All morning, we found nothing in our investigation. When we left the Elderly Association, we had already questioned over a hundred seniors. Many were in their sixties or seventies, and some remembered things from the newspaper in the past, but no one knew who had actually founded it.
Even the newspapers I saw in the library were incomplete, with many issues missing. Only the dozen or so issues that featured supernatural events had been preserved.
I also checked the local business registry website, but found no information about a paper called 'Xin Xin News'.
"This really is a hassle. Where did Yin Choujian and the others go?"
I muttered, while Ding Dacheng yawned beside me, his attention drifting to the various street snacks.
"Forget it, let's go eat!"
But thinking back, an old man had mentioned that the newspaper was started by a few young people. Later, because the content was unreliable and much of it was fabricated, the publication was discontinued. Considering the time, even the youngest of those founders would be at least sixty now.
"You guys go ahead and investigate on your own. I have things to take care of, so I'll leave first. I'll leave the car with you."
With that, Ma Yongjie handed me the keys. I quickly thanked him. I needed to rent a car, but I had no idea where to go.
"You need it too, right?"
I asked, and he smiled, shaking his head.
After Ma Yongjie left, Dean Ding and I found a small street-side snack shop. I kept checking the information on my phone. There were many newspapers from that era, some privately printed, so it's hard to track them down.
Next, I was heading to the original Riverbend, about twenty kilometers from the old Lakeside County. The area has become a large urban district now. I had asked many elderly people, and the butcher named Li from the reports really existed; some had bought meat from him before. He lived in Riverbend.
This time, the one we're looking for—the Green Wraith you call Yao, did he used to do this kind of thing? Helping people?
I asked, and Dean Ding scratched his head, thinking for a while before answering.
I'm not really sure, but that guy would sometimes leave the Hall of Bloodbane for a while. Even though we all lived in the Hall of Bloodbane, we were actually quite free to go wherever we wanted. Some others did the same, occasionally leaving and returning. Back then, we lived in a small city and life was pretty easy. Sometimes, we'd have minor conflicts with other ghost lords.
Oh right, I remember Serena Qing mentioned to me before that the Green Wraith named Ziyan already helped John Chou pass on a message, didn’t he?
Dean Ding shook his head.
I doubt many people received the message, since the hundred ghosts of Hall of Bloodbane had already cut ties with John Chou. Anyway, it's a real hassle. If only we'd known, things wouldn't have turned out this way.
After eating, I drove straight to Riverbend. The surroundings grew increasingly desolate; I'd heard there were many unfinished buildings here. Most areas felt deserted, except for the main street, which still had some people. Everywhere else was nearly empty.
Around 1 p.m., we arrived at the old Riverbend marketplace. The place was lively, and as soon as I got there, I started asking around.
Sure enough, many people had heard about the strange incident from years ago. I spent the whole day wandering the streets, asking people, and finally learned from an old man selling pots where Sam Li's house was. He lived nearby—Sam Li, now almost seventy.
Following the old man's directions, Dean Ding and I went straight there.
After about ten minutes, we arrived at a standalone house with a locked gate. Inside, a woman in her thirties was cleaning. I knocked, explained our purpose, and she politely invited us in, asking us to wait in the first-floor living room.
Soon, an old man with white hair, a haggard face, and a cough came downstairs. He was Sam Li, the butcher from the reports.
Despite his poor health, his memory was very clear.
Sam Li began to speak, and I listened quietly.
Back then, he was known for being tough and was the first in town to own a cargo tractor. He scraped together money to buy it, and from then on, he traveled nearly forty kilometers to the county every day, slaughtering pigs in the villages and selling them in town.
His business grew day by day. To expand, Sam Li nearly monopolized the pork market in town, making two trips to the county each day with ten pigs. Anyone who tried to compete with him was quickly outmatched.
Some people even tried dirty tricks, teaming up with county thugs to steal his business. But Sam Li was tough and fearless, always carrying a butcher knife when selling pigs.
After several minor clashes escalated, some people tried to ambush Sam Li while he was transporting meat. They nearly got killed by him, and after that, no one dared mess with his business.
Though Sam Li was tough, he was well-liked in town. If a family raised pigs, he was fair and honest, never owing anyone money and often helping people.
As Sam Li's business grew, he planned to take over the county's pork market. Many people were jealous, but the city butchers only trusted Sam Li because his pigs were the best. Whenever he delivered, his meat was bought immediately.
One day, a group invited Sam Li to dinner after he finished selling meat. They kept urging him to drink, and he got drunk, but with lots of business to do the next day, he still drove his tractor back to town.
The town's broken bridge had already been tampered with. After getting drunk, Sam Li was weak and lost control, causing the tractor to skid and plunge both him and the vehicle into the raging river.
The only thing Sam Li remembered was that, as he was about to drown, a hand pulled him out of the river. He vaguely saw a pale-faced figure but recalled nothing else.
It was only more than ten years later that Sam Li learned from the people who had invited him to drink that someone had tried to harm him. He survived against all odds, and his business flourished even more. The story spread widely—everyone said Sam Li must have had ancestors who did good deeds, otherwise he would have drowned that night.
Uncle Li, who wrote the report back then?
I handed him the newspaper. After looking at it for a long time with his reading glasses, Sam Li gave me a woman's name—June Wu. She had interviewed Sam Li and written the story.
But when I asked where June Wu lived, Sam Li didn’t know.
Dean Ding and I left Sam Li’s house and drove straight to the center of Lakeside District. As long as we knew the name, we could ask at the registration office—even if we had to use some special methods.
By 4 p.m., I left the registration office feeling discouraged. June Wu had died last year at age seventy-three, though she was only in her thirties at the time of the report.
Still, I managed to find June Wu’s home in an old neighborhood in Lakeside District. Hoping for clues, Dean Ding and I went there.
In a decades-old apartment building, we went to the fifth floor and knocked on the door of unit 503. A yellow-faced, fairly pretty young woman in her twenties, cigarette in mouth, opened the door and looked at us suspiciously. Her gaze was fierce, and she had a streetwise air.
“What do you want?”
“Miss, I’d like to ask about June Wu’s life.”
The woman looked at us for a while, then seemed to remember.
“My grandaunt? She died ages ago.”
She started to close the door, but after I explained and offered some money, she politely invited us in.
The place was messy. Dean Ding found a chair and sat down. The young woman was Spring Wu, June Wu’s grandniece—her grandmother’s sister. The apartment had been left to her by June Wu.
I mentioned making a supernatural movie, which made Spring Wu a little happier. After serving us tea, she said:
“My grandaunt was always a bit eccentric and never married. The family said she had mental issues, but she was very nice to me. I often played at her house as a child.”
“Did she ever say she saw ghosts or anything like that?”
I asked, and Spring Wu chuckled and shook her head.
Actually, my grandaunt once told me about a good ghost who liked to help people, but when I grew up, I realized she probably really did have mental issues.
I looked at Spring Wu, puzzled. She kept talking, saying her grandaunt used to mutter to herself at home. As a child, she didn’t understand, but looking back, it was scary and eerie. Later, she learned her grandaunt did have mental illness.
I showed her the old news report. Spring Wu glanced at it and said:
“My grandaunt had these too. I’ve seen them—she wrote them. She suffered because of them, I heard from my parents. The whole family worked hard to get her out of trouble, and the newspaper she worked for eventually went bankrupt.”
“It’s late. Sis, let’s eat together!”
I was surprised, looking at Spring Wu. I was a bit uncomfortable; I’m thirty-five but don’t look that old. How did this girl see through me?