Chapter 5: Grandfather, Spare Me!
Dong Dali’s bed stood against the wall.
He slept on the inner side, while the shadow of his wife’s ghost lay on the outside, her back turned toward him.
To leave, he would have to cross over the ghostly silhouette!
A person dead for more than ten years reappearing—truly terrifying!
The more Dong Dali thought, the more fear clawed at him; his body trembled uncontrollably.
His courage fell far short of his coarse, rugged appearance; he was not as brave as one might imagine.
“It’s fake, it must be fake!”
“It must be that the wine hasn’t cleared from my head, or I’m just having a nightmare.”
He tried to reassure himself.
He rubbed his eyes hard, yet the ghostly shadow remained.
It even shifted slightly, seeming about to turn toward him!
Dong Dali’s scalp prickled, his limbs went numb.
He swallowed hard, raised his hand, and slapped himself twice, the sound sharp in the silence.
He shook his head and looked again, only to find the ghost’s shadow was almost turned toward him!
He saw half of a rotting, twisted ghost face!
...
“Ah!!!”
Dong Dali could no longer hold back; he shouted and tried to roll away.
But just as he rose, the ghostly shadow sprang up, rushing to his face in an instant.
The two faces pressed close together, barely a finger’s width apart!
Dong Dali’s ugly face was contorted with terror, nearly fainting.
He almost wished he would faint, to spare himself further torment.
Before him, the face was decayed and filthy with blood, twisted beyond recognition.
Only by its outline could he barely recognize his long-dead wife.
“Don’t kill me, I beg you, don’t kill me!”
Dong Dali pleaded in a trembling voice, a yellow stain slowly spreading from his groin.
This seemingly brutish man was, in truth, a coward at heart.
At this moment, he had not a shred of resistance.
The female ghost’s face twitched, showing an expression that was both weeping and smiling.
Her mouth stretched slowly open, and a blood-red eyeball emerged from between her lips.
Dong Dali stared, stunned.
The feeling was so familiar, as if he had seen this blood-colored eye somewhere before.
Where had he seen it? Where?
He remembered!
Today in the prison, that boy from the Lu family!
Dong Dali suddenly recalled.
But the realization brought an even greater dread!
Odd number... it was you...
So that was the meaning!
His fate and life were decided by the odd or even count of a handful of dry grass.
Dong Dali was filled with regret.
At that moment, the female ghost’s mouth stretched wide to both sides, transforming into a monstrous maw that lunged at his head.
The blood-red eye in her mouth glowed with a blinding crimson!
...
Dong Dali wanted to plead for mercy.
But before he could finish his words, they turned into a shrill scream that echoed through the night.
Meanwhile, in the death cell of Wuling County—
Lu Sha raised his head with indifference, his single eye gazing through the small window into the night outside.
Tonight, the moon was especially beautiful.
*****
Early the next morning, Zhao Erhu was sleeping, holding his wife, when a frantic knocking at the door woke him.
“Zhao Head, Zhao Head, bad news! Something terrible has happened!”
The noise made Zhao Erhu’s head throb; he sat up and shouted angrily:
“What’s all this racket? Your father died or your mother died? You’ve ruined my precious sleep, you little bastard!”
Despite the scolding, the jailer outside did not stop.
“It really is terrible! Dong—Dong Head is dead!”
“What?!”
Zhao Erhu woke up instantly, springing from the bed in shock.
He hadn’t put on his shoes; barefoot, he rushed outside, flung open the door and asked urgently:
“Dong Dali is dead? How did he die?”
The jailer, out of breath, leaned against the wall.
“I—I don’t know. The constables and coroner are investigating.”
“But the way Dong Head died—it's terrifying!”
As he spoke, the jailer seemed to recall the sight, his face blanching with fear.
...
With such a calamity, Zhao Erhu could not sleep.
He hurriedly threw on some clothes and ran to Dong Dali’s house.
Upon arrival, he saw several constables and the coroner gathered inside, their faces grim.
Even fearful.
This gave Zhao Erhu a sense of foreboding.
“Step aside, let me see.”
He pushed through the crowd into the inner room.
One glance, and a chill surged through him, his hair standing on end.
In the height of summer, he felt plunged into an icy pit, shivering violently.
Dong Dali’s corpse was propped against the headboard, his face covered in blood.
Both eyes had been gouged out, leaving only two dark, empty sockets—his expression contorted and ghastly!
If it were only this, it would not have been so strange.
The most bizarre and terrifying part: Dong Dali’s two eyeballs lay in his own palms!
From the look, it was clear he had torn out his own eyes!
Such a death was truly sinister.
Not the work of a villain, but more like... a ghost!
Zhao Erhu was deeply frightened, his thoughts in turmoil, when suddenly something struck him.
Wait!
Eyeballs?
Yesterday in the prison, that Lu family boy’s left eye was blood-red, extremely strange.
He had spoken of odd and even numbers, and in the end, singled out Dong Dali.
At the time, it had seemed odd, but he hadn’t thought much of it.
But now, combined with Dong Dali’s death, Zhao Erhu could not help but think of a horrifying possibility!
Could it be... Dong Dali was killed by that Lu family boy?
The more Zhao Erhu thought, the more likely it seemed.
In his panic, his legs gave way, and he accidentally knocked over a wooden rack beside him.
A constable reached out to steady him, casually asking,
“What’s wrong, Jail Head Zhao? Did something come to mind?”
At the question, Zhao Erhu’s heart trembled; he opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words stuck.
He stood dazed for a while, then swallowed his suspicions, forcing himself to calm down:
“N-nothing, seeing a friend dead leaves me a bit shaken.”
“There are matters to handle in the prison, so I’ll take my leave.”
“Please, do your utmost to get to the truth and find the murderer who killed my brother!”
After a few polite words, Zhao Erhu hurriedly left, heading back to the prison.
He and Dong Dali were merely drinking companions, with little real friendship.
As for why he didn’t voice his suspicion—
Simple. If Lu Sha had killed Dong Dali,
Such eerie and dreadful means—could the authorities handle it?
If he spoke up, would he survive?
Recall the mad, demonic death-row prisoner who had killed four, yet was easily defeated by Lu Sha—
And Lu Sha emerged unscathed!
He should have noticed something was wrong then.
Foolish, after seeing the bizarre corpse, they had assumed some illness had struck.
They never imagined the truth was so terrifying!
On the other hand, if Lu Sha hadn’t killed Dong Dali, then the suspicion was useless.
Not worth mentioning.
In any case, he must not speak!
...
Zhao Erhu’s mind was a jumble as he hurried to the death cell.
When he arrived, Lu Sha seemed to have anticipated his coming, sitting cross-legged as if waiting for someone.
“You...”
Zhao Erhu was full of suspicion, unsure how to begin.
Lu Sha’s face twisted into a cold smile; he asked in a sinister tone,
“What’s wrong? The odd number’s dead?”
At those words, Zhao Erhu jolted as if struck by lightning, his face pale and rigid.
He understood now—Dong Dali had been killed by Lu Sha!
And by a terrifying, unknown method, in utter silence!
Wicked, like a ghost!
Thud!
Zhao Erhu’s knees buckled, and he fell at Lu Sha’s feet, tears streaming, his whole body trembling.
“Spare me, spare me, Grandmaster!”