Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio 13

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Liaozhai 13
Lanting Bookshop, Changqing County

“Brother Jiefu, this is for you. Keep it safe,” Lin Lai whispered, pulling a scroll from her sleeve and slipping it into Ma Jiefu’s hands as though they were clandestinely exchanging secret messages. The covert atmosphere was hardly Lin Lai’s fault; given their efforts to avoid being seen together openly, and the way Ma Jiefu had quietly led her here to the bookshop in the first place, their sneaking about was more a game than a necessity—especially since Lin Lai was dressed as a man.

Ma Jiefu, his expression unchanged, tucked the scroll into his sleeve with a broad smile. “You really had me in mind. I’m touched.”

“Of course,” Lin Lai said. “This took some effort to acquire.” Though not the work of a famed artist, the painting had remarkable technique and spirit; Lin Lai had been immediately drawn to it and thought it would suit Ma Jiefu’s taste perfectly.

Ma Jiefu, feeling gratified, couldn’t help but ask, “Your letter was so vague—what actually happened?”

Leaning in, Lin Lai recounted the story succinctly, then added, “By the way, I still have that wooden bird I broke. I wanted to get it fixed, but even the craftsmen in our household said they couldn’t manage it. Do you know anyone with that sort of skill?”

“I can do it,” Ma Jiefu replied, as though it were nothing.

Lin Lai narrowed her eyes. “No, you can’t.”

He wouldn’t look at her. “I didn’t say I could do it now.”

“So why pretend?” Lin Lai asked, puzzled.

This time Ma Jiefu turned to her, a half-smile on his lips. “What do you think?”

“I’m not one to try everything I see,” Lin Lai muttered. “If that were the case, when I met Master Yan Chixia—the great swordsman who taught me swordplay—I’d have begged him to take me as a disciple.”

Seeing Ma Jiefu’s expression soften, Lin Lai seized the chance. “It’s good to know there are things you haven’t mastered, Brother Jiefu. That way, we can improve together.”

Ma Jiefu, soothed by her words, mentioned a talented artisan he knew, a master of woodcarving whose creations could move in response to hidden mechanisms—almost like a shadow play, but with wooden figures.

“Incredible,” Lin Lai breathed.

“Calling it a marvel of craftsmanship wouldn’t be exaggeration,” Ma Jiefu replied.

Though Lin Lai was intrigued, she hid her excitement out of consideration for Ma Jiefu’s feelings. Then she remembered another matter. “Were you here at the bookshop to buy something?”

Ma Jiefu nodded and fetched a book from the shelves. “I’m preparing for the coming autumn examinations.”

Lin Lai caught his meaning. “Is this something you and my father agreed on? Does it feel like you’re being forced to drink water like a stubborn ox?”

Ma Jiefu chuckled. “Do you take me for a beast of burden? Not really. I was planning to take the exam anyway—otherwise, I wouldn’t have earned my scholar’s degree in the first place. So it’s not a case of ‘forcing the ox to drink.’”

Lin Lai smiled. “Good.”

But Ma Jiefu pressed, “And if I were unwilling?”

Feigning thought, Lin Lai answered, “Then you’ll just have to bear it.”

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“…I really shouldn’t have asked,” Ma Jiefu sighed.

“As long as you know,” Lin Lai said cheerfully, and went off to pick out a set of scholar’s tools to encourage him. Seeing his gloomy expression, she couldn’t help but laugh—though her amusement soon turned to embarrassment. As she left Lanting Bookshop, her eyes fell on the sign above the door. There was only one character: “Lin.” Their family’s name. It was their shop.

Ma Jiefu, following her out, noticed her reaction and guessed what had happened. He said solemnly, “Brother Lin, you really know how to keep things in the family.”

Lin Lai was speechless.

How mortifying—it felt as though she’d been secretly watching a forbidden play, only to have her parent burst in and the sound escape her headphones at the worst possible moment.

The déjà vu was overwhelming. Covering her face, Lin Lai hastily bid Ma Jiefu farewell and fled.

Ma Jiefu watched her go until she was out of sight before turning to leave himself.

After this incident, Lin Lai didn’t see Ma Jiefu for some time. At most, they exchanged a few letters—she called it leaving him undisturbed so he could study in peace and make a name for himself in the autumn exams.

In the meantime, Lin Lai began to explore her own path. For convenience, she continued to dress as a man, though the disguise wasn’t perfect—those who knew her well still recognized her. This made her think of makeup techniques from her previous life, and more fancifully, the human-skin masks from wuxia novels. The latter especially fascinated her, since she’d never seen one and found the idea so strange that she wished she had such a tool for disguise.

But when she finally encountered a human-skin mask, she found nothing to like about it at all.

Lately, several horrifying murders had occurred under the jurisdiction of Laizhou Prefecture—the victims’ chests were torn open and their hearts removed. No one believed these could be the work of humans, and the city was gripped with fear.

When Lin Lai returned to Changqing County from Jinhua County, no such murders had happened yet. Her uncle, Xu Jijun, who worked as a constable at the yamen, was still feeling fortunate. But the very next morning, someone burst in, terror-stricken, to report that his brother had been disemboweled and his heart gouged out.

Such a bizarre case quickly became the talk of the town. Upon hearing of it, Lin Lai rode over to investigate.

The victim, surnamed Wang, was a wealthy cloth merchant. The scene was his study, and at that moment, few dared approach—the constables waited outside, pale-faced, a few unable to suppress their nausea. The horror inside was unmatched: the victim’s entrails were spilled out, and even Lin Lai, peeking in through a back window, had to look away.

Though she’d encountered many spirits and monsters before, this was her first time seeing a fresh corpse.

After steadying herself, Lin Lai examined the scene and found traces of spiritual filth on the body—clear proof the murderer was not human.

Just as she prepared to track the culprit through these traces, a sharp, hysterical female voice rang out from the front: “I told you that vixen was trouble! He was bewitched, insisted on keeping her in the house, and now look—he’s been ruined by her!”

Lin Lai lingered to listen.

Apparently, the victim had recently taken a young woman into his study, neglecting his wives and concubines. Now that he was dead and the young woman missing, his wife, in her jealousy, insisted the newcomer was the murderer and demanded her arrest.

It sounded like a jealous tantrum, but Lin Lai took note. She also observed that the study door showed no signs of forced entry. In an ordinary case, that would mean the suspect hadn’t broken in—but this was no ordinary case. The culprit might well have passed through the door without a trace.

Suddenly, Lin Lai realized something: all the victims had been men.

Looking again at the corpse, aside from the gaping chest, she saw that the body seemed utterly hollowed out.

That made the missing young woman highly suspicious.

Having drawn her conclusions, Lin Lai used a “Seek the Mark” talisman to trace the spiritual residue.

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To her surprise, the talisman led her to an old woman, whose kindly face seemed completely at odds with the description of a young lady.

But Lin Lai had full confidence in her own talisman. Staring coldly at the old woman, she said, “Did you really think you could escape?”

The old woman bolted—an admission of guilt if ever there was one.

Lin Lai drew her sword and gave chase.

As she ran, the old woman began to cry out, “Murder! Murder!” Her terror was so convincing that the bustling street turned to look. A few burly butchers even stepped out, cleavers in hand, asking, “Where?”

Lin Lai had no wish to hurt the innocent. She sent her sword flying like an arrow—a demon-slaying arrow at that—straight into the old woman’s back.

Now the whole crowd was shouting, “Murder! Murder!”

But what happened next was even more terrifying. The old woman writhed, then tore off her own skin, revealing a blue-faced, fanged demon. Bathed in sunlight, the demon howled and tried to crawl back into the discarded skin.

Lin Lai was ready. She claimed both sword and skin, but the demon bared its teeth and lunged.

She raised her sword to meet it, only for the demon to feint—its real target was the dark alley nearby.

Not willing to let it escape, Lin Lai was faster; her sword severed its head, but the ordeal was not yet over.

The demon dissolved into a swirl of blue smoke, twisting as if seeking a crack to escape through.

This was the first time Lin Lai had encountered such a situation. Her first thought was “vacuum cleaner”—but she had no way to conjure such a thing out of thin air. When she’d made nectar for ghosts before, she’d started with real water, transforming it with a “Willow Dew” talisman into something spirits could consume.

In this desperate moment, Lin Lai spotted some gourds for sale at a nearby stall. Without hesitation, she grabbed one, hastily wrote a talisman and stuck it on the gourd.

She hurled it at the smoke. Luckily, a golden light flashed, and the swirling mass was sucked inside. But as the gourd hit the ground, it began to revert to an ordinary vessel.

Gritting her teeth, Lin Lai slapped on a “Unbreakable” talisman as well.

That finally did the trick.

But Lin Lai felt utterly drained. Hands shaking, she picked up the gourd, looking at the “Purple Gold Gourd” talisman she’d written, feeling a mixture of triumph and exhaustion. She was glad she’d managed to push beyond her limits at a critical moment, but the toll it took was immense—and its effects so fleeting.

At least, she thought, she wouldn’t have to shout into the gourd, “Demon, will you answer if I call your name?” The thing’s head was gone; it wouldn’t be answering anyone now.

After watching for a while to make sure the demon had truly been captured and there would be no further trouble, Lin Lai finally allowed herself to relax. But what happened next proved she’d let her guard down too soon.