Chapter Forty-Two: Tang Yi Returns to the City and They Meet Again; The Wedding Night and the Mysterious Taoist

As dusk gradually settled, the clear notes of a horn carried a chill through the air. Song Mo returned to the mortuary at the southern edge of the city, just in time to see a donkey cart slowly pull up before the entrance. The driver wore a bamboo hat, and atop the cart lay a body wrapped in a bamboo mat.

Even as someone accustomed to strange sights, Song Mo found this unusual—it was the first time he had seen a corpse delivered in such a manner. Yet, despite his curiosity, he did not approach or speak. Why not? In the business of handling the dead, one could hardly go out soliciting clients—it simply wasn’t proper.

Lying down on the cold couch, Song Mo did not feel particularly weary. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. Not long after, the sound of knocking echoed from outside. It was not yet the hour of the dog, and already the mortuary had begun the roll call. The life of a laborer was bitter indeed.

He opened the door, expecting one of the menial staff, but instead found Tang Yi standing there.

“Is the matter in Changning County resolved?” Song Mo asked in surprise.

“Let’s talk inside,” Tang Yi replied without ceremony, stepping through the door. Song Mo quickly shut it behind them. Tang Yi sat down on a wooden chair, massaging his temples—a clear sign that the case in Changning County had not gone smoothly.

“How did the investigation go?” Song Mo asked, feigning ignorance.

Tang Yi shook his head. “I fear there’s a fox spirit at work in Changning County.”

Song Mo started, immediately thinking of Ying Ning, Qing Feng, and Xiao Cui. He steadied himself and spoke in a low voice, “If a fox spirit is involved, I suggest you stay out of it. Let Jiang Wanyi handle it when she’s finished with her affairs.”

Tang Yi shook his head, ignoring the suggestion. Instead, he asked, “The portrait of the woman you had delivered the other day—was she a fox spirit?”

Song Mo saw through Tang Yi’s intent at once; he was trying to use this opportunity to repay a favor to Jiang Wanyi, so even if confronted with a demon, he would not easily back down.

“That woman’s allure seems innate, much like that of a fox spirit,” Song Mo said carefully after a moment’s thought.

Tang Yi was clever. He immediately caught the nuance in Song Mo’s words.

“You say she ‘seems’ like a fox spirit?” he pressed, frowning. That single word left the matter ambiguous. It could mean she was, or she wasn’t.

Song Mo sighed and answered honestly, “I don’t truly know her real identity. However, there’s no demonic aura about her.”

The two fell silent for a moment, until Song Mo finally asked, “Tell me—have you found some clue?”

Song Mo’s question was not unfounded; for Tang Yi to leave Changning County and seek him out, he must have discovered something. Tang Yi did not conceal it, but instead recounted the tale told by the old master of the Zhang family, Zhang Changlin, the previous night.

The Zhangs, a family of a hundred years, should by all rights have flourished, with branches spreading wide and descendants filling the halls. Yet, for reasons unknown, each generation had fewer heirs than the last. By the time old master Zhang Changlin presided, the sun was setting on the family line, and he had only a single grandson.

Pinning all his hopes on this boy, Zhang Changlin named his grandson Guang, wishing that he would spread his seed and continue the family legacy. But fate is fickle. When Zhang Xiaoguang finally came of age, the lad set his heart on scholarly pursuits and officialdom, showing little interest in romance.

The old master arranged several matches, each bride said to be more beautiful than the last, but none could move Zhang Xiaoguang’s heart. Driven to desperation, the wily old master devised a cunning plan: he assembled a group of young and comely maids and placed them all in Xiaoguang’s quarters.

The maids understood the old master’s intentions. After all, Zhang Xiaoguang was his only grandson and the likely future head of the household. Each aspired to rise above her station, to become a phoenix among women. Well-versed in the ways of men, they dressed themselves in ever shorter and more revealing skirts and blouses, dusted themselves with alluring scents of mother clove and purple flower—fragrances meant to ignite desire.

Surprisingly, Zhang Xiaoguang remained unmoved, his gaze never straying, his mind devoted solely to the classics. The maids tried every trick, even warming his bed, but he remained oblivious, sleeping fully clothed and untouched.

Song Mo could not help but marvel at this. What sort of man was this? Surely a paragon of virtue, as unyielding as the ancient sage Liu Xiahui!

Tang Yi’s face remained impassive as he continued.

Eventually, Zhang Xiaoguang found the constant fluttering of the maids too noisy and moved into a thatched cottage on the family’s back hill. There was no companion, no gentle beauty to add warmth—only an old servant to bring him three meals a day.

Seeing that nothing could be done, the old master gave up. When word spread, the entire city became the subject of gossip. Tea houses and taverns abounded in Changning County, and within half a month, everyone was talking about the scholar from the Zhang family who shunned women.

For a time, he became a laughingstock. Though Zhang Changlin was angered, there was nothing to be done. As time passed, even the old master began to have doubts. The Zhou dynasty had its share of men who favored the company of courtesans and actors—perhaps his grandson did not love women, but men instead?

Just as Zhang Changlin was fretting himself into a stupor, a strange event occurred. A month later, Zhang Xiaoguang returned with a beautiful woman, declaring his intent to make her his wife.

The old master was overjoyed, thinking his foolish grandson had finally come to his senses. Seeing the woman only increased his delight—she was not only lovely, but also refined and well-mannered, dressed as befitted a lady of noble birth.

According to Zhang Xiaoguang, her name was Zhao Yueshu, daughter of a renowned merchant family from Jiangnan. She had come to the capital to sell textiles, only to fall victim to bandits, escaping with her life by chance.

At the mention of her misfortune, Zhao Yueshu wept quietly—a sight that would move any heart. Zhang Changlin immediately agreed to the match, summoned a fortune-teller, and, consulting the almanac, chose an auspicious date for the wedding.

Zhao Yueshu, versed in etiquette, explained that though she had suffered at the hands of bandits, she had managed to preserve a single treasured possession—a fox-fur cloak—which she could offer as dowry.

When the cloak was brought out and unrolled, all present were astounded. Its fur was as white as snow, spotless and sleek, with a subtle spiritual aura flickering across its surface—a rare and precious artifact.

Zhang Changlin, sharp-eyed, saw at once that this was no ordinary cloak. It was surely worth ten thousand taels of silver. Seeing Zhao Yueshu offer such a treasure so casually, the Zhangs were all the more convinced they had gained a most advantageous alliance.

Time flowed swiftly, and the wedding day soon arrived. Wishing to show off, the Zhang family had the fox-fur cloak mounted and displayed in the main hall for all to see. Though Zhao Yueshu was displeased, she gave no sign.

On the night of the wedding, a lame old Taoist appeared at the door. He wore a patched grey robe, his sleeves shiny with wear, presenting a shabby appearance.

The old master had instructed that any who came seeking wedding alms that day should receive a few copper coins and a bowl of meat soup, to ensure good fortune. When a servant offered the coins, the Taoist ignored them, instead grabbing a handful of air and sniffing it.

Then, in a cold voice, he intoned, “Woe, woe—man and demon joined in wedlock, a dire omen indeed.”

The servant was furious, thinking, “We show you kindness, and you repay us with curses?” He moved to drive the old man away, but the Taoist suddenly spoke again, his tone chilling, “Go back and tell your master—the bride is not human.”

The servants exchanged bewildered glances, and when they looked up again, the Taoist had vanished without a trace.