Kidnapping the entire Journey to the West, starting by turning Sun Wukong against his own side.

Chapter 190 Nighttime Infiltration of the Stone Box

The first sound to be heard at night came from the monument.

It wasn't a crack, nor a sound. It was like a drop of water slowly squeezing out from a crack in the stone, falling into an empty space, very light. The tower keeper was a light sleeper, and when he opened his eyes, the wind under the eaves hadn't stopped, but there was a little more darkness over the True Origin Stele.

He put on his robe, got off the bed, and took the oil lamp with him.

The grass beside the monument was covered in night dew; stepping on it sent a chill straight to the soles of my feet. The wooden sign that read "Old Archives Sealed, Not to be Opened" still stood, its edges worn, but the characters steady. The tower keeper first looked at the sign, then at the stone box beneath the monument, his gaze immediately fixed on it.

The black text wasn't written on the lid.

That stuff seeped out from the cracks in the rocks.

It was a thin line, like ink seeping into the stone and then seeping back out. At first, there was only one line, but as the tower keeper crouched down to look, a second line slowly emerged. It wasn't a name, nor was it anyone's mark; it was straight and abrupt, like the impersonal way of recording things in an old-fashioned accounting office.

Jia 73 - Gui 91 - Ding 24.

There was still half of it left, squeezed against the seam, as if it hadn't been completely vomited up.

The tower keeper felt a chill run down his spine and dared not touch it. He moved the oil lamp closer, and with a flicker of the light, the lines of black characters seemed to come alive, their ink deepening. He stood up and walked around the stone box. The stele was not cracked. The seal was still intact. The stone cover was tightly closed, not even a speck of dust had been stirred.

He turned and ran into the yard.

Chen Fan had been waking up later these past few years, but his sleep hadn't been deep. The tower keeper had only knocked on the door a second time when he was already awake, throwing on an outer robe and coming out. As soon as the door opened, a night breeze rushed into the room, and the tower keeper's forehead was covered in water, whether from dew or sweat, it was hard to tell.

"There are words at the base of the monument," the tower keeper said in a low voice. "They weren't written on the outside; they seeped out from the cracks."

Chen Fan didn't ask any more questions and walked away.

Wukong was even faster; his staff emerged from the window before the door even opened. Zhu Bajie followed behind, yawning and muttering curses about how he couldn't let anyone have a peaceful night. Xuanzang, draped in an old monk's robe, hadn't even put his shoes on properly, and his footsteps clattered on the ground. Si Mo arrived last, already carrying two blank sheets of paper and a short pen, as if he'd picked them up on the way.

With the lamps surrounding it, the words under the monument became even more conspicuous.

Zhu Bajie squatted down first, brought his nose close to sniff: "It's not new ink."

"Nonsense." Wukong tapped his shoulder with the end of his staff. "Can Xinmo crawl out of a crack in the rock?"

Si Mo didn't reply, but leaned over and stared at the writing for a long time. He had a habit when reading: he would stare intently without blinking, as if trying to trace every inch of the brushstrokes. After reading it, he reached out and silently copied it onto a blank sheet of paper, then stopped writing the third paragraph.

"I've seen this format before," he said.

Chen Fan looked at him: "Which year?"

"It's not from any particular year." Si Mo held the paper up to the lamp. "It's from the earliest batch of old files, with serial numbers. The names weren't all recorded, so they were numbered first. Later, the names were added, and the numbers were moved to the end. After the True Origin Chronology, this method was abandoned."

Chen Fan's heart sank, and he squatted down to take a closer look.

Over the years, he'd handled account books more than knives; the mere sight of the book's title brought back the musty smell of old paper. The stone box contained old files—names that hadn't been properly recorded, fragments of pages peeled from the ancient celestial registers, cross-checks, corrections, and additions. On the day it was sealed, he didn't even flip through to the end; he simply categorized them and pressed them into the stone box. Wukong sealed the seal, and Xuanzang erected a sign—the meaning was clear: no more digging into those rotten accounts.

Now, the mess is piling up on its own.

"Don't open it," Xuanzang said first.

Chen Fan glanced at him. The old monk stood very straight, the heel of his monk's shoe still sagging, clearly he had come out in a hurry. He stared at the stone box, his fingers slowly twirling the prayer beads inside his sleeve, but the beads didn't make a sound.

"I didn't say I was going to open it," Chen Fan said.

Wukong used the end of his staff to stir the soil on the ground, drawing a shallow line around the stone box. "Let's see if there are any other leaks."

The crowd dispersed to search.

The back of the stele was blank. The four corners of the box bottom were also dry. Only the seam at the very front was seeping the most, as if something inside was pushing the characters out one by one. Si Mo took some paper and pasted it next to him, noting down the sections that had already appeared. He then stared at the last character of the section that was still half-exposed, waiting for what felt like half a cup of tea. Only one more character, "丙," appeared in that section, and then it stopped again.

As the night deepened, the barking of dogs echoed up the mountain path, one bark after another, making one's heart clench with unease.

Chen Fan stood up: "Let's go to the general accounting office."

Upon hearing this, Pigsy scratched his head: "Checking accounts in the middle of the night?"

"Since this is an old serial number, we need to match it to the correct one first," Chen Fan said. "Once we can trace the source, we can think of something else."

The general accounting office wasn't far from the monument. The door bolt was pulled open, and the room still reeked of the mingled smell of paper ash and wooden shelves. Si Mo lit three lamps and brought out nearly twenty years' worth of registers, stacking them one by one on the long table. Chen Fan didn't sit, but stood and flipped through them. Wukong leaned against the doorframe, watching. Xuanzang rolled up his sleeves and helped pass the registers. The tower keeper stood by the window, his ears constantly darting outwards.

The first thing to check was the obsolete registration book.

From the first year of the True Origin Era, the old registers were abolished. For any new registration, only the name, origin, place of residence, and guarantor were recorded. The register of abolished registers was very thin; the first few pages were neatly written, but the last sentence read: "The old system is discontinued; no further entries will be made." Chen Fan flipped through it but couldn't find the match.

Check the earliest batch of transfers.

Si Mo took out a few books from the bottom of the trunk. The covers were stiff and the edges of the pages were frayed. The numbering format was similar to the one seeping from the cracks in the stone, with numbers interspersed with the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches, segmented like knots. But when compared, it was still slightly off. The serial number from the cracks in the stone had the same beginning and end as the old system, but it had an extra break in the middle.

"It looks like it was pieced together," Si Mo said.

"Who's going to fight?" Pigsy asked.

"It's not anyone." Chen Fan turned a page, his fingertips pausing. "It's like taking a section from each of three old files and forcibly piecing them together."

Wukong looked up: "You've put them all together in a string for us to see?"

After he said that, the room fell silent for a moment.

The lamp wick flickered and Xuanzang reached out and extinguished it. A shard of black smoke landed on the corner of the table, like a grain of burnt rice.

Chen Fan then went to look through the master roster.

This time, they were flipping through the last three years. The ferry crossing had seen a surge in visitors in recent years, with registration points set up both up and down the mountain, but the registration rules remained intact. The name was the most crucial element; everyone had to write it down themselves, or leave a fingerprint if they couldn't, and then have someone else write it down for them. Chen Fan flipped through quickly, while Si Mo read out the years. When they reached last winter, they suddenly heard hurried footsteps outside the window.

The tower keeper opened the window and shouted, "Who's there?"

Someone below, panting, replied, "From the ferry terminal!"

Before anyone could ask any more questions, the man had already rushed into the courtyard. It was the clerk on night duty, his clothes were soaked, and he was clutching a roll of paper tightly in his hand. When he saw Chen Fan, he bowed first, not even bothering to finish the proper greeting.

"Mountain Lord, something's gone wrong."

"explain."

"Three quarters before midnight tonight, three people arrived at the ferry. They arrived one after the other and didn't recognize each other. An old fisherwoman, a lame scholar, and a salt-carrying man. According to custom, when they were asked to sign their names, what they wrote down were not names."

He handed over the paper in his hand.

The paper was torn from the registration desk, the edges still curled. Three lines of ink were written on it, each with a different handwriting. The first line was trembling, like a seasoned hand. The second line was tightly drawn, as if tracing a grid. The third line was the thickest, the ink bleeding through. Yet, all three lines contained the exact same thing.

Jia 73 – Gui 91 – Ding 24 – Bing 5.

The people in the room all looked up at the same time.

Si Mo reached out and took the paper, his fingers tightening slightly: "The last part is out."

The clerk swallowed hard and continued, "I felt something was wrong and asked them their names. They all froze, as if they couldn't remember for a moment. The old fisherwoman kept staring at the paper, read it twice, and said it wasn't her name. When I pressed them for more information, all three of them were so sick they couldn't stand. The doctor on night duty went to check on them and only said their pulses were irregular. I didn't dare let them go or put them in jail, so I kept them in the back room of the ferry and had someone watch over them."

Chen Fan placed the paper on the table, alongside the black characters Si Mo had just copied down from the cracks in the stone. The first three paragraphs had different handwriting styles, but the numbering was exactly the same.

"Where's the original?" he asked.

Si Mo had already turned around to open the back cabinet.

The cabinet hadn't been touched much in years; when he pulled the wooden door open, a layer of dust fell out. He pulled out a narrow, long, old book from the back; the cover had no name, only a faded prefix pressed in the corner. He took it out very gently, as if afraid the pages would crumble in his hands.

"This is the earliest original copy," Si Mo said. "It wasn't altered before being copied. If this serial number truly exists, only this one can match it."

Wukong glanced at the booklet but didn't reach for it: "Should we investigate up the mountain, or stay here?"

Chen Fan didn't answer, but first glanced out the window.

The lamplight still lingered on the other side of the monument. The night wind blew in through the cracks in the door, carrying the scent of mountain earth. The stone box remained silent, as if it had only uttered half a sentence, leaving the other half unsaid, waiting for them to find it themselves.

He took the old book and pressed his palm on the cover.

"Let's go to the monument," Chen Fan said. "Move the table over there too."

Pigsy was taken aback: "In the middle of the night, do you really have to use the wind to investigate?"

"I want to see if it continues to seep in." Chen Fan rolled up the ferry registration form and stuffed it into the book. "Don't let everyone scatter. The tower guard goes back and tells the ferryman to keep a close eye on those three people and not to ask for their names a second time. Asking too many questions might damage their brains."

The tower keeper responded and turned to run.

Si Mo carried the original book out, his steps light. Xuanzang went to fetch the lantern. Wukong carried one end of the long table, and Zhu Bajie cursed, "This old pig is exhausted!" but still carried the other end. Chen Fan was the last to leave, closing the door to the general accounting room behind him.

As the door closed, a speck of ash from the lamp wick on the corner of the table was blown away by the wind and landed on the edge of a piece of paper with the same old serial number written on it.

Chapter 652 One Person, Two People

Before dawn, fog had already rolled in over the ferry crossing.

It wasn't the thick, white fog typical of rivers, but the dampness of the wooden plank path. Your shoes felt sticky with every step. Piles of salt bags and oil baskets, untested the night before, lay on the bank; the hemp ropes, soaked with water, had darkened in color and smelled musty.

When Chen Fan and his group arrived, there were already about twenty people gathered in front of the pier.

The tower keeper ran fast last night and made sure the message was clear. The goods were all left where they were, and no one dared to move them. The three men who had been called out last night squatted by the wooden stake; one hugged his knees, one hunched his neck, and the third had simply fallen asleep leaning against the basket, his head nodding off.

Si Mo held the original book, first looking at the person, then at the shoe prints on the ground.

"They haven't dispersed yet."

The tower keeper wiped his face: "I didn't dare release them. I didn't dare ask any more questions either, I just told them to wait here."

Chen Fan nodded, not immediately checking the accounts, but instead glancing around: "Who was in charge of the live accounts this morning?"

A thin accountant squeezed out from the crowd, clutching half a cold pancake in his hand, crumbs sticking to the corner of his mouth: "I'm in charge. We stopped in a hurry last night, and the following ships were all crushed."

"Let's just keep it under wraps." Chen Fan sat down at the long table. "We're not catching the ship this morning, let's check names first. Sign one, press one. Nobody speaks up for anyone else."

The thin accountant quickly spread out the ledger.

This ledger was different from the one in the general ledger; the paper was coarse, the edges were curled, and paper fibers would fall when the pages were turned. It contained the names of day laborers, porters, and porters. Whoever came, signed. Those who could read wrote, those who couldn't pressed their palms. A settlement was made daily, and the money was paid out on the same day.

Xuanzang placed the lamp on the corner of the desk. The sky was gray, and the lamplight was dim, illuminating just the page of paper.

"The first one," Si Mo said.

A dark-skinned, thin man stepped forward; the back of his hands was covered in cracks, and hemp fibers were stuck between his fingers. Seeing so many people sitting at the table, he swallowed hard and said in a low voice, "I am Liu Sandou."

"Write," Chen Fan said.

Liu Sandou held the pen like he was handling a needle, writing three characters in a crooked and awkward manner. Si Mo flipped through the original book to check, and finding nothing amiss, let it go.

The second and third were also just so-so.

When they got to the seventh person, a burly man at the back of the crowd shrank to the side by half a step.

Wukong, with his sharp eyes, hooked an empty basket with his toe, sending it flying and blocking his retreat: "What are you hiding for? It's not even dawn yet, are you in such a hurry to be reincarnated?"

The man shuddered and had no choice but to bite the bullet and come forward.

He was not short, with broad shoulders, and his trousers were rolled up to his calves, his feet covered in river mud. He looked to be in his thirties, though his face didn't appear old, except for an old cut on his brow bone that made his face look fierce when he couldn't smile.

The thin accountant looked down at the list: "You reported Zhou Chengmu this morning."

The man nodded hurriedly, "Yes, it's me."

"Write."

Zhou Chengmu took the pen, his hand steadyer than the others. He seemed to be a seasoned writer, and the three characters he wrote were fairly neat. As soon as he finished the last stroke, Si Mo pulled the page forward, preparing for him to press his palm on it.

The mud on his palms had just been changed last night; it was black with a hint of blue. Zhou Chengmu rubbed his right hand on the hem of his clothes a couple of times and then pressed it down.

The handprint on the paper is very clear.

The next moment, none of the people at the table spoke.

From within the damp, dark palm print, a string of pale red old numbers slowly emerged. Like blood vessels pushing out of paper, they climbed upwards segment by segment. First came "Bingku," then "Seventy-six," and finally, two even smaller characters appeared—Xu Shun.

The color drained from Zhou Chengmu's face.

The skinny accountant forgot to swallow the cold pancake in his mouth, his mouth half-open: "This...this wasn't written by him."

Si Mo reached out and pressed down on the ledger page without even looking up: "He wrote Zhou Chengmu, but the seal identifies Xu Shun."

Pigsy leaned closer for a look and snorted, "Heh, one hand, two faces. That stone box leaked water last night, and this morning this living account book will recognize its old master."

The crowd immediately erupted into chaos.

The porters behind him stepped back. One of them opened his mouth to shout, but Wukong placed his golden cudgel horizontally on the table, making the wooden board vibrate. The man immediately swallowed his words, leaving only a dry cough in his throat.

Zhou Chengmu—no, Xu Shun—fell to his knees and nearly collapsed to the ground.

"I...I didn't lie." His lips trembled. "My name is Zhou Chengmu now. That's what everyone calls me. Even the foreman remembers me that way."

"Just because you're calling out now doesn't mean you never called out before." Chen Fan stared at the palm print. "Stand still first. No one's tied you up, and no one's hitting you. Explain yourself clearly, one sentence at a time."

Xu Shun raised his hand to wipe his sweat, but pulled it back halfway, as if afraid of touching something else.

Chen Fan waved to the watchman: "Seal off the cargo on the last two boats. Stop the cargo transporting goods before detaining the people. Anyone who dares to smuggle goods should be hooked ashore."

The tower keeper immediately ran away.

The thin accountant panicked: "Sir, with the shipments stopped, the entire dock is in chaos today."

"A little chaos is better than complete chaos." Chen Fan dragged the work log closer to himself. "From now on, write down everything you encounter that comes up. Don't call them thieves or demons yet. If the name doesn't match, stop the work."

Si Mo dipped his finger in water and placed a drop on the edge of the palm print. The faint red old mark didn't fade; instead, it became even clearer.

"It's an old warehouse number," she said. "It's the same kind of registration slip as last night."

Xuanzang had remained silent until suddenly he took half a step forward.

He looked at Xu Shun's face as if rummaging through old memories. After a few moments, his brow twitched slightly: "This humble monk has seen you before."

Xu Shun suddenly looked up, his eyes initially empty, then as if he had been pricked by a needle.

Xuanzang slowly said, "It wasn't at the ferry crossing. It was at the old warehouse on the west bank. Back then, there was a slope behind the warehouse gate, which was most slippery on rainy days. You were carrying loose rice bags back to the warehouse, and you always padded your right shoulder with an old piece of hemp cloth. The day I asked for passage, you fell down the slope, and the rice bag tore open. You were still kneeling on the ground, scooping the rice into the winnowing basket one grain at a time."

Xu Shun opened his mouth, unable to say anything for a long time.

Pigsy tilted his head to look at Xuanzang: "Master, you even remember this?"

"I remember." Xuanzang looked at Xu Shun. "Back then, he wasn't called Zhou Chengmu. The manager next to him called him Ah Shun and even cursed him, saying that the people who moved the grain into the warehouse couldn't even afford to compensate for the leaked rice."

As soon as the words "returning to the warehouse and moving out" were uttered, Si Mo gently tapped the account page with his fingers.

Chen Fan remembered it too.

The few scraps of paper we found in the general ledger last night, besides the old serial numbers, also had several recurring short notes. One was "recycling," and the other was "returning to storage." At the time, I couldn't figure it out. Now that I'm standing right in front of you, the numbers seem to float in my palm, and the words on the paper finally come to life.

"Did you work in warehouse warehousing and handling at the old warehouse?" Chen Fan asked.

Xu Shun's throat tightened; he nodded once, then shook his head.

"A nod counts, a shake doesn't," Wukong said, leaning against the corner of the table. "You choose one."

Xu Shun's face twitched, and finally he lowered his head: "I've done it."

"how long?"

"Yes...it's been three years."

Why was the name changed later?

Xu Shun's hands were clasped together, his knuckles covered in calluses: "The old warehouse collapsed once. People died. Those who survived were said to have been transferred. But they weren't. They just erased the old registrations and made us register under new names elsewhere. I owed money for medicine at the time, and the manager said, 'Change my name and I can keep working.' I dared not refuse."

The thin accountant felt a chill run down his spine: "You can change your name like that? How are wages calculated then?"

Xu Shun gave a bitter smile, a smile more like a grimace: "The debts from the past belong to those who came before. The debts from the future belong to those who come after. I am still me, but the debts are no longer the same."

The way it was said was rustic, but everyone present understood it.

A man stands here, shoulders still the same, hands still the same. He's done his fair share of work, but his reputation can be split in two. The first part is stored in the old warehouse, the second part hangs on the ferry crossing. If they really need to investigate dead bodies, damaged goods, or outstanding debts, they can simply cut off one end and pretend the other never happened.

Chen Fan didn't speak immediately.

He took a pen and slowly added "Old name Xu Shun, Bingku 76" next to the three characters "Zhou Chengmu".

The pen tip glided across the rough paper with a very soft sound.

"From now on, all accounts at the ferry crossing must be signed and followed by a palm print." Chen Fan put down his pen. "If a previous number appears, it will be listed on a separate page. Only stop the shipment, don't arrest anyone. If anyone tries to run away in the chaos, first note down his foreman, then track him down."

Si Mo continued, "Those that have been moved from the old warehouses should be inspected first. Don't bring them all in at once; inspect them one by one."

Xuanzang then looked at Xu Shun: "Do you remember who else was with you when you were moving supplies for the granary?"

Xu Shun pursed his lips, sweat sliding down his forehead along the old scar.

He glanced at Wukong first, then at Chen Fan, as if weighing whether he'd get a beating on the spot if he spoke. Finally, he pressed his palm against his trouser leg and whispered, "I remember two. One later went blind in one eye. The other... was also at the ferry last night."

Chen Fan looked up: "Which one?"

Xu Shun slowly turned around and pointed into the crowd.

The porter he pointed to was pale-faced, still clutching a carrying pole in his arms. The pole slipped from his grasp, clattered onto the wooden board, rolled twice, and only stopped after hitting the table leg.

Chapter 653: Sound from the ground in the old warehouse

After the carrying pole stopped rolling, no one in the house spoke first.

The porter, empty-handed, trembled, as if he wanted to pick up the items but dared not bend down. Xu Shun lowered his head even further, his shoe tips scraping against the cracks in the wooden planks, leaving white marks.

Chen Fan didn't urge him.

He first looked at the carrying pole. The end of the pole was worn shiny, and the rope marks were deep, unlike something someone who had only recently started doing this kind of work.

Wukong lifted his foot, hooked the carrying pole aside, and gestured with his chin towards the man: "Name."

The man's lips moved a few times: "Zhou...Zhou Qi."

"Where did it come from?"

"North Street Back River Wharf"

"What were you doing at the ferry crossing last night?"

"Moving goods."

Wukong chuckled, but there was no warmth in his voice: "What a coincidence. You're moving goods too, and Xu Shun is moving goods too, and you both happen to be involved in the 'old warehouse returning to its original state' project. Is this some kind of destiny you've created?"

Zhou Qi's forehead was sweating, and his eyes darted around, first looking at the doorway, then at the window paper, as if trying to find a crack to squeeze through.

Chen Fan unfolded the registration sheet and pointed to the old serial number: "Do you recognize this?"

Zhou Qi glanced at it and immediately moved it away: "I don't recognize it."

"I don't recognize you. Why did your face turn pale last night when Xu Shun mentioned returning to the granary?"

Zhou Qi's Adam's apple bobbed: "It's chilly at night, an old ailment."

Zhu Bajie scoffed from the side, "You really know how to pick your timing for this habit."

Xuanzang stood by the table with a lantern, the flame illuminating Zhou Qi's face. Half of the man's face was lit, while the other half was hidden in shadow, his eyelids twitching incessantly.

Si Mo opened the original book and searched through the old pages. After searching for a while, he suddenly looked up and said, "Chen Fan, this name is not in the old warehouse transport register. Xu Shun is in it, but Zhou Qi is not."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Qi's knees buckled, and he knelt on the ground with a thud: "I only covered for one day! Really, only one day! That person was sick and asked me to cover the night shift. I took two strings of cash and left. I really don't know anything else!"

Wukong squatted down in front of him, staring at him: "For whom?"

"His surname is Gao, the one who's blind in his left eye, Gao the Pockmarked."

Xu Shun chimed in from behind, "It's the one I was just talking about, the one who's blind in one eye."

Chen Fan noted down the name and didn't press Zhou Qi for more information, only ordering his men to keep a separate watch over him and Xu Shun. Asking further now would likely yield little more information.

The sky had already darkened.

Back at his lodgings from the ferry, not all the lights in the courtyard were yet on. The little monkeys were huddled against the wall, gnawing on fruit pits. When they saw Wukong return, they swarmed forward, chattering about who had pushed whom off the tree during the day and who had stolen rice porridge from the kitchen.

Wukong, annoyed by the noise, waved his hand to clear a path. Just as he was about to enter, a thin figure suddenly darted out from under the eaves.

Liu Er returned sometime earlier, his ears still covered in grass clippings, and his complexion looked off. He was usually a chatterbox, but tonight he stood pressed against a pillar, as if listening to what was happening outside the courtyard wall.

Chen Fan immediately sensed something was wrong: "What did you hear?"

Liu Er didn't answer immediately. He pressed two fingers behind his ears, frowned, listened for a while, and then whispered, "It's not in the courtyard. Nor is it at the ferry crossing."

Wukong turned around: "Speak plainly."

"Over there at the old warehouse."

The courtyard fell silent.

Everyone knew about Liu Er's abilities. He could hear anything, in wind and rain, near and far, truth and falsehood alike. But he had his limits. He couldn't hear what hadn't happened, what hadn't been heard. He often said that his ears weren't a book of supernatural powers, and blank pages couldn't be turned.

Chen Fan took a step closer: "Who did you hear speaking?"

Six Ears shook his head: "It doesn't sound like a living person standing there talking. It sounds like it's arched out from underground, separated by a layer of soil, then a layer of stone slabs. Intermittent, back and forth, just four words."

"

Chapter 654 Trading a Dead Name for Salt

"To die for salt."

When Liu Er uttered those four words, even the wind in the courtyard seemed to stop for a moment.

Pigsy cursed first: "Using the names of dead people to collect salt? Who the hell came up with this despicable method?"

Xuanzang didn't speak, but simply lowered the lamp. The lowered light revealed the cracks in the old brick on the ground. Si Mo, holding the booklet, paused at the edge of the page, not turning the page, as if he had suddenly understood something.

Chen Fan looked at him: "You thought of that too?"

Si Mo nodded, his voice tense: "In the past month, there have been seven additional salt claims in the port area's salt register. The amounts are small, and they're all included in the regular records. The people who claimed the salt didn't leave their real names; the receipts were all issued according to the old warehouse's list of deceased."

The Bull Demon King frowned: "Wasn't the register of the dead sealed?"

"It's the official register that's sealed," Si Mo said. "The old warehouse collapsed once, and it was searched three times. The earliest fragment was lost, but a piece was later found. There were many dead people, and the names were all mixed up. As long as you get the old serial number, you can sneak into the salt rationing system."

Wukong reached out and snatched the booklet from Si Mo's arms, flipping through it noisily: "What are they getting salt for? To eat themselves?"

"Who could possibly consume that much?" Chen Fan chimed in. "Once the salt is distributed, it can be used to preserve goods, sell for money, and even exchange for medicine. Most importantly, there have been people at the port who have been coughing and having diarrhea lately. Patients can't live without saline solution, and they also can't live without salted goods stored in warehouses. Some people are treating illness as a business."

The ferry workers in the courtyard all looked up when they heard this.

Xu Shun's face turned even paler. His eyes were dark and swollen, and he rubbed his hands back and forth along the seams of his trousers, making the fabric fuzz.

Chen Fan stared at him: "That sound from under the old warehouse didn't just start today. You've heard it before."

Xu Shun's lips moved slightly, but he didn't dare look at him: "I've heard it a few times. At first, I just thought it was the wind blowing in. Later... later, some people would go to the old warehouse entrance in the middle of the night, squat for a while, and leave before dawn. They were all carrying cloth bags when they left."

"Who?"

"I can't recognize them all." Xu Shun swallowed. "Some were porters, some were errand runners for pharmacies. And twice, they seemed to be salt merchants."

Zhu Bajie snorted, "A patient, a pharmacy, and a salt merchant—that's quite a group."

Chen Fan reached out to Si Mo: "Bring me the register of the deceased."

Si Mo opened the original book; the pages smelled damp. It contained records of people who hadn't been recovered after the collapse of the old warehouse. Some names were crossed out, while others had small notes added beside them saying "body incomplete" or "family unclaimed." The handwriting was inconsistent, clearly not from the same person.

Chen Fan looked at the ferry registration form, and the more he looked, the colder he felt.

Among the seven strokes of the name, three are numbers, which are the same old numbers that appeared repeatedly at the ferry crossing a few days ago.

It's no coincidence.

This is someone using a dead body as a door latch, wedging it in the tent, and then loosening it a little every now and then to let salt out.

Xuanzang suddenly asked, "What do the people who collect salt need as proof?"

Si Mo answered quickly: "The old wooden plaque."

"Is the wooden sign still there?"

"The originals should have been sold long ago." Si Mo pursed his lips. "What's used now are mostly rubbings. They take an old plaque, press a mold into wet clay, and then carve another one. At first glance, they look the same."

Wukong closed the booklet: "That's simple then. First go to the old warehouse, then block the salt route."

No sooner had he finished speaking than hurried footsteps came from outside the courtyard gate. The gatekeeper looked up and saw the Bull Demon King striding in, a half-tied hemp rope hanging from his shoulder, the rope covered in mud.

"We were just looking for you." He tossed a wooden sign onto the table. "We just intercepted a convoy of carts at the West Embankment. Three carts, their wheels were deeply embedded, and they were moving incredibly fast. The carts were covered with tattered tarpaulins, and underneath were bags of salt."

Pigsy's eyes lit up: "Where are they?"

"Two escaped, four were caught." The Bull Demon King gestured with his hand. "None of them seem to be in charge; they're all just hired porters. When we asked the owner, they all pretended to be clueless. There was no merchant's seal, no company name, not even any escort documents on the cart. They just tied this thing to the shaft."

Chen Fan picked up the wooden plaque, rubbed it between his fingertips, and a layer of wood chips fell off the edge.

It was indeed newly engraved.

The serial number on it is old, even the wear marks are reproduced. It's not very well made; it looks good from a distance, but up close it's full of flaws.

Si Mo leaned closer for a look, his face darkening: "This is No. 37, Old Warehouse B."

Xu Shun's legs went weak, and he almost sat down on the ground: "Those kinds of people... died a long time ago. They were buried inside the warehouse the night it collapsed."

"He died just in time." Chen Fan flipped the wooden plaque over. "When a person dies, they can't speak, they can't go to the salt shop to settle accounts. Whoever borrowed his name, whoever took his salt, is counted in the ground."

Wukong's eyes blazed with fury: "What's buried under that old warehouse isn't just human lives, it's also debts."

Chen Fan looked at the Bull Demon King: "Where are we sending the car?"

"Not towards the city," said the Bull Demon King, "but towards the shacks at the end of the beach. Those are mostly inhabited by day laborers, coolies, and families who recently fell ill. Once the salt packages arrive at the alley entrance, someone will come to pick them up immediately. It's not just one group, but three groups."

"Who's leading?"

"There was a lame man who said he was distributing salt to the poor," the Bull Demon King sneered. "I opened the bag and saw that it was half coarse salt and half mixed with damp soil. If the poor eat this, even if they're not seriously ill, their condition will worsen."

Xuanzang closed his eyes briefly, and the lamp in his hand swayed slightly.

Chen Fan didn't speak immediately. He put the fake wooden plaque back on the table and pushed the list of the deceased aside. The two things were placed side by side, like the two ends of a line finally meeting.

An accident occurred at the old warehouse, resulting in the deaths of a number of people.

The names of those people were not completely removed from the records.

Someone guards this rotten well. When someone is sick, lacks salt, or can't bear the hardship, they draw some water from the well to sell.

The longer the illness drags on, the better the salt will sell.

The more salt they sold, the less likely anyone would dare to bring up old grievances.

Si Mo looked up: "If it's just about making money from salt, there's no need to go through all this trouble. Once the name of the dead is brought up again, it will implicate too many people."

"Then it's not just the salt money," Chen Fan said. "There's also the hush money. Some people get sick, some people make a fuss, some people go to the government granary to ask how the salt disappeared, someone has to come out and suppress it. Every time they suppress it, they collect it."

Zhu Ganglie grew increasingly annoyed, grabbed a rake handle, and slammed it on the ground: "To put it bluntly, it's a bunch of people using sick people as a well rope; they'll lower the bucket when they're short of money."

"That's not all," Xuanzang suddenly spoke up. "If there are many sick people in the shacks, the pharmacy will sell medicine. If there are many corpses, the mortuary will need to take in people. If the old granary remains sealed, no one will bother to dig up the accounts underneath."

No one in the courtyard responded to that.

This time, even the most obtuse person understood.

It's not as simple as someone stealing a few bags of salt.

Some people hope the illness won't get better, hoping those who cough will continue coughing, and those who have diarrhea will continue having diarrhea. As long as a person can't stand up straight, the drape will remain.

Chen Fan turned to look at Xu Shun: "Was that the one at the ferry last night who came to pick up the car?"

Sweat beaded on Xu Shun's forehead as he finally nodded: "Yes. His surname is Ma, his left eye is everted, and he walks with a limp. He used to be a gatekeeper at the old warehouse, but he disappeared after the warehouse collapsed. He only recently reappeared. Everyone calls him Blind Ma."

The Bull Demon King grinned: "What a coincidence. Of the two who escaped from Xidikou, one of them was blind in one eye."

Wukong grabbed the golden cudgel, its end leaving a white trail on the ground: "No need to wait, let's dig out that blind horse first."

Chen Fan raised his hand to urge them on: "Don't scare them away. Right now, everyone's running around on foot; the real accountant hasn't shown up yet."

He looked at Si Mo: "Can we trace back further into those seven names of deceased individuals in the port area?"

"Yes." Si Mo took a breath. "As long as we spread out all the three copies of the old warehouse records and compare them with the salt merchant's ledger, we can find quite a few holes in the records overnight."

"Be stingy," Chen Fan said. "Mark all the names of the deceased. Who claimed them, when they claimed them, and how much they claimed—write it all down for me."

Then the Bull Demon King said, "Go back to the West Embankment and question those four porters separately. Don't ask who their master is, just ask who gave them the money, whether the money smelled of medicine, and which shop the salt sack came from. Porters are afraid of being hit and also afraid of going hungry. Give them some food first, then ask them."

The Bull Demon King nodded and left.

"Old Pig, follow along." Pigsy shouldered his rake. "If one of them runs away, I'll let it slide if I'm greedy."

"Go ahead," Chen Fan said without stopping him.

Wukong had already stepped to the door when he turned back: "What about me?"

"Go to the shack," Chen Fan said. "Don't reveal your identity. First, see what kind of salt the patient is eating and what kind of water he's drinking, then see who's distributing the salt. If it's really relief, we won't touch it. If they're using the illness to sell goods, we'll smash their stall tonight."

Wukong smiled, but his smile was cold: "Understood."

Xuanzang approached, carrying a lantern: "I'll go with him. A sick person won't hide from a monk."

Chen Fan nodded.

As soon as everyone left, the courtyard was almost empty. Only Si Mo remained, guarding the pile of books, his head down, flipping through the pages quickly, muttering the numbers under his breath. The wick of the lamp on the table had burned down a bit, and the flame was turning slightly blue.

Chen Fan stood there for a while, then suddenly picked up the fake wooden sign and looked at it under the light.

The wood grain is new, the engravings are new too. But the person who made the cards knows the old warehouses very well. He knows which numbers are dead, which numbers are unclaimed, and which numbers are least likely to cause problems.

This person must have done their research.

They might even have buried those debts themselves.

Si Mo suddenly stopped, pointed to a page and said, "Found it. Number 37, the first clearing wasn't completely done. A supplementary entry was made, saying that the family received three dou of salt."

"What are the names of the family members?"

Si Mo's eyelids twitched: "Nothing was written. Only a signature was drawn."

Chen Fan reached out and pressed down on that page: "Take this page out. Also, investigate the people who handled it back then."

Si Mo looked up: "You suspect that the collapse of the old warehouse wasn't an accident?"

Chen Fan didn't answer, but simply tossed the fake wooden sign back onto the table.

The wooden sign struck the booklet pages with a dull thud.

It was as if someone underground had knocked on the door again.

Chapter 655 Patrol and Remove the Nails

After the dull thud of the old warehouse subsided, no one in the room spoke first.

Chen Fan pressed his fingertip on the tattered page of the ledger, his fingertip resting on the three characters "Yi Thirty-Seven," before looking up after a long while: "Go to the old warehouse."

Wukong went out first, the wooden door slamming against the wall, causing dust to fall from the lintel. Zhu Bajie followed, carrying a lantern, muttering, "One minute it's account books, the next it's underground, I've figured it out, this place is so poor even ghosts have to hide in the granary."

Si Mo tucked the torn page into the notebook, clutching it to his chest, not daring to let it go. Xuan Zang picked up the lamp, glanced back at the fake wooden plaque on the table, and put it away as well.

By the time the group arrived at the old warehouse, the sky was already very low.

Two rows of porters stood outside the warehouse door, none daring to enter. Xu Shun huddled at the very edge, his shoulders still covered in white dust. Seeing Chen Fan arrive, he hurried forward, his voice weak: "There were two more knocks just now. The first one sounded like someone tapping on a wooden board with their knuckles. The second one… sounded like someone scratching at the door from underground."

"Has anyone gone in?" Chen Fan asked.

"Nobody dares." Xu Shun took a half step back. "The warehouse is empty; even the salt bags have been moved out."

Liu Er squatted by the threshold, his ear pressed to the ground, sweat beading on his forehead. He pointed inside: "It's not just one sound. One from the south corner, one from the north corner. It's like there's a thread connecting them, it's connected from the bottom."

As Chen Fan stepped into the warehouse, the first thing he smelled was a damp, earthy odor. The old warehouse had collapsed once, and the beams and floor had been repaired since, but the earthy smell that had been buried for many years remained. When the light shone on it, the ground was covered with freshly turned ash. Several blue bricks in the south corner had their edges warped, as if something had pushed them from below.

Wukong flicked the brick with his toe, revealing half a piece of black iron in the crack.

"A nail?" Pigsy leaned closer for a look. "Who drove such a long nail into the ground?"

The nail wasn't thick, it was jet black, and the head was pressed very flat, with only a tiny bit sticking out. If the brick hadn't warped at the edges, it would have been completely invisible.

Chen Fan squatted down, measured the location with the wooden ruler he had brought from the tent, and then looked up at the north corner. There was also a thin crack at the north corner. The crack wasn't straight; it veered crookedly towards the middle.

He didn't say anything, but just took a ruler and measured the crack inch by inch.

When they reached the center of the warehouse, Xuanzang suddenly whispered, "There's a breeze down below."

Everyone fell silent.

The lamplight didn't flicker, but Xuanzang pressed it down slightly. The wind wasn't blowing in from outside; it was seeping up from under the brickwork, as thin as a needle, and when it blew under the lamp flame, the flame's core trembled slightly.

Just as Chen Fan was about to order someone to pry up the bricks, someone outside suddenly announced, "The True Lord has arrived."

Everyone in the warehouse turned around.

Yang Jian climbed over the courtyard wall, not through the main gate. The Celestial Hound landed first, circling the wall with its nose close to its trunk, suppressing a low growl. Yang Jian carried a short shovel, a roll of grayish-blue boundary rope slung over his shoulder, and his feet were barely covered in dirt, as if he had been patrolling for something.

Zhu Ganglie was stunned for a moment: "Judging from your posture, you don't seem to be here to capture someone, you seem to be here to repair the river embankment."

"It wasn't about taking anyone in the first place." Yang Jian glanced at the ground. "There's been a rollover issue over the port area, so I followed the trail here. Someone has driven boundary markers under your old warehouse."

Chen Fan asked, "Not for warding off ghosts?"

"Use peach wood talisman nails to ward off ghosts." Yang Jian squatted down, rubbed his fingertip on the black nail, and immediately his fingertip was covered with a layer of grayish-white powder. "This thing is used to mend stitches. If the stitches are too rough and the threads aren't trimmed properly, they'll just keep getting longer. The names of those people in the port area are jumping around randomly, not just on the register, but the names are starting to move along the seam underneath."

As soon as the words "leave the name" were uttered, Si Mo subconsciously hugged the book tightly.

Yang Jian glanced at him, offering no further explanation, only saying, "The old records have suppressed names. If the suppression isn't thorough, the names will slip through the cracks. Wherever they go, those places will start recognizing the old grievances."

Wukong, impatient with all this, slammed the end of his staff into the ground: "Speak human language."

"In plain terms, those three people in the port area weren't the beginning." Yang Jian looked up into the depths of the warehouse. "A bunch of names were buried here. The salt registers were erased, and the underground didn't recognize them. Someone nailed the seams shut, trying to suffocate the names underneath. Over time, the nails loosened, and the names started to emerge again."

Zhu Ganglie clicked his tongue: "They really know how to stir up trouble. They've already buried the person, and they still have to dig up their name."

"It's not that it insisted on coming out," Chen Fan continued, "it's that the old files are collecting fragmented names."

Yang Jian nodded: "More or less."

After he finished speaking, he got up and walked towards the center of the warehouse. The celestial dog followed at his feet, its nose close to the ground, and finally stopped in front of an old stone slab, scratching it twice with its paws.

The stone slab was thicker than elsewhere, with its edges pressed tightly together. Chen Fan recognized it; it was the location where he had found the stone box a few nights ago. Now, looking at it again, the black nails protruding from the north and south corners, and the cracks that twisted and turned, all converged on this stone slab.

Like a thin thread, it is sewn from the bottom of the old warehouse all the way to the outer wall of the stone box.

Yang Jian untied the boundary rope and tossed it around. The rope spun on its own without wind, forming a circle close to the ground. The circle wasn't large, only enclosing the stone slab and a three-foot perimeter.

"Everyone, step back," he said.

Wukong didn't back down, but only stepped aside two paces: "You keep pulling. If something really pops up, I'll hold it down."

Yang Jian didn't argue with him. He squatted down, inserted his short shovel into the crack in the south corner brickwork, and first pried out the black nail half an inch. As soon as the nail moved, a "clunk" sound came from the bottom of the warehouse, like an old bone being dislocated.

Si Mo felt a shiver run down his spine, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

Yang Jian flipped his hand and pulled out the first nail.

The nail was a foot long, with a few strands of blackened thread wrapped around its end. It was wet and sticky, like a few rotten tendons dragged out of the mud.

Liu Er covered his ears, his expression changing instantly: "There's sound!"

"What was that sound?" Chen Fan asked.

"Names," Liu Er gritted his teeth. "A lot of people are saying their names together. If they can't say it all, the rest is cut off."

Yang Jian didn't stop, and went to pull out the second one.

The second nail was in the north corner. As the nail left the ground, the stone slab bulged violently beneath it, and dust fell in a flurry. Pigsy instinctively picked up his rake, while Xuanzang moved the lamp away, afraid a spark would fall in. Howling Celestial Dog growled at the crack in the stone slab, its fur standing on end.

Immediately afterwards, something started to rise from underground.

It's neither a hand nor an insect.

It's a string of words.

To be precise, it was a series of grayish-white marks pushed up by the soil. First, a horizontal line, then a vertical line, followed by half of the character "王" (wang, meaning king), then a "许" (xu, meaning Xu) squeezed out, and two indistinct radicals attached to the end. Those marks crawled along the cracks in the bricks, as if someone had written in the soil with a wet finger, only to have it erased halfway through.

Si Mo felt a chill run down his spine: "It's how it's written on the roster."

Chen Fan stared at those words and said in a low voice, "It's not written for us to see; it's recognizing itself."

"Recover incomplete names from the old files." Yang Jian looked at the missing line of characters, his brows furrowed. "The ones missing at the beginning will be filled in later. Those whose names are filled in will not have a peaceful night starting tonight."

"What if we patch it on a living person's head?" Xuanzang asked.

"The lightest case is forgetfulness, the heaviest is..." Yang Jian didn't finish his sentence, but instead reached for the third nail.

The third nail was right next to the stone slab.

This nail was the shortest, but its head was wide, as if it were specifically designed for sealing. Yang Jian gripped the nail head with his knuckles, didn't move at first, and listened intently with his ear close to the ground.

The warehouse was eerily quiet.

Those outside held their breath. A crackling sound from the lamplight startled Xu Shun, nearly knocking over the wooden bucket at his feet.

"There's more than one layer below," Yang Jian suddenly said. "Outside the stone box, there's another outer layer. Someone placed the name between the outer layer and the real box."

Chen Fan's eyes darkened: "Who has this skill?"

Yang Jian shook his head: "His skills aren't that great. But he's very daring."

As soon as he finished speaking, he exerted force and pulled the third nail out.

This time, the warehouse didn't react first.

The first thing to ring was the book in Si Mo's arms.

The book turned by itself, flipping to the middle with a rustling sound, stopping at page "B37". The paper seemed to have absorbed water, and a row of pale characters quickly surfaced. They weren't written in ink, but rather seemed to have slowly seeped out from the core of the paper.

Si Mo murmured in a trembling voice, "Wang...Xu...Zhou Er...Deng Liu Niang..."

When the fourth character was read, half of the character "Deng" on the paper suddenly broke off, as if it had been sliced ​​off with a knife. At the same time, a string of equally incomplete characters emerged from the ground, crawling out along the edge of the stone slab. After crawling two feet, they all stopped.

Wukong stepped forward, his golden cudgel slamming down on the stone slab: "Where do you think you're going?"

There was no echo from underground.

The string of broken names trembled slightly in the soil, like a group of people whose words were on the tip of their tongues but were then pushed back down their throats.

Yang Jian dropped the three black nails side by side on the ground and poked them with his toe. The few strands of black thread at the ends of the nails were indeed connected, forming a single, continuous line.

"It's opened up," he said. "But it's not too big yet. I need to find all the loose threads tonight. If even one piece is missing, the remaining thread will keep coming out."

Chen Fan squatted down and reached out to touch the first character, "Xu". As soon as his fingertips touched it, a little dampness seeped out from the soil, as if someone was holding their breath and blowing it upwards through the mud.

He withdrew his hand and turned to look at Xu Shun: "Did any of your ancestors die in the year the warehouse collapsed?"

Xu Shun's face was as white as salt in a granary. He opened his mouth, but after a long while, he managed to squeeze out a sentence: "Yes... my father mentioned it once. He said that my family wasn't originally called Xu, but was changed later."

Several people in the warehouse looked at him at the same time.

The book in Si Mo's arms was still open, and the half-page silently revealed another incomplete surname.

Xu Shun looked down, his knees buckled, and he knelt down directly beside the stone slab.

Chapter 656 The Shattered Mark Under the Peach Tree

Xu Shun knelt beside the stone slab, his shoulders trembling.

He stared at the incomplete surname on the book, as if he saw his own family's ancestral tablet being unearthed from the ground.

Chen Fan didn't ask him first.

If you press them any further now, you won't get a complete answer; you'll just scare them away.

He squatted down and pressed his hand back onto the stone slab.

The moisture was still seeping up from the cracks in the rocks.

Not much, just a thin line, creeping along his fingertips, very cool.

Wukong slung his golden cudgel across his shoulder and looked down: "There's something down there."

"Yes." Chen Fan stood up. "Let's remove the top floor first."

The backyard of the old warehouse wasn't very big.

It collapsed once, and was later filled in with soil, making the land half a foot higher than the surrounding area. The stone slabs are haphazardly laid out, with an old peach tree standing out in the middle. The tree isn't thick, but its branches are twisted, indicating its considerable age. It doesn't bloom this season, and a layer of dust covers its leaves, which rustle softly in the wind.

Liu Er tilted his head and listened for a while, then raised his hand and pointed to the base of the peach tree.

"That sound from underground keeps circling around here."

Zhu Bajie clicked his tongue: "Planting a peach tree in the backyard of the old granary, the person in charge back then certainly knew how to pick a spot. It collapsed and buried people, but at least they made it look nice."

Si Mo tightened the book and said in a low voice, "There's an old custom at the saltworks. When a violent death occurs, peach wood is often planted to ward off evil spirits."

Xuanzang shone his lantern forward, and as soon as the light fell on the tree roots, the stone box in his arms trembled slightly.

Not too heavy.

It felt like something inside bumped against the box wall.

Several people saw it.

Chen Fan held out his hand: "Give it to me."

Xuanzang handed over the stone box.

The box was still the same, grayish-black, with the edges worn white. The words that had seeped out last night had been wiped clean about 70-80% this morning, but now a faint layer of watermarks had surfaced again, as if someone had been slowly writing inside with a wet brush.

Si Mo took two steps closer, staring at the corner of the box: "Another word is about to appear."

Chen Fan didn't reply, but simply placed the stone box next to the peach tree root.

The wet patch on the surface stopped as soon as the box touched the ground.

The two strokes that had just appeared also seemed to be stuck.

Wukong narrowed his eyes: "It's not that the ground is steaming; there's something pressing down on this tree."

"dig."

The moment that sound rang out, everyone in the courtyard stirred.

The men from the old warehouse didn't dare dawdle; they grabbed shovels and crowbars and got to work. Wukong, annoyed by their slowness, poked the tip of his crowbar into a crack in the stone slab, and with a snap, the entire slab flipped over. Zhu Bajie followed suit, rooting around in the soil, and in no time, he had lifted the ring of pine trees around the roots.

The peach tree has deep roots.

Half a foot down, the soil changed color, turning black and hard, mixed with broken bricks and rotten wood.

Digging further down, Xu Shun suddenly spoke in a hoarse voice: "My father said... after the collapse of the warehouse, no tombstones are allowed for the dead, only marks are permitted, and something is placed under the roots when they are buried."

Chen Fan turned to look at him: "What are you betting on?"

Xu Shun swallowed hard. "They say the official seal has a broken corner. If it's suppressed, the name of the deceased won't be reinstated."

The courtyard fell silent.

Pigsy looked up and cursed, "These bastards, are they afraid to even let the names of the dead crawl out?"

Si Mo's face turned pale, and he clutched the book in his hands even tighter: "It's not that I'm afraid of names. It's that I'm afraid of old grudges."

As soon as he finished speaking, Wukong flicked the tip of his staff, and there was a "clang" sound in the ground.

It wasn't the sound of stones.

Crisp, short, like hitting a piece of burnt gold or iron.

Chen Fan immediately squatted down and reached out to brush away the soil.

The soil was damp, and it got colder the deeper you went. He dug away the clump of black mud, revealing half of a dark red thing, only the size of a palm, with jagged edges, like a piece that had been forcibly broken off from a whole.

Upon seeing this, Si Mo's breath caught in his throat.

"Yinjiao".

The thing was covered in mud, so its whole appearance was obscured. Chen Fan didn't touch it at first. He used a twig to clear some space around it before pinching one side and slowly lifting it up.

A heavy force pressed down on his wrist.

It's not big, but it feels heavier than a lump of iron.

The shattered seal revealed its true form, and everyone could see it clearly.

The bottom is flat, covered with black mud. Only half of the seal is visible, making it incomplete. There should have been a knob at the top, but it's long broken, the crack whitish, like an old bone. There's an extremely thin gold line at each of the four corners, now faded, only occasionally flashing under the light.

The stone box in Xuanzang's arms suddenly sank.

He almost lost his grip.

Looking at the box again, the watermark from before was receding, as if it had been held down by something. Even the two unfinished characters were fading away little by little.

Si Mo couldn't help but step forward: "He really can suppress it."

Pigsy's eyes darted around, first looking at the stone box, then at what Chen Fan was holding: "What's the point of investigating? Just put it on the box, and the ghost character inside will be quiet, right? Who cares who wrote it, just seal the box first."

He spoke so quickly that several people in the courtyard were also tempted.

After several nights of fussing, the seepage of the inscription on the stone box was enough to send chills down everyone's spine. With a ready-made solution at hand, everyone wanted to take the easy way out first.

Even Xu Shun raised his head, trembling, and said, "If we can really suppress it... can my family's affairs also be put on hold for now?"

Wukong remained silent, only staring at Chen Fan.

He knew what Chen Fan was thinking.

This isn't a matter of whether it can be suppressed or not.

The question is whether or not to stick our hands into the old ways again.

Chen Fan turned the broken seal over and gently ran his fingertip across the crack.

It was cold, with a musty, old smell, like a warehouse door that had been closed for many years suddenly being cracked open.

The first thing that popped into his mind wasn't to suppress the stone box.

These are a few steps that require less effort.

Use it to suppress falsehoods. Use it to settle accounts. You could even dig deeper along this old line of authority and scare a whole bunch of people.

The idea came to me very quickly.

It was so fast, it felt like someone was whispering in my ear.

Chen Fan pulled his hand back and directly tucked the broken seal into his sleeve.

"No cover."

Pigsy was taken aback: "Huh?"

"We won't put a cover on the stone box, nor on anyone's name," Chen Fan said calmly. "The fact that this thing can cover the character 'seepage' proves that someone still recognizes it. And there's more than one person who recognizes it. The old warehouse buries one corner, but there are probably other corners outside. Or perhaps someone copied the old design and made a new one."

Si Mo suddenly looked up.

Chen Fan looked at her: "Did you understand?"

Si Mo nodded quickly, his eyes clearing: "Understood. It's not about using it first, it's about comparing it. Compare the seals, the cracks, the bronze color, and which batch of accounts has been stained with this kind of mark."

"And there's a ferry crossing."

Chen Fan glanced at the outside of the old warehouse.

As dusk fell, a faint breeze swept past the courtyard wall. A dog barked once or twice from the salt stacks in the distance, but the sound quickly faded away.

"Dead names can be exchanged for salt, fake wooden plaques can be put into storage, and old serial numbers can be seeped into stone boxes. People who do these things don't just live off a collapsed warehouse." He paused. "They need to gain people's trust. What makes them trustworthy? Seals."

Si Mo said in a low voice, "To make a living by imitating old seals."

"right."

Xu Shun, kneeling beside him with mud on his face, listened in a daze: "What...what kind of business?"

Pigsy answered for him: "Dead people's business. Your family changed your surname, but you still got a lot of salt from others. Your ancestors' names were probably weighed several times over long ago."

Upon hearing this, Xu Shun collapsed, supporting himself on the ground, and remained silent for a long time.

Xuanzang pulled the stone box closer to his chest: "So, should we leave this box here?"

"Not yet." Chen Fan reached out and took the stone box. "If it wants to seep, let it seep. The characters that seep out can be used to compare with this broken seal."

Si Mo stared at his sleeve: "Give me the broken seal?"

Chen Fan took out that corner and handed it to her.

"You take it. Don't cover it. Don't make a rubbing. First, wrap it in three layers of cloth, then go back and get the old seal catalog and the salt field's seal for comparison. Then pick out the three types of booklets from the last ten years: abandoned warehouses, salt administration, and resale, and see which ones have the same crease on the corner of the page."

Si Mo caught it with both hands, nodded, and then asked, "What if it's discovered that someone forged the old seal?"

"Make a note of the names first, without alerting anyone," Chen Fan said. "We need to find the people who make the seals, the people who sell the seals, and the people who use the seals separately. Who forged them, who released them, who used the names of the dead to exchange for salt from the living—we need to trace back each case one by one."

Wukong then chuckled and slammed his staff on the ground: "This is more like auditing accounts. Taking a lousy seal and randomly slapping it around, killing one person at a time, that's the way they do things in heaven."

Pigsy grinned, but didn't refute, only muttering, "The easiest way is right in front of us, but we can't use it. It's really frustrating."

Chen Fan glanced at him: "If you really feel the urge, I'll find you a shovel."

Someone in the courtyard couldn't help but burst out laughing.

The pressure that had been weighing on everyone's chest eased a little.

Si Mo had already wrapped the broken seal in a handkerchief and put it into an old wooden box. Her movements were very steady, and when she closed the lid, she pressed her fingers down on the edge, as if afraid that something inside might jump out on its own.

Chen Fan examined the pit under the peach tree roots again.

There was nothing inside except broken bricks and rotten wood.

"Fill it back in," he said. "Don't move the tree. Leave two people to guard the backyard tonight. Don't lay the flagstones exactly the same way; leave a gap."

Six Ears asked, "Listen to the sound?"

"Hmm. Since it came here, it'll come back at night."

Xu Shun slowly stood up, supporting himself on his knees, his lips dry: "I...I'll guard too."

Chen Fan glanced at him: "Write down all the things your father recorded against you. Write down each sentence as you can remember. Write down who made the decision when you changed your surname, who went to collect the salt, and whether there were any old salt certificates left in the house."

Xu Shun nodded quickly, as if he had grabbed a rope.

Everyone spontaneously got up.

Some were filling in the soil, others were carrying stone slabs. The peach tree leaves were being blown about by the wind, and dust was falling and settling on the freshly backfilled black soil.

Si Mo carried the wooden box towards the courtyard gate. After a few steps, he turned back and asked, "Chen Fan, if this thing really is just a fragment of the broken seal, don't you want to try it at all?"

Chen Fan bent down to pick up the muddy wooden sign from the ground, wiped it with his sleeve, revealing half of the fake serial number on it.

"I want it," he said. "The easier something is, the more people want it."

He snapped the wooden sign in two with a sharp crack.

"First, find out who makes a living off it."

After saying that, he threw the broken card into the tattered basket next to the pit and turned to take the stone box from Xuanzang's hand.

Chapter 657 Ground Spikes Rise

The wind outside the old warehouse was a bit stuffy.

Everyone in the courtyard followed. Xu Shun, whose legs were still trembling from kneeling once, didn't dare to leave and stood at the back, leaning against the wall. Si Mo held the notebook tightly, the pages pressed against his chest, as if afraid that if he let go, the words inside would slip away.

The warehouse door was half-collapsed, and the hinges had long since rusted shut. Liu Er crawled inside first, circled around with his ears close to the ground, and then raised his hand to tap the southeast corner.

"Still here," he said. "There's emptiness below. Not just a foot or two of emptiness, but the whole thing is suspended."

Chen Fan stood on the threshold and glanced at the ground.

The old warehouse has been sealed off for years. The cracks in the stone slabs are full of black mud, and short grass grows in the corners. The strangest thing is the terrain. Logically, the warehouse should be flat, but the southeast corner is clearly a hand's breadth higher, as if someone had placed it there again.

Xuanzang rolled up his sleeves, squatted down, and touched the seam: "The top layer is newly laid. There's still a layer of old ash underneath."

Si Mo squatted down as well: "Repairing the foundation?"

"It doesn't look like a patch," Chen Fan shook his head. "It looks like something is being pressed down."

As soon as he said that, Xu Shun let out a "gurgling" sound.

Wukong was already impatient. He kicked a piece of broken brick away, and the brick rolled out, hit the corner of the wall, and kicked up a cloud of dust.

"Ask around, but the earth won't talk to you." He slammed his golden cudgel on the ground. "Let's lift it up and see."

Chen Fan glanced at him and nodded: "Lift it. Seal the door first. Don't let anyone outside get close."

Niu Youdao and a few men guarded the entrance to the warehouse. The rest of the men retreated to both sides, leaving a large open space. The old warehouse was dimly lit, and dust floated in the air like a layer of old gauze. Wukong found it an eyesore, so he swept his sleeve, and a gust of wind swept through, sending the dust crashing directly onto the roof beams and falling down in a flurry.

He held the golden cudgel horizontally and slowly dragged it around the ground.

"Should we start with the whole piece, or pick out the corner pieces first?"

"The whole thing," Chen Fan said. "If there really is a formation down there, tearing off even a corner might cause it to shrink back first."

Wukong grinned: "I love hearing that."

He reached out and grabbed it, and the iron stake standing on the side of the field flew in with a "whoosh," landing in his palm and making the ground go numb. That iron stake was originally brought by the Border Patrol Division to mark the boundary line; it took three people to hug it and lift it. In his hands, it was about the same size as a wooden nail.

Wukong inserted the iron stake into the crack in the stone slab.

"Step back a bit."

The next instant, the golden cudgel slammed down.

"clang--"

The sound was so sharp that even the beams of the canopy trembled. The stone slab cracked first, the cracks spreading like snakes, covering half the ground in the blink of an eye. Xu Shun's face turned pale, and he instinctively dodged backward, his back slamming against the wall.

Wukong twisted his wrist, and the iron stake was suddenly lifted upwards.

The entire plot of land bulged up at first.

Immediately afterward, with a loud "boom," a large section of the stone foundation, from the southeast corner to the middle, was lifted up. Debris flew everywhere, and black soil churned, as if a breath that had been suppressed for years was finally being released. Everyone in the warehouse raised their sleeves to cover their faces; even Si Mo closed his eyes briefly.

Chen Fan did not back down.

He stared at the upturned foundation, his heart leaping in his throat. Not out of fear, but out of anticipation.

We'll see what's underneath.

Shi Ji flipped into the air, and Wukong delivered another blow with his staff.

The second blow was even more brutal.

The base, which had been connected, broke in the middle, revealing a layer of bluish-black material underneath. It wasn't brick, nor wood. It looked like a nail board. Densely packed with black nails, each about the length of an arm, their heads pointing upwards, arranged in concentric circles, perfectly securing the old warehouse floor.

Si Mo took a breath: "This...this is not a foundation nail."

Six Ears had already jumped onto half of the overturned stone slab and peered down: "What kind of foundation nails are arranged like this? Look, the nail heads are all pointing towards the array eye."

Xuanzang also saw it clearly, and his brows furrowed: "Name Nail Formation."

When those three words were spoken, the warehouse fell silent for a moment.

Xu Shun's legs went weak, and he knelt down again.

"My father told me," his voice trembling, "that the year the granary collapsed, someone carried soil in through the back door at night. They carried it all night. When asked the next day, he said he must have misheard. My mother scolded him for being nosy, and he never mentioned it again."

Si Mo's Adam's apple bobbed: "Take people's names, nail them to the ground, to suppress their spirits, and to silence their mouths."

Chen Fan took two steps closer and squatted down beside the pit.

The layer of black nails underneath was so old that the nails were covered in bluish-black rust. But there were still marks on the nail heads. Each nail had fine grooves engraved on its tip, as if something had originally been embedded in it and then forcibly removed.

"The name is gone," Chen Fan said.

Xuanzang nodded: "Carve the name first, then cut it off. Only leave the nail space."

"No wonder there are only numbers left in the ledger." Si Mo gripped the ledger, the veins on the back of his hand bulging. "The name is crossed out of the ledger once, and then crossed out again from the nail. When someone dies, the employee ID is changed, and all that's left is a string of numbers."

Tired of these convoluted explanations, Wukong simply raised his staff and pointed it at the center of the formation.

"Is that the one in the middle what you're looking for?"

Everyone looked in that direction.

In the center of the nail array was a square stone, lighter in color than the surrounding stones, as if it had been added later. Each of the four corners of the stone was secured with a thick nail, and blackened hemp rope was wrapped around the nails. The knots of the rope had long since rotted, and remnants of the rope were still stuck to the surface of the stone.

Six Ears twitched his ears and suddenly said, "There's a rattling sound from down below."

Without saying a word, Wukong flicked the tip of his staff.

Four thick nails flew out simultaneously, clanging and clattering all over the ground. The square stone, no longer restrained, tilted to the side, immediately revealing a hole about a foot wide underneath. A wave of dampness rushed up, mixed with the musty smell of old wood, making Xu Shun cough several times.

Sure enough, there was a wooden box stuck in the cave.

The box wasn't large, with copper plating at all four corners, the copper completely greenish. A broken chain still wrapped around it, as if it had been locked in a hurry and there hadn't been time to carefully secure it.

"I'll do it." Si Mo took a step forward.

Chen Fan raised his hand to stop him: "Wait."

He picked up a thick nail that had been thrown from the ground and used the tip to poke at the edge of the box. There was no smoke or talismanic light coming from the crack in the lid. Xuanzang glanced at it again and shook his head: "No backup plan. What's inside isn't a killing formation, it's a death warrant."

Wukong clicked his tongue impatiently and reached out to pull the wooden box out.

As the wooden box emerged from the hole, a layer of black water followed, dripping down the corner of the box. The dripping onto the nail array made a few soft, pattering sounds, sending chills down the spines of those inside the warehouse.

Si Mo took the wooden box, wiped his hands with his sleeve, and then tried to open the lock. The lock was half rusted shut, and he couldn't open it. Wukong extended a finger and flicked it lightly.

"Smack."

The brass buckle broke.

The box was opened, but there was no gold or silver inside, nor any account books.

There was only one stack of employee badges.

The wooden plaques were stacked neatly, one on top of the other. They were all numbered: A16, B37, C9, D41… The name field on each plaque was completely flattened, the blade worn smooth and shiny. It looked as if someone was sitting under a lamp, scraping each plaque one by one, very slowly but very ruthlessly.

Xu Shun's lips began to tremble after just one glance.

Si Mo reached out and picked up the top piece, flipped it over, and saw the character "残" (cán, meaning broken or damaged) engraved on the back, with only half of it remaining.

"May."

His voice was hoarse.

Chen Fan took the wooden box and continued flipping through it. The more he flipped through, the heavier the breathing of the people around him became. Many of the plaques had fragmented characters on the back. Sun, Zhou, Liang, Feng. The fronts were all cold, impersonal numbers, but the backs still retained traces of old surnames, like how no matter how carefully someone scratched the plaques, they couldn't erase the wood grain completely.

Xuanzang said in a low voice, "These aren't the cards we're currently using in the warehouse."

"No," Si Mo immediately replied, "The old work badges had the surname engraved on the back to make it easier to collect salt. Later, they were all changed to single-digit badges, and I thought it was to save trouble. Turns out it wasn't to save trouble, but to wipe out the previous batch of people."

Liu Er suddenly squatted down and stared at the bottom of the box.

"There's another layer of plywood underneath."

Wukong simply turned the box upside down and slammed it against the ground.

Several wooden plaques clattered apart, revealing that the baseboard had indeed loosened by half an inch. Chen Fan pried it open with a broken nail, lifting the thin board to reveal a brittle sheet of oiled paper underneath. The oiled paper crumbled at the slightest touch, and when unfolded, it contained half a page of a roster.

There was no full name listed. Only a number, corresponding to the surname, and a short note at the end.

Yi Thirty-Seven, originally surnamed Xu, changed his surname to Yi Thirty-Seven after the warehouse collapsed. His family provided salt, three dou, and the clerk was nameless.

Bingjiu, originally surnamed Zhou, was injured in the eye and transferred to an outlying dock, forbidden from returning to the warehouse.

Ding, at the age of 41, moved soil at night and destroyed the plaque the next day.

As Si Mo looked at those lines of text, the color drained from his face little by little.

"That's enough," he said hoarsely. "With this, we can settle all the old scores."

Chen Fan remained silent.

He flattened the oiled paper, then picked out number B37 from the scattered wooden plaques, placed it beside the paper, and glanced at it.

Right.

The name is gone, but the serial number remains.

The unresolved issue in the ledger is still there.

Now, everything that had been buried under the old warehouse for so many years has finally come to light.

Wukong slung his golden cudgel over his shoulder, glanced around at the array of nails, and snorted, "This is all the tricks you have? You dare to use them to intimidate people?"

After saying that, he stepped out of the pit.

"What are you doing?" Chen Fan asked.

"Tear it all down."

With a single blow, Wukong shattered over a dozen black nails. The second blow caused the entire array to collapse. Nail heads flew wildly, scattering in all directions like rain. The dampness that had been trapped in the warehouse for countless years surged upwards, bending the old grass in the corners.

Xu Shun knelt by the pit, staring at the pile of work badges that had been turned over. Suddenly, he reached out and, trembling, hugged the badge with the character "Xu" on the back to his chest, his forehead hitting the edge of the soil.

The soil is wet.

After he finished kowtowing, he raised his head, his forehead covered in mud. He opened his mouth several times before finally managing to squeeze out, "I'm going to identify people."

Chen Fan looked down at him: "You recognize them all?"

"We'll take care of whoever we recognize." Xu Shun hugged the wooden plaque tighter. "We can't just leave them underground with only a number."