Le baiser inoubliable de Ghost Lips

Chapitre 2

"For such a small amount of money, you're not only a good-for-nothing, but also a complete miser. How could your mother have given birth to such a shameless, unashamed, and unmanly person like you! If I were you, I'd be holed up in that stinking, dog-shit-filled wooden shack, sewing myself a decent set of clothes..."

Old Fu closed the door tightly. Although Xue Qiuqiu's vicious curses could still be heard through the crack in the door, it didn't matter to him anymore. As long as he didn't see her, his mood would immediately improve. He looked down at the pickled cucumber strips in his hand and couldn't help but sigh, "We'll have plenty to eat again. I don't think we'll be able to finish them in a month or two."

Fu Zhuo was Lao Fu's only son, and Chu Mengjun was his wife, whom he had married almost a year ago. Lao Fu lived on the west side of the street, while Fu Zhuo and Chu Mengjun lived on the east side. They usually kept to themselves, never interacting. Lao Fu ran his tailor business, and Fu Zhuo ran his Fu Ji sesame oil shop. When they met, they acted like strangers, ignoring each other completely. Fu Zhuo disliked the deathly smell emanating from Lao Fu, and Lao Fu disliked the sesame oil smell on Fu Zhuo. However, they would have a family reunion dinner one day each month, and only on that day would they exchange a few words, trying to rekindle the meager remaining father-son bond between them.

"Father-in-law, dinner's ready!" Chu Mengjun forcefully placed a bowl of freshly cooked white rice in front of Old Fu and said in a fake voice.

Old Fu glanced up at her. Although he hadn't had much contact with her, his keen intuition told him that she was definitely not a good person. It was best to avoid messing with a woman like that. Old Fu suddenly thought of Xue Qiuqiu across from him and couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine.

The dishes on the table were incredibly unappetizing. With such presentation and such skill, how could Fu Zhuo have fallen for her? Old Fu couldn't understand it. But that didn't matter; it only happened once a month anyway, so he'd just make do. He took out a silver needle and pierced each dish, including the bowl of rice he'd just served. This was a long-standing habit of Old Fu's; he didn't trust even his own family.

Fu Zhuo ate his meal in silence. He was already used to Lao Fu's behavior, so he wasn't surprised. Chu Mengjun, however, looked very unhappy. She hated Lao Fu's habit, so she stood up and shouted, "I've never seen a father-in-law like you, actually suspecting your daughter-in-law of poisoning your food!"

Old Fu didn't argue with her and stuck the silver needle into the bag of pickled cucumber strips he had just bought. The silver needle turned black instantly, and Chu Mengjun was stunned. She plopped down on the stool, speechless for a long time. She had just wanted to pick up a pickled cucumber strip to try. Fu Zhuo just gave a soft hum and continued eating his meal, as if what was happening had nothing to do with him. Old Fu also had an expectant expression, showing no surprise whatsoever. He put away the silver needle, stood up, scooped a spoonful of water from the water vat into the wooden basin next to him, poured the pickled cucumber strips into it, washed them a few times like washing vegetables, then took them out and casually placed them on the table, saying, "You can eat now."

Chu Mengjun could hardly believe what she was seeing. Two grown men were eating a packet of poisonous pickled cucumber strips with relish, as if it were a delicacy. She wondered if something was wrong with her brain.

"It's alright, the poison has been washed away." This was Xue Qiuqiu's favorite trick, and he did it every year, always with the same old trick but a different name. He was already used to it, and even his son, Fuzhuo, was no longer surprised.

Although it was late at night, a thick patch of dark clouds could still be seen in the sky.

The shop has two floors. Old Fu stood in a room on the second floor and quietly opened a crack in the window, which gave him a good view of the scene on the second floor opposite.

Xue Qiuqiu sat in front of the mirror, applying various perfumes and powders to her round, pancake-like face. A strong scent of roses wafted across the street into Lao Fu's nose, causing him to sneeze. He had always been allergic to this kind of fragrance.

Xue Qiuqiu glanced at Lao Fu's room, knowing that this good-for-nothing was definitely hiding in the shadows, secretly watching her. She glared at the window opposite, which immediately closed, and Xue Qiuqiu couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Old Fu crouched down close to the windowsill. This wasn't the first time he'd been caught, and he was used to it by now.

Half an hour later, soft footsteps were heard on the street. They were barely audible unless you listened carefully. But Old Fu had been waiting by the window, so when he heard them, he immediately opened the window a crack.

Xue Qiuqiu, wearing her floor-length purple overcoat, was quietly walking towards the outskirts of the city. The bright red handkerchief in her hand swayed rhythmically with her large body, like a will-o'-the-wisp flickering in the night.

It was time, and Old Fu closed the window again.

The Tailor (Part 5): "Now You're in Charge of the Accounts"

Mo Bai owned a teahouse located by the main road outside the city. He usually provided tea and snacks to passersby, offering them a place to rest and earn some extra money. Mo Bai typically worked from sunrise to sunset, a routine that cultivated good habits in him. But there was one exception: the seventh day of the fourth lunar month. On this day, he would usually close his shop until late at night, when he would light a dim candle and, accompanied by the howling night wind, lean against his bamboo chair under the awning, quietly waiting for customers.

Xue Qiuqiu, dragging her obese body and waving a handkerchief that looked like a will-o'-the-wisp, shouted at Mo Bai in a loud voice, "I'm here! Bring me a pot of the best strong tea!"

Mo Bai stretched out his large, white foot, which resembled a steamed bun, and picked up a small white porcelain pot from the table. He mumbled, "Here it is, it's all ready."

"He's as thin as a bamboo pole, but he has hands and feet like a monkey." Xue Qiuqiu grinned, her blood-red mouth wide open. She placed a red handkerchief on the porcelain teapot, poured herself a cup of tea, and sat down next to Mo Bai.

"Hmph," Mo Bai snorted. He couldn't stand Xue Qiuqiu's vicious mouth. He had fantasized countless times about putting some mute medicine in the tea so that his ears would be much cleaner.

"Oh, you've all arrived!" A delicate and charming voice suddenly came from not far away. Xue Qiuqiu suddenly spat out a mouthful of tea, which landed squarely on Mo Bai's white satin clothes.

Suddenly, Mo Bai jumped up like a mad monkey, his face flushed red, and he opened his slightly sarcastic mouth, shouting, "Why are you spraying me!"

Xue Qiuqiu burst out laughing, and said loudly, "It's a real shame you're not a monkey."

Mo Bai glared fiercely at Xue Qiuqiu, then turned and walked into the only small thatched hut under his tea stall.

Xu's mother swayed her thick waist to greet Xue Qiuqiu, and then sat down on the bamboo chair that Mo Bai had just sat on, which immediately made an unpleasant creaking sound.

"He's the only one left," said Mrs. Xu, crossing her legs and gazing into the distance.

"I don't think he has the guts to come!" Xue Qiuqiu said sarcastically.

Old Fu came out of the small thatched hut that Mo Bai had just entered, carrying a pot of fresh tea. Xue Qiuqiu and Xu's mother stared at him with their mouths agape.

"Old Fu arrived a long time ago, you guys were too slow." Mo Bai, who had changed his clothes, walked out of the small thatched hut, not forgetting to glare at Xue Qiuqiu sideways, still angry about what had just happened.

Xue Qiuqiu's mouth tilted slightly to the left, and she pulled out a handful of sunflower seeds from somewhere and started cracking them open.

"Everyone's here, let's begin." Mrs. Xu twisted her body and stood up, the bamboo chair suddenly losing its weight and swaying casually in place a few times.

“It’s time to begin.” Xue Qiuqiu took out a black ledger from her wide sleeves and threw it on the table. “Now it’s your turn to manage the accounts!” A strange light shone in her eyes, and she suddenly felt a sense of security.

Looking at the black ledger in front of him, Lao Fu felt a strange pang of heartache. He reached out his delicate, jade-like hand and tremblingly took the ledger, stuffing it into his pocket. He didn't want to look at the black of the dead for too long, as it would make him feel even more uneasy.

Xue Qiuqiu was smiling; she could finally smile with peace of mind. But the other two couldn't laugh out loud; they knew that the ledger would soon be in their hands as well.

"That woman... is she still around?" Xu's mother suddenly remembered what Lao Fu had told her that night.

"Come pick it up tomorrow." Old Fu lowered his head, not wanting them to see his uneasy expression.

"We'll find out what's going on then," said Mrs. Xu, her eyes fixed on the distance, her expression blank.

"What kind of riddle are you two playing?" Mo Bai asked, frowning in confusion.

Old Fu had no choice but to recount the story of the dead man again.

Everyone was silent, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts, no one wanting to be the first to speak. But their expressions revealed that they were in a worse mood than ever before.

Old Fu walked into the shop with the black ledger clutched in his hand. The ledger was nothing special, just a bit dark in color, but Old Fu felt as if a ghostly claw was desperately scratching at his fleshy, mortal heart. He didn't know what was going to happen, so he slammed the shop door shut behind him. Suddenly, a loud "bang" came from inside the wooden shop, and Old Fu's heart jumped into his throat.

Tailor (VI) - "Red Fold-Embellished Buttons"

The new dress had already been sewn, and it was sewn again along the original stitches. Sewn again? When Old Fu thought of this word, he couldn't help but smile bitterly. Even he himself didn't know how to explain it.

As usual, after finishing the clothes, Old Fu would put the dead body back in its original place, so now the woman was lying alone in the coffin she had come from, with only a candle stub stuffed in her mouth. As for the needle marks in her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, Old Fu planned to ask the old woman about them when he saw her.

Everything is still relatively normal.

But then a "snap" came from the wooden hut. Old Fu grabbed a wooden stick he usually used to barricade the door, tiptoed towards the hut, and carefully pressed his ear against the door. There was no sound, no movement, as if nothing had ever happened inside. Old Fu touched his chin; he was certain he had heard a sound, though not loud, but clear enough in the quiet night. Hesitantly, he pushed open the door. The incense sticks were still burning brightly, and the gold ingots glowed with an eerie silver light. Old Fu carefully looked around; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He breathed a sigh of relief, laughing at himself for being too tense. He put down the stick, went to the table, took a new incense stick, lit it on the nearly burnt-out one, blew out the old one, and tossed it to the ground. Just then, he noticed something tiny.

Old Fu picked up the item; it was a red Chinese knot button with gold trim. He'd used this style of button, this combination of silk thread, more than once. He couldn't even remember when he'd left it on the ground. Perhaps he could use it again next time, saving some money. Old Fu was always shrewd with his calculations. Without giving it much thought, he casually tossed the button into the basket next to the stool. It was almost dawn. After a night of tossing and turning, Old Fu felt waves of drowsiness washing over him. He stretched; he should get some sleep. The old lady would be coming to pick up the goods tomorrow. Thinking of this, he tugged at his slightly loose trousers, wiped his frozen nose, and headed towards the inner courtyard.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, plus the one picked up from the floor of the wooden house, making a total of eight, all of them red Chinese knot buttons with gold trim. This time, Old Fu couldn't say a word. He sat cross-legged on the kang (a heated brick bed), staring blankly at the eight dazzling Chinese knot buttons arranged side by side in front of him.

There are many types of Chinese knot buttons: square buttons, butterfly buttons, openwork buttons… These eight are standard silk-wrapped buttons. The handcrafting is rough; the red thread is already frayed, and the gold silk edges are somewhat worn and uneven. The contrast is like dressing a filthy beggar in a clean, snow-white silk robe—utterly incongruous. Such craftsmanship, such skill, certainly couldn't have come from Old Fu's hands. Except for the first button, which he found in the wooden hut, the others were found in the yard, in the house—Old Fu searched the entire tailor shop, the wooden hut, the yard, and even this room where he slept, before finding these eight buttons. For some reason, Old Fu felt he had seen these eight buttons somewhere before. But where exactly had he seen them?

Old Fu finally moved his somewhat stiff body. His old, failing legs were now numb, causing him a slight ache. He reached out and pounded them hard. A black ledger fell out from the seam of his shirt, landing precisely on the eight Chinese knot buttons. Old Fu's hand froze in mid-air. Could it be related? That was Old Fu's first thought. Suddenly, he angrily threw the black ledger into the most inconspicuous corner, a place completely out of the candlelight. Old Fu felt that doing this made him feel a little better.

A rooster, unable to bear the silence of dawn, crowed for the first time. Old Fu involuntarily shivered, and a chill before dawn swept over him. He had no choice but to tighten his sheepskin coat.

"Is anyone there?" A voice suddenly called from outside the shop. Old Fu recognized the voice as that of the old woman. She was still coughing, and it seemed that she didn't have long to live.

"Here it comes!" Old Fu casually grabbed eight buttons, stuffed them into his sleeve, and rolled off the kang (a heated brick bed). A tingling pain shot through his feet again, and Old Fu immediately squatted down, his left hand instinctively bracing himself on the kang. "Damn it!" Old Fu cursed, glancing at the black ledger in the corner, hidden alone in the darkness. A strange unease suddenly welled up inside him.

She was still wearing that black coat that almost touched the ground, leaning against the corner of the table. She looked quite ill. Accompanying her were the two young men who had delivered the coffin before, their faces expressionless.

"It's all done." The coffin was carried into the shop by two men. Old Fu looked at the coffin with lazy eyes and said listlessly.

The two men remained silent, reaching out to gently open the coffin lid. Their movements were cautious, showing that they cared deeply about the person inside.

Old Fu yawned again, rubbing his slightly sore eyes in hopes of perking himself up.

The old woman's scream instantly brought Lao Fu to his senses. He practically leaped to the front of the coffin, but when he looked inside, he couldn't even scream anymore. He finally understood why those eight red buttons with gold trim looked so familiar.

Xue Qiuqiu's pickled vegetable shop closed down, and the capital city was no longer filled with her shouts and curses. The street suddenly became very quiet, and everyone was a little unaccustomed to it. But what they couldn't get used to the most was that her eyes, nose, mouth, and ears had been sewn up with red silk thread.

The Tailor's (VII) "Calamity"

"It must have been Lao Fu who did it..."

"Who else in the world knows this skill besides him? He's never taken on any apprentices..."

"You can know a person's face but not their heart..."

"He's usually quiet, but I never expected him to be so cunning..."

"People who enjoy this craft all have something wrong with them..."

"I don't think they had any prior conflicts, so why would they kill someone..."

"Strange, if he killed the person, why would he let others know..."

"It's quite strange. To kill someone so blatantly seems illogical..."

"..."

Old Fu sat quietly on the tattered bed, on which lay a moldy pillow and a quilt so worn that the cotton inside was exposed, the cotton as gray as the ground. On the floor sat a large, chipped, blackened porcelain bowl, containing a fist-sized cornbread. A deep black five-finger mark was branded into the cornbread, and a murky, unidentifiable broth had soaked through the bottom half. A small, thin mouse perched on it, its front legs raised, enjoying what it considered its meal. Old Fu moved slightly, a harsh metallic scraping sound emanating from his hands and feet. He frowned, his brow already stiff. Old Fu possessed a pair of delicate, woman-like hands, a natural talent for sewing. He cherished these hands, even more than his own son's. But now, these hands were bound by heavy iron chains. A thick iron chain ran from the chains on his hands to his feet, perfectly merging with the chains on his feet. The chains near his hands were worn smooth, like a newly polished bronze mirror, reflecting his somewhat blurry image. Old Fu leaned closer, peering at his wretched face through the meager light from the chains, and sighed deeply. This was a prison, Old Fu's first time in such a place. The dim light of the cell blurred the distinction between day and night, while the cold iron bars clearly separated the prisoners from the innocent. There was a lamp that burned continuously, its dim candlelight reminding Old Fu of the incense and candles in that wooden house. But in that wooden house lay dead people, and the incense and candles were lit for the dead. Now, however, lay living people, and the candles were lit for the living. But this living person would soon become a dead person. Old Fu knew clearly that this was a death row.

How could Xue Qiuqiu have died in that coffin? Who killed her? Why did they kill her? How did they kill her? What was their purpose? And why did they frame him? And how did they do it? Most importantly, who else in the world besides him knows this skill? What are the identities of that old woman and those two young men? Why is the woman they sent missing? Lao Fu couldn't figure it out. No matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't understand the ins and outs of this matter.

"Old Fu, it's time for dinner!" An older man dressed in official robes walked over. He was Zhang Bensan, the jailer here. Old Fu recognized him; his wife's clothes were sewn by Old Fu himself.

Old Fu shifted his feet, but remained firmly seated on the tattered bed, only slightly raising his head to look at Zhang Bensan.

"Huh? You haven't eaten yet?" Zhang Bensan opened the iron gate and handed a bowl of rice that looked exactly like the one on the ground to Lao Fu, saying, "You should at least eat something. Even if you die, you should die with a full stomach."

Old Fu looked at Zhang Bensan with a strange expression and said, "Will I die?"

Will I die? Even Zhang Bensan didn't know how to answer Lao Fu's question. This was a death row cell; anyone who entered was destined for execution. However, some people managed to cleverly escape, though that required a large sum of money to bribe officials. As for Lao Fu, no matter how rich he was, he couldn't afford to buy his own worthless life, because he was still a poor man.

Old Fu knew his question was redundant, so he took the bowl of rice and ate it silently with his head down. The food was already a little cold and had a slightly sweet taste, but Old Fu's stomach was growling loudly, and he no longer intended to give the bowl of rice to the skinny, pitiful mouse on the ground.

Zhang Bensan nodded in satisfaction and said, "That's right. No matter what, we have to eat." Although he knew in his heart that the food was terrible, having something to eat was better than having nothing at all.

Old Fu lay on the hard, tattered bed, his eyes fixed on the peeling paint on the walls. He couldn't help but wonder how Xu's mother and Mo Bai would react to what had happened. And what about his son, Fu Zhuo, and his repulsive daughter-in-law, Chu Mengjun? Tonight would be tomorrow, and he wondered who would be the first to visit him. Whoever it was, it was all in the future. Old Fu pulled the tattered blanket over himself; all he wanted now was a good night's sleep.

"Do you think it might be Lao Fu?" Xu's mother, with a pale face, came to Mo Bai's tea stall and sat down on the creaking chair.

Mo Bai reached out and touched his large, monkey-like ears, while his feet expertly poured himself a cup of tea.

"I'm talking to you!" Mrs. Xu was already getting impatient.

“That black ledger…” Mo Bai deliberately dragged out the sound.

"Isn't that ledger already with Lao Fu?" Xu's mother really couldn't understand what Mo Bai was trying to say.

“But Xue Qiuqiu just gave it to Lao Fu yesterday.” Mo Bai looked into the distance, his eyes becoming somewhat deep.

Mrs. Xu's face was as white as a sheet of paper. She reached out and steadied herself on the table, saying, "Could it be that Xue Qiuqiu... she still didn't escape? And now it's Old Fu's turn?"

Mo Bai didn't say anything more. He picked up the tea on the table and took a small sip, this time using his hand.

The Tailor (Part 8): "The First Person to Visit Old Rich"

Old Fu woke up, not of his own volition, but because someone had woken him up. And this person was scratching his calloused, smelly feet with straw they'd picked up from somewhere. Old Fu sat up in disgust; he hated this method.

He was squatting on the ground, his left hand supporting his monkey-like head as he stared intently at Lao Fu, while his right hand held the straw that Lao Fu felt itchy. He was very thin, but his hands and feet were large, and a pair of fan-shaped ears stood firmly on either side of his head. If Lao Fu hadn't been sober, he would have definitely mistaken him for Mo Bai. But he wasn't. He was just someone who looked somewhat similar to Mo Bai, but his features were fundamentally different. His eyes were relatively large, while Mo Bai's were small. His mouth was also large, while Mo Bai's was small. He was short, while Mo Bai was very tall. His hair was short, but just enough to be combed into a chili pepper shape, with a red thread neatly wrapped around it. He wore a green open-front short jacket and a pair of baggy, thick blue trousers tied at the ankles, with red single-strap shoes. He looked to be no more than ten years old.

Old Fu put away his stinky feet, sat cross-legged on the broken bed, stared intently at the newcomer, and asked, "Who are you?"

"The person who came to see you," the child answered readily, offering a mischievous smile.

Old Fu was somewhat surprised. He threw off the tattered quilt, got up, and walked to the iron pillar. Through the pillar, he asked, "Do you know me?"

“I know you. You’re the most famous tailor in the whole capital.” The child greeted him with an innocent smile, waving the straw in his hand.

Only then did Old Fu notice the rope around the child's neck, a braided rope made of red silk thread. However, it was woven with three different types of red thread, creating a gradient from dark to light. The weave was very even, each strand identical to the next, indistinguishable to the naked eye. Old Fu couldn't help but admire the exquisite craftsmanship. But what puzzled him most was the unusual object hanging from the rope. It wasn't jade, gold, silver, or bronze, but an ordinary wooden spoon. The handle was upside down, the spoon head facing down, hanging from the rope. Its surface gleamed with an oily black sheen, suggesting it was very old.

"Who wrote this for you?" Old Fu was very curious about this question.