Live well.

At this time, a sizable crowd had already gathered outside the courtyard gate. The loud crash from earlier was likely someone attempting to break it down. Yet the gate had long since been locked from the inside by Chen Zhonghai.

The house was built in a courtyard style; from the woodshed, one could easily see the main entrance. Lin Guichen, dragging his crippled leg, had only just reached the woodshed doorway when he saw a small, wiry middle-aged man, agile as a gecko, climbing over the wall beside the gate, using both hands and feet.

The nimbleness of the movement surprised him and stirred a hint of envy. If only he could do the same, he might scale the wall to escape. Even if he couldn’t get out of the county, at least there would be a bit more hope. Unfortunately, his right leg was lame.

The wiry man quickly reached the gate, fiddled with the padlock for just a moment, and with a flick of his wrist, the lock popped open.

As the gate swung wide, a rush of hurried footsteps followed, and several dozen people surged into the courtyard with intimidating force.

Their clothing was varied—most wore coarse, short jackets and clutched shovels or wooden clubs, while a few were dressed in long robes and mandarin jackets, topped with formal hats, marking them as men of higher status.

Without glancing back at his mother, Lin Guichen braced himself against the doorframe, standing in the doorway of the woodshed. He was ready.

He did not see, however, the way his mother watched his back, lips pressed tight, her gaze flicking to Chen Zhonghai’s body lying on the floor. She drew a long breath, as though steeling herself for something.

The crowd, having poured into the courtyard, instantly spotted Lin Guichen standing in the woodshed doorway and closed in around him.

“That’s Chen Zhonghai’s stepson.”

“He’s the one from Yihai, isn’t he?”

“The boy whose leg was broken?”

Some among them had visited Chen Zhonghai’s home before and now recognized Lin Guichen.

“I remember your surname is Lin, isn’t it?”

A middle-aged man in a long robe approached him. He seemed to be the leader of the group, clearly a figure of some standing in the Chen clan, with a scholar’s elegance in his expression.

Lin Guichen recalled having seen the man before—he was the clan scion, heir to the patriarch, named Chen Shuxing.

Chen Shuxing stopped in front of Lin Guichen, frowning slightly. “Where’s your father?”

Before he finished the question, his gaze shifted past Lin Guichen into the woodshed. Instantly his brows knit tightly, and his voice turned cold. “How bold.”

The crowd, too, saw inside the woodshed, and their faces changed.

“So it was an outsider who killed him.”

“What audacity!”

“To murder her own husband?”

“A woman of a different clan dares to commit such a crime in Kangle County? Has she gone mad?”

“Kill her!”

Outrage erupted from the crowd, their furious voices echoing through the courtyard.

Yet Lin Guichen realized their anger was not directed at him, and he was taken aback.

Could it be...

He whirled around.

Inside the woodshed, at some point, his mother had discarded the sickle she had brandished at him. Instead, she had pulled the blade from Chen Zhonghai’s neck, so that blood now welled freely from the wound.

This pitiable woman, rendered mute and frail, her thin body trembling, gripped the sickle as she knelt beside Chen Zhonghai’s corpse.

By now, the pool of blood was slowly spreading, soaking her knees and pant legs. Even her face was smeared with blood.

It looked, unmistakably, as if she had murdered Chen Zhonghai herself.

Seeing this, Lin Guichen felt a wave of confusion.

She intends to take the blame for him?

She had deliberately withdrawn the sickle to let the blood flow, and had smeared some on her face—a clear attempt to shield him.

Yet just moments ago, she had been wielding the sickle against him, her eyes filled only with wariness, hatred, and fear. He could not fathom her intentions.

“Chen Zhonghai’s wife, is it?” Chen Shuxing asked coldly, frowning as he looked at her. “Why did you kill Chen Zhonghai?”

Though Chen Zhonghai was not of high standing in the clan, he was still kin within five degrees; his death was no small matter. And worse—killed by his own wife.

A husband was the pillar of a wife’s life. Such defiance of order demanded thorough investigation and harsh punishment.

But Lin’s mother simply knelt there in silence, gripping the sickle, her body quivering.

“Clan scion, this woman’s tongue was cut out by Chen Zhonghai. She can’t speak,” someone nearby reminded him.

Chen Shuxing frowned again and looked to Lin Guichen. “You tell me—was it she who killed Chen Zhonghai?”

Lin Guichen fell silent.

He tilted his head slightly, glancing at his mother from the corner of his eye, his throat constricting.

If he confessed, the crime of patricide would condemn him utterly. The Chen clan’s wrath could see him killed on the spot, with no hope of reprieve.

He did not want to die.

Though he could not understand why, when she loathed and feared him so deeply, she would now bear his guilt, he did not want to die.

He had tasted death once already—the void, the endless helplessness—only those who have died can comprehend its horror.

Now, given life anew, he wanted desperately to live.

Soon he would be forced into a ghost marriage, but if he could last until then, all he needed was a single Spirit-Opening Pill to activate the Escape Talisman. If he could survive this, hope remained.

After all, this woman had just threatened him with a blade; he had never truly regarded her as his mother; he was alone in this world, after all...

I have no other choice... Lin Guichen repeated to himself, trying to convince himself.

“Speak. Why are you silent?” Chen Shuxing demanded, frowning at him.

“Let it be, Shuxing,” interrupted a portly middle-aged man in a mandarin jacket. “After all, she’s his mother. You want him to accuse his own mother? I think I understand. She killed Chen Zhonghai to save the boy, didn’t she? You’d best ask the Third Uncle.”

“Third Uncle?”

Chen Shuxing frowned, then said, “Does killing her own husband make her actions excusable?”

At this, the clan members erupted in a chorus of opinions.

“I heard she tried to divorce him—went to the police and slandered her husband, nearly got Chen Zhonghai thrown in jail. That’s why he cut out her tongue.”

“That still doesn’t excuse murder! She killed her husband for that?”

“I heard she stole money too—serves her right.”

“How could she dare? She must know Chen Zhonghai has the protection of the ancestral gods.”

“She’s an outsider, without the ancestral gods’ blessing, yet dares such a thing. Was she possessed by a ghost...?”

The Chen clan members chattered, not caring whether their words were true. They heaped accusation after accusation on the woman who had killed her husband.

No matter the era, it seems people are much the same.

“Possessed?” When Lin Guichen heard this, something stirred within him.

He suddenly understood why his mother had been so wary, fearful, and hateful toward him, only to now take the blame for his sake.

She believed he was possessed by a ghost.

In this world, spirits and gods were real, and possession was a genuine threat.

Thinking back on his recent behavior since he arrived in this body, it was clear to her he had become someone else.

It looked for all the world like he was possessed.

Even so, he was still her son.

That was the root of her conflict.

“Quiet, all of you,” Chen Shuxing ordered, silencing the crowd. He looked at Lin’s mother. “You killed Chen Zhonghai for your son? Just nod or shake your head.”

She glanced at Lin Guichen, nodded, then opened her mouth—now missing part of her tongue—and uttered a few indistinct syllables.

One could barely make out, “I did it.”

Then she turned again to Lin Guichen, struggling to form a few more unclear syllables.

Perhaps no one else understood, but Lin Guichen did.

She was saying—

“Live well.”

Lin Guichen drew a deep breath.

Live well?

He had wished for that in his previous life, but fate had denied him. In the end, he used what life he had left to do something dangerous, to play the hero, and finally confessed his crimes.

He took risks because he could not find a way to live well.

Now, he found himself unable to live well again.

Why is it so hard for people to overcome themselves?

“Stop pretending.”

Lin Guichen raised his head, meeting everyone’s eyes, and said slowly, “That bastard Chen Zhonghai—I killed him.”