Chapter Forty-Nine: The Zhang Family of the Main Courtyard Suffers Loss, Song Mo Encounters a Demon in the Side Room

The entire Zhang family had vanished mysteriously and without warning.

At these words from Song Mo, everyone present—except for Xia Yu, whose expression remained steady—looked utterly incredulous. The Zhang family, though its main branch was not populous, had many dependent relatives, servants, maids, cooks, and gatekeepers; altogether, their household numbered nearly two hundred. For so many people to disappear all at once—how could anyone not be chilled to the bone?

“This can’t be, right? Maybe the whole Zhang clan went out together for a ritual?” one of the constables muttered, his head tucked nervously. Yet his suggestion was hardly convincing. It was neither a festival nor a holiday—why would the entire family leave for a ceremony? And surely the maids and elderly housekeepers wouldn't tag along for such an occasion.

“Commander Xia, perhaps you should explain,” Song Mo said, turning to Xia Yu, whose face showed understanding.

Song Mo’s words afforded Xia Yu considerable respect. Xia Yu nodded solemnly and spoke in a low, steady voice: “Song Mo is correct. I too believe that the two hundred souls of the Zhang family vanished suddenly. There are two pieces of evidence right here in this room.”

The four remaining constables looked around, half skeptical. The room’s furnishings were orderly, nothing seemed amiss.

Xia Yu, not expecting them to discover anything, continued, “First, the door was bolted from the inside. I examined the bolt closely after entering—it shows no signs of tampering.”

He emphasized, “This tells us Zhang Yuhe and his wife locked the door last night and never left afterward.”

“Maybe they climbed out the window?” another constable questioned.

Xia Yu nodded gravely, “That’s possible.”

The questioning constable looked pleased to have his suspicion confirmed, but Xia Yu pursed his lips and added, “Unless this isn’t the Zhang residence.”

“Ah…”

“Second,” Xia Yu pointed to the desk, where a half-copied Diamond Sutra lay, “the person copying this scripture vanished halfway through. Look closely at the last character—see how steady the brushstroke is?”

The four constables crowded around the desk. Indeed, the Diamond Sutra was only half transcribed.

“Thus the Buddha spoke to Subhuti: All bodhisattvas and mahasattvas should thus subdue their minds. All sentient beings, whether born of eggs, wombs, moisture, or transformation; whether with form or without form; with thought or without thought; neither thought nor non-thought…”

The final character, “thought,” was only half written—the brushstroke ended abruptly. It was not the kind of broken ink caused by distraction, but as if both the scribe and their brush had vanished together.

These men were not mere drunkards or fools; seeing this, their faces turned ashen.

“We’re talking about over two hundred people! I refuse to believe a fox demon possesses such formidable sorcery. Search! I don’t believe there isn’t a single living soul left in the Zhang residence,” Xia Yu snarled, his voice fierce.

If all two hundred members of the centuries-old Zhang family of Changning County had been slain by a demon, even the sages might be alarmed. Not only would Xia Yu lose his position as constable, but the entire county yamen might face upheaval.

Song Mo, too, felt uneasy. Fox demons were born with alluring powers, but he doubted they possessed such strength.

Still doubtful, Song Mo began searching the Zhang residence alongside the others.

Though he knew in his heart there was no one left, he clung to a sliver of hope.

What if…?

After nearly half an hour, Song Mo entered the rear courtyard.

A shallow lake had been dug out, with a flagstone path winding along its edge and numerous pavilions surrounding it. The glazed tiles shone gold and blue, the green eaves carved with intricate patterns. Each pavilion boasted four upturned corners, and hanging from each was a bronze wind chime. As the breeze passed, the chimes rang softly.

In this vast, empty mansion, the atmosphere was indescribably eerie.

Song Mo pushed open the door to a side chamber.

The gauze curtains hung low, casting a hazy mood. The walls were draped in brocade, even the ceiling insulated with embroidered felt. Every furnishing suited a maiden’s boudoir: a lavish jade-inlaid bed, silk quilts, a tiny sachet hanging from the curtain hook, exuding a faint fragrance.

At the room’s center sat a censer, its incense subtle and lingering—neither clinging to clothing nor following one’s movements, yet enduring.

Even after days of neglect, the scent still lingered.

This had been Zhao Yue Shu’s room when she lived with the Zhangs.

Song Mo’s brow furrowed. He rubbed his nose and inhaled deeply, his heart sinking.

“A fox demon, indeed,” he whispered.

He understood now—every sachet and incense in the room served to mask another scent.

It was a fragrance impossible to describe—not the vulgar stench of common incense, but one that seemed to captivate the soul.

Just one breath stirred an inexplicable urge within him. He suppressed it by force, and gradually his mind calmed.

Before attaining enlightenment, fox demons carried a heavy animal scent, but once transformed, it became a special aroma, further enhancing their innate allure.

Song Mo’s expression changed. Suddenly, he felt a prickling sensation at his back.

It was familiar—he had felt it this morning while riding through the streets of Changning County.

He turned to find two men entering through the door.

Both wore sabers at their waist: the constables Zhu Ke and Ma Xiao Si.

“Well, well, what a narrow escape, little fellow,” Ma Xiao Si sneered, his smile oily and insincere, one hand resting on his saber’s hilt.

Zhu Ke said nothing, his face cold, moving to stand by the window.

With that, the two blocked Song Mo’s way out.

“You followed me?” Song Mo realized instantly that it was they whom he’d encountered earlier in the marketplace, and that they had followed him here to the Zhang residence.

“Yes, we followed you. What of it? Without Tang Yi, you’re nothing!” Ma Xiao Si grinned viciously, his pent-up grievances ready to vent upon Song Mo.

Zhu Ke glanced at Song Mo and chuckled, “What nonsense are you spouting, Ma? We’re not here for revenge, nor for stalking—we’re investigating.”

Song Mo’s heart sank. Zhu Ke was indeed a tough opponent; his words distanced himself neatly from any blame.

But that wasn’t all.

Zhu Ke’s smile faded. He eyed Song Mo sideways and said, “For a mere corpse-handler to know about the fox demon’s clues—clearly, he’s in league with it.”

Song Mo regarded them coldly, seeing them as nothing more than clowns. Zhu Ke stared at him and spoke in a deep voice, “Tell us what you know, and my brother and I will not trouble you further.”

Song Mo understood now—the pair still hoped to extract clues to solve the case from him.

“I have nothing to say,” he replied disdainfully, unimpressed by their opportunism.

“In that case, don’t blame us for being ruthless,” Zhu Ke said, signaling Ma Xiao Si. Together, they closed in on Song Mo from both sides.

Song Mo clenched his fists, grabbed a white jade brush holder from the table, ready to fight them to the death.

Suddenly, a strange event occurred. From the corner, two shadows emerged, instantly crawling up the legs of Zhu Ke and Ma Xiao Si.

“Zhu, what the hell is this?” Ma Xiao Si cried out.

Song Mo never heard Zhu Ke’s reply—before his eyes, Zhu Ke vanished into thin air, as did Ma Xiao Si.

After a long moment, Song Mo emerged from his shock.

This was his first encounter with a demon—so bizarre, two living men had simply disappeared.

Then, all at once, a stabbing pain pierced Song Mo’s heart.

Had he been frightened into a heart attack by the demon?

He startled, but quickly realized the truth.

It was not a heart attack—it was the warning from his Seven Aperture Linglong Heart.

Danger was approaching from behind!