Murder the Dream Guy Chapter 31 - The Seventh Day

Chapter 31: The Seventh Day

Translator: MintCatnip Editor: Chrissy
That police announcement fired up a round of public sentiments.
The more twists and turns a bizarre homicide case had, the more eyeballs it would attract.
The death of an iconic figure of envy who had a personal worth of tens of billions of dollars had already left the public hanging in the air, dying to know more about his death. And the addition of a novel that had been offering details of the case which the public regarded as having the ability to “foresee”, grabbed the nerves of the public. At one time, the case even overshadowed the news of adultery of a certain famous artiste and became the hottest topic.
Nonetheless, “Murder The Dream Guy” did not skyrocket to fame. With the presence of pirated versions of her novel, she did not get much increase in her subscriptions as well. However, more and more people got to know about her novel.
Her pen name “Xiang Gongzi Wan” finally stood out from an enormous group of authors.
Fang Yuanyuan: “Little Wan, even I have started to wonder how did you know about the case beforehand? Hey, don’t tell me that fate is guiding you or something like that?”
Fang Yuanyuan was at work and kept poking Xiang Wan at WeChat, curious to find out more from her.
This was the third consecutive day she had inquired that for the umpteen time.
But to be guided by fate… nothing of that sort!
Xiang Wan rolled her eyes in disdain with her hands on her chin.
Xiang Wan: “If I say that everytime when I write, I can hear a voice inside my brain, and that voice is guiding me toward a direction, will you believe it?”
Fang Yuanyuan sent three consecutive “D*mn” and was dubious of her words.
Fang Yuanyuan: “My goodness! It can’t be true, right? Cousin, don’t scare me!”
Xiang Wan: “If it’s not true, what do you think it is?”
Fang Yuanyuan: “Yes, if it’s not true, how can you write a story so close to the truth? Ahhhhh, I’m going crazy! What’s going on?”
Xiang Wan knocked on her forehead.
Xiang Wan: “… Just take it that way. I’m not a human, I’m a deity!”
Fang Yuanyuan: “You’re crazy, right?”
Xiang Wan: “Haha!”
In actual fact, Xiang Wan herself was flummoxed.
This was exactly like the case of a blind cat running into a dead mouse, that kind of probability made her dumbstruck with amazement.
How could she not know if she had the predictive ability of writing cases?
What she had wrote and thought, besides the time when Bai Muchuan kind of forced her to modify her plot, she had not deviated from her main outline.
Yes, apart from her main outline, she also had a more detailed plot outline.
Although those few readers did not admit that they had seen the detailed plot outline, Xiang Wan was very positive that she had written something like that.
The only scientific explanation was—someone replicated the crime in her novel.
The question was, who was it that replicated the crime?
The detailed plot outline of her novel had merged well together with the real criminal case.
But was the murderer, as per her novel, really Er Niu who had died more than a month ago?
Xiang Wan had spent the whole day in confusion.
That day was an unusual day for her.
The reviews and comment section continued to receive lots of attention. There were posts in Weibo, as well as private messages from QQ and WeChat. She was unable to respond and unable to digest all of the attention.
Perhaps the most helpless matter was, she was staying in Bai Muchuan’s house gratuitously, almost forcibly cut off from society.
Other than news on the internet, she could not hear anything from the outside world.
…
Bai Muchuan came back during dinner time.
At that time, Nanny Li was calling Xiang Wan to come down for dinner.
As soon as she saw him entering the house, Xiang Wan, who was “imprisoned” for three full days, rushed toward him.
“You’re finally back. What the hell’s going on? Why is this happening?”
Bai Muchuan did not say anything, but he looked at her from top to bottom.
“You’re full?”
“…”
Where did this come from?
Xiang Wan was full of doubts but was defeated by his nonchalant attitude.
“Detective Bai.” She raised her head slightly. Her black hair hang loosely on her shoulders, and her face was fair and clean. Her pink lips were like flower petals, and her displeased look was exceptionally beautiful, even if her words might not sound pleasant to the ear. “I’ve finished writing the case, can I be released?”
Bai Muchuan raised an eyebrow, but was emotionless as usual.
“The smiling murderer under the sun has not appeared. How can you say that you’ve finished writing it?”
Xiang Wan wanted to cry her heart out. “Heavens! I really feel like kneeling down to you for mercy! That’s just a novel, it has nothing to do with reality. How would I know who’s the murderer under the sun? I’m intending to write a series of murder cases so it’s not that simple. The real big boss is not out yet. I’m estimating some five million words. Are you sure you’re keeping me as a freeloader in your house until I write the final chapter of ‘Murder The Dream Guy’?”
“Why not?” Bai Muchuan loosened his collar button and entered the house from her side before stopping to raise his hand at her. “Please rise, no need to kneel!”
“…” Xiang Wan really took her hats off to this person.
However, based on his invitation of being the advisor of the Criminal Investigation Unit that night, Xiang Wan’s attitude toward him had improved greatly.
No choice. She rubbed her hands and followed him, from the living room to the dining room, like an obedient elementary school kid.
“No matter what, it’s really absurd to live in your house like this! Detective Bai, why not take the opportunity now to settle the compensation issue, then…”
Bai Muchuan halted his steps, ignoring the embarrassed Xiang Wan who nearly bumped into his shoulders, and took a casual glance at her. “The red car you saw that night, you don’t want to know who’s the owner of the car?”
Red car? Xiang Wan was startled then elated.
“Oh yes! I have nearly forgotten about this. You’ve gotten the information?”
Bai Muchuan replied, “Yes, more than one.”
After that, he stopped talking about the topic and moved his eyebrow up and down in deliberation.
Xiang Wan felt as if a cat was scratching her in the heart—she was itching to know the answer.
Hence, she made an awkward cough, and stopped mentioning the compensation. Her eyes was so excited that they seemed to be shining.
“Detective Bai, are you able to tell me that information?”
Bai Muchuan narrowed his eyes and sat on the chair unhurriedly, as if he was a VIP.
“It depends on your performance.”
Performance?
Xiang Wan saw the plate of scalded prawns before him and instantly understood what he meant.
She began shelling the prawns, filled his bowl of rice, and filled a bowl of soup for him. She was like a little maid serving her Young Master.
Bai Muchuan had not come home for three days, which meant he had eaten at the canteen for three days straight, so he ate a lot during this home-cooked meal.
The two of them did not really converse with each other. Even their gazes were focused only on food, and when they needed to communicate, it would still be related to food. Bai Muchuan did not have any emotion as usual, but they got along so well that there was a feeling of aesthetic pleasure beyond words. That made Nanny Li so delighted that she secretly gave a call to Old Mrs. Bai—Bai Muchuan’s granny.
As for Bai Lu, she did not even finish her meal. She ran upstairs and cried bitterly under the covers.
“Mom, my little uncle is snatched away by someone else…”
…
That day was the seventh day of Zhao Jiahang’s death.
Over at the Zhao Family’s villa, it was very crowded during the day.
Friends and relatives came to pay their respects for the deceased. They lobbied around, socialized with each other, and went back in the night after they had their meals.
At night, the temperature decreased, and the wind started to blow.
The dim, white lanterns hanging by the door had a gloomy glint of light. The smell of candles, the long strips of white cloth, white flower wreaths, as well as the joss papers got stronger and thicker.
Same as before, Mrs. Zhao did not show up at the mourning hall.
At the “white castle” she lived in, it was so quiet as if nobody had lived there.
Outside the window, the rustling of bamboo leaves sounded like a man’s footsteps, releasing a strange eerie feeling.
“What’s the time now?” asked a woman in a soft tone. She was sitting on a wheelchair by the window.
“It’s almost twelve midnight, ten more minutes to go,” Xiao Cheng answered dutifully.
“They’ve all gone back, right?”
“Yes!”
“Where’s the Reverend?”
“At the mourning hall.”
Mrs. Zhao’s face was covered by a veil, partly hidden, partly visible.
She mulled over something for a while. “The Reverend is ready?”
Xiao Cheng seemed to hesitate for moment when they heard a voice.
“Amitabha,” said a bald monk donned in monk robes and cassock who came in through the door.
“Mrs. Zhao, everything is ready.”
In this age, feudal superstition had long been abandoned. A lot of families do not conduct religious rites for funerals anymore.
However, although Mrs. Zhao did not attend the funeral, she had made sure her husband’s funeral to be exceptionally grand.
The seventh day of a person’s death was also known as “the return of one’s spirit”. It was said that the spirit of the deceased would be coming home on this day to bid farewell to their family members. The seventh day was the last day for the spirit to stay in the living world. According to customs, relatives would lay a layer of plant ash on the ground and then stay away from it. On the next day, wherever the spirit passed by, there would be footprints on the plant ash.
This custom was known as “collect footprints”.
People like Mrs. Zhao who was highly educated should not have believed in such superstition.
But not only did she believe it, she actually seemed to believe in it deeply.
She had specially invited the eminent monk to conduct funeral rites and deliver sermons for Mr. Zhao, as well as “collect footprints”.
Mrs. Zhao completely followed the instructions of the eminent monk. Not only were the plant ash scattered from the doorsteps, joss paper was also stuck on a bamboo pole every ten feet to guide the spirit. Mr. Zhao’s favorite food and fruits were placed at the garage where he was found dead. Joss sticks and candles were lighted all the way to his room.
It was said that by doing so, he would enter the house to spend his last night in the world of the living.
“Mrs. Zhao, it’s almost time now,” said the eminent monk.
“Xiao Cheng, off the lights.”
“Yes, Mrs. Zhao.”
The wind blew gently, Mrs. Zhao’s voice sounded lighter than a ghost when scattered in the wind.
“Will he really… come back?”
All the lights went out, and the white castle instantly darkened.
The oil lamp laid on the path seemed to flash a ghastly glow.
Somehow, the atmosphere started to become spooky as they hid behind the chiffon curtain in the living room.
Thump! Thump! Not sure whose heartbeat was that.
Mrs. Zhao stood motionless as she held her breath.
The eminent monk sat on the cattail hassock, his hands folded, silently chanting the scriptures.
Dong—!
The clock at the living room chimed.
It was now midnight at 12 o’clock sharp!
The half-closed door was blown open by the wind.
A gust of hair-raising wind blew into the house. At the dark doorway, no one was there.
Mrs. Zhao’s gaze was fixated on the door without blinking. Slowly, she really saw a shadow moving toward the house.
There were no lights. The dark house was as if the dark night itself, No one could see the face of the that shadow, but that figure and built, that style of apparel… without a doubt, it must be Mr. Zhao.