Chapter Fourteen: A Series of Mysterious Deaths

Fang Mu first examined the area where the corpse was entwined by black hair. He reached into the wooden box for a thin needle and gently prodded at it. The hair was bound tightly, and it was strange—there were no joints; instead, it formed a single, seamless strand. The spot where the ends met was smooth as glass.

Human hair is always individual strands, but this hair seemed as if it had been welded together, perfectly fused into a ring, tight enough to strangle a person. The ancient Yue Kingdom possessed no such delicate technique—not to weld hair, nor to choke someone so precisely, the bond so tight that even a needle could barely slip through.

Fang Mu was quite certain this matter was inseparable from the woman in green.

“Sir… how did the village chief die?” one of the villagers asked, exchanging glances with the others before pushing a middle-aged man forward.

Fang Mu waved them silent and turned his attention to the dead man’s cheek. The flesh was swollen there, as if something was inside.

He rummaged in his wooden box, pulled out a bottle of strong liquor to sterilize the needle, and then donned a pair of homemade cloth gloves. Life called for a sense of ritual—even in autopsy.

Fang Mu pinched the corpse’s cheek and pried open its mouth. The moment he did, thick strands of hair crawled out from within.

At that moment, a strange fragrance wafted from the hair bound around the corpse’s limbs. Fang Mu recognized it at once—the peculiar scent of that mysterious potion. It was, however, much fainter this time. After circulating two threads of inner energy, Fang Mu found himself unaffected.

He turned around at the sound of gulping and saw the villagers behind him gazing with greedy longing at the hair on the chief’s limbs.

“Such a strong effect?” he thought.

Fortunately, the scent quickly dissipated, and the villagers regained their senses, exchanging confused looks and apparently forgetting what they’d just done.

[You searched an unidentified corpse and gained a wisp of true energy.]

The prompt sounded. Aside from that single wisp of energy, there was nothing else. With three wisps now collected, Fang Mu felt his strength had increased.

“Sir…” the middle-aged man asked quietly, “Have you found anything?”

Fang Mu returned his tools to the box and said, “He was strangled. I’ll need to report to the county magistrate.”

Shock flickered across the man’s face, and he trembled. “Sir, he was the village head! Who would dare kill him? We are all honest, simple folk—none of us would commit such a heartless crime.”

Fang Mu answered with amusement, “I never said it was you. Why so nervous?”

The man stammered, unable to reply.

Fang Mu closed the box and said, “I’m just the coroner, not the investigator. There’s no point telling me. Go prepare a room for me.”

“Huh?” The man blinked, as if doubting his ears. “Prepare a room?”

Fang Mu nodded. “It’s late, and you live in a remote place. Traveling the mountain roads at night isn’t safe. I’ll stay the night—unless you object?”

All of this was likely connected to the woman in green. Fang Mu wished to see what else might happen, and perhaps find her.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the man hurried to agree, “Of course, sir, I’ll arrange it at once.”

With a glance, he summoned another villager, who led Fang Mu to a house. In a small village like this, there were no spare rooms; the best they could offer was to share with a villager.

Fang Mu shook his head. “I want to stay in the village chief’s house.”

The man hesitated, pointing to a ruined spot in the distance. “We found it too frightening, so we burned the house…”

Fang Mu was speechless.

Another clue lost—these people were certainly thorough.

With no other choice, Fang Mu followed the villager to a room.

“Sir, I’m sorry you’ll have to make do,” the villager said anxiously, afraid Fang Mu might mention their plan to burn the chief’s body.

The room was extremely simple, but decent by the village’s standards. Fang Mu sat on a stool and pointed to another seat. “Sit—I have some questions.”

The villager looked uneasy, but sat, his hands clenched into fists, his face tense.

“That hair—do you recognize it?” Fang Mu asked.

The man’s facial muscles twitched. “N-no, I don’t.”

Fang Mu smiled and waved him away. Dismissed, the villager fled as if granted amnesty.

Once alone, Fang Mu’s expression grew thoughtful. Judging by the villager’s reaction and stammering, it was clear he knew more than he let on. But since he feigned ignorance, he was surely hiding something; further questioning would yield nothing.

Fang Mu tapped his fingers lightly on the table, the sound echoing in the silence. “If someone was killed here, it won’t end with this. I happened to arrive just in time—this time, you won’t escape…”

Time slipped by, and night fell.

Fang Mu sat by the table, the dim oil lamp casting flickering light and shadow across his face. It was already past midnight, and still there was no sign of anything unusual.

Just as Fang Mu began to think the woman in green would not appear, a cold, piercing sensation of being watched swept over him.

He drew the Ghost Thorn from his robe, flung open the door, and saw the scene outside.

There, directly in front of him, stood the woman in green, her face covered in corpse spots, her hair still bearing a large bald patch. Yet Fang Mu noticed her hair seemed even longer now—where before it fell to her hips, now it reached her thighs.

Her chilling gaze swept over Fang Mu, her eyes brimming with endless resentment.

“Come,” he whispered.

Circulating three wisps of true energy, Fang Mu instantly appeared at her side, the Ghost Thorn in his hand striking out.

The fiery blade flashed, but the woman in green vanished like a bubble, leaving behind only a single lock of hair, which turned to ash.

“Gone again?” Fang Mu thought. The cold sensation faded. He retrieved the Ghost Thorn, when suddenly a cry split the night outside.

“What’s happened?” Fang Mu rushed out the door and saw villagers gathering around a tree not far away.

Hanging from the branches were the corpses of more than a dozen villagers, the weight bending the tree low.

They were not suspended by rope, but by black hair.

The villagers wailed, only a few retaining their composure.

Fang Mu walked over and said quietly, “So many have died—surely now you’re ready to tell the truth?”

At his approach, the weeping villagers suddenly fell silent, fear contorting their faces.

The middle-aged man gritted his teeth, ignoring Fang Mu. He shouted, “To the ancestral hall! There, it cannot harm us!”

His words struck the crowd like a stone thrown into a pond, stirring immediate agreement.

“Yes, the ancestral spirits will protect us!”

“To the ancestral hall—it can’t hurt us there!”

“Hurry, I’m so afraid…”