There’s an interesting saying in Hua Country.
It’s said that before children are born, each lingers in heaven searching for their next mother. There’s no rush; they may spend a very, very long time choosing. Children are always responsible with themselves—only when they find the mother most to their liking will they descend to the world.
Liu Yitian had probably heard this saying.
Yu Renwan handed the note to Jiang Yan. Jiang Yan studied the writing carefully; the little boy’s penmanship was truly appalling—not childishly immature, but as if he had never learned where to place his strokes. A simple horizontal line was alternately weak and heavy, flickering and broken in the middle countless times.
“There are even mistakes in the pinyin.” Yu Renwan said softly.
“In some places, kids can skip kindergarten and go straight to primary school, but from Yitian’s age, he probably never attended school at all.”
Jiang Yan nodded, slipping the note into her pocket.
There was only about an hour left before the mission’s end. Hunched over, she searched back and forth through the cramped space. Yu Renwan, seeing this, stayed silent and, pinching her nose, circled the commode.
The space was tiny—you could see the whole thing at a glance.
The bed and commode took up most of it; airing out every nook took only five or six minutes. To make sure nothing was missed, Jiang Yan checked everything several times.
Ten minutes in, Jiang Yan finally stopped.
With her legs and back unable to straighten, she leaned against the wall, stretching her neck and pinching her shoulder blades.
Now only the bed was left unsearched.
Yu Renwan scooted over, asking, “Jiang Jiang, I didn’t use my psychic constitution for fear of damaging the boy’s corpse. Should we carry his body out first, then let me come back to examine it?”
Jiang Yan shook her head.
“No need for that.”
“This was the haunted house owner’s room before his death. There must be more than one clue—there’s sure to be something by the bed.”
So she moved toward the bed. Given the inconvenience of the boy’s corpse, they’d left the bed as the last thing to check.
Liu Yitian’s eyes were wide open in death, his dull, gray pupils staring upward—utterly blank, chilling in their void.
Yu Renwan leaned in for a closer look.
In Huaguo, there’s the saying “unable to die in peace”; after death, kin should help the deceased close their eyes.
She placed her hand on the boy’s eyelids, but rigor had already set in, and even pulling with some force, the boy’s eyes would not close.
Yu Renwan finally gave up, murmured, “No offense,” and began checking the boy’s pockets with an easy conscience.
She turned out the lining, but found nothing.
His pockets were utterly empty.
Yu Renwan glanced up at Jiang Yan: “What now…”
Jiang Yan motioned for her not to worry.
She had Yu Renwan pick up the boy’s body, then calmly checked the pillow, then lifted the sheet, finding nothing. She lifted the mattress.
Perfectly clean—top and bottom.
Jiang Yan frowned.
That didn’t make sense.
A space this specific, this well hidden, couldn’t have held just a single note.
Yitian’s body was here. Honestly, even if Yang Shumei’s corpse showed up here, she wouldn’t be surprised.
So how could there be nothing else?
Jiang Yan looked the room over; after half a minute, her gaze settled back on the bed. She examined it from top to bottom. Just as she was about to look away, a note of intuition struck her.
She immediately stood farther back—even retreated toward the door.
Yu Renwan looked confused.
But Jiang Yan didn’t immediately explain.
She backed up farther and farther. Only as she reached the point of leaving the room did she suddenly let out a light laugh.
“Don’t you think this bed looks like something else?”
Jiang Yan smiled.
Yu Renwan hurriedly examined it, but no matter how she peered, it just looked like an ordinary bed.
Jiang Yan said, “Like a tombstone.”
“The length and width of this bed are odd—roughly like a narrow rectangle. At first I thought it was due to space constraints, but look at the headboard.” Jiang Yan pointed. “It’s too tall.”
“A normal bed’s headboard is laid horizontally, but this one is set up vertical and high.”
“Tombstones are this shape,” Jiang Yan said.
Without waiting for Yu Renwan’s reaction, she stepped forward.
She placed her hands on the headboard—just plain wood. She ran her hand over its smooth face, then curled her finger and knocked it hard with her knuckle.
Cracks branched out in cobwebs from the point where she’d struck, and with a shower of sawdust and chunks of splintering wood, a slab of black granite was revealed beneath.
A line of crude, ugly characters was carved there.
[The Tomb of a Family of Three]
It was Liu Yitian’s handwriting.
Yu Renwan stood there hugging the boy’s body, dazed for a moment before rushing forward to read it over and over.
“A family of three?”
“But there’s only Liu Yitian here…” Yu Renwan judged the thickness of the bed, hesitating. “Maybe it’s under the bed? It’s not even half a meter high, but you could still fit someone underneath.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
She pressed a hand on the bed’s surface, meaning to smash it, but after a moment, she pulled back.
Jiang Yan looked at Liu Yitian’s corpse.
The boy’s arms and legs were stiff in midair, his skin white and blue, the knife lodged in his chest flashing coldly. The only color on his body was the dried blood at his chest.
Bright red blood.
He was already stiff in death, his eyelids couldn’t be shut by force; clearly, Yitian wanted them to see a boy long dead.
If he was long dead, the blood at the collar shouldn’t be so red.
Jiang Yan didn’t hesitate; she went and pulled the knife from the boy’s chest.
Bang!
Almost as soon as she pulled the knife, a pounding, heart-stopping rhythm rang in everyone’s ears.
Jiang Yan, startled, looked up. Yu Renwan registered even greater shock.
Bang!!
At that instant, it was as if a giant invisible heart loomed over the villa, its powerful, steady pulse echoing for all to hear. Jiang Yan’s own heart started beating in time with it.
“What… what’s happening?” Yu Renwan asked in confusion.
Jiang Yan pointed at Liu Yitian’s heart. “It’s beating again.”
The force was so violent the wound in Yitian’s chest ruptured, fresh blood gushing out in streams—making the scene supremely macabre.
But Jiang Yan remained untouched.
She paused, then slid her hand into the wound where the knife had been. After a few seconds’ exploration, she found a tiny pulsating device inside the boy’s heart.
Inside it was a small sheet of paper.
[Until the day my heart stops beating, I will always be Mama’s child.]
Jiang Yan saw the note, and so did the viewers.
The live stream fell utterly silent.
[Help…]
[Watching from the outside, I just ache for this kid.]
[Sigh, there was no way out for any of them.]
[So does this mean we need to turn off the device?]
[Probably—only when Yitian truly dies can he be freed from the pain of love and un-love.]
[Yeah, I agree, only with total death can he be released.]
Some comments agreed with this guess, some didn’t.
Jiang Yan considered for a moment, but instead of doing what the stream suggested, she slowly pushed the lever on the side of the device upward.
All the way to its maximum.
With her movement, the heartbeats in the villa suddenly grew rapid—each one pounding against everyone’s chest like a hammer.
Bang!
Bang—!!
The room itself began to shake. Plaster rained down off the walls with every beat. The rhythm was so fierce that Yu Renwan found it difficult to breathe, anxiety climbing to panic.
Unable to keep holding, she laid Yitian’s corpse back on the bed—even in a few seconds, the boy was covered in a fine coat of plaster dust.
It looked almost like he was being buried in ashes.
Yu Renwan trusted Jiang Yan’s actions without question, but this room could no longer be stayed in. Covering her ears, she shouted to Jiang Yan, “Jiang Jiang, what now?”
“If we don’t get out, we’ll be buried alive!”
Jiang Yan waved a hand, her palm resting atop her head, eyes locked on the bed. Two minutes later, the heartbeat reached a wild peak, the pulsation device humming with the strain—Jiang Yan could barely keep hold of it.
When the time felt right, she hurled the device from the room. In midair, it exploded with a burst of noise like fireworks.
The thunderous heartbeats vanished instantly.
A few heartbeats later, a light “creeeak-creeak” started up from the direction of the bed.
Jiang Yan exhaled and fixed her gaze on the bed.
They watched the bed heave a few times, then slowly turn over—like a mattress being flipped. Liu Yitian’s body slid inch by inch down the rising arc of the bed until he slipped underneath.
Jiang Yan and Yu Renwan approached.
Just as they suspected, beneath the bed was Yang Shumei’s curled-up corpse.
She lay on her side, eyes closed, clutching a long-dead little tabby cat to her chest.
Now Liu Yitian’s corpse lay behind Yang Shumei’s back.
The two of them, lying back to back, just like perfect strangers.
“Found at last.” Yu Renwan patted her chest, trying to calm the heartbeat still pounding in her ears.
She volunteered to carry Yang Shumei’s body from the room, then laid the cat’s body beside Yitian’s.
Mission accomplished, ahead of time.
They prepared to leave.
At the threshold of this less-than-three-square-meter room, Jiang Yan paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
Inside the coffin, the little tabby reached a paw out and pressed it gently onto the boy’s face.
Liu Yitian’s eyes closed.
*
Because the haunted house task was finished early, as soon as the group descended the stairs, the first-floor front door slowly opened.
Outside, the sky was awash in dazzling sunset.
Liu Zhengxing did not appear to claim Xiao Mei’s body; instead, a staff member in a raven mask arrived. He stamped their collection cards with a bright red seal, then inclined slightly and made a welcoming gesture.
[Tiantian’s Haunted House (Cleared)]
Looking at the red stamp, Shen Xiaoxiao blurted out, “Why is it Tiantian? Wasn’t it Yitian’s haunted house?”
The staff member’s attitude was polite: “You’ll understand once you’ve checked into the hotel.”
Jiang Yan asked, “Didn’t Liu Zhengxing say he’d come take Xiao Mei in three hours?”
The staff smiled. “If you’d found the wrong Xiao Mei, he would have come.”
Shen Xiaoxiao shivered all over.
As the staff departed, the same clearance music from the previous night resounded through the park.
“La la la, la la la—”
“Congratulations! All six visitors have cleared the haunted house! In five minutes, night will fall; the hotel’s location is unchanged. Please bring your own child to the hotel!”
Their first stop after leaving was the daycare center.
The “daycare” looked like a candy cottage—the roof rainbow cookies, the walls marshmallow and cream, the base white chocolate.
Seeing them arrive, Snow White enthusiastically opened the door and everyone entered.
The seven children were scattered about the candy house.
Little Zhao Kepu slept soundly on the table. Little Yu Renwan squatted by the sink, studying the sparkling mermaids in the water. Little Huanhuan was pulled by Cinderella to try on one fairy bubble dress after another. Little Xiaoxiao sat in a wheelchair choosing songs, while Sleeping Beauty pushed her and showed off a gorgeous singing voice, little birds circling endlessly above.
Little Jiang Yan perched on a stool, resting her chin on her palm, facing Belle.
“You said you kissed the golden lion?” Little Jiang Yan asked seriously.
Belle smiled gently and nodded.
“I don’t believe it,” Little Jiang Yan retorted. “Not unless you show me.”
Belle went out and returned, pulling in a tall, handsome prince. The sapphire on his crown was even bigger than Little Jiang Yan’s eye.
Her eyes lit up.
“But this isn’t a golden lion,” she accused Belle, chin lifted, “Only villains cheat children.”
Belle looked troubled—glancing at the prince. “You really can’t change back?”
The prince spread his hands, helpless. “My dear, it’s not that I don’t want to meet your request.”
“But turning into a terrifying lion would violate the theme park’s mission—we mustn’t frighten the children.”
Little Jiang Yan puffed out a cheek.
“But you lied to a child.”
Belle quickly crouched down. Having been paid, it was their job to care for the children and meet their needs as best as possible.
“Then what should I do?”
Little Jiang Yan pointed at the prince’s crown. “Let me try it on.”
[Truly, this is where the mask slips!]
[Hahahahahahaha]
At this point, Pink Taotao at Jiang Yan’s side finally completed his quest. He raised his peach-blossom crown and placed it on the little girl’s head. “Mine’s prettier.”
Little Jiang Yan turned away, unimpressed. “No—I’ve already got a hundred from you.”
Black Taotao shifted uncomfortably from side to side.
After standing still for a moment, he suddenly hopped off his chair, went to the prince, and whispered, “Excuse me, can you let her wear it? Here, I’ll trade you for this.”
He drew a palm-sized pink gem from his pocket, its luster brilliant and unmistakably valuable.
On seeing the gem, Jiang Yan could not help but smile.
This was Mu Wang’s favorite funerary item from the royal tomb, a tribute from the ruler of a small kingdom to the Red Creek Empress, worth enough in its day to buy out the grandest marketplace in Jiang Kingdom.
Mu Wang had been caught with it plenty, but always managed to smuggle it back.
When Little Jiang Yan saw the pink gem, her interest in the crown evaporated.
She ran up to Black Taotao. “Isn’t this the one I like best—the one Mommy wouldn’t give me?”
Black Taotao nodded vigorously.
Little Jiang Yan hugged him, then, gemstone in hand, picked up her skirt and ran to Jiang Yan.
Black Taotao stood frozen a long time. All at once, as if struck by inspiration, he turned abruptly to Pink Taotao, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
Pink Taotao: “……”
Mu Wang walked over to the two children; Black Taotao couldn’t smother his grin, mouth stretching ever wider.
He said softly to Mu Wang, “I made it.”
Mu Wang nodded solemnly. “Your success is my success.”
Pink Taotao shot the two of them a sidelong glance. “I suppose I can bask a little in your glory.”