114: Chapter 107 Grandma Mi 114: Chapter 107 Grandma Mi Zhou Xuan thought of the “Jing Deng” and asked Song Jie, “Does Zhang Yihua like submitting articles to newspapers?”
“I don’t know, but she really likes reading newspapers.” Song Jie mimicked the posture of “sitting cross-legged and reading a newspaper,” and said,
“On the set, whenever she took a break, she liked doing just that—reading all kinds of newspapers.”
“Okay, thank you, Second Sister-in-law.
We’ll chat later.
I’m heading back to my room.”
Zhou Xuan got up to say goodbye, while Zheng Jiujang breathed a sigh of relief.
…
Inside the room, Lv Kunming had been waiting for so ti, occupying himself with reading a newspaper.
“Fifth Brother.”
Lv Kunming placed the newspaper on the table, stood up, and said, “I inquired with the night watchman and Zhang Yihua’s neighbors.
No one has entered Zhang Yihua’s house recently.
Besides that, I discovered sothing new.”
“What did you find out?” Zhou Xuan asked.
“At the West Leaf Mansion, there’s a night watchman nad Zhong.
He’s called a night watchman, but he doesn’t sound the rounds.
Every household in the mansion has clocks, and sounding the rounds is too noisy, so he mainly patrols with a wind lamp at night, checking for fires or theft in the mansion.
He said that on a rainy night a few months ago, he saw Zhang Yihua, clad in a raincoat, leave her house.
She had a bulge in her back, indicating she was carrying a large bag.”
“Was he able to identify her even though she was wearing a raincoat?”
*Zhou Xuan found this night watchman’s eyesight quite impressive.
He’d seen people in raincoats at the Zhou Family’s Troupe, and those coats were particularly thick, with double layers that covered the entire body tightly.*
“The night watchman is an avid fan of Zhang Yihua’s, the obsessed kind.
His house is filled with posters of her.”
*Just a fan—no wonder.*
*So fans are so infatuated that they even know their idol’s favorite foods and drinks perfectly.*
“The night watchman recognized her based on Zhang Yihua’s gait and general physique,” Lv Mingkun explained.
Zhou Xuan asked again, “Any other news?”
“Not at the mont.”
“Thanks for your hard work, Fifth Brother.
You should get so rest.
I’ll ponder this on my own.”
“Alright, if you need any help, feel free to co to .” After saying this, Lv Mingkun left the room.
Zhou Xuan then sat in a chair, contemplating.
*For soone as famous as Zhang Yihua, if she wanted to, she could easily have a car co into the mansion to pick her up, or find soone to carry the bag for her—was it necessary to do it all herself?*
“She’s a writer, going out at night, carrying a bag, with all sorts of disorganized books at ho.”
Zhou Xuan linked these doubts together.
The situation seed to be clearing up.
All the suspicious points in his mind unraveled into scenes of newspaper articles, each article being signed by Jing Deng!
“Zhang Yihua was indeed Jing Deng.
No wonder she published so many works in newspapers over the years without ever being caught; this is why.”
Zhou Xuan marveled.
*Jing Deng’s articles in the newspapers were nurous and varied, covering a wide range of publications, from frivolous celebrity gossip to serious political comntary.
She wrote it all…*
*The sheer quantity, the variety, and the fact that there was almost no break—even on days when Blood Well Society’s ciphers weren’t published, she still had plenty of articles published.*
*From the start, Zhou Xuan had his suspicions.
How could Jing Deng, the operator of the Blood Well Society, write so many articles without fearing being caught?*
*Even though the codes were subtle, those divine people, ghost watchers studying Blood Well, would eventually notice flaws and then trace them back through the articles.*
*After all, when articles were submitted to newspapers, there would be a ho address and real na, otherwise, the newspaper wouldn’t know where to send the paynts.*
*Now Zhou Xuan understood that all those articles were written by Jing Deng, but they weren’t submitted by her.*
*She put her writings in envelopes, which she then slipped into a poor writer’s mailbox or left conspicuously on window sills or door slots.*
*There were many such destitute writers in Ping Shui Prefecture.
With Jing Deng’s social standing, it wasn’t hard to find out where these people lived without anyone knowing.*
*Once they opened the letters and read Jing Deng’s articles, they’d know they were valuable and would submit them to newspapers.*
“There’s probably a note in those envelopes from Jing Deng instructing: ‘You must submit this using the pen na Jing Deng, and the content cannot be altered.'”
*If they didn’t follow her instructions and used another pen na, they wouldn’t receive any more of her “delivered” articles.
Without these manuscripts, there would be no hefty paynts, and those impoverished writers naturally understood this.*
*Since she delivered manuscripts to hos one by one, Jing Deng was actually quite safe.
Being a Blood Well Spirit Communicator, releasing her perception allowed her to sense if anyone was watching when she submitted to a poor writer’s ho; were they hiding sowhere, waiting to jump out with a “big surprise” after she finished the delivery…*
*The primitive delivery thods and her indifference to the revenue made by the articles ant that with the help of poor, aspiring, yet talentless writers, she established the Blood Well Society and made the na of Jing Deng the spiritual guide of the organization.*
*That was also the reason her ho was stacked with various books; Jing Deng’s eclectic writing required many reference materials.*
“This lady of the well, she’s truly admirable.”
*Jing Deng had talent, ideas, and even a strong character.
Even when tortured bloodily by the original host and actors, she never flinched.*
*Unfortunately, she ran into the Human Turtle!*
*The prediction by that Demon Clan Alien Ghost was bizarrely unreasonable…*
“What was Jing Deng’s purpose in founding the Blood Well Society?
Was it really as she declared at the gatherings—to benefit us Blood Well Spirit Communicators?”
Zhou Xuan fell into contemplation again.
*Money?
Jing Deng didn’t lack money.*
*Power?
Jing Deng lived alone, she likely didn’t care about that.*
*Could it be she founded the Blood Well Society because soone supported her from behind?*
“If there was truly soone behind her, she wouldn’t have been tornted so by a sub-branch run by an actor…”
Zhou Xuan decided not to make baseless speculations about Jing Deng anymore.
“Perhaps I can contact Jing Deng, but not at the Blood Well Gathering.”
“I’ll use Jing Deng’s thod to connect with her independently, without revealing my identity.”
Zhou Xuan made his decision and decided to give himself a pen na.
“What na should I choose?”
He gazed out at the courtyard, where his sister was conversing with Liu Jiaotian under the Ancestor Tree.
“I have my pen na—nad after the tree, ‘Bai Yang!'”
…
Knowing Zhang Yihua was Jing Deng, Zhou Xuan felt a lot more at ease.
*Even if it ca to the worst-case scenario—Jing Deng really intended to use the “Blood Well Fishing Technique” as a bargaining chip.*
*At least he could strike first, contact Jing Deng as soon as possible, and begin negotiations…*
*With a more open mind, Zhou Xuan lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and imrsed his spirit into the Secret Realm to continue ditating.*
…
The popularity of the Zhou Family’s Troupe was only increasing, and the foliage of the Ancestor Tree was even lusher.
Under the Ancestor Tree, Liu Jiaotian and Zhou Lingyi sat side by side, chatting over tea.
“I feel sowhat guilty about Third Brother’s situation,” Zhou Lingyi said.
“Brother Li made his own mistakes, one wrong step leading to another until it was beyond repair,” Liu Jiaotian sighed and replied.
“You’re the most fitting to take Third Brother’s place, but teaching the kids to perform is hard work.
You’re the mainstay of the Zhou Family’s Troupe, living a carefree life.
There’s no need to burden yourself like this,” Zhou Lingyi advised.
“I don’t mind the hardship.
I just have one hope—if the kids achieve success in the future, perform well, and want to beco stars in the pear garden, I ask the Class Leader to show rcy and not make things difficult for them.”
“Rest assured, as long as I’m here, the Zhou Family’s Troupe will never repeat the tragedy that once befell Third Brother.”
Zhou Lingyi, who had been resting with her eyes closed, opened them and nodded solemnly at Liu Jiaotian.
“Thank you, Class Leader.”
“I should be thanking you, Liu Third Brother,” Zhou Lingyi smiled.
Liu Jiaotian had beco the new Third Brother of the Zhou Family’s Troupe.
She gave Zhou Lingyi a smile of gratitude and then briskly left the Zhou Family’s Troupe, hailing a rickshaw along the way.
Liu Jiaotian lived in a house on 123 Flower Market Street, but she told the rickshaw puller, “Take to the rice shop on Minjian Road.”
“Huh?
To that eerie place?
If I’d known, I wouldn’t have picked you up,” the rickshaw puller shrank his neck.
*Rickshaw pullers had their principles: once a passenger got on board, they had to take them to their destination.
If they dared drop the handle, even if they turned a custor away halfway, it would bring them bad luck.*
“What rotten luck.”
After a little complaint, the rickshaw puller began running down the road.
…
The rice shop on Minjian Road was not a genuine rice store.
It had a door made of planks—over a dozen wide wooden boards placed in slots, forming a door.
At that ti, the rice shop was closed, but lights were still on inside; the light seeped through the gaps between the wooden boards, casting a striped shadow on the roadside.
Liu Jiaotian approached the door and heard the muttering of an old lady from within the shop, prompting her to knock on the door.
“Aunty, I’m here to pick up so rice.”
With a sound of “thud, thud,” one of the boards from the door was removed.
An old lady, short in stature and dressed in black mourning clothes, said to Liu Jiaotian, “Co in.”
Liu Jiaotian had just entered the room when Granny Mi tottered over to a corner where a rice vat was placed.
The lid of the rice vat was covered with a yellow Daoist talisman, just like the ones on the walls inside the room, drawn with chicken blood.
Granny Mi opened the vat, took a white cloth bag, and started ladling glutinous rice into it, scoop by scoop.
“Girl, is your Dao Bell rusty?”
“The neck of the bell has so rust.”
“That’s not a problem.
Just rember, if it gets rusty on half of it, co to for a new one.
I’m not trying to cheat you out of money, but too much rust makes it ineffective, which could lead to trouble.”
“Mm-hmm,” Liu Jiaotian agreed.
Once the sack was full, Granny Mi handed the bag to Liu Jiaotian, studying her carefully.
“Your brow looks darker; you should feed him less blood in the future.
Don’t pamper him.
Once he’s full, your body could fall apart.”
“Ugh…” Liu Jiaotian didn’t heed Granny Mi’s advice this ti.
Instead, she asked, concerned about Li Shuangyi, “Will Brother Li cause serious trouble?”
“No, he won’t.”
Granny Mi grabbed a handful of rice and walked toward a small incense shrine not far away.
The incense on the shrine released a faint blue smoke.
The ash used in the incense burner was made of glutinous rice.
Granny Mi scattered the rice into the blue smoke erging from the censer, muttering under her breath.
The old lady sifted through the sprinkled rice, picking out a single black grain, and said, “Look, I drew a fortune with the rice for you.
Out of a handful, only one grain turned black; it’s no big deal.”
“Thank you, Granny Mi.”
Liu Jiaotian offered repeated thanks, picked up the bag of rice, and walked down the street—rickshaw pullers would not co near the rice shop at night.
It wasn’t until she reached Minjian Road that Liu Jiaotian saw the rickshaw puller and got on again.
“123 Flower Market Street,” Liu Jiaotian directed.
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