Chapter 284: [Unswerving Devotion] Exactly the Same
A lingering crescent moon hung in the sky at some unknown moment.
The moonlight was pale and thin, casting almost no illumination, leaving the entire courtyard shrouded in pitch darkness.
Holding a lantern in hand, Bai Cha navigated through a covered corridor.
Along the left side of the corridor grew a small patch of bamboo, bordered by a wall beyond.
As a breeze swept past, the bamboo leaves rustled gently in the wind.
Bai Cha halted her steps, observing for a short while.
It was actually quite cold.
This spot seemed to be a drafty wind passage.
Casting a couple of glances, Bai Cha retracted her gaze, intending to continue exploring this courtyard.
And then, she caught what sounded like weeping.
The sound was faint and intermittent, impossible to discern clearly.
The wind blew against the lantern in her hand, the candle flame flickering within, dimming and brightening by turns.
Bai Cha turned her head, looking back toward the bamboo grove once more.
She approached with measured, slow steps.
Weeping indeed echoed from inside.
This small bamboo grove was far from large, allowing one to see the wall on the opposite side at a single glance—it served merely a decorative purpose.
Bai Cha raised her lantern to cast light over the area, spotting no trace of a figure.
Furthermore, the wind blew rather loudly, severely impairing her ability to judge where the weeping originated from.
Knitting her brows, Bai Cha stepped back slightly, standing a bit further away to listen attentively.
Yet the weeping ceased.
Ceasing alongside it, seemingly, was the wind as well.
The candle flame in her hand extinguished for a single instant—merely a split second.
Bai Cha felt as though someone had brushed past her side.
Afterward, everything returned to normal.
The courtyard turned extraordinarily quiet.
Standing on the spot, Bai Cha observed for a moment longer before turning around slowly; this place couldn’t possibly harbor issues in a single location alone.
Following the corridor, she walked all the way to the main hall.
At this moment, the doors and windows of the main hall were tightly shut—no telling if it was because the two primary masters of the household had passed away, leaving no one to keep watch at night either.
Bai Cha gave it a gentle push, and the door opened with a creak.
Raising her lantern, she cast a subtle beam of light inside.
The moment the light illuminated a certain spot, a woman bearing a pale, white face stood there abruptly.
The dim lantern light outlined her silhouette, prompting Bai Cha to narrow her eyes in vigilance instantly.
The candle light in her hand flickered once more, and that figure vanished into the darkness already.
Holy crap, scared me to death!
Streamer, when you see this kind of thing, can you give a slight reaction?
She seems to have always been quite bold.
With the bullet chat closed, even if it were open, Bai Cha wouldn’t care about viewers getting startled.
Lowering her lantern slowly, she took two steps into the main hall.
Upon reaching the center, she suddenly felt a chill behind her back, turning her head to look.
A gaunt, slender man had appeared behind her at some unknown moment.
The distance between him and her was so close they were practically pressed against each other.
Bai Cha observed him with an impassive expression, refraining from budging in the slightest.
The man’s eyes didn’t seem to be looking at her either.
Tilting her frame slightly to the side, Bai Cha discovered that he indeed hadn’t moved.
He appeared to be gazing toward the primary master seat. Following his gaze, Bai Cha spotted no one there; turning her head back, that man had vanished as well.
Frigid wind poured into the main hall, causing the folding screen inside the room to sway subtly.
Bai Cha looked over—it was a flower-and-bird folding screen, relatively translucent, yet because the primary light source was on her side, nothing behind it could be seen, revealing merely a patch of pitch darkness.
Stepping forward with slow paces, she approached until she stood close.
And then she halted.
Because a shadow was projected onto the folding screen before her.
It was her shadow.
The problem, however, was that the lantern was held in her own hand—positioned directly in front of her.
With no light source behind her back, how could a shadow be projected onto the folding screen before her?
As she stood there motionless, the shadow remained motionless as well.
Almost as if it were truly her shadow.
To confirm this wasn’t a genuine shadow, Bai Cha looked down at the floor behind her.
Indeed, her actual shadow lay behind her back.
Raising her head once more, without much surprise, that shadow had vanished as well.
Reaching out her hand, Bai Cha pushed the folding screen open slowly.
The space behind was completely empty.
However, she noticed an earring lying on the floor.
Crouching down, Bai Cha picked up the earring.
The design of the earring was exceedingly simple—a red jade agate in the shape of a teardrop, paired with a pearl atop it.
She touched her own ear.
Then she unfastened an earring, comparing the two earrings in her palm—they were identical.
No, not completely identical either.
The pearl on the earring in her hand bore faint signs of wear and tear.
Yet the one she had picked up looked noticeably newer.
She personally held no ear piercings in reality, yet this body inside the game possessed pierced ears.
So what did this earring represent?
She currently held three earrings, with the one on her other ear being identical as well.
After a moment’s thought, she crouched down abruptly, placing the earring she had unfastened from her own ear gently back onto its original spot.
Even the angle was set according to its original positioning.
Afterward, she observed for a short while, and nothing occurred.
Jiggling the slightly newer earring in her hand, she decided to head further inside for another look first.
After all, for these NPCs who vanished the moment she turned her head, perhaps they required her to divert her gaze first.
Honestly, what was there to be shy about? They could simply go about their business directly before her.
It wasn’t as if she would disdain them for looking terrifying.
Then again, that City Lord—or City Lord’s wife—definitely wouldn’t let her off.
So throwing her back into this courtyard, what exactly was in this place that could cause her death?
Before departing through the side door, Bai Cha intentionally cast a backward glance.
That earring on the floor remained lying right there.
Tsk.
Best to check out other areas first.
Clutching her face, Xu Taotao ran outside, yet given her poor health, she couldn’t run far, and compounded by her intense emotional agitation earlier, her vision darkened in waves.
As she ran near a corridor, her legs suddenly gave way, and she tumbled outward beyond the corridor.
Fortunately, a bamboo grove stood here, with plenty of fallen bamboo leaves carpeting the ground, making it reasonably soft; she was caught by the bamboo stalks as well, avoiding rolling further out.
Flipping over with a touch of dishevelment, Xu Taotao found herself unable to get up, her entire body aching and miserable, her head spinning with dizziness.
Her face burned with a stinging heat as well.
In truth, Lady Li’s slap hadn’t been heavy, yet Xu Taotao felt an excruciating pain from it.
Her heart felt agonizing pain.
Why blame her? Why blame her for an unsmooth marriage? Her father had suffered a stroke—why blame her for that as well? Why could everything be dragged back to marriage?
She felt deeply miserable and stifled, which brought her even greater torment, so she broke into tears.
Yet she didn’t dare weep out loud, fearing it would draw onlookers—even if they were merely household servants.
She knew full well that even household servants would inevitably spread these matters around with loose tongues.
When that time came, lying in a bamboo grove weeping like this would be condemned as a disgraceful spectacle once more.
She feared that if her father managed to wake up by then, hearing of this would only anger him into fainting all over again.
Incapable of even crying freely, her weeping turned all the more stifled, her throat choked with a dry, aching soreness.
Suddenly, she sensed someone watching her.
Turning her head subtly with a degree of stiffness, Xu Taotao looked over.
Railings lined both sides of the corridor.
The railings were hollowed out with carved patterns.
Through the gaps in the carvings, she caught sight of a pair of feet.
Feet wearing a pair of light pink embroidered shoes.
Those embroidered shoes were somewhat worn and frayed, featuring patterns of auspicious clouds and plum blossoms.
They looked somewhat familiar…
Xu Taotao didn’t dare budge a single inch, wanting to look down at her own feet.
Because why were that pattern and that color exactly the same as the shoes on her own feet?
