Translator: Cinder Translations
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Xia Meng walked over and sat down on a wooden chair placed in front of the red curtain.
The wooden bed frame was large, but the carving work was extremely delicate. Dark patterns were intricately drawn on it, and the figures seemed to come alive, their every smile and frown vividly captured.
The outstretched hand had its palm facing upward, the wrist resting on a piece of jade lotus wrapped in silk. On the silk, two mandarin ducks playing in the water were embroidered with gold and silver threads.
The wrist was pale and slender, the fingers long and delicate, the nails neatly manicured. The faint blue veins on the wrist were faintly visible. It was a pair of very beautiful hands.
Xia Meng took a slow breath. In her eyes, such hands should belong to a woman.
She raised her head and stared at the figure behind the curtain. Although the distance was very close, the hanging curtain acted like a barrier, blocking her prying eyes.
She could have lifted the curtain to see for herself, but in the end, she didn't dare.
Mimicking the ancient method of checking a pulse, she placed her fingers on the wrist of the hand. The touch felt slightly cold, though part of that might have been due to her own nervousness.
A faint pulse traveled through her fingertips, giving her some comfort.
"Young Master Huang," she asked calmly, "your pulse seems weak and floating. Have you not been resting well lately?"
A moment later—
"Watching her rise to grandeur, good fortune often goes awry. How many beauties have been mismatched in marriage? Fate arranges couples, but it's hard to force. How many can enjoy eternal love and affection?"
A theatrical voice rang out, and almost immediately, Xia Meng recognized it as the same singing voice she had heard from the lake last night. It was equally mournful, resentful, and eerie.
If, as Steward Zhou had said, Young Master Huang had gone mad, then it was normal for him not to answer questions directly. After all, their mission wasn't really to cure him with medical skills.
Even if they could treat him, they could only address his mental illness.
Steadying her mind, Xia Meng continued, "Young Master Huang, do you still have the prescription we gave you last time?"
"How many phoenixes are paired with phoenixes? How many purple swallows and yellow orioles are mistakenly called by the waves? Meeting by chance, life's blessings and wisdom are always paired. Asking the heavens, a moment of romance, even if fleeting, is hard to let go of."
Now Xia Meng understood why everyone who came down looked so confused. No matter what they asked, the other party only responded with lyrics, offering no useful information.
Although she couldn't identify the source of these lyrics, she could grasp their general meaning—they were all about the sorrows of love and separation.
It seemed that Young Master Huang was quite the romantic.
After thinking for a while, she quickly stood up and said to the motionless figure of Young Master Huang, "Young Master Huang, please rest well. I'll take my leave now."
As she hurried to the stairs, the singing started again behind her, this time even more mournful than before. "But if I can find a kindred spirit, to die in the same grave, to live in the same house, even if we share a tomb, I would be happy."
Xia Meng immediately quickened her pace, almost fleeing. She keenly sensed that the song had reached its climax, and more importantly, the singer's emotions had changed.
From mournful and resentful... it had gradually become hysterical.
It wasn't until she had completely left that the oppressive feeling in her heart disappeared. Young Master Huang's singing seemed to have a strange power, each line piling another stone on her heart.
It was deeply unsettling.
It seemed that things were more complicated than she had thought. The costume might just be a gimmick; it only determined the sequence. What was truly deadly were these lyrics.
Perhaps... when the song reached its climax, the player standing in front of Young Master Huang would be in danger.
Whether Young Master Huang would turn into a ghost was still unknown.
Judging from the situation just now, things were already not looking good. Young Master Huang could lose control at any moment. As the next person descended the stairs, she looked up and saw a figure in a white opera costume swaying as they walked over.
It was Jiang Cheng.
"Hmm." As he passed by Xia Meng, he let out a small hum.
"He can't die now," Xia Meng thought, clenching her fists tightly. "Although this guy has terrible character and no shame, his skills and mind are both excellent. For this mission, I've prepared three trump cards, and Jiang Cheng is one of them."
"If only he could take down the Deep Crimson bastards with him, that would be perfect," Xia Meng thought, watching his back disappear at the top of the stairs.
But just as Xia Meng was about to turn and leave, the sound of footsteps rang out again, this time light and quick. Moments later, Jiang Cheng came running down the stairs, "clattering" all the way.
It had been less than ten seconds.
"You..." Xia Meng's eyes widened slightly.
The others looked at Jiang Cheng as if they had seen a ghost.
"Young Master Huang said the next person can go up," Jiang Cheng shouted before slipping back into the crowd, not even bothering to introduce himself.
"Mr. Hao," An Xuan looked at Jiang Cheng, his expression unusually grim, his tone equally cold, as if he had become a different person. "Did you... forget something?"
"Hao Shuai," Jiang Cheng poked his head out from behind. "My name is Hao Shuai, I'm a model, currently working the night shift at a KTV..."
"Alright, alright," An Xuan waved his hand. "That's enough."
Now everyone looked at Jiang Cheng with relief. He couldn't be a ghost—no ghost would talk like that. If there really was such a ghost, they'd accept their fate even if it killed them.
The next person after Jiang Cheng was Qin Jian. Perhaps because of what he was wearing, he seemed particularly unconfident, almost tripping as he walked up the stairs.
Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, staring at Qin Jian's back, something flickering in his gaze.
The fatty seemed to notice something. He first looked at Qin Jian, then turned his head, pretending to glance casually at the doctor. A strange feeling suddenly welled up in his heart.
A few minutes later, Qin Jian came trembling down the stairs.
But after descending, he managed to force a smile. After answering the identity question, he quickly returned to the crowd.
He seemed particularly afraid of being left alone.
The next person after Qin Jian was Chen Qiang.
It was clear that Chen Qiang was quite nervous. One of his hands was clutching the hem of his white shirt, even pulling it out of shape, but his expression was resolute.
Like a soldier about to head to the battlefield.
Under everyone's gaze, he slowly exhaled, then stepped out of the crowd and walked toward the stairs.
"Young Master is tired. All the doctors may leave for today." The middle-aged woman, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly spoke.
Chen Qiang's body froze, then began to tremble slightly. The fatty, seeing this, also breathed a sigh of relief for the young man.
On the way back, the middle-aged woman led the way far ahead, giving the rest of the group a chance to gather and discuss what had just happened.
"That young master is really creepy," Shi Liaozhi muttered as he walked. "He was lying there like he had no bones, and the things he was singing—I couldn't understand a word, and I didn't dare to listen. But the tune was exactly the same as last night's!"
"At least we can confirm that the young master is human," he comforted himself. "Being human is better than anything else."
"Lying there?" Xia Meng suddenly turned around. "Wasn't he sitting?"
(End of the Chapter)
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