Chapter Four: The Haunted House

After a hearty meal, Feng Yuan spent just twenty copper coins—not expensive at all. In fact, it was less than what Fat Zhang would pay for a book, which explained why Feng Yuan had been so astonished when Zhang spent fifty coins on one just moments ago.

In this world, an ordinary family could get by for a month on a hundred coins. With five hundred coins in his pocket, as long as Feng Yuan kept away from gambling and brothels, he could easily make it half a year.

“Hey, Feng Yuan, you haven't come to Book Street to sell calligraphy or paintings these past few days. Where did you get all this money? Knowing how stingy you are, even if you had cash, you’d never splurge at a restaurant. Did you strike it rich? Take your brother along, won’t you?” Fat Zhang wiped his mouth and leered at Feng Yuan with a sly grin.

“You’re not cut out for it,” Feng Yuan replied, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“You’re too dumb.”

“Can’t you be a little more tactful?”

“Your head’s full of dung.”

“On second thought, don’t be tactful.”

Feng Yuan smiled at Fat Zhang. “Fatty, since you said those novels are so popular, why don’t you write one yourself? You might become famous overnight and strike it rich.”

“I’d like to, but you know me. I only bought my scholar’s degree—I’m not cut out for writing. Besides, there are so many writers these days, but only one or two ever get famous. Not everyone can make a living at it. I know my own limits.” Fat Zhang looked at Feng Yuan, fully aware of his own shortcomings.

Feng Yuan nodded, then asked, “Which publishing house puts out those books?”

“The Hanlin Bookshop, right in the middle of Book Street.”

“Got it. I won’t keep you. I have some things to do. See you another day.” Having gotten the information he wanted, Feng Yuan waved goodbye.

“Wait up, Feng Yuan! I’m free anyway, I’ll come with you. Maybe I can help!” Fat Zhang hurried after him, grinning.

“You just want to stick around for a free meal, don’t you?” Feng Yuan sneered.

“Ahem… well, look at that, what a bright and refreshing autumn day!”

“It’s summer,” Feng Yuan replied coldly, making Fat Zhang scratch his head in embarrassment and glance around awkwardly. Just then, inspiration struck Feng Yuan. “Fatty, I remember you’re well connected. Help me find out if anyone’s renting a house.”

“You want to rent a place in the city?”

“Yes.” Feng Yuan nodded. He had no intention of returning to that rundown village. If he wanted to make money and get ahead, he needed to be in the city—opportunity lay in the metropolis.

“I do know a place, and it’s beautiful—cheap, too. Just ten coins a year!” Fat Zhang said.

“What! Ten coins a year? Say that again?” Feng Yuan thought he’d misheard.

“You heard right, ten coins a year,” said Fat Zhang. “But the place is a bit odd. I heard it’s haunted. Quite a few who’ve lived there went mad, and one even died.”

“Haunted? That’s interesting. Take me there!” Feng Yuan’s curiosity was piqued. He’d always been bold, often venturing into haunted places in his previous life, hoping to see a ghost—preferably a beautiful one, for the thrill of a supernatural romance.

“You’re really going?”

“Stop talking and lead the way!” Feng Yuan smacked Fat Zhang.

“Fine, but let me be clear—I’m not responsible if anything happens! Don’t blame me later,” Fat Zhang warned.

“Enough chatter, let’s go!” Feng Yuan replied impatiently.

Fat Zhang led the way; it wasn’t far, just a few streets away, right beside Book Street where Feng Yuan often set up his stall.

Soon, the two stood before the house Fat Zhang had mentioned. It was grand—a large courtyard right in the center of the main street, imposing and spacious, with seven courtyards in succession.

What did seven courtyards mean? Each courtyard was a unit, so seven meant seven courtyards linked together—a mansion, really. Ordinarily, only the high and mighty—officials and nobility—could occupy such a residence. Ordinary folk would feel lucky to have two or three courtyards; three was the limit for those without official rank. Any more, and it was a crime punishable by death, regardless of wealth.

This seven-courtyard mansion, though lacking a name plaque, was clearly once the residence of someone of high status.

“See? Not bad, right? If it weren’t haunted, you couldn’t get in for ten gold, let alone ten coins!” Fat Zhang remarked.

Feng Yuan nodded. “This isn’t an ordinary house. Who lived here?”

“No idea. It’s been abandoned for years. If you want to know, we can ask the gatekeeper.” Fat Zhang led Feng Yuan to the large vermilion doors and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened a crack. Peering through, Feng Yuan recoiled—he saw what looked like a desiccated corpse!

“Damn, a walking corpse!” he blurted.

“Elder, we’re here to rent the house. Could you please open the door?” Fat Zhang called into the crack.

At those words, the door swung open, revealing not a corpse, but a withered old man, all skin and bones, as if he’d withered away from some affliction.

“Who wants to rent?” the old man asked, eyeing Fat Zhang.

“Not me—him,” Fat Zhang pointed at Feng Yuan.

The old man scrutinized Feng Yuan. “You want to rent? I’ll warn you, young man, this place is haunted. If you lack courage, don’t bother.”

“I know, that’s exactly why I’m here. Could you show us around?” Feng Yuan replied.

The old man stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded and led them inside.

It was immediately clear the place had been deserted for years. Though the courtyards were beautifully constructed, weeds had overrun everything, the whole place exuding desolation and decay.

“No one’s lived here for years—it’s a mess, but with some cleaning, it’ll be fine,” the old man explained as they walked.

After touring the first courtyard, he stopped. “What do you think?”

“Seems fine. What about the back?” Feng Yuan gestured to the inner courtyards.

“They’re all more or less the same, but you’d best stay away from them—strange things happen deeper in. If you stay in this first courtyard and don’t wander, you’ll be safe.”

Feng Yuan nodded. The rumors of haunting seemed well founded, but that only sharpened his curiosity.

“Alright, I’ll take it. How much?” Feng Yuan asked.

The old man waved a bony hand. “Let’s not talk money yet. Try living here first—if nothing happens to you in a few days, then I’ll collect the rent.”

His words were more than a little unsettling, enough to make Fat Zhang’s legs tremble. “Maybe you should reconsider—this is a matter of life and death!”

“No need,” Feng Yuan replied calmly. He turned to the old man. “Sir, who was the original owner? Are they still around?”

“They are—the whole family moved to the capital. I stayed behind to watch over the house. As for who they are, that I can’t tell you. If you’re sure, I’ll get someone to tidy up, and you can move in tonight.”

“I’m sure. I’ll take it,” Feng Yuan replied earnestly.