Chapter Twenty-Four: Someone in the Well

Less than a minute after Zhao Qingxue left, Fatty Zhang arrived, his face alight with joy as he walked in from outside.

“Feng Yuan, guess how much we made this afternoon. I promise you won’t guess it!” Fatty Zhang looked at Feng Yuan proudly.

“How much?”

“Heh, twelve taels of silver!” Fatty Zhang said as he produced the silver and handed it to Lu Yan.

Feng Yuan stared in astonishment. They’d made six taels in the morning, and now another twelve in the afternoon. That meant at least three to four thousand people had come to read in a single day.

“Surprised, aren’t you?” Fatty Zhang looked at Feng Yuan. “I didn’t expect it either. You should have seen the crowd this afternoon—it was utter chaos, like a brawl. The room was so packed you couldn’t get inside; we had to let them in by groups. I bet even more people will come in the next few days. We need to come up with a solution!”

Feng Yuan nodded. Indeed, with such a huge readership, the academy was far too small. If the number of visitors kept growing, the place would be overwhelmed. They had to find a way to manage it.

“By the way, did Miss Zhao come looking for you?” Fatty Zhang asked.

“Miss Zhao? Who’s that?”

“Tut, the daughter of the great Zhao family—the big cloth merchant. Zhao Qingxue, she’s taken a liking to your novel too. She even disguised herself as a man and came to our academy. After reading, she wasn’t satisfied and kept pestering me for your address. When I refused, she threatened to beat me until I cried, so I ended up giving in!”

Fatty Zhang looked at Feng Yuan as he spoke.

Feng Yuan’s eyes flickered. Zhao Qingxue—wasn’t that the woman disguised as a man whom he had just accidentally groped?

“I heard this Miss Zhao has a bad temper and likes to hit people. Is that true?” Feng Yuan asked Fatty Zhang cautiously.

“Yes, everyone knows that. Last month, some rogue tried to take liberties with her—rumor has it he still can’t walk on his own. You need to be careful, don’t offend her. If you keep her happy, who knows, we might make a fortune!”

Fatty Zhang grinned at Feng Yuan.

“Fatty, tell me, did that rogue succeed in molesting Miss Zhao?”

“Of course not! If he had, the grass on his grave would be waist high by now!”

“Damn…”

“Feng Yuan, what’s wrong? Are you alright? Why has your face gone pale?”

“It’s nothing, just caught a chill—feeling a bit unwell. I’ll be fine after a little rest.”

...

After dinner and a brief rest, it was already past eight at night. Feng Yuan returned to his study to continue writing, not stopping until the early hours, completing over twenty thousand words and generating a great deal of golden light.

His body aching and weary, Feng Yuan quickly sat down and absorbed the golden light from his novel. As the warmth filled him, his aches faded and he felt thoroughly refreshed.

After cultivating, exhaustion crept over him. It was time to sleep. Feng Yuan gathered his change of clothes and headed into the courtyard. He glanced toward Hu Xiao’s room—her light was out, so he relaxed, stripped down, and began to bathe.

He’d been busy all day and had forgotten to buy a wooden tub, so he had to squat by the well to wash. Tomorrow, he must remember to buy one.

Night was silent and still, with only the cold, clear moonlight for company. Naked, Feng Yuan tossed the bucket into the well to draw water, facing the second courtyard. He glanced over—everything seemed normal.

He recalled how Feng Fugui had vanished that morning. It seemed the evil spirit had indeed been taken away by Feng Fugui; there should be no more trouble. He could finally be at ease.

Once the bucket was full, Feng Yuan hauled it up and doused himself with the water.

The moment the water hit him, something felt wrong—a rank stench rose from the bucket, piercing his nostrils.

He froze and looked into the bucket. The water inside was tinged dark red, reeking of blood. How could the well water look like this?

Puzzled, he emptied the bucket and drew another. But as he started to pull it up, he sensed something was amiss—it felt far too heavy. A full bucket of water with the bucket itself weighed about twenty jin, not excessively heavy, but now it felt like over a hundred. Was it just his imagination?

Feng Yuan frowned, peering into the dark well. Suddenly, a cold wind blew up from below, sending an icy shiver through him—he felt as though he’d plunged into a frozen abyss, goosebumps rising all over.

What was going on? How could there be wind coming up from the well? This place wasn’t ventilated.

Perplexed, Feng Yuan mustered all his strength to haul the bucket up.

The moment it cleared the well’s edge, his legs nearly gave out and cold sweat streamed down his back.

Good heavens—perched atop the bucket was a woman with an ashen face, smiling at him.

“Feng Yuan, did you think I was gone?” the woman asked, her voice cold and eerie.

It was the woman from the painting.

Feng Yuan’s body went rigid. He stared at the ghostly woman for several seconds before instinctively releasing the rope, letting the bucket fall, and turning to flee.

But as he spun around, he crashed straight into someone’s chest—a hard, icy body. Looking up, he saw a burly man, dripping wet, his face pale, eyes gone and replaced by gaping, bloody holes from which streams of blood poured.

“Feng Fugui!”

Feng Yuan recognized him instantly—the missing man from that morning. Though his eyes were gone, his clothes and features were unmistakable.

He was dead.

“Feng Yuan, where do you think you’re going? Do you really think you can escape?”

As Feng Yuan stood stunned, the ghostly woman’s voice whispered in his ear. An icy hand closed around his neck, freezing him to the core. He felt a sharp pain, as if something warm was trickling down his skin.

He was bleeding.

She was trying to strangle him.

He couldn’t die. He mustn’t die!

With sudden clarity, Feng Yuan shouted to steady his nerves and, drawing on his street-fighting instincts, drove his elbow backward with all his might.

With a dull thud and a shriek of pain, the icy grip vanished from his neck.

Not daring to look back, Feng Yuan bolted. But he forgot Feng Fugui was still in front of him. Before he could get away, Feng Fugui seized his shirt and, baring blood-red teeth, lunged at his neck.

“Feng Yuan, you killed us—we demand your life!”

“Feng Yuan, you killed us—we demand your life!”

Two voices rang out from either side. Ma San and Skinny Monkey, who had disappeared with Feng Fugui, now appeared. Their eyes, too, were gone, blood streaming from the empty sockets. Mouths gaping, they lunged at Feng Yuan from left and right.

At the same moment, the ghostly woman’s icy hands gripped Feng Yuan’s shoulders—this time, with both hands…