Chapter Five: She Can See?

From the village to Jianghuan Town, it was a journey of dozens of miles through the mountains. If you didn’t rise early, by the time you reached the town, the market would already be dispersing.

Thus, not only did Chen Yushu rise before dawn, but his father, Chen Baihe, was also up early. After washing up, the two stepped out of their home together.

On market days, many in the village wished to make the trek to town. Hunter Chen Ping, blacksmith Zhao Shan, and other men like Chen Baihe who gathered herbs, all brought some mountain goods or tools, hoping to fetch a good price. There were also village women tagging along to purchase necessities.

The mountain paths were treacherous; traveling together was safer. So, as the sky just began to lighten, a crowd had already gathered at the village entrance.

“Let’s wait a bit longer—there should be more coming,” said Chen Ping, the village hunter, reputed to have once felled a tiger with a single arrow. In Chen Yushu’s eyes, he was the most likely among them to have martial training. Chen Yushu had previously considered, if all else failed, seeking to learn martial arts from him, or at the very least, archery.

However, his father had dismissed the idea. A hunter’s life was far more perilous than that of a herbalist like Chen Baihe. He naturally didn’t want his son to follow such a path. Once Chen Yushu learned his father had other plans, he let the idea go.

Soon after, two more people joined them. “It’s her!” Chen Yushu started—one of them was the girl he’d met the day before, Qiao Wa’er, and her mother, Madam Liu.

At their arrival, a faint look of displeasure crossed several faces in the group, but none spoke.

“All right, let’s go,” Chen Ping said, nodding and taking the lead.

The others quickly fell in behind. The path was muddy and rough, and everyone carried burdens of one kind or another, so their pace was slow.

Chen Yushu, frail as he was, soon felt fatigued. Yet when he occasionally glanced back at Liu Qiao’er, bringing up the rear, he saw her slight figure moving with steady steps, seemingly untroubled... and gritted his teeth to keep going.

This wretched pride of mine! Chen Yushu panted for breath. If not for his father’s occasional steadying hand, he doubted he could keep up.

“I’m still too weak. I hope I can learn martial arts soon, so I can improve my constitution,” he sighed, glancing at his attribute panel.

Name: Chen Yushu
Age: 12
Skills:
Reading: Comprehension (12/200)
Calligraphy: Self-Expression (73/100)
Throwing: Novice (15/100)
...

After the past two days, his reading ability had improved, progressing from simply recognizing characters to grasping their meaning. Although the experience required to advance had doubled, he could tell he was better able to understand the texts and grasp their underlying principles. He even felt, in a vague way, that he had grown more intelligent.

The effect was remarkable. Even his spirit and vitality felt subtly changed, as if he’d acquired the air of a scholar.

His only regret was that this was merely an intellectual improvement—it gave him no physical strength.

Calligraphy had improved much less, but that was only natural. Calligraphy required brush and paper, and with his limited resources, any progress was satisfying.

“Besides, in these two days, aside from reading and writing, I practiced throwing, and have managed to form a skill—novice level,” Chen Yushu mused, a smile on his lips.

Even entry-level skill meant a great deal. Now, with continued practice, he could steadily improve, and perhaps someday reach the point where he could strike any target at will, never missing—a solid means of defense, and the first step in his journey.

...

Because they had to look after the elderly and young, the group traveled in fits and starts.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn drifted from ahead. In the distance, they saw a funeral procession making its way from another village onto the mountain road.

“It’s Xiaoshi Village. The deceased must be Jiang San, the hunter,” someone in the group remarked. The villages were interconnected, some even related by marriage, so they knew the local news.

Many had heard that Jiang San of Xiaoshi Village had been gored by a wild boar, his intestines spilling out. That he had survived so many days before finally being buried was a testament to his hardiness.

Since there was only one road up and down the mountain, the two groups soon met.

Chen Yushu spotted Uncle Zhong among the funeral party, along with the old man he’d seen outside Uncle Zhong’s house previously—likely the deceased’s father.

When the dead pass, the living must give way. Naturally, they all stepped aside early, just offering Uncle Zhong a brief greeting, not daring to disturb further.

Standing beside his father, Chen Yushu watched curiously as several young men carried the coffin closer.

Suddenly, a dull thud reached his ears.

He froze. He had heard a sound like wood being struck.

Another thud, after a pause.

And again.

With the procession drawing nearer, the sound grew more distinct.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

One after another.

He soon realized the sound was coming from the coffin itself, as if someone were knocking from within.

Knocking on the coffin? Was there such a funeral custom?

He watched the coffin bearers—each was several steps away from the box, none carrying sticks, and none seemed to notice anything amiss. A chill ran up his spine.

Was the sound coming from inside the coffin? Was the person inside not dead?

He gaped, about to speak, when suddenly there came a muffled bang.

Then, to his horror, a figure abruptly sat up atop the coffin.

The figure passed through the lid, its upper body appearing above the sealed box. The lid itself was still tightly shut, not a crack or break to be seen, and yet the figure sat there, brazen and upright. From his angle, Chen Yushu could even see a large patch of rot on its belly, with something stringy spilling out.

A wave of icy dread swept through him.

His face turned ghostly pale.

This sensation was all too familiar—just as it had been a few days ago.

The thing, seemingly still unaware of its surroundings, slowly turned its head, as if taking stock.

Only then did Chen Yushu get a good look at its face—young, but mottled with a bluish-purple hue, its eyes half-shut and glinting with a cold, sinister light.

Almost instinctively, he looked away, seeking help from Uncle Zhong at the head of the procession.

But Uncle Zhong seemed completely oblivious, muttering prayers as he walked steadily forward.

The funeral procession did not pause. The four young men, oblivious, continued to carry the coffin amid the wailing and horn blasts.

Yet because of this, Chen Yushu noticed Liu Qiao’er not far away—she was also watching the coffin, or more precisely, the figure atop it.

She could see it too?!