81: The Deadbeat (Part One)

"I heard that the thief is actually a ghost," someone said, glancing around warily.
A ghost?
Yi Fan narrowed his eyes. "Why do you suspect that, sir?"
The man chuckled, unwilling to divulge further. "Anyway, that Daoist insists the culprit who stole the valuables is the murderer. The truth will be revealed today. Why not wait and see?"
Seeing the man reluctant, Yi Fan didn't press him. They continued to chat, with Yi Fan occasionally joining in.
The rain came swiftly and left just as quickly, soon ceasing altogether. They walked together, Yi Fan leading his donkey, Yan Gui following at his side, all heading toward Fuxiang Town.
The town wasn’t far, just a few miles away. After rounding a hillside, they came upon a bustling area nestled by mountains and water. The landscape, fresh after the rain, held a unique charm.
The closer they drew to the town, the more travelers they encountered. Though there were some vagrants, it was nothing like Guobei County, where children were sold and misery was everywhere. Even after the rain, the streets teemed with people, lively and vibrant, full of the warmth of ordinary life.
Some townsfolk directed them toward the residence of Master Zhou, then departed. Yi Fan did not go there, but wandered the streets, leading his donkey, stopping now and then to watch street performers.
After half an hour, he found an inn, requested a superior room, settled his luggage, and went out to order a few dishes. Sitting by the window with a cup of wine, he watched the street below, feeling quite at ease.
"Master Daoist, are you heading to the Zhou residence?"
An old man drinking nearby wiped his mouth, then boldly carried his wine pot over to sit.
It was the second time someone had asked this today. Yi Fan was speechless, then replied, "I am merely passing through and intend to rest here for a few days, not visiting the Zhou family."
The old man nodded, glanced at Yi Fan's dishes, and shouted to the waiter, "Waiter, bring your Eight Treasures Chicken, roast goose, and a few of your signature side dishes, plus a pot of your best wine."
"Coming right up, please wait."
Soon, the waiter returned with several side dishes and, from the kitchen, a few main courses, all beautifully presented and deliciously aromatic.
The old man raised his cup. "Meeting is fate. If you don't mind, Daoist, shall we chat?"
Yi Fan was surprised but didn't refuse, nodding with a smile. "You are too polite, sir."
"Good, then let this old man speak." The elder, delighted, drank deeply, tore off a piece of chicken leg, and ate heartily. Seeing Yi Fan not touch his chopsticks, he asked, "Why aren't you eating? This Eight Treasures Chicken is famous for miles around—a true delicacy, prepared to perfection, a taste of heaven."
Yi Fan inwardly complained: You didn’t wash your hands, who knows where you’ve been, maybe even the privy—and you don’t use chopsticks. How can I eat that?
But he couldn’t say so, merely smiled awkwardly, picked up his chopsticks, and sampled some side dishes. "You have a good appetite, sir. Please enjoy. I prefer something light today."
The old man shook his head. "What a pity."
Then he continued, "Where was I? Ah, yes. Don't blame me for meddling, but I advise you to leave early and stay away from the Zhou family's affairs."
"Oh?" Yi Fan was puzzled. "Why do you say that?"
Earlier, others had urged him to go to Zhou’s, promising good food and drink, but this elder advised the opposite. Was there some hidden danger?
Seeing Yi Fan’s confusion, the old man coughed proudly. "You’re asking the right person. Others might not know."
He glanced furtively around. Only when no one was paying attention did he continue, "I have a sweetheart who once saw the thief stealing gold and jewels. You’d never guess—it was a money-grubbing ghost! And it begged my sweetheart not to let it slip."
A ghost, indeed?
Yi Fan’s heart stirred, but just as he was about to speak, the old man raised his hand triumphantly. "How could such information come cheap? My sweetheart wasn’t foolish—asked for three gold ingots."
Yi Fan could only touch his nose and say nothing.
They talked for nearly an hour, eating and drinking until the dishes were finished. The old man wiped his greasy mouth, stood, and clasped his hands in farewell. "I must go now—urgent business. Please enjoy your meal."
He turned to leave, and Yi Fan hurried to stop him. "Sir, what about the bill?"
The old man glared. "Of course it’s yours to pay—did you expect me to?"

You ordered so much without money? Yi Fan was speechless—he’d met an old scoundrel. The waiter, sensing trouble, summoned a few helpers. "Gentlemen, were the dishes to your satisfaction? Was the wine good?"
The old man clapped his hands and shamelessly declared, "I have no money. Ask him for payment. I’ll be back tomorrow."
With that, he slipped out. Yi Fan tried to stop him, but the waiter blocked his way, speaking with a sly tone. "Sir, our business is modest. We don’t allow credit."
"These are our signature dishes. The wine is excellent. After rounding off, the total is one tael, two qian."
Yi Fan wanted to strike the old man dead, but in the end, he took out his purse and handed over the silver, then added, "Buy some fresh fruit and deliver it to my room."
The waiter accepted the money, smiling. "Certainly, sir. It will be done."
He hesitated, then said, "You’re too trusting. That old fellow is the laziest in Fuxiang Town. He always tricks visiting guests. The good-tempered ones accept it, the tough ones beat him up. As long as they don’t kill him, nobody cares."
So my kindness is to blame?
...
After a brief rest, Yi Fan left the inn with Yan Gui, heading toward Master Zhou’s residence. He hadn’t intended to get involved, but after being questioned repeatedly and hearing such strange tales, his curiosity was piqued.
The town was small, with only a few streets. After twisting through several lanes, they entered an alley and saw a grand mansion ahead, its signboard reading "Zhou Residence." Outside, a crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle.
Drawing closer, Yi Fan learned that the Daoist who arrived days earlier had caught the thief who stole gold and jewels, and claimed many recent disappearances in town were related.
Wasn’t there a rumor that the Ghost King sent his minions to snatch people?
Yi Fan was puzzled and stepped forward. Seeing him in Daoist robes, the crowd made way, allowing him to approach.
On the broad space before the Zhou residence stood more than ten people, mostly servants. Among them, a richly dressed elder was likely Master Zhou. Beside him was a middle-aged Daoist, robed and coiffed, sword in hand. Before them, an altar had been set up, and just in front of it, a large wooden barrel adorned with several talismans.