In the 13th year of Tiancheng Lingwei, at the end of June and the beginning of July when the summer heat was at its peak, three strange things happened in Huozhou.
First, a forest fire broke out in Heimu County. It was said that it burned for three days and three nights. The thick smoke covered the sky, as if it was the end of the world.
Such a strange thing has never happened before. You know, July and August are the months with the most abundant rain, the trees are moist and the mountains are slippery, the springs are fast and the pools are deep. Some landslides are common, but forest fires have never happened before.
Some have spun the story that the wildfires were celestial fire sent down to Earth. A strange phenomenon in the sky, rare in a century, must have befallen humanity. But what exactly was that catastrophe? Where did it strike? When would it strike? Theories abound, and no conclusion is forthcoming.
However, the "wildfire natural disaster theory" had only been popular for a few days when the "water bandit man-made disaster theory" began to flourish. It said that the Shen family's ships on the Hun River were rampant and harassed fishing boats and ferries everywhere. It was unknown what goods they were robbing or who they were looking for.
For nearly a hundred years, the Shen family had been a powerful force in Huozhou, a clandestine force that had mastered the art of keeping a low profile and maintaining a secluded presence. While they secretly controlled the waterways and most of the shops in the city, they had never openly transgressed the rules, much less allowed the imperial court to accuse them. But for some reason, they had suddenly gone mad in the past few days.
On the third day of the Dafeng Ferry's suspension, Murhe, who had been watching the excitement from the other side of the river, could never have imagined that while watching the commotion, he would see it coming to his own city. Ever since the hundreds of people from the Zou Mansion disappeared overnight six months ago, the house the Zou family had occupied for decades had become a hot commodity. Everyone knew it was a rare ancient residence, and even a single rockery and landscape within it would take the craftsmen of Minzhou months to master, not to mention the countless rare treasures hidden beneath the carved eaves and painted buildings.
All the landlords in the city worked together. They first invited wave after wave of magicians and monks to perform rituals in order to dispel all suspicions that the Zou family had moved out without reason. Then they bribed the storytellers in the taverns and teahouses in the city to describe the Zou Mansion as something magical, something that only existed in heaven and could never be seen on earth. Even the swallows under the eaves wished they could lay golden eggs.
When the Zou Mansion's asking price was at its highest, even just entering through a side door and taking a look around would cost dozens of taels of silver in "house inspection fees." But no one could have anticipated that something would go awry during the inspection. Too many people were looking at the house, so the queue stretched into the evening, and the night tour ended up being haunted.
Initially, it was the nephew of Old Yuan from Hengfuji who reported seeing the ghost. He claimed it lurked near the kitchen in the backyard of the Zou Mansion. It was tall, swift as a shadow, and with its maw wide open, it could devour five or six sweet potatoes in one gulp. The listeners were skeptical. After all, aren't ghosts meant to haunt souls? How could this one be so unruly, still chewing on a sweet potato? But then Scar King from the South City Casino also claimed to have seen the ghost. Furthermore, he claimed that after calling for help in vain, he was struck down by a mysterious force and awoke outside the walls of the Zou Mansion.
The smaller the temple, the stronger the evil spirits; the shallower the water, the more turtles there are.
It has been a long time since the small border town of Murhe had such an interesting thing. It was obviously just a ghost story, but when thinking about the "natural disasters and man-made disasters" a few days ago, it turned into a story about a vengeful spirit appearing and revealing secrets.
"Masters from the secluded world" appear frequently, and no one is willing to give in to the other. As for what secrets they revealed and how these secrets are related to the forest fire and the Shen family, no one can explain it clearly. And no one has remembered the earliest remarks about "evil ghosts gnawing on melons" for a long time.
Everyone in South City was excitedly discussing the matter as a way to beat the summer heat, but few in the old town north of the stone bridge were discussing it. For those busy with daily livelihoods and the mundane world of life, the hustle and bustle of life eroded any excessive curiosity or desire for debate. They were more concerned with tomorrow's rice prices than what exactly happened at the Zou residence.
Of course, just because few people talk about it doesn’t mean that no one talks about it at all.
"I heard the government officials went there this morning and sealed the gate. It's a pity for the calligraphy and paintings in that mansion. I wonder if they were all stolen or burned by that old thief named Zou."
The old scholar shook his head, his white beard brushing across the dirty table, then he carefully lifted it up and tucked it into his white collar.
Another tea drinker in green at the same table stood up and moved closer.
"Even if that's the case, the rockery, pavilions, and waterside terraces in the courtyard won't be completely destroyed. In my opinion, the fact that no one dares to ask for the price now is actually a good thing."
As soon as these words were spoken, the poor scholars around who were tilting their heads to listen to the news nodded in agreement.
"That's right, back then the Zou family demolished countless pavilions and attics and built four gaudy gardens just to accommodate his concubines. They even cut down several of the century-old pear trees because they had white flowers and were said to be unlucky."
There were sighs and regrets, and everyone asked for another round of tea.
The teapot was soon emptied. The old scholar with a white beard was about to stand up to pick up the copper kettle in the corner when suddenly a hand reached out from the side and pressed the kettle back onto the charcoal fire.
"It's almost two hours now. Do you want to stay longer or not? If not, there's a pavilion on the left at the entrance. You can stay as long as you want."
The person who spoke was a middle-aged man with a beard and sideburns. He had a thick hemp rope as a belt and a half-broken tea ladle as a hairpin. When he opened his mouth, a gust of alcohol hit the face, causing the tea drinkers to step back one after another.
The tea drinker in green clothes covered his face with a cloth towel and frowned.
"You haven't finished your tea yet, what do you want?"
"A pot costs three cents. How many pots have you drunk?"
Scholars hate it most when others use their financial difficulties to insult them. It would have been fine if it happened somewhere else in the past, but today it happens on their "own territory", which makes them feel particularly insulted.
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