Zhang Yusen had only reached fifty not long ago, and it was not an exaggeration to deem him someone of virtue and prestige. He had not been doing a lot of jianghu business ever since he started building a family for himself; but if there was ever a grand event, it’d still be obligatory to send him an invitation. Zhou Zishu felt the dead should at least deserve some respect; and while the girl’s attitude might be unintentional, it was still ill-mannered of her to have said those things. He cut in, “Just now, who was that person trying to kill you?”

Zhang Chengling went silent for a bit, then spoke under his breath, “He’s Xue Fang the Hanged Ghost.”

“What did you say?”

“What did you say?”

Zhou Zishu and Gu Xiang both exclaimed. The former was frowning, and on the latter’s face was quaint surprise.

Zhang Chengling repeated with emphasis on every word, “It’s Xue Fang the Hanged Ghost, I heard someone calling him that with my own ears…”

He took a deep breath suddenly, as if remembering and realizing something: the blood that night, the smoke and fire, the screaming – they all came back to him at once. He stood up shakily, face pale, whole body twitching, not uttering a single word.

Gu Xiang jerked, pointing at him, “Is he having a seizure?”

Zhou Zishu’s face was solemn. He got to the boy, brushing over the acupuncture point that would help him pass out. When Zhang Chengling turned soft and unconscious in his arms, he carefully laid him down. He sighed, “His mind shut down from the memory onslaught. Just let him rest for a while first.”

He turned to the panicked woman, “Is someone plotting against the Zhang family, Aunt?”

Seeing Zhang Chengling in that state, she lost all will. After many tears and snot, she finally recounted the exact events — at midnight, the backyard suddenly caught fire; then came the men in black who appeared out of nowhere, looking like hoards of demons dropping from the sky.

The most terrifying thing was that all the guests, those “masters” who could detect everything from the flick of the grass were unable to fight back and left without anyone knowing.

There was only eccentric Old Li left. He arrived at Suzhou five years ago, always protecting the Zhangs from afar, refusing to enter the holdings — he reasoned that to be able to have the Zhang’s food, you had to be a guest; he was simply someone who came to pay a debt.

It was that eccentricity that had helped save the Zhang bloodline, though just barely.

After a while, Zhou Zishu sighed. “Old Brother Li was a special man among us.” He turned to the woman in tears again; she was only a servant, unable to understand everything. “Do you have any relatives?”

She nodded, “I have a nephew living down south.”