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"Time to eat."
The young man saw that everyone was timid and dared not step forward, so he couldn't help but lower his head.
The pale lamplight shone on his face. His brow bones were slightly deep, and his eye sockets were filled with shadows, making him appear somewhat gloomy.
After a moment, he bit down hard on his cheek muscles and called out again.
'Whoosh—'
A stir went through the crowd, but still, no one dared to step forward on their own.
He was silent for a moment, then finally sighed, put down the ladle with a 'clank,' and then rubbed his hands together a couple of times. After taking a few deep breaths, he raised his head, calmly picked up the book placed to his left, and then casually opened it.
The scene at this moment was extremely peculiar.
The Liu family was benevolent and generous, enjoying a good reputation for their virtue in Wan'an County. Beggar's Alley even got its name because the Liu family's continuous alms-giving attracted poor people from all directions even after they moved.
After the ghost domain enveloped this place, people could enter but not leave. Many were trapped here without food or drink, yet the Confucius Temple still continued to give alms—this had almost become the only source of food for the trapped people.
Logically, everyone should have rushed for the food, but now that the meal was cooked and served, no one dared to be the first to ask for it. It even required someone to call out names.
A question slowly arose in Zhao Fusheng's mind: Could it be that the people of Wan'an County in the Great Han Dynasty were so well-mannered?
She was lost in wild thoughts when she saw that as the young man flipped through the book, everyone around showed uneasy and fearful expressions.
Many people clasped their hands together, seemingly restless. After a while, his gaze landed on a spot in the book, and then he called out:
"Wang Shuicai—"
"Is Wang Shuicai here?"
When the people gathered around the Confucius Temple heard him call out 'Wang Shuicai', many felt as if they had been granted a great pardon.
Just as everyone was about to smile, the youth did not hear 'Wang Shuicai' respond for a long time.
The scene was silent for a moment. The smiles on the faces of many who had shown relief froze, and an eerie, tense atmosphere once again enveloped everyone's hearts.
The youth immediately called out again:
"Is Wang Shuicai here? Is he still alive?"
"..." These words were a bit strange. Zhao Fusheng turned to look around; everyone's expression was numb, as if this was nothing unusual to them.
The youth sighed: "Wang Shuicai seems to have already—"
He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone knew that 'Wang Shuicai' must have died.
The young man expressionlessly turned to another page of the book and called out again:
"Sun Fu—Sun Fu."
As his voice fell, someone in the crowd suddenly collapsed with a 'thump.'
The person lying on the ground was deathly pale and trembling uncontrollably.
But as this scene unfolded, the previously dead-silent crowd instantly 'came alive.'
The awkward silence was broken. Many people enthusiastically came forward, helped the fallen person up, and dragged him towards the direction where the porridge was served.
The person being helped up shivered violently, shouting loudly:
"I don't want it, I don't want the food—Spare me, spare me—Ghost Grandpa, spare me."
These words of his revealed quite a bit of useful information. Zhao Fusheng's eyes lit up, and she saw some clues.
The alms-giving at the Confucius Temple was indeed problematic. The person whose name was called looked as if they had just lost a parent. The first person called did not respond and seemed to have died.
The second person called was overly frightened, as if being named meant their death was imminent.
This person kept shouting 'Ghost Grandpa, spare me.' Could it be that the vengeful ghost kills according to a register?
As this absurd thought arose, Zhao Fusheng herself found it a little hard to believe.
Immediately after, the young man giving alms showed a wooden expression. He stared at the person for a long time, then finally put down the book. He took a bowl, ladled a large spoonful of thin soup into it from the cauldron, and handed it to the person:
"I'll give you a bit more—"
"I, I don't want it—I don't want to die—"
But Sun Fu's desperate screams had no effect. The moment his name was called, it was like the King of Hell coming for his life.
He slumped on the ground, his hands clasped tightly, his two thin, stick-like legs kicking ceaselessly, so violently that his bare feet scraped bloodstains on the ground.
But the people around him didn't care whether he wanted it or not. Several people twisted his arm together, with such force that his bones made 'cracking' sounds.
A hint of hesitation appeared in the youth's eyes, but he ultimately placed the full bowl of porridge into Sun Fu's palm.
The moment Sun Fu received the bowl of porridge, he instantly burst into loud sobs.
The porridge bowl hit the ground with a 'clatter', shattering into several pieces, and the thin porridge spilled everywhere, with a few scattered grains of rice mixed with unknown millet floating in it.
"I don't want to die, I don't want to die—"
He screamed frantically, but unfortunately, the moment he took the porridge, others avoided him as if he were a plague, stepping away.
With the first person taking the porridge, those who had previously kept their distance from the alms stall suddenly became active, all crowding around the youth.
Zhao Fusheng also hurried to squeeze into the crowd. She had realized that this ghostly calamity was somewhat strange and wanted to observe the connection between the youth's alms-giving and the vengeful ghost.
The crowd pushed and shoved fiercely. Unlike their previous reluctance to approach the porridge stall, the survivors now scrambled to get the porridge, turning the scene into chaos.
Zhao Fusheng was squeezed almost to the point of suffocation. The frantically moving crowd swept her along, lifting her off her feet. She hadn't died from the ghostly calamity, but almost died at the hands of these people pushing for porridge.
"Cough, cough, cough—"
She coughed, her cheeks flushed. Most people quickly drank their porridge and left immediately. She stood in front of the porridge stall. As time passed, the youth also gradually lost his composure, showing a hint of anxiety.
He frequently looked up, seemingly observing something, then mechanically took bowls and ladled porridge. The moment he handed a bowl of porridge to Zhao Fusheng, he seemed to finally realize something. He turned his head, looked at her carefully, and then let out a surprised "Eh?"
"You seem unfamiliar!"
After saying that, he seemed to recall something and said, somewhat surprised:
"Were you the one making loud noises, knocking on doors this afternoon?"
Zhao Fusheng had caused a great commotion when she first entered the ghost domain.
The ghost domain was silent, and the sound had traveled throughout Beggar's Alley. The young man giving alms in front of the Confucius Temple apparently heard the disturbance she caused.
Since entering Beggar's Alley, Zhao Fusheng had tried to communicate with people several times, but others were either terrified or hostile, and no one spoke to her.
Now, someone finally engaged her in conversation. Her eyes lit up, and just as she was about to speak, the youth's expression darkened, and he quickly pulled the bowl back:
"You should leave quickly—"
After saying this, he seemed to realize his own words were contradictory:
"Once you're in here, how can you leave?"
"You—" He held the bowl of thin, clear porridge, looking troubled.
"Quick, quick!"
Others frantically urged him. The youth, who had been expressionless since starting the alms-giving, now showed subtle changes in his expression, perhaps due to seeing Zhao Fusheng for the first time.
He seemed to be hesitating, as if unsure whether to place the porridge in Zhao Fusheng's hand.
The young man's expression was fluctuating, but under the urging of those around him, he still handed over the porridge:
"You're new here, aren't you?"
Zhao Fusheng nodded, and the youth said nervously:
"You're unfamiliar with the situation here. After you drink the porridge, quickly find an empty room to hide in. Don't come out even if you hear sounds. Just hold on until tomorrow."
"I have something I want to ask you." Zhao Fusheng hesitated, cautiously not daring to take the porridge bowl.
But as she didn't take it, someone darted out like lightning from beside her, took the porridge bowl, and thrust it into her arms.
"Holy crap!"
She cursed, and the porridge spilled out, drenching her.
The person who had done all this sneered, looking at her with ill intent, their bloodshot eyes revealing unconcealed malice.
"It's okay, it's okay."
The youth quickly tried to comfort her, but Zhao Fusheng felt something was very wrong.
The moment she took the porridge, a chilling sensation spread throughout her body, as if from a hidden corner, a pair of cold eyes had fixated on her, waiting for an opportunity to take her life.
This feeling of being spied upon was too familiar.
It was the same feeling she got whether she touched the Soul Life Register or when the vengeful ghost entwined with her was about to revive.
Of course, what made her feel most desperate was the reminder from the Investiture of the Gods.
At this moment, within her sea of consciousness, the Investiture of the Gods reminded her: Host's name recorded in a register.
"What is a register?"
Her eyelids twitched incessantly, her body trembled, and her face showed a bewildered and unknowing expression. But her body was far more honest than her words, as her gaze turned towards the book by the youth's hand, her eyes gradually filling with despair.
From the previous situation, that thing should be a register of names. Perhaps those who received alms from the Confucius Temple would have their names recorded on it, and being named might lead to an attack from a vengeful ghost.
"!!!"
Zhao Fusheng was unusually furious. She threw the bowl in her hand and reached out to grab the person who had just framed her.
But that person was not foolish. After framing her, he immediately blended into the crowd and quickly vanished without a trace, no longer visible.
The youth saw her muttering to herself and staring at the book, and couldn't help but inwardly cry out in dismay:
"No way."
After saying that, he reached out to touch the book, but the moment his fingertips touched it, he was startled back, letting out a 'hiss' of a sharp intake of breath.
The book originally had no temperature; he had held it before, but now, touching it again, it was incredibly cold.
This object, having stayed in Beggar's Alley for a long time and being involved with countless lives, had become evil.
The youth's face was extremely pale. He took another deep breath and picked up the book.
In a short while, his hand turned bluish-purple from the cold. He impatiently flipped open the book, quickly turned several pages, and then his gaze fixed on a certain spot.
He had been giving alms here for a long time, and he was familiar with every face and name of those who came to receive porridge.
The young man's eyes paused on a name for a moment, then he looked up at Zhao Fusheng:
"Are you Zhao Fusheng?"
His eyes still held a glimmer of hope, but Zhao Fusheng's face was even paler than his.
She didn't speak, but her expression had undoubtedly answered the youth's question.
"Quick! Quick! The ghost is coming!"
As the two were about to speak again, someone next to them urged frantically, and Zhao Fusheng's head buzzed.
She was forced to accept a bowl of porridge, and after taking the porridge, her name was written in that register. There was a strong malevolent aura on that register, seemingly related to the vengeful ghost.
However, this was not a good time for her to ask questions. The people next to her were shouting 'the ghost is coming,' indicating that danger was imminent.
Things had gone to the extreme, and Zhao Fusheng, on the contrary, became calm.
If it's fortune, it won't be a disaster; if it's a disaster, it can't be avoided.
She looked down at the bowl in her hand, which contained only a small portion of soup, and suddenly chuckled:
"It seems I am destined to eat this bowl of food."
After saying this, she handed the bowl back to the young man and called out:
"Hey, give me another bowl of food."
Her name had already been branded onto that 'register' anyway. Being furious now was useless. She hadn't eaten a single grain of rice since her rebirth, and this bowl of porridge, whether she wanted it or not, she had received. If she didn't get more food, wouldn't she just die of frustration?
She then added:
"Give me the solid bits, I'm hungry."
"..."
The young man was stunned by her reaction, then finally gave a wry smile and poured her another bowl of porridge.
As she said, he deliberately scooped from the bottom of the pot, and most of it was grain. The youth saw her take the bowl and couldn't help but ask in surprise:
"You're quite open-minded."
"What good would it do to not be open-minded? Why don't you scratch my name off?"
"..." The youth was retorted by her and dared not speak.
Zhao Fusheng gulped down the bitter and hard-to-swallow mixed grain porridge in a few mouthfuls, then said:
"I have something to ask you."
He was busy ladling porridge for others. Every time he handed out a bowl, he looked at the person in front of him, as if confirming their identity.
Hearing Zhao Fusheng's question, he nodded:
"Not now, I'm very busy. You quickly find an empty house to hide in. After tomorrow, you can find me here tomorrow—"
After saying that, he seemed to remember something and reminded her:
"Don't come in, don't enter the Confucius Temple."
"Just at the entrance." He reminded repeatedly:
"As soon as you call my name, I'll come out."
This place was shrouded by a ghost domain; he couldn't escape anyway, and it seemed he had to cook and give alms here. Zhao Fusheng listened to his words, nodded, then placed the empty bowl down and immediately turned to leave.
Beggar's Alley was built around the Confucius Temple and was very large. After a period of ghostly calamity, a little less than half of the houses here were empty. She casually found a house, squeezed in, and locked the door.
After all this was done, she heard faint sounds of running and doors being bolted outside.
Soon, she heard someone moving bowls, chopsticks, and other sundries, and then everything fell silent.
Darkness descended, and the vengeful ghost arrived.
In the extreme quiet, Zhao Fusheng heard her own heart beating 'thump-thump-thump.'
With every heartbeat, her chest vibrated. She held her breath, and perhaps due to extreme tension, she suddenly heard strange sounds in her ears.
Besides the 'thump-thump' of her heartbeat, there seemed to be other sounds mixed in.
'Thump-thump-thump—tap—thump—tap—'
Zhao Fusheng's blood instantly froze. A chilling, ghostly aura surged into the street. Within the dilapidated house, thick black mist, she knew not when, began to churn and seep through the cracks in the door.
'Tap, tap, tap.'
Heavy footsteps sounded.
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