Cat 224: The Death of Fang’er

Chapter 224: The Death of Fang’er

The Cheng family mansion was a maze, winding this way and that.

Cheng Xueying, newly married into the Liu household, nevertheless navigated Liu Manor with effortless confidence. Even in the dark of night, she never lost her way—her destination was clear and she showed no sign of confusion.

Hadn’t she just married in? Her sense of direction was almost uncanny.

There was clearly more to the identity of “Cheng Family Second Miss.” Either she’d always been hiding her capabilities, or she’d been switched for someone else—a common trope in novels. Still, Yan Jiyun felt she had come to the Liu family with a specific agenda.

He, too, had memorized the Liu estate’s layout. Now he realized that Cheng Xueying was not heading toward any of the main courtyards, but instead followed a path that grew darker and more obscure, until eventually there was no light at all—just inky blackness ahead.

Tracking someone was an art. If you maintained fifty to a hundred meters of distance, it was nearly impossible to be detected.

Yan Jiyun’s footsteps were light. Even if he made a sound, it wouldn’t reach Cheng Xueying who was dozens of meters ahead.

Having just rushed off to a neighboring instance to complete an urgent task, he’d missed a day of storyline here. There was nothing for it but acceptance, and a bitter sense of resignation. The game controlled his every move, a formless shackle mastering life and death. Only by playing along and seeking cracks in the system could he hope for freedom.

This path was clearly little used. How could someone just married in be so familiar with it?

After about ten minutes, Yan Jiyun heard a rising clamor, reminiscent of the street noise he’d encountered when walking with Han Jingxi—they must be nearing a road.

Cheng Xueying veered off onto another small path, walked another fifty or sixty meters, and the noise of the main street faded away, replaced by the quiet of a connecting alley.

Cheng Xueying finally stopped.

Creak.

A door opened.

She was about to leave through the back? Yan Jiyun hadn’t expected this move.

In grand mansions, only guests and the family used the main entrance. Servants always used the side doors. Carts bringing supplies also entered through these smaller gates, partly for convenience, partly to avoid brushing shoulders with the gentry.

Yan Jiyun kept to the shadows and approached, following the wall where bamboo grew in clusters—a perfect place to hide.

Someone spoke in a low voice: “Second Miss.”

A man’s voice, no less. He’d better keep hidden, or he’d never explain his way out of this.

The way the newcomer addressed her proved her identity was genuine—she was indeed Cheng Family’s second miss.

Before a wedding, the lady of the house would have visited and verified her identity; otherwise, bringing home a bride whose face was a mystery would be laughable.

Identity settled, that left Cheng Xueying’s motives.

Peering out, Yan Jiyun saw Cheng Xueying glance around before asking, “Did you bring what I asked for?”

The man replied, “I got all the equipment you requested. Miss, word is your husband died suddenly. It’s odd—the old master hasn’t even called you back home.”

Cheng Xueying seemed indifferent to her new husband’s sudden death. “Never mind that. Keep an eye on things for me and deliver any news to the shop. Your reward’ll be worth it. Has my cousin shown any sign?”

“Keep watching the eldest young master?”

“Of course. If we don’t, he’ll inherit the Liu family before long.”

“He’s still indulging himself day and night. Got into a fight just last night, and this morning the old master had to send the steward to smooth it over.”

Cheng Xueying cursed quietly, “Useless.”

So, did the Cheng family lack good sons? Were they now trying to cultivate influence through cousins on the father’s or mother’s side?

If so, the Cheng house was also a tangled web.

Truly, this was the infinite-instances version of the grand-mansion melodrama—each great family hiding its own filth.

The man said, “Miss, do you want us to privately investigate the cause of Young Master’s death?”

Cheng Xueying snapped, “‘Young Master’—watch your tongue.”

The man corrected himself. “Should we look into Liu San’s death?”

“Don’t bother. If there’s nothing else, go back. Send word to the shop if anything comes up.”

He reminded her, “Understood. But be careful, Miss. The Liu house is a cesspit.”

The whole exchange took only a couple of minutes, but even these brief words revealed much.

Yan Jiyun inwardly found it fascinating.

The Liu, Cheng, and Ouyang (fiancée to Liu Jingxi) families were all entangled in intrigue. Where, he wondered, was the breakthrough for escaping this instance?

Could it be that the treasure map was actually a map out of the instance?

Cheng Xueying carried away a bulky parcel; he could hear tools clanking inside as she walked.

Yan Jiyun trailed after her until they got back to the residence, but as a human, he couldn’t enter. From outside he heard the heavy thud of the package as she set it on a table.

It really was the toolkit her servant had brought—but why did she need it at this hour? Was she planning to dig up buried treasure by night? Was there some object in the Liu family so priceless she’d risk everything for it?

Suddenly, the servant in charge of the courtyard rounded a corner with a flashlight. Yan Jiyun quietly slipped away through the stand of bamboo.

He resolved to go find out what had happened during the day.

Where would anyone be at this hour?

As a Liu family guest, he’d been absent all day. Would they think he’d left?

He had to reappear with a plausible excuse.

He returned to his room, grabbed paper and pen, scribbled a note, and flung it to the floor—to pretend it had been swept there by the wind. Then he left the south wing to “run into” some servants and ask about the day’s events.

Business at the Liu estate was no longer booming, but a lean camel was still bigger than a horse—there were plenty of servants, a night watch assigned to every courtyard, others hired for security. Normally out of sight, they’d leap into action if needed.

But tonight he saw no one around Cheng Xueying’s quarters. Apparently, the house’s rules forbade servants from wandering at night—fear of scandal, perhaps, like a maid seducing a young master.

He headed for the main hall. Tonight was still part of the mourning period—vigil began after the wedding, so that made this the second night; tomorrow night would be the third, and the funeral would take place at dawn on the fourth day.

In Jiangnan, traditional burials were the norm; no one seemed even to know about cremation. The Liu family arranged every detail themselves—no “funeral companies” here, just the steward overseeing things personally. The red wedding drapes were replaced with white, and burial preparations began at once.

The main hall was set far from the main street—no noise or bustle, well-placed for quiet but not isolated. The empty corridors were eerie. More unsettling were the distant wails, soft sobs as if a ghostly woman grieved for her lost love; as spooky as anything.

No wonder he hadn’t lost Spirit Points for fear back in the Sweet Christmas instance—this environment was much worse. Here, terror values would be in free fall, instant reset to zero.

Yan Jiyun rubbed his arms, nerves frayed. With no sign of actual ghosts yet, he grit his teeth and followed the cries.

The sound came from a small garden pavilion; he remembered passing it before, but hadn’t paid attention.

In a trembling voice, he called out, “Wh-who’s there?” His horror acting was flawless—his voice could quiver at will.

He slipped into the persona of Liu Jingxi’s country cousin. As long as he avoided barging into women’s rooms, his presence here was plausible enough.

The moment he spoke, the crying stopped.

He scanned the darkness—he had good night vision.

A young maid in Liu family livery, dressed like Ajuan, sat with her face buried in her hands, weeping. Her hair was in two thick braids. At her feet, a brazier stained with ash from burnt joss paper; the acrid smell was palpable. He relaxed—a relief it wasn’t a ghost. Still, a girl burning paper in the dead of night was unnerving enough.

It couldn’t be for Liu Jinghao—burning offerings for him should take place in the mourning hall, not some hidden corner.

“Y-young master,” the little maid stammered. She looked about twelve or thirteen, and must have met him before to know his title.

With fear put aside, Yan Jiyun slipped into his true role.

“Burning paper out here at midnight? You’ll be scolded if Aunt finds out.”

She wiped away tears. “I didn’t mean to; I just wanted to give some offerings for Fang’er. Her death was so wretched—just rolled up in a straw mat and thrown into a mass grave.”

So he had missed a lot in the day he’d been gone. Who was Fang’er?

He asked, “Who’s Fang’er? What did she do to deserve a death so miserable? If you’re sneaking her offerings, she must have treated you well.”

The maid, clearly needing to confide, poured out the whole story.

“Fang’er Jie treated me so well—if someone bullied me, she’d always stand up for me. She was a second-class maid in the Madam’s wing, looked after her daily life.” She hiccupped with crying. Yan Jiyun seized on the important detail: “And Ajuan?”

“Ajuan’s a first-class maid—Madam’s right hand, very highly trusted.”

“Did Fang’er do something terrible?” In this backward era, killing a servant was nothing—didn’t they know that murder was a capital crime?

“She did nothing wrong. She was framed.” The little maid’s voice trembled with fury.

“What happened?”

“Last night Fang’er was on night duty, and found the eldest young master collapsed coughing in the pavilion. Out of kindness, she helped him back to the east wing, but for some reason, he suddenly took her hand and said something to her. A maid from the eldest young mistress’s quarters saw and told her mistress Fang’er was seducing the young master. I know Fang’er wasn’t like that, but even if she had such thoughts, Madam would never beat her to death—she’d even sent another maid to the young master before, hoping he’d have a child, but he refused.”

“Was there more to it?”

“I don’t know how, but that night someone reported that Fang’er stole something from the young master’s room. She was beaten to death this afternoon. She came to the Liu family at twelve, served the Madam ever since—how could she steal from him! And they never even let her defend herself.”

“So who falsely accused her?”

Before the girl could answer, Yan Jiyun’s long-dormant system came to life.

[Side Quest One Activated: Find who framed Fang’er.]

Did he really need to ask? He already had suspects.

But if the system triggered a quest, it couldn’t be that simple. Fang’er must have been significant.

The maid sobbed, “No one knows. The eldest young mistress wouldn’t care about things like this, and the eldest young master—well…”

Yan Jiyun understood—Liu Jingyi was impotent!

Indeed, only in a grand household would a young maid know such intimate matters.

“No matter how beautiful, he wouldn’t be interested. Everyone says he won’t live much longer.”

Yan Jiyun: Sorry, that was my dirty mind.

Although, Liu Jingyi was odd—he only coughed terribly when someone was around, and his sickly appearance might be a sham. He might live to a ripe old age.

But what secret had Fang’er learned to bring about her death? Who wanted her gone?

If the motive was affection, Ajuan, her rival, was clearly suspicious—her puppy love for Liu Jingyi was obvious. Was it jealousy—hearing Fang’er had ambitions, she snapped and brought about her death?

Alternatively, perhaps Fang’er discovered Liu Jingyi’s secret—if he truly faked his illnesses, she might have caught on and used it to threaten him. Maybe they made some deal; in the end, she gained nothing and Liu Jingyi arranged her demise.

Now that the system had issued a quest, the little maid wouldn’t provide more details. He urged her gently to hurry back and rest.

She scampered away, clutching her brass basin.

Yan Jiyun pondered a moment, then decided to visit the mourning hall. This vigil quest was tricky; perhaps it would be solved by finding Liu Jinghao’s killer.

He now had three tasks: one main, two side quests.

Slowly, he wandered toward the mourning hall and encountered nobody on the way.

Finally, as he neared, he saw two figures in mourning clothes burning paper. He’d be perfectly happy never to see another paper-offering in his life.

But there were guests at the hall tonight.

Yan Jiyun recognized them, and couldn’t suppress a smile.

He was just about to rush forward when someone grabbed his arm. “Cousin, where have you been all day?”

Instantly, Yan Jiyun slipped into his country-cousin role, stammering, “C-cousin.”