Chapter 129: The Suicide Note

In addition to the embroidered burial slipper, my older brother found a letter in the lining of that box. Strangely, while the slipper looked remarkably new, the letter appeared to be quite old. The envelope was unsealed, and inside was a piece of stationery commonly used by the village committee, slightly yellowed with age. The fountain pen ink had faded, clearly eroded by the passage of time.

"What does it say?" I had only glanced at it briefly, but my brother was reading it intently.

"See for yourself." He handed the letter to me.

I took it and realized it was my grandfather’s last will and testament, written several years ago. Beyond the aged ink, the content confirmed it had been composed long before recent events:

*To my grandson, Yezi:*

*After I die, my body may be committed to a water burial. Place me in the Luo River, and my body will drift into the Twelve Ghost Caves; you are not to interfere. Seven days after my body enters the Twelve Ghost Caves, place the clothes I wore daily into a coffin and hold a funeral. This embroidered slipper is to be placed in the coffin to be buried with me.*

*On the third anniversary of my death, there is a dragon-headed stele in the village primary school courtyard, erected by the Chen family ancestors at the feng shui eye of Fudi Gully. You may break the stele; after breaking it, you will know the truth you seek.*

*Sincerely,*
*Ye Jiangnan*

Reading the contents, it was clear that Grandfather had written this before my brother returned. I could clearly feel that after Grandfather entered the Twelve Ghost Caves, my brother had been consumed by guilt, believing that Grandfather had been forced into this path by his own pressure. I held the letter and said, "Big Brother, look at Grandfather’s intent. Entering the Twelve Ghost Caves was his own wish. Even without you, he still would have had me perform the water burial so he could guard that secret. You don't need to blame yourself so much."

My brother gave a bitter smile. He sat on Grandfather’s bed and said, "It’s different. Since I returned, all the events concerning Fudi Gully and the Twelve Ghost Caves have been stirred up by me. If it weren't for me, all of this might still have happened, but it was all within Grandfather’s calculations. It was my arrogance that disrupted his plan. And here I was, thinking I was so clever, believing everything was under my control."

I looked at him, not knowing how to comfort him. Finally, I sat down beside him. "It’s still not your fault. You’ve done very well. The problem is, who could have foreseen that things would be this complicated? Who could have imagined that our father was killed by his own father under coercion? If the real killer is someone else, everything would be different."

"There are no 'ifs' in this world." My brother sighed. He never used to sigh; it made me feel a sense of sorrow. For me, recent events were somewhat manageable, but for someone with my brother's intense nature, if things didn't unfold as he intended, he would inevitably be troubled. To him, wanting to find his father's killer only to discover it was his own grandfather—and then having his quest for vengeance complicated by Uncle Zhuzi’s confession—was devastating. The fact that Grandfather had entered the Twelve Ghost Caves without receiving an apology from him was the greatest blow of all.

After a while, my brother stood up. "Yezi, this is Grandfather’s will. We shall follow his wishes. Even though I couldn't speak with him properly, as his eldest grandson, I must carry his coffin."

"But the will says 'after he dies.' What about his current state?" I asked. I wasn't sad because I didn't truly believe he was dead.

"He is dead now. Even if he isn't, he might as well be," my brother said, looking at me.

"Alright." I looked at him, feeling there was something more behind his words. Yet, Grandfather’s will stated that after his death, I should place his body in the Luo River to drift into the Twelve Ghost Caves. The only difference now was that he wasn't technically dead when he entered, but the outcome was the same. Following the instructions in the will was a way to honor him. I suspected this was exactly what Grandfather wanted, otherwise, he would have changed the will after my brother returned.

We left the room and told the others we would be holding the funeral over the next two days. Everyone fell silent. The old man was a knot in everyone's heart, and no one wanted to bring it up. Fatso stood up and said, "Yezi, is this necessary? With the old man's skills, the bottom of the water isn't a huge problem. I've thought about it—he shouldn't really be dead in those caves. Why don't you have your brother go down and check?"

I glared at Fatso. He really had a knack for hitting the sore spot. My brother was already consumed with guilt; how could he ask him to go down there? Seeing my expression, Fatso realized his mistake and scratched his head. "Did I say something wrong?"

I pulled out the will. "I was debating whether to proceed. The villagers think he’s gone, and as his descendants, it’s our duty to hold the funeral. My brother and I just found this will. I think we should follow his instructions."

Fatso took the will and passed it around. When it reached my mother, her eyes welled up. I went over to comfort her. Then, Uncle Zhuzi said, "Since this is what Old Ye wanted, we should do it."

Meanwhile, I noticed Fatso’s eyes darting between my brother and me. I knew he was looking for the funerary object mentioned in the will—the embroidered slipper. Before Grandfather wore that ghost mask, he was just a sloppy old man; no one would associate him with a woman's slipper. Others might overlook it, but with Fatso's sharp mind, he definitely sensed something unusual.

"Come here," my brother said, sensing Fatso’s gaze.

Fatso hesitated but followed us into the room. As we entered, my brother added, "Yezi, you come in too."

We stepped inside, and I gently closed the door. It wasn't that I didn't trust the others—Uncle Zhuzi was absolutely reliable—but I didn't want Han Xue, Uncle Zhuzi, or my mother to know that my grandfather had kept a woman's slipper. In my mind, that was something only a pervert would do.

My brother placed the slipper on the bed. "Take a look. What do you see?"

Fatso was a true practitioner of the Tao. As he looked at the shoe, his brow furrowed. "This isn't for the living."

His assessment matched my brother's. My brother nodded. "It’s not shaped for a specific foot; it’s undoubtedly a death shoe. Can you tell anything else?"

"The Yin energy is heavy. Very, very heavy. This shoe was worn by the dead, and the person who wore it was no ordinary spirit." Fatso leaned in to inspect it closely and took a sniff. He then pulled out a piece of talisman paper, drew a sigil with the cinnabar pen he carried, and carefully applied it to the slipper.

The moment the paper touched the shoe, it lingered for a second before bursting into flames. I was startled, and Fatso was shocked, quickly trying to extinguish the fire. He picked up the shoe and realized that the flames hadn't left even a mark on it.

"What's going on? What kind of talisman did you use?" I asked.

"A corpse-suppressing talisman," Fatso said, his face pale.

"And what does it mean that it burned up?" I asked.

Fatso looked at me, then at my brother, and offered a bitter smile. "What else could it mean? It means my power isn't enough to suppress the ghost energy on this thing. Tell me, brothers, this isn't some keepsake from the old man's lover, is it? The old man was a weirdo, and his lover must be quite something too. Could she be a ten-thousand-year-old corpse?"