The Actor 04

At this moment, Xiulian still clung to hope, but Butcher Zheng had no intention of letting her go. Instead, he trapped her at home, tormenting her daily. Then, by chance, she caught a glimpse through a small window of the figure she had longed for day and night.

The Peddler held a red embroidered handkerchief, flirting with a young woman who blushed deeply, yet showed no displeasure in her eyes.

In that instant, Xiulian's hope shattered completely.

Drunk again, Butcher Zheng came for her. As he assaulted her, Xiulian—lying like a corpse—suddenly grabbed the scissors hidden under her pillow and stabbed at his eye. But how could a frail woman match the strength of a butcher who slaughtered pigs and cattle year-round?

Butcher Zheng lost an eye but grew even more brutal. He grabbed anything within reach to beat this "worthless wretch," smashing Xiulian's face until she breathed her last. Only then did he stop.

The aftermath was simple. Xiulian’s parents came, making a show of their grief, but after Butcher Zheng handed them a few silver coins, they left satisfied—without even taking her body.

Blinded in one eye, Butcher Zheng wrapped Xiulian’s corpse in a tattered mat and tossed her into the mass graves.

And so, the vengeful spirit of Xiulian was born.

Yet she dared not seek revenge. Butcher Zheng’s aura of violence was too strong; she couldn’t even get close. So she became a wandering ghost, hiding in the wilderness, yearning to kill passersby to soothe her resentment.

But before she could act, she encountered Fang Zhiyi.

Fang Zhiyi already knew her story through Little Hei and was aware she would later die at the hands of the female lead.

"Let me tell you something," Fang Zhiyi said, hands on hips. "Is Butcher Zheng your only enemy?"

Xiulian blinked in confusion. "Isn’t he?"

"What about the Peddler?" Fang Zhiyi poked her forehead. "And your opium-addicted father and useless mother?"

Seeing Xiulian’s blank expression, Fang Zhiyi rolled her eyes. "Listen to me, and I’ll help you settle all your grudges. We’re all about payback—eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."

Xiulian hesitated, glancing at Fang Zhiyi’s hand before lowering her head.

Suddenly, Little Hei called out, "Host! Host! Number Two has appeared!"

Fang Zhiyi didn’t waste time, grabbing Xiulian and vanishing with her.

Outside Xiaowang Village lay a wide river where smaller streams converged. Building a bridge was difficult, so crossing required a ferry—hence the profession of the ferryman.

But it was now midnight.

A man dressed in Western-style leather shoes sat on the raft. "Perfect! I thought I’d have to wait till dawn. Ferryman, I’ll give you extra coins later."

The oarsman didn’t reply, mechanically repeating his motions.

"Why are you still out here so late?" the Western-dressed man asked, then laughed. "Ah, Old Master Wang must’ve arranged this! Did you know? Old Master Wang of Xiaowang Village is my uncle! Hahaha!"

The oarsman paused, his teeth grinding with a hideous sound.

"Why’d we stop?" The man grew uneasy. Grabbing an oil lamp, he shone it forward—only to see a drenched figure standing there, skin deathly pale.

"Y-you… what do you want? I’ve got no money!" The man trembled in fear.

The figure didn’t speak, advancing step by step, leaving muddy footprints on the raft.

Terrified, the man squeezed his eyes shut—but death never came. When he dared to look again, the ghoul was gone. The raft drifted downstream with the current.

"Hey! Come back! If you’re not killing me, at least take me to the other side! Hey?"

Fang Zhiyi watched as the man fumbled with a pole, struggling to steer the raft ashore. Then she turned to the water ghost she held.

The ghost stared blankly at her, then at the young woman behind her, utterly bewildered.

"Fu, right?" Fang Zhiyi seemed to realize the ghost couldn’t speak.

Fu hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"Rumor says you were drowned by Xiaowang villagers for stealing their ferry business. True?"

Fu tilted his head.

Fang Zhiyi flipped him upside down, shaking him hard. Water gushed from his orifices, and when she righted him, his eyes seemed clearer.

"Your brain must’ve been waterlogged," Fang Zhiyi sighed. "Fine, I’ll avenge you. Stay put."

Fu seemed to understand, nodding again—sending more water splashing out.

"Damn weather! Now rain? NO!" The Western-dressed man’s shouts echoed below.

The next day, rain fell relentlessly.

"Did you hear? Qinghe Town has a young master of the occult," a cart-driver boasted to his drinking companions.

"Is he young or a master?"

"Can’t he be both? They say he’s powerful—even Ma Xiuyun of the Ma family became his disciple."

"Who’s Ma Xiuyun?"

"You know Squire Ma? Now called Master Ma." The cart-driver launched into an elaborate tale, as if he’d witnessed it himself—the actor’s vengeful ghost, the epic battle with the Taoist, hundreds of clashes across heaven and earth, until Ma Xiuyun’s help secured victory.

The listeners were spellbound—until thunder cracked, making them flinch.

"Maybe we should get a protective charm too?"

Pleased with his storytelling, the cart-driver donned his raincoat and set off. The goods had to be delivered before dawn.

But at daybreak, villagers found him dead by the roadside. His horse had freed itself, grazing peacefully, while the driver lay with his mouth gaping, filled with dirt—maggots wriggling from the corners.

The town’s officers arrived, gave a cursory inspection, and hauled the body away for burial. These days, death was nothing unusual.

Fang Zhiyi’s entourage had grown to ten—a motley crew of oddities, with only Xiulian and a white-robed youth resembling humans.

"Brother Fang…" the youth in white spoke. "Who do we seek next?"