Lee Nianzu and Gen surveyed the inn's backyard, finding a desolate scene of overgrown vines and dead flowers, a testament to years of neglect. The yard appeared untouched for years, yet amidst the decay, they found a pristine bed of vibrant yellow tulips, their petals unfurled perfectly, as if tended by an unseen hand.
"It's weird," Gen observed, pointing to the vibrant flowers, his brow furrowed. "The other flower beds aren't clean; they don't look like they've grown over the years. But look at this. It's clean and tidy, as if someone just tended to it."
Lee Nianzu knelt, gently touching one of the tulips, its petals soft beneath his fingertips. Instantly, a male voice, faint yet clear, whispered "Jingsheng" into his left ear, a chilling sensation. He looked around, his head snapping up, but saw no one. As Lee Nianzu stood up and walked towards Gen, a loud, resonant guzheng began to echo throughout the inn, its notes filling the silent air.
Gen looked around in surprise, his eyes wide. "What kind of spirit is this, Nianzu? I've never seen a spirit that can be heard during the day. It's unheard of!"
"Those who are resolutely unwilling to move forward, Gen," Lee Nianzu sighed, a hint of understanding in his voice, a somber realization. "Their spirits linger." He turned. "Let's go back to the main dining hall. We need to gather the others."
When Lee Nianzu and Gen returned, Tian Xiang and Yu Lei were already there, their faces curious. After a short wait, Guozhao Zhiqiang and Deming entered from the back door and joined the others at the table, their expressions thoughtful.
"We found nothing in the kitchen and the surrounding area," Tian Xiang reported, shrugging. "Just dust and cobwebs."
Lee Nianzu looked at the assembled group, his gaze serious. "We didn't find anything in the backyard either, but strangely, the only flower bed that was still intact was the yellow tulip. It was perfectly cared for."
"Everyone here heard the loud guzheng music, right?" Gen asked, seeking confirmation, his voice still tinged with surprise.
The five men nodded in unison, their expressions grim.
"We found that all rooms were dusty and dirty except for one," Guozhao Zhiqiang added, his voice calm. "There were fresh yellow tulips in the room and a guzheng on the table. It was very clean, as if someone lived there."
"The door was closed from the inside," Deming said, his voice a little hushed, "and Zhiqiang opened the door with a talisman. It felt... strange."
"I believe I heard someone whispering in my ear, the name Jingsheng," Lee Nianzu reiterated, his brow furrowed in thought.
"Who is Jingsheng?" Yu Lei wondered aloud, his voice thoughtful. "Lady Jiang forgot to mention that part, didn't she?"
"She either didn't tell us on purpose, or she didn't know," Tian Xiang mused, rubbing his chin. "Remember, she told us that this land was passed down from generation to generation. The history might be lost."
"Let's see if there are any uninvited guests tonight," Lee Nianzu concluded, a glint of determination in his eyes. "We'll be ready."
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the front door, rattling the very foundations of the inn. They heard Mu Yin shouting for them to open the door, her voice raw with fury. Lee Nianzu stood up, walked to the front door, and opened it. Mu Yin and her eleven followers strode in, their faces grim, their clothes disheveled. Mu Yin pulled a chair next to her, squeezing herself between Guozhao Zhiqiang and Deming, her presence aggressive.
"If I mark you as my husband, then you are my husband," Mu Yin declared, a possessive glint in her eyes, her gaze fixed on Zhiqiang. "You belong to me."
"What kind of woman are you?" Yu Lei scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "A good woman is supposed to act proper. Where is your manner, bandit queen?"
"I'm a bandit. A female bandit," Mu Yin retorted, a sneer on her lips. "I never said I'm a proper woman. I make my own rules."
Lee Nianzu calmly handed Mu Yin a talisman, his expression unreadable. "We're going to bed. You have to guard the door tonight."
"Why?" Mu Yin questioned, her brow furrowed.
Tian Xiang smiled, a mischievous glint in his eye, enjoying her confusion. "You don't know, but there are uninvited guests in this inn, wandering at night. They like to play." The eleven bandits swallowed hard, their faces turning pale, their eyes wide with fear. "That's why this inn was abandoned. Rumor has it that if you sleep in this inn at night, a pair of cold hands will touch your face, and things will go missing." The eleven bandits hurriedly snatched the talismans from Lee Nianzu's outstretched hand, clutching them tightly.
"Let's see who is the lucky one," Yu Lei quipped, a cruel amusement in his voice.
Mu Yin got up and took Guozhao Zhiqiang's left arm, her face beaming with a perverse delight. "If that's the case, then I'll sleep with you tonight, husband. You'll protect me."
Gen quickly grabbed Mu Yin's hand, his grip firm, his voice sharp. "My lady, if a woman and a man are not husband and wife, they cannot sleep in the same room. It is improper."
"I don't care about those rumors," Mu Yin scoffed, pulling her hand free. "I am his future wife and can sleep with him. He's mine."
Guozhao Zhiqiang pulled his hand away, his voice cold and firm, his eyes blazing with a chilling intensity. "Enough. You sleep by yourself. The talisman on the door means no ghost should be able to enter your room. Don't bother me." He took Deming's left wrist, his touch gentle, and walked into their assigned room, closing the door firmly behind them.
"Would you rather sleep with him than with me?" Mu Yin demanded, turning to Miao Jing, her voice rising in frustration. "You sleep with me tonight, Miao Jing!"
"Yes, Boss," Miao Jing readily agreed, his voice eager. "I don't want to sleep alone either. I'm scared of ghosts."
Guozhao Zhiqiang closed the door and looked at Deming, who had remained unusually silent, his gaze distant. "You are not yourself, Deming. What is wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"I'm tired, Zhiqiang," Deming replied, his voice subdued, a hint of sadness. "I don't want to say anything, that's all. My mind is heavy."
Guozhao Zhiqiang stepped closer to Deming and gently pecked his lips, a soft, tender touch. He then lifted Deming effortlessly, carried him to the bed, and carefully laid him down. He climbed into bed beside Deming, taking him into his arms, holding him close. He kissed Deming's head and spoke softly, his voice a soothing balm. "The woman in shackles reminds me of us. Her eyes and eyebrows are the same as yours, and for a moment, I thought you were standing in front of me. When she cried, it reminded me of you. It suddenly brought me back to the night we were at the inn, and you begged me to spare you. The way her tears ran down her cheeks was the same as yours, filled with such raw fear."
"Why are you telling me this?" Deming whispered, his voice fragile, a hint of pain.
"I don't want to hide it from you," Guozhao Zhiqiang confessed, his voice earnest. "I will never forget your old body. You keep telling me that if I miss your old body, I should go see Hu Dingxiang, but you don't know that you are different. You are better than him in many ways. You are the one I love."
"How?" Deming asked, curiosity mingling with sadness, seeking reassurance.
Guozhao Zhiqiang's voice was gentle, almost a caress, filled with profound love. "The warmth of me holding you in my arms. The feeling of kissing your lips. The smell of your hair. The soft breath you breathe on my face. Especially the way you look at me, with such love." He sighed, a touch of melancholy in his tone. "I can't forget your eyes and the smell of your red hair, Deming. They are etched in my memory."
Deming felt Guozhao Zhiqiang's tears touch his head, warm and wet. "You don't like Dong Enlai's body?" Deming asked sadly, a deep insecurity in his voice.
"I love the soul inside Dong Enlai's body," Guozhao Zhiqiang affirmed, his voice unequivocal. He kissed Deming's forehead. "Sleep, my love. Rest now."
"Zhiqiang," Deming asked, a note of vulnerability in his voice, his heart aching, "will there be a day when you will forget my old body? Will you forget who I truly am?"
"No," Guozhao Zhiqiang replied unequivocally, his voice firm with promise. "Never. I will never forget it."
"Good," Deming whispered, a profound relief washing over him. "Continue to love my old body and don't fall in love with Dong Enlai's body. Please."
Guozhao Zhiqiang hugged Deming even tighter, burying his face in Deming's hair. "I will never forget it in my life, Deming," he promised, his voice thick with emotion.
Deming sobbed softly in Guozhao Zhiqiang's arms, a profound thought echoing in his heart: 'Zhiqiang, don't fall in love with Dong Enlai's body. I don't know when it will disappear. I don't know how long I have.'
"Don't cry," Guozhao Zhiqiang murmured, his voice soothing. "As long as I know you are still here, I will cherish everything in front of me more than the past. Every moment with you is precious."
"If you see me crying," Deming asked, a small, curious whisper, "does that mean you can see in the dark, Zhiqiang? Even without light?"
"Mn...," Guozhao Zhiqiang confirmed, his voice soft.
As night fell, in the middle of the night, the haunting sound of the guzheng once again resonated throughout the inn. Its soft, melancholic melody drifted through the dark under the moonlight, a ghostly serenade.