Yin Chen was not in a particularly pleasant mood.
In this place, bathing was one of the most inconvenient things imaginable.
Even a so-called private bathroom consisted of nothing more than an enormous wooden tub. If someone wanted to bathe, preparations had to begin far in advance, with servants repeatedly heating and carrying in basin after basin of water. The whole process was horribly inefficient.
He suddenly understood the importance of scented candles and the cane every physician seemed obliged to carry.
It stank. He had to finish this quickly.
Yin Chen prodded the decomposing corpse with the edge of his cane and asked quietly, “Father?”
“My child, I am here.”
The aged voice came from deep inside the corpse. Yin Chen could hear its rotting throat vibrating faintly.
The snakewood cane inlaid with obsidian rose an inch and pressed against the corpse’s yellowed ribs. Yin Chen lowered his eyes. “How did you die?”
“My child, I am still alive.”
“Your body is already dead.” Yin Chen exerted slightly more force. The cane passed straight through the decayed flesh and struck the wooden wall on the other side of the confessional.
“Death of the flesh is not death.
“The punishment bestowed by God enfolds me like a sacred spring, like the warmth of my mother’s womb…
“My soul shall endure forever, saving the world and succoring His people…”
It sounded lovely, but Yin Chen did not believe it.
He suspected this priest had already become an unconscious answering machine.
But this definitely was not Sister Pudu’s doing.
Otherwise, the nun would never have left so easily and allowed him to explore the chapel alone.
If that was the case, then had the rigid, solemn nun truly gone mad of her own accord, crouching like a beast as she ravenously tore into the filthiest parts of the human body…?
Perhaps she too was a victim.
Suppressing his disgust, Yin Chen raised the oil lamp and examined the corpse from top to bottom, inside and out.
Whatever method had been used was deeply concealed. He found no occult object that did not belong to the human body itself.
Runes, gemstones and crystals, badges, bells… none of them existed.
All he could hear was the priest’s low chuckle, scolding him for being a naughty child.
“Until next time, Father.”
Yin Chen picked up his cane, closed the narrow wooden door again, lowered the brim of his hat, and turned away.
He left the asylum and went to a private bathhouse jointly operated by a jewelry merchant and the Church.
After spending a considerable sum, he enjoyed the underground hot spring entirely by himself.
There was absolutely no way he was going home before washing the stink off his body.
“What? He went to bathe?”
Song Zang’s pupils practically quaked.
It was the middle of the day, not even lunchtime yet. Why had Yin Chen suddenly run outside to take a bath?
“Yes, sir.” The butler smiled. “His Lordship instructed me to collect your painting supplies now. He will return after lunch.”
“I see. Sorry to trouble you. So what exactly happened?”
“He discovered the corpse of a priest that had been rotting for many days. It smelled terrible. You would not want to smell it.”
“…Got it. I definitely don’t.”
Song Zang smiled and stopped dwelling on it.
If there were truly danger, Yin Chen naturally would have said something before leaving.
Song Zang lowered his head with an easy mind and continued copying the design, while the butler vanished at some point without notice.
Xu Wei Ran was sitting right beside the door and still failed to notice when the man left. He had not even heard the door move or a single footstep.
Unease crept into Xu Wei Ran’s heart. He was very glad he had built a good relationship with Song Zang from the start. One of this guy’s friends was more terrifying than the next…
The room settled into silence. Firewood crackled in the hearth, while the quill scratching over paper made a faintly hoarse sound.
Knock, knock, knock—
A gentle knock suddenly sounded at the door.
Xu Wei Ran shot upright. “Who is it?”
Knock, knock, knock—
The knocking remained gentle, but the person outside kept completely silent.
There was no peephole. They had no way to know who was standing on the other side.
Song Zang’s face paled slightly. He whispered to Xu Wei Ran, “Yin Chen said not to open the door.”
“…Okay.”
Naturally, Xu Wei Ran would not act rashly, but the soft knocking continued, maintaining the exact same speed and rhythm as it repeated mechanically. It was maddening to listen to.
He pressed his lips together, looked at the strip of light visible beneath the carpet and door, took a deep breath, and simply dropped flat to the floor.
Yin Chen had only said they could not open the door. He had never said they could not peek underneath it.
With one cheek pressed to the carpet, Xu Wei Ran opened his eyes wide and strained to look outside using the daylight from the windows.
A pair of black leather shoes. Black trouser hems hanging slightly above them. Very clean. The leather was smooth and glossy, without any dirty marks left behind by melting snow.
Clearly, these were expensive shoes only the upper classes could afford.
Xu Wei Ran quietly relaxed a little. Just as he was about to climb back up and complain to Song Zang, his pupils abruptly contracted.
A pair of eyes appeared in the crack beneath the door. A middle-aged white man, with pale-gold brows and lashes faded by age.
His eyes were a deep, gentle blue like precious stones, with several faint lines at their corners that only made him seem kinder.
That tender, waterlike gaze flowed through the crack beneath the door and met Xu Wei Ran’s eyes. There even seemed to be a trace of amusement in it.
“W-Who are you…”
Knock, knock, knock—
Another knock sounded, nearly stopping Xu Wei Ran’s heart. The man outside should have been lying flat on the ground in almost the exact same posture as he was.
If so, then who was still knocking above them?
Song Zang had stood as well. Interested, he closed his book and let his gaze travel past Xu Wei Ran’s terrified raised backside to those beautiful blue eyes.
Honestly, if Xu Wei Ran were not here, he would have opened the door ages ago to see who was playing tricks.
Song Zang considered it, then deliberately softened his voice until it trembled. “Xu Wei Ran, can you see what he’s wearing on top?”
“Huh? Oh, let me look… It’s a Roman collar! That white collar that looks like a neck ring. Yes, he’s a priest!”
“But… but the priest is already dead,” Song Zang said, his face turning even paler. “Yin Chen just told us.”
Knock, knock, knock—
Xu Wei Ran shuddered and hurriedly avoided that gentle gaze. He did not run. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back braced against the door, directly presenting his backside to the unidentified priest.
He tensed his entire body with all his strength, inhaled, and tried to propose another, safer possibility. “Could there maybe… have been more than one priest to begin with?”
“This is an asylum. The nuns are the primary clergy who work here. Having even one resident priest is already pretty generous,” Song Zang said gloomily.
Unlike pastors, an office that had split off later, a Catholic priest held extremely high standing within the Church and possessed the authority to conduct many sacred rites.
And in this era, an asylum was fundamentally little different from a prison. Patients who could enter Lipton for treatment in a diocesan town would at minimum come from respectable families with some wealth behind them.
Money bought propriety and reputation, so the Church was willing to contribute labor and personnel. Otherwise, forget a priest—even nuns would hardly wish to spend their lives after years of religious training guarding a group of madmen and serving them.
Xu Wei Ran understood the logic too. He exhaled. “So what you’re saying is… there’s a dead man outside knocking on the door.”
“Mm.” Song Zang’s reply carried a slight sob.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m pretty good at fighting. Even if he really breaks in, I’ll die first.” Xu Wei Ran offered the dry reassurance while typing rapidly, sending Yin Chen an urgent plea for help.
Compared with the threat posed by the “living dead” outside, he was actually more frightened that Song Zang might get hurt on his watch and Yin Chen would get angry and chop him to death afterward.
“Bro, stop bathing and answer your messages…”
Xu Wei Ran was rubbing his hair and muttering helplessly when Song Zang finally spoke again.
“Can I shoot him with this?” Song Zang asked uncertainly.
From inside his loose sleeve, he took out the pistol Yin Chen had given him.
“What kind of bullets?” Xu Wei Ran immediately looked up.
Song Zang opened the magazine and glanced inside. “Silver bullets.”
“Yes, yes! Shoot! Aim right under my ass!” Xu Wei Ran instantly became excited.
Song Zang obediently raised the gun and tried to aim while shrinking back, his wrist trembling. “I don’t dare. I’m scared…”
The words made Xu Wei Ran panic. Throwing caution to the wind, he said, “Listen to me. Even if you hit my ass, it won’t be your fault. I won’t—”
Bang—!
Before he could finish, Song Zang pulled the trigger with a convincing imitation of a terrified accidental discharge. Xu Wei Ran jolted violently and hurriedly arched his hips upward.
The exquisitely crafted silver bullet was engraved with ornate patterns, like an expensive collectible made only for display. It shot from the smoking muzzle on a perfectly straight path through the narrow gap between the carpet and the wooden door.
Song Zang curved his lips in satisfaction. Over the past several months, his training to consistently hold his shots within the narrow eight-ring gap, combined with the disposable skill book Yin Chen had shared with him, had worked remarkably well.
His marksmanship was precise enough that not even the flammable carpet bore a single scorch mark.
No explosion or burning came from outside. Nor was there the heavy sound of a human body collapsing. The beautiful bullet seemed to have vanished straight into cotton without leaving a trace.
Its only effect was that the knocking finally stopped.
“Nice! You can seriously shoot! You need to stop being so timid. Look at that godlike marksmanship, damn.” Xu Wei Ran hissed excitedly and dropped back down to peek beneath the door.
Sure enough, the strange, gentle blue eyes had vanished from the crack as well.
Xu Wei Ran’s courage immediately swelled. He picked up the standard holy-water whip issued to orderlies and called loudly, “Song Zang, get farther away. Hide in the bedroom. I’ll open the door myself.”
“Okay.”
Song Zang sniffled and obediently carried the pistol into hiding.
Yin Chen’s bedroom was clean and, by the standards of this era, exceptionally luxurious. The one flaw was the enormous crucifix hanging above the headboard.
If the masonry came loose, an ordinary person could easily wake from sleep drenched in blood.
A room filled with religious symbols everywhere somehow felt sacred and ominous at the same time.
Song Zang made himself at home. He opened Yin Chen’s packed wardrobe and immediately took a liking to several pairs of fur-lined black leather boots on the bottom shelf.
The leather was perfectly smooth without a single crease. Every pair was brand-new and high quality. Outside, a potato farmer could work his whole life without ever being able to afford them.
That damned rich rebellious son even had a mink coat and an ermine scarf hidden in there. He had three spare canes too, every one of them inlaid with crystal and gemstones!
Once they left the asylum, Song Zang was definitely stealing Yin Chen’s clothes to wear.
Song Zang closed the wardrobe, turned around, and opened the bedside cabinet.
One Bible, one rosary prayer book, one herbal manual. There was also Theory of the Humors, which they had brought back from the library and which was, in practice, the infamous bloodletting therapy of later generations.
Of course, bloodletting would only kill people in the real world. That did not mean it was necessarily useless in this world…
Song Zang listened to the movement outside while interestedly opening Theory of the Humors.
The brownish-yellow parchment was exceptionally thick. He flipped through several pages in succession as the author expounded at great length on the crucial balance of the four humors, the toxicity and impurity that could arise in blood for various reasons, and a very convenient tool—leeches.
Song Zang read the instructions on breeding and catching leeches with great interest.
Then he reached a detailed sketch of one. The fleshy worm was spindle-shaped, covered in irregular mottled spots, with a grotesquely gaping oral sucker whose depths showed rows of fine, indistinct teeth.
Song Zang accidentally touched it—or more precisely, touched the bottomless mouthpart in the drawing.
An unexpected prick of pain came from his fingertip. Song Zang’s eyes widened in surprise when he found a bead of blood welling from his finger.
He threw the book aside without hesitation, but the bead of blood seemed drawn by some mysterious force. Before it even fell, it landed directly in the mouth full of fine teeth and seeped into the heavy parchment until it gradually vanished without a trace.
As the book hit the floor, a stiff white card slipped out from between the pages.
Song Zang pressed hard on his fingertip to stop the bleeding while picking up the card and turning it over, expecting some sort of clue.
Instead, his expression instantly went flat.
What stiff card? It was a Polaroid—a high-definition close-up photo of Song Zang from the dating show…
He had thought Yin Chen turned in every last one back then. Apparently the bastard had secretly kept one. Fine, keep it. But why on earth had he used it as a bookmark in a book about bloodletting?!
No matter how Song Zang thought about it, he could not understand Yin Chen’s behavioral logic. Utterly speechless, he rubbed his temples and muttered, “…Yin Chen, you’re sick.”
“I am sick.”
Outside the patterned glass window, Yin Chen stood on the edge of a loose section of masonry, looking at him with a faint smile.
Song Zang’s mind blanked. Then he hurriedly opened the window, caught Yin Chen’s wrist, and dragged him inside. “Get in here! Why are you climbing through the window?! We’re on the third floor!”
Yin Chen was remarkably cooperative and let himself be pulled in with ease. His collar carried traces of snow and the faint scent of lavender as it brushed Song Zang’s cheek.
“Because climbing through the window is faster, obviously.” Yin Chen’s cane was nowhere to be seen. Both arms wrapped around Song Zang’s slender waist, his chin naturally settling on his shoulder, dampness still clinging to the ends of his hair. “I came to save you. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time.”
Perfectly reasonable. The matter of climbing barehanded up three floors could wait. Song Zang lowered his eyes and poked Yin Chen’s warm, pale cheek. “Then why did you secretly keep my picture?”
“That’s my bookmark. Looking at it while I read makes me feel better.”
Yin Chen answered lazily and with complete confidence, as though there were absolutely nothing strange about this.
Song Zang: …
“Fine.”
He discovered he genuinely had nothing else to say.
Song Zang simply stood still and let Yin Chen press their cheeks together, rub here, touch there, clinging to him as though they had been separated for years.
“Done yet?”
“No.”
“I think you’re done. Let go.”
Yin Chen curved his lips, obediently released him, picked up Theory of the Humors from the floor, and returned it to the bedside cabinet.
He did not mind Song Zang rummaging through his things in the slightest. If anything, he seemed rather pleased.
Song Zang glanced at him and casually mentioned the strange incident from moments ago. “Speaking of which, that book stabbed me for no reason. My finger got hurt.”
Yin Chen froze. His expression immediately darkened. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine. It’ll heal soon.” Song Zang held out his right hand, showing the tiny wound that was already almost impossible to see.
Yin Chen seized his wrist and pulled it toward himself. Seeing where this was going, Song Zang immediately stopped him. “You are not putting my finger in your mouth!”
“…Mm.”
Yin Chen abandoned the idea regretfully.
“No, wait. You really were going to?”
“I wanted to.”
The darkness in his expression showed no sign of clearing.
“Don’t rush to lose your temper. Bloodletting might actually work in this world. Listen to me.” Song Zang turned the hold around and clasped Yin Chen’s hand, gently swaying it several times to soothe him.
When Yin Chen still pressed his lips together unhappily, Song Zang simply pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, then sat sideways on Yin Chen’s lap.
Whether Yin Chen was satisfied or not, Song Zang shifted until he found a comfortable position and continued his reasoning. “I touched the leech illustration, it pierced my finger and drew blood. That suggests two broad possibilities.
“Could that leech have been given some mysterious healing power? Or maybe it’s alive and merely trapped inside the parchment. And on top of either possibility, could it be that… there’s something toxic in my body, and it detected that, which is why it inexplicably drew my blood?”
After all, Yin Chen had touched the leech just now and had not been affected at all.
Yin Chen frowned, his attitude finally turning serious as his hand rubbed Song Zang’s waist. “I’ll examine the book. Also, don’t eat lunch today. Have Xu Wei Ran hide some food and bring it to me. I’ll find a way to test it.”
“Okay.”
Once business was settled and Yin Chen’s inexplicably powerful need for physical contact had been satisfied, the two did not delay. One after another, they left the bedroom.
At the same time, Xu Wei Ran was searching for the missing silver bullet.
He was not the only one. He had called Sister Li Ming over to help.
Together they searched all three corridors from the third floor down to the first. They found no blood, nor any footprints belonging to a man in black leather shoes.
It was as if the owner of those blue eyes had never appeared outside the room and knocked at all.
If Song Zang had not been frightened enough to fire a shot too, Xu Wei Ran would have started suspecting he had developed schizophrenia.
“Ridiculous. Where could he possibly hide?”
The door opened. Yin Chen wheeled the “restrained” Song Zang out, wheelchair and all.
Seeing the two people separately pawing around the corners of the hallway in rather undignified postures, he said helplessly, “Stop looking. Take Song Zang to lunch first.”
“Yep, okay, Bro! Coming!”
Xu Wei Ran instantly abandoned the search and awkwardly scratched his head, then quietly called to the nun nearby. “Li Ming, Li Ming, you’re a nun. You can’t lose your dignity!”
Sister Li Ming froze. Realizing her current posture was indeed inappropriate, she blushed and climbed up, flusteredly straightening her wrinkled black habit.
“Why did you come looking for me?” Yin Chen asked her.
Still dazed, Sister Li Ming snapped back to herself. “It’s like this. Mr. Wales asked me to deliver the painting supplies. Something very troublesome seems to have delayed him, and he can’t get away.”
“Something troublesome… He isn’t hurt, is he?”
Song Zang was surprised and could not help asking.
He truly had not expected there to be anything in the world the butler would find troublesome. After all, the man’s presence was so faint that even birds in a tree could not detect him when he climbed up to pick fruit.
“You’re not allowed to worry about him,” Yin Chen cut in coldly.
Frightened, Li Ming took one step backward and said nothing. She merely gave Song Zang a small shake of the head in answer.
Song Zang relaxed slightly and instinctively began soothing him. “Fine, fine. You’re the only person I’m allowed to worry about for the rest of my life.”
“Good. Remember that.”
Yin Chen was extremely satisfied. He stepped aside to let Xu Wei Ran take over pushing the wheelchair and, at the same time, unobtrusively handed him a set of silver cutlery. It was wrapped in a white handkerchief and did not look conspicuous.
Xu Wei Ran blinked and immediately understood Yin Chen’s intention. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the patient stays safe.”
Lunchtime arrived. Two distant, sacred bell chimes rang out, and the dining hall quickly filled.
The patients all wore identical clothes, making the room look like a sea of white. The black-robed nuns seated at the front, meanwhile, resembled a mass of congealed black fog. The visual contrast was striking.
Sister Pudu remained in the main seat, dignified and stern, without the slightest trace of the ferocity with which she had wolfed down those raw morsels.
She had not forbidden Lin Xing and Lan Yu Heng from eating lunch together.
Even when Lin Xing sat openly before her, stroked his rugged beard, murmured sweet nothings to Lan Yu Heng, and gave the nun a wickedly flirtatious lift of his brow.
Even though, inside the confessional, Sister Pudu had loudly cursed the pair as an evil adulterous couple.
Without drawing attention, she lifted her handkerchief and pressed it to the corner of her mouth where a little saliva had escaped. Then she organized the nuns into a premeal prayer, her voice composed.
Lunch was almost exactly the same as breakfast: peas, milk, and eggs. The only addition was a small mound of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, steaming on the tray.
Xu Wei Ran used his own body to block the nuns’ view, took out the understated silver spoon, and, as Song Zang requested, first fed him several bites of mashed potatoes. Naturally, he carefully avoided the gravy.
Delicious. Soft and smooth, with no poison. Safe and tasty institutional food.
Song Zang swept his gaze over the monotonous lunch and finally stopped on the glass of fresh milk.
“I think it’s this,” he whispered to Xu Wei Ran.
There were not many varieties of poison available in this era. One of the great inventions associated with alchemists was among them—powdered arsenic.
In plainer terms, arsenic trioxide. White and odorless, and because refining methods were crude, it was mixed with large amounts of sulfides. Hiding it in hot milk was exceptionally easy.
Xu Wei Ran paused and quietly lowered the silver spoon into the glass.
“Holy shit, it really turned black…” He quickly opened his blue system screen and expertly typed several lines without looking. “I need to warn Lin Xing and the others. They absolutely can’t drink it.”
Receiving the message, Lin Xing leaned toward Lan Yu Heng’s ear and quietly told her.
The two had excellent tacit understanding. They continued eating and flirting as though nothing were wrong, even feeding each other several peas, while completely ignoring the milk beside them.
Sister Pudu’s silent gaze remained fixed on them for a very long time. When lunch was almost over, she finally could not sit still any longer.
She abruptly rose, strode toward the affectionate pair, snatched up a glass, and yanked Lan Yu Heng’s messy hair backward.
—She intended to pour the poisoned milk directly into Lan Yu Heng’s mouth!
Lin Xing’s powerful body moved between them. He deliberately made his voice vicious. “Stop, old woman! What are you doing to my woman?”
Sister Pudu’s expression did not change, retaining its composed, rigid indifference, yet the tremor in her wrist betrayed the turmoil inside her.
“My Lord, my God, I believe You are the true God who can never err, and I believe completely in every truth You have taught. I beg You to strengthen my faith…”
Elio’s Notes: The prayer is modeled on a traditional Catholic Act of Faith.
She murmured under her breath, and Lin Xing’s attempt to stop her strangely froze along with the prayer.
“My Lord, my God…”
He stared blankly into the nun’s compassionate eyes and echoed her in a low voice.