Renée Chu finally showed herself.
Her hair hung in a matted black curtain that hid most of her face. The faded blue opera robe—style from the old Republic era—clung damply, scorched at the hems. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood—all gloom and pressure—like cold air that thickened a room.
But she couldn’t rattle Fenric.
He could feel the eyes behind that hair, measuring him. This had to be a first for her: a living human whose skin hardened like iron, whose will didn’t fracture, whose fear refused to ignite. Illusion failed; intimidation failed.
They stared at each other in the wrecked living room, rain still lashing the windows.
At length, Renée Chu drifted—legs unmoving, body gliding noiselessly—out through the doorway and into the kitchen. Her form thinned, paled... and vanished.
Thunder rolled away. Rain tapered. Sunlight punched through cloud as if nothing had happened.
She’d withdrawn.
But not surrendered.
Fenric’s mouth crooked. Can’t crack me, so you retreat? Fine. Round two’s on my schedule.
Anyone who drank that cursed "river water" was marked. The curse was the tether; she would come again.
Which meant he had time to move first.
He left the house and headed into a nearby underground parking garage. A luxury sedan sat half‑shadowed, windows up, belongings visible inside. One short punch spider‑webbed the glass; a second cleared it. He reached in and lifted a wallet and a gold watch.
The Mountain Village Old Corpse dungeon was set in the 1990s—no mobile payments yet. People still carried cash. He thumbed open the wallet: thick stack of notes. Good enough.
He bought a city map from a kiosk(*stand), studied it under a streetlamp, then flagged a cab straight to the police station. If he wanted to end this run fast, he needed one man—one survivor tied to Renée Chu’s death. The fastest way to locate an elderly villager? Let the local cops do the legwork.
Fenric didn’t bother with the public reception window. He slipped through while officers were distracted and pushed open the door to an "Inspector" grade office.
Inside, a middle‑aged cop was nursing tea. He glanced up, frowned at the unannounced visitor, and drew breath to bark—
—then saw the stranger, saw the clothes, and hesitated.
"I’m looking for someone," Fenric said, dropping into the chair opposite without invitation.
"Looking... for someone?" Irritation flickered in the middle‑aged cop face.
A thick wad of banknotes thumped onto the desk.
The inspector’s entire expression rebooted. "Sir, who are you trying to find?"
"Name’s Lindo. Very elderly—nearly a hundred. Formerly residents of Yellow Mountain Village. That’s all I’ve got." Fenric nudged the cash closer. "Deposit. Find him and I’ll settle the rest."
Money talked. The inspector snapped to business, summoned subordinates, and started digging records.
Less than thirty minutes later he returned with three candidate files. "Matches on age and former residence," he said, deferential now. "Please take a look."
Fenric flipped the first folder open.
Bingo. Exact face from the plot.
He closed the other two. "Officer, you’ve been a great help."
The inspector rubbed two fingers together—unsubtle but honest.
Fenric slipped off the gold watch he’d got earlier and set it down. "Didn’t bring that much cash on me. Hold this as collateral. I’ll confirm the person, then come back with the balance and reclaim it."
"No problem!" The man was all hospitality now and personally walked Fenric out.
He could have knocked the inspector out and rifled the files. But that invited warrants, manhunts, and wasted time. Money solved trouble—and this wasn’t even his money.
Following the file’s address, Fenric took a taxi to a narrow lane and stopped outside a weathered single‑story home.
He knocked. "Dong, dong, dong."
Shuffling steps. "Who?" an elderly voice called. The door creaked open.
An old man peered out—hair snow‑white, face creased and sunken, most of his teeth gone. Age had shrunk him, but his eyes were clear.
Lindo.
In the original events, Renée Chu had been his aunt. They’d been close. After death, she learned the truth of her husband’s betrayal from him. Of the sixty‑seven people in Yellow Mountain Village, sixty‑six died to her vengeful curse. Lindo alone survived untouched.
Which was why Fenric needed him—to guide the way to where Renée Chu’s remains had ultimately been dumped. The plot only said "back mountain," and that a later developer moved her bones into a water pool. Which is vague. Fenric had no intention of combing a mountain slope blind.
"Old sir," Fenric said with a polite smile, "are you Lindo?"
"I am," the old man said slowly.
"Good." Fenric dipped his head. "Then I’d like to ask you to take me to where Renée Chu’s body was buried."
"!!"
Lindo’s face turned pale at the name. "Don’t know any Renée Chu. You’ve got the wrong house!"
He tried to swing the door shut.
But it didn’t budge.
No matter how he pushed, some immovable weight held it open—Fenric’s hand, applied without effort.