one she had requested that morning, inscribed with her parents' names.
"Husband and wife bow to each other—"
Yunqing and Wanyan faced each other, exchanging bows. This should have been their wedding.
Bai Xiumiang stood in place, facing the empty air, and performed three solemn bows. The first was slow, the second caused her shoulders to tremble slightly, and after the third, she remained bent over for a long time.
Drops of liquid fell onto the green bricks.
Dark red, like diluted blood.
"Ceremony completed—"
The abbot rang the bronze bell. The clear, crisp sound pierced through the sutra chanting, carrying far into the night.
Bai Xiumiang finally straightened. She turned to Yunqing and Wanyan, a faint smile actually appearing on her face, a smile that made her look almost alive.
"Thank you." She said again. "This wedding dress, I embroidered for three months. I thought I'd never get to wear it."
She looked down, stroking the mandarin duck embroidery on her sleeve. "I stole the thread from my mother; she said to save it for my wedding. I lied, said I was embroidering a handkerchief, secretly stitched by oil lamp at night... Look, this pair of mandarin ducks, the eyes are crooked."
Indeed, the stitching of the left eye was somewhat messy.
"Because as I was embroidering that part, I overheard my parents talking next door." Bai Xiumiang's voice was dreamlike. "My father said, that young master from the Shen family probably couldn't be relied on. My mother cried, said her daughter's life was ruined."
The main hall was terribly still.
"And then I thought," she raised her head, eyes glistening, "even if he betrays me, I still want to marry him in the most beautiful wedding dress. So the eyes are crooked—it's fine. Mandarin ducks that look like they're crying, that's fine too."
Wanyan stepped forward, knelt before her, and took her hand—this time, she actually grasped it. It was ice-cold, but solid.
"Elder Sister Bai." Wanyan called her that for the first time. "Let me see you off."
Bai Xiumiang was taken aback for a moment, then clasped Wanyan's hand in return. "You really are... a foolish girl. Why be so kind to me?"
"Because if I were you, I'd become you too." Wanyan said softly. "But if I had a choice, I'd hope someone would see me off on my final journey, not leave me lying alone in a mass grave."
Tears finally fell from Bai Xiumiang's eyes, large drops splashing onto their clasped hands.
"Shen Yunqing." She turned to Yunqing. "What you promised me, don't forget."
"I swear."
"The evidence is in the hidden layer of the painting scroll." She said. "The midwife's confession, the stub of the banknote Huaishan gave her, and... a lock of hair I tore from the murderer's head before I died, tied with a red cord. It's enough."
Yunqing's throat tightened. "Will you go for reincarnation?"
"The abbot says after this ceremony, I can cross the Naihe Bridge." Bai Xiumiang smiled. "But I have a request—don't make me drink the Mengpo Soup (Soup of Forgetfulness). I want to remember this life. Remember the hatred, and also remember... today."
The abbot sighed and began tapping the wooden fish again.
Bai Xiumiang's figure began to fade. Starting from the hem of her skirt, bit by bit she dissolved into fine points of light, like fireflies, scattering in the white candlelight.
"Oh, one more thing." Just before completely vanishing, she suddenly said, "I gave the child a name: Nian'an. Shen Nian'an. A pity... he never got to use it."
With the last word, she vanished completely.
On the incense altar, the painting scroll hissed and spontaneously caught fire. The flames were a ghostly blue, smokeless, quietly licking the paper. The bride in the painting smiled amidst the flames, then turned to ashes.
Within the ashes, the corner of an oil-paper packet was revealed.
Yunqing stepped forward and opened it. Inside were yellowed letters, half a banknote stub, and a lock of gray hair tied with a faded red cord. At the very bottom was a plain white handkerchief, upon which two characters were clumsily embroidered: Nian'an (念安 - "Yearning for Peace").
The stitches were childish, like a beginner's work.
Perhaps she had secretly practiced embroidering her child's name after learning she was pregnant.
The next morning, Yunqing went to the west wing.
Shen Huaishan sat by the window; his hair had turned completely white overnight. Seeing the oil-paper packet in Yunqing's hand, he asked nothing, merely stretched out his own.
Yunqing placed the contents in his palm.
Shen Huaishan looked through them page by page, very slowly. When he saw the lock of hair, his hand shook so violently he could hardly hold it. Seeing the handkerchief embroidered with "Nian'an," he suddenly covered his face, shoulders convulsing violently.
No sound of weeping, just silent trembling.
After a long while, he looked up, eyes red and swollen. "She... is gone?"
"Gone."
"Does she hate me?"
"She said, let you live." Yunqing turned to look out the window. "Live remembering all this."
Shen Huaishan lowered his head, fingers stroking the two crooked characters. Suddenly, as if remembering something, he stumbled to the curio cabinet, opened the bottommost secret compartment, and took out a small wooden box.
Inside was a pair of gold bracelets, already tarnished.
"This is her 'dowry.'" Shen Huaishan's voice was hoarse. "I never dared to use it... had no face to."
Yunqing took the box. "I'll bury it together with the handkerchief in her cenotaph."
"And also..." Shen Huaishan took a key from his coat. "The chest in the far east of the storeroom, there are some land deeds and banknotes inside. Take them, build her a proper grave, and... donate to build an orphanage."
He paused, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Call it... Nian'an Hall."
Yunqing nodded, accepting the key. At the doorway, he glanced back.
Shen Huaishan still sat by the window, clutching that embroidered handkerchief, gazing at the dawning sky. Morning light shone on his completely white hair, making him look like an old man in his twilight years.
That afternoon, a new memorial tablet appeared in the Shen family ancestral hall.
Not placed as a concubine's tablet, nor as a wandering spirit's makeshift marker, but properly positioned beside the Shen ancestors, inscribed: Tablet of Lady Bai Xiumiang of the Shen Family.
Before the tablet were placed the pair of gold bracelets, the embroidered handkerchief, and a small jar of earth—specially brought from White Stone Ridge at Wanyan's request, earth from Bai Xiumiang's homeland.
Every Qingming Festival, Yunqing and Wanyan would come to offer incense.
They married half a year later, the wedding simple, inviting only close family and friends. That day, the wedding dress Wanyan wore had mandarin ducks embroidered on the sleeves, their eyes also crooked—she had specifically asked the embroiderer to copy the style of Bai Xiumiang's dress.
When the wedding candles burned past midnight, a sudden draft swept through the hall, making the flames waver.
Wanyan looked up, as if seeing a figure in red wedding dress standing at the doorway, giving her a slight nod.
Looking again, it was gone.
Only a faint trace of rouge fragrance lingered for a long, long time.
Chapter 6: The Truth Within the Painting
A month later, Wanyan and I formally married.
On our wedding day, I hung that painting in our bridal chamber.
"You still kept this painting?" Wanyan was somewhat surprised.
"I wanted to keep it as a memento." I said. "Though Miss Bai has gone for reincarnation, I don't want to forget this matter."
Wanyan nodded, walking up to the painting to examine it closely.
"That's strange." She suddenly said. "This painting seems... off."
"What's wrong?"
"Look here." Wanyan pointed to the edge of the painting. "There's a very thin layer of paper here. It seems there's another painting underneath."
I leaned in to look. Indeed, something seemed unusual.
Carefully, we peeled back the surface layer and discovered there was indeed another painting beneath.
But the content of this painting stunned us—
It wasn't Bai Xiumiang, but three people: one was Bai Xiumiang, one was a youthful version of my father, and the third was... Wanyan?
No, not Wanyan, but someone who looked exactly like her.
"This is..." Wanyan's face paled.
On the back of the painting, a line of small characters read:
"Xiumiang bore a daughter, named Qiuyue, given to the Su family to raise. Qiuyue never knew who her birth mother was; she was later named Wanyan. This painting hides the truth, awaiting one destined to uncover it."
Wanyan and I looked at each other, shock mirrored in each other's eyes.
"So," Wanyan's voice trembled, "I am... Bai Xiumiang's daughter?"
"Back then, Bai Xiumiang was pregnant with a girl. Though the midwife killed her, the child was secretly taken away." Fragments flashed through my mind. "The Su family had no children of their own, so they adopted this infant girl..."
"So our engagement," Wanyan murmured, "is actually a continuation of Bai Xiumiang and the Shen family?"
We fell silent for a long time.
"Was this Bai Xiumiang's arrangement?" Wanyan asked.
"Maybe, maybe not." I said. "But regardless, you are you, not her."
"But I carry her blood." Wanyan said. "What the Shen family owes her, I have the right to demand."
"What do you want to do?"
Wanyan looked at me, complex emotions flashing in her eyes. "I want to go ask my Su family parents for the truth, and then... I want to go before Bai Xiumiang's grave and tell her that her daughter is living well."
The next day, Wanyan went to the Su residence.
At first, the Su parents denied it, but faced with the evidence, they finally admitted the truth—Wanyan was indeed adopted, and her birth mother was precisely Bai Xiumiang.
"We originally wanted to tell you when you grew up." Mrs. Su wept. "But you were engaged to Yunqing, we were afraid if you knew the truth, you'd hate the Shen family..."
"I don't hate." Wanyan said. "I'm grateful to you for raising me, and grateful to my birth mother for giving me life."
A few days later, Wanyan and I went together to Bai Xiumiang's gravesite.
"Mother." Wanyan knelt before the tombstone. "Your daughter has come to see you."
I stood beside her, burning spirit money, feeling endless waves of emotion.
So all of this was fate's arrangement. Bai Xiumiang, with her resentment, guarded for twenty years—not for revenge, but waiting for her daughter to grow up. That wedding, those trials—she was testing whether I was worthy of entrusting her daughter to.
"Yunqing." Wanyan suddenly said. "I want to move Mother's grave, bury her beside the Shen family ancestral plot."
"Why?"
"Because she loved Father." Wanyan said. "Though the end was tragic, that love was real. And also..." She looked at me. "She is also your mother."
I froze. "What?"
"There's another line on the painting you didn't see." Wanyan took a piece of paper from her bosom. "Bai Xiumiang gave birth to twins back then. A girl given to the Su family, a boy... given to the Shen family."
On the paper was written: Eldest son named Yunqing, second daughter named Qiuyue.
My mind went blank.
"So," Wanyan said softly, "we are siblings."
Epilogue: Rebirth
Autumn of the 20th year of the Republic of China (1931).
Wanyan and I stood before Bai Xiumiang's grave, burning our marriage contract.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I cannot marry you."
"I know." Wanyan smiled. "But we can be siblings for life, can't we?"
We moved Bai Xiumiang's remains to a scenic hillside and buried that double-layered painting beside her.
Upon learning the truth, my father Shen Huaishan completely broke down. He had schemed all his life, never imagining that the son he raised with his own hands was actually Bai Xiumiang's child.
And the true eldest son of the Shen family had died in infancy long ago.
"So to preserve the Shen family bloodline, you used another's child as a substitute?" I looked at my father. "What else about you is real?"
My father had no answer.
In the end, he chose to become a monk, spending the rest of his life chanting sutras in a temple for Bai Xiumiang's salvation.
As for Wanyan and I, we used the assets of both the Shen and Su families to open an orphanage in Suzhou, specifically taking in homeless children.
We named the orphanage "Xiumiang Hall."
Every child growing up there would know the story of Bai Xiumiang—how a woman used twenty years of obsession to protect her son and daughter.
One autumn dusk, I stood in the orphanage courtyard, watching the children play.
Wanyan walked over, handing me a letter.
"It's from a girl named Lin Qiuyue. She says she's eight this year, her parents are both surnamed Lin, but she keeps dreaming of a woman in red clothes calling her 'Wanyan.'"
I took the letter, understanding dawning in my heart.
Bai Xiumiang had been reincarnated.
And her name in this new life was Qiuyue—the name of her daughter.
"Shall we go see her?" Wanyan asked.
"No." I said. "Let her live her own life well. What we must do is ensure there won't be a second Bai Xiumiang."
Wanyan nodded.
We stood in the setting sun, watching the children's smiling faces, our hearts filled with peace.
Perhaps this was the ending Bai Xiumiang wanted—not revenge, but to make the world a slightly better place.
The woman in the painting had finally stepped out of the frame and into a new life.
--- The End ---
[Author's Note]
Word Count: Approximately 8200 words
Designed Emotional Climaxes (every 800-1000 words):
Chapter 1 (~900 words): Discovering the eerie painting; the painted bride moves.Chapter 2 (~1800 words): Midnight first encounter with the ghost bride;恐怖氛围.Chapter 3 (~2700 words): Truth revealed—murder, not death in childbirth.Chapter 4 (~3600 words): The three-way confrontation; Bai Xiumiang reveals her true purpose.Chapter 5 (~4500 words): The special wedding; emotional升华.Chapter 6 (~6400 words): Double plot twist—identity revelation.Epilogue (~8000 words): Ultimate truth;升华 of themes.
Story Features:
Double-Layered Plot Twists: From revenge to salvation, then to bloodline revelation.Triangular Relationship: Complex entanglements between the ghost bride, the male protagonist, and his fiancée.Deep Themes: Explores original sin, intergenerational responsibility, and love that transcends hatred.Suspense Design: Layers unfolding, finally revealing a shocking truth.
Differences from the First Story:
First Story: Linear narrative, focusing on emotional redemption.This Story: Multiple twists, focusing on identity mystery and因果轮回 (karmic cycles).Emotional Tone: From恐怖悬疑 to温情治愈 (warm, healing).
Republican Era Elements:
Southern mansion setting, ancient painting, spirit marriage customs.Clash between returning from study abroad and traditional culture.Contradictions between family business and old/new ideologies.