Chapter Sixty-Three: Placing the Crown Upon One’s Own Head

“Hurry, please come in! Please, come in!” As soon as the woman heard Chen Jin’s words, she anxiously unlocked the courtyard gate.

This was mainly because Wang Tong, the half-grown boy, was present. Otherwise, even if faced with a Daoist priest, she would never have let anyone into her home—alone with only her husband’s corpse and no one else present.

From Wang Tong, Chen Jin had learned that the deceased was named Chen Sanquan, a small landowner with fields just outside the town. He was neither rich nor poor, living a passable life by local standards.

Once inside the courtyard, Chen Jin’s gaze swept all around.

He still saw no trace of ghosts or monsters. Of course, given the limited time and manpower, the woman could do nothing but weep beside her husband’s corpse; the place lacked any of the ceremonial trappings of a funeral, as she hadn’t even had time to prepare the materials.

The body was laid out in the inner hall.

The house was not large—just a single courtyard and three rooms, one clearly a kitchen, with the main and secondary bedrooms occupying the rest. The main bedroom and hall were separated within the same room.

Entering the hall, Chen Sanquan’s body lay on a wooden plank supported by two long benches.

The corpse already looked better than when he had first seen it: the bloodstains had been washed away and the clothes changed. Though the face bore the same expression as before, it was now presentable.

Chen Jin roused his own primordial energy, letting it flow through the house.

However, primordial energy was not like the spiritual senses of a ghost deity; it could not instantly relay information. Instead, Chen Jin had to sense any disturbances in the energy through his own body.

While primordial energy could not detect spirits or ghosts, it was useful for uncovering hidden physical objects—like the demon he had encountered before.

Indeed, Chen Jin suspected the woman. After years of watching Yingshou Province’s famous anime “Detective Ke Bei,” as well as countless detective novels, films, and TV series, he knew there was always more to the story—especially when it came to a woman and a corpse on a board. There could even be some scandal with a monster.

The thought of all these tangled threads made Chen Jin a bit excited...

Yet, as his primordial energy circled the room, it became clear: apart from himself, Wang Tong, and the woman, there were no other living beings present.

“Master Daoist? How do you plan to disperse my husband’s resentment, so that he may rest peacefully in the underworld?” the woman asked with concern.

Ah, and it should be mentioned: everything Chen Jin now heard was in the local dialect of Qilu.

Because he possessed Zhengyang’s memories, Chen Jin was quite familiar with the dialect, so there was no barrier to communication.

So, coming from the south himself and hearing the northern dialect of Qilu always struck Chen Jin as amusing—like how northerners found southern speech almost laughable. Fortunately, the country shared a common language. Otherwise, linguistic confusion alone might lead to bloody chaos.

The differences in language also affected the casting of Daoist spells; sometimes, southern incantations could not be uttered correctly because of accent issues. Chen Jin had heard plenty about this in his chat group. At first, he found it funny; later, not at all—since he too was troubled by his accent.

But now, having possessed Zhengyang, a southerner, Chen Jin had mastered the ancient northern dialect of Qilu. Spells he’d once only memorized could now be used smoothly.

Returning to the matter at hand.

“I will first check whether your husband’s vengeful spirit lingers in this house,” Chen Jin replied.

“May I see my husband?” the woman asked.

“Oh, by the way—why weren’t you present earlier?” Chen Jin suddenly inquired, his tone casual, as if the question slipped out.

“I was sleeping deeply and didn’t hear any commotion from the town. It wasn’t until Er Yazi woke me that I knew... Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known my husband... was gone...” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she spoke.

Er Yazi was the man who had brought Chen Sanquan’s body back, also a villager.

“Why were you in the house, but Chen Sanquan was not?” Wang Tong voiced his own doubt.

The boy was indeed sharp, though most people would have thought of this...

“I... I don’t know...” The woman hesitated and shook her head.

“What are you hiding?” Wang Tong’s expression turned severe.

He was clearly taking himself for an officer of the law.

“No, nothing. How could I dare lie in front of a Daoist master? I truly don’t know. I really slept deeply last night...” the woman hurried to defend herself.

“Who can vouch for you?” Wang Tong pressed sternly.

“Chuqing, Chuqing can...” The woman, pressed, named someone, but her face turned deathly pale, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Well, then. Even in death, this husband was to be cuckolded—was he to journey to the underworld with his head left cold?

Wang Tong was clever, and being from a prominent family, he understood the implication of the woman naming someone.

Chen Jin shook his head and walked into the inner room.

“Why did you do it?” Wang Tong’s voice grew low; clearly, the information he’d deduced had shocked him.

“It wasn’t what I wanted... but... but my husband... it was he who asked for it...” The woman’s face was filled with grief.

“???” Wang Tong was utterly bewildered.

“My husband and I have been married ten years, but we never had a child. We consulted Granny Zhang, and she said it was my husband’s problem. She claimed his yin and yang were unbalanced and he would never have an heir. My husband begged Granny Zhang for a solution, paying her handsomely.”

“Granny Zhang indeed gave us a way—she said we could ‘borrow seed’... She claimed she could cast a spell so that any child, though begotten with another’s seed, would still be of the Chen bloodline...” The woman’s face was ashen as she recounted the truth.

Wang Tong was left speechless; Chen Jin, on the other hand, scoffed.

“Who is Chuqing?” Chen Jin asked.

“Chuqing is a tenant farmer on our estate,” the woman replied honestly.

“And Granny Zhang—was she the one who died a few days ago?” Chen Jin continued.

“Yes...” The woman hesitated, then nodded.

This case of a demon’s murder was growing ever more convoluted.

Yet, now they had found a loose thread; once unraveled, everything would become clear.

Chen Jin suspected that, before this was over, a few more would die.