The large boat had docked at the same quiet pier as before, the faint scent of river mist hanging in the air. Following behind a few elegantly dressed guests, the two of them stepped onto the deck, the wooden boards creaking faintly beneath their feet.
“Young Master Song, it’s been a few days since we last met, and your face looks much more radiant than before,” the boat mistress greeted warmly, her red-painted lips curling into a practiced smile. “Jun’er is still dressing up. Why don’t you take a seat first and listen to some music while you wait? We’ve just hired a few new singers — they’re quite talented.”
Song Zhenguo’s face remained impassive. He did not return her smile.
“I want to ask about something,” he said curtly. “Two days ago, I brought a friend here — a young master named Wang Ziquan. I heard he came again afterward. Please summon the lady who accompanied him that night. I have a few questions for her.”
As he spoke, he slipped a few pieces of silver into the boat mistress’s palm. The gesture was casual, almost indifferent — yet the amount was enough to make her eyes widen. That kind of sum was far from ordinary; only someone born into great wealth could afford to toss it away so easily.
“Oh, you mean Die’er. Mm, I’ll call her right away. Young Master may rest in the chamber by the side,” the boat mistress replied quickly. Seeing the cold look on Song Zhenguo’s and Lu Sheng’s faces, she dared not linger. Men as generous as Song Zhenguo were rare, and even the sons of officials often lacked such effortless extravagance.
The two were led to a private chamber, its interior faintly perfumed with sandalwood. They waited in silence until the door curtain rustled, and a slender figure entered.
Die’er stepped in lightly, her demeanor gentle and demure. Dressed in a flowing green gown, she held a slender flute in her hands, as though she had been preparing to perform. Her wide eyes flickered with confusion, uncertain why she had been called in such haste.
“Young Master Song, may I know what questions you have for Die’er?” she asked softly, her voice delicate as a reed flute.
“Let me ask you this,” Song Zhenguo said, his tone steady but laced with quiet authority. “Do you know where that Young Master Wang Ziquan, whom you accompanied two nights ago, is?”
Die’er’s expression went blank for a moment, her delicate brows furrowing in confusion.
“Young Master Wang Ziquan? Oh… I remember now. Didn’t he leave with you, Young Master Song? At that time, Die’er was exhausted, so after Young Master left, I went home to rest.”
“Went home to rest?” Song Zhenguo’s brows arched slightly, his voice edged with doubt.
“Yes, that’s right. Back then, Die’er had just accompanied three customers consecutively. I was so very exhausted. Once it ended, I told the boat mistress and was one of the first few who got off the boat,” she replied softly, her tone meek and guileless. “What’s wrong? Did… did something happen to Young Master Ziquan?” Her voice trembled with growing anxiety.
Lu Sheng’s sharp gaze swept over her face, studying every twitch and flicker of her eyes. Yet, he could see no trace of deceit.
“Let me ask you,” he said calmly, “did your boat close for business right after we left?”
Startled by his piercing stare, Die’er quickly nodded. “Yes, yes! Once you three Young Masters left, the boat mistress closed for the night.”
“Then let me ask you again!” Lu Sheng pressed, his tone firm. “After closing for business, will red lanterns usually be hung on this boat?”
“Red lanterns?” Die’er blinked in confusion. “What red lanterns? Each day after closing, our boat docks at the nearby harbor for inspection and maintenance. No lights are allowed during that time except for those used by the workers. Everything was as usual yesterday.”
“Docks in the nearby harbor? Not here?” Lu Sheng’s eyes widened slightly.
“Of course not,” she replied, puzzled by his tone. “We only dock here while doing business. The waves in this area can get quite rough—if we stayed overnight, we’d risk being carried off by the wind.”
Her words struck an uneasy chord in Lu Sheng’s chest. A cold heaviness settled in his gut. It seemed that Wang Ziquan, like him, had boarded the pleasure boat adorned with red lanterns.
“Brother Lu…” Song Zhenguo spoke quietly, sensing something off in his companion’s demeanor. He didn’t fully understand what Lu Sheng was getting at—perhaps Lu had mistaken one boat for another—but he held his tongue and let him continue.
“Don’t tell me there’s no boat that docks here at night, one decked with red lanterns? An empty pleasure boat, the same model as this one,” Lu Sheng asked again, his voice low but insistent.
Die’er blinked, her expression turning slightly uneasy as she tilted her head.
“Young Master, may I know where you heard about this big boat with red lanterns? Do you know under what circumstances we ever put up red lanterns here?” She paused, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “Only when a lady on the boat has passed away do we hang three red lanterns outside her room door and inside her room. One at the door—to guide her spirit home. Two inside—to pay respects to her and grant her rest.”
The words struck like thunder. Lu Sheng froze, his breath caught in his throat.
The memory of that eerie pleasure boat resurfaced with chilling clarity—the crimson glow reflecting on the dark river, the flickering lanterns swaying in silence. Every cabin, every chamber, had been lit in the exact same way: one lantern outside, two within. Exactly as Die’er had just described.
A tremor ran down his spine.
“Ahhh… this is so scary! Young Master, you must’ve heard some ghost story and come to frighten Die’er, haven’t you?” she stammered, goosebumps rising on her pale skin as she hugged her flute to her chest.
“Yue Sheng… were you having a nightmare?” Song Zhenguo asked, his brows furrowing with concern.
Lu Sheng’s other name—Yue Sheng—was rarely used in Nine Links City. Most people there called him Young Master Sheng, or Brother Sheng. But within the academic circles, addressing someone by their courtesy name carried both familiarity and respect.
“It’s nothing… I just…” Lu Sheng faltered, his voice faint. He swallowed back the truth of that night—the suffocating silence, the red lanterns glowing like bleeding eyes. Even if he spoke of it, Song Zhenguo wouldn’t believe him. And even if he did, what good would it do?
“But since Ziquan did not come to this pleasure boat, where else could he have gone?” Song Zhenguo muttered, worry lining his face. “The Annual Examinations are almost upon us. If we break the Institution’s rules and lose our qualification, our futures will be ruined by our own hands.”
“If there’s nothing else from both Young Masters, please excuse Die’er. I must perform the flute for the guests,” Die’er said softly, bowing with practiced grace.
“There’s nothing else. Thank you, Die’er. Here, this is for you,” Song Zhenguo replied, placing a few pieces of silver into her trembling hands.
Die’er’s face brightened instantly, her eyes sparkling with delight. The silver pieces meant personal earnings—money she could truly call her own, apart from what the boat mistress took. She carefully tucked the coins into her embroidered waist pouch, then turned with a graceful twirl toward the door.
Halfway there, a thought suddenly struck her. She paused, turned back, and spoke with a faint, hesitant smile.
“Oh yes, Young Master… Die’er did once hear a ghost story that was passed among the ladies on the boat. It was about a red boat that used to drift on this very Cypress Pine Lake. Its name was Scarlet Decks. A great fire broke out, killing everyone aboard—none of the ladies escaped alive. Since then, the legend of Scarlet Decks has haunted this lake… people say the boat was decked with red lanterns, and that no one who ever boarded that red boat was seen again.”
Lu Sheng’s eyes sharpened, his pulse quickening. He immediately raised a hand to stop her.
“Please stay, Miss. Can you tell us more about this pleasure boat called Scarlet Decks?”
Die’er looked flustered, shaking her head lightly. “Err… Die’er only joined this line of work recently and doesn’t know much about it. But isn’t Young Master Song rather close with Miss Jun’er? You know, Sis Jun’er misses Young Master every day. She’s been on this boat much longer—she should know more about that story.”
“Got it,” Lu Sheng nodded curtly. “Carry on.”
Die’er bowed slightly and slipped out of the chamber, her perfume trailing faintly in the air. The door curtain swayed once and fell still. Silence settled over the room. Neither Lu Sheng nor Song Zhenguo spoke—each lost in his own thoughts.
Moments later, soft footsteps approached, followed by the rustle of fabric. Jun’er entered, her figure outlined by the lantern light. She wore a plain white dress—low-cut and short—that revealed her delicate collarbones and pale shoulders. Her eyes immediately brightened the moment she saw Song Zhenguo.
“Young Master Song!” Her voice trembled with tender joy, her gaze brimming with affection she could no longer conceal.
“Jun’er!” Song Zhenguo stepped forward, placing a gentle arm around her slender shoulders. “It’s been a few days. How have you been? I’ve been paying your boss enough money—apart from me, no one else should be allowed to request for you.”
Jun’er nodded softly, her face blooming with quiet happiness. “Jun’er knows that Young Master has always been good to her…”
“I’ve been waiting,” Song Zhenguo said, his tone warm yet heavy with feeling, “waiting for the day you’ll agree to let me redeem you.” He hesitated for a breath, then continued, his expression turning serious. “Alright, Jun’er, we came today to ask about that Young Master Wang Ziquan who came with us the night before. Do you know if he returned to this boat after we left that night?”
“Young Master Wang Ziquan?” Jun’er’s brows knitted slightly as she searched her memory. “It was already very late that night. Didn’t Young Master Wang leave the boat with both of you? Why would he have come back?”
“You’re certain he never returned?” Lu Sheng asked, his tone calm but probing.
Jun’er nodded without hesitation. “I’m sure. That night, I took longer than usual and ended up being the last to leave the boat. Now that I think about it, it was about the time it takes to burn a joss stick after both of you had gone.”
“Is that so… that’s strange,” Lu Sheng murmured, his expression turning thoughtful.
Song Zhenguo asked a few more questions, each of which Jun’er answered patiently. Her responses matched Die’er’s perfectly—nothing seemed out of place. With no new leads to uncover, the two young men could only leave the pleasure boat in silent frustration.
Outside, the night air was cool and faintly misty. The gentle lapping of the lake’s water against the hull echoed softly as they walked away.
“Looks like our last resort now is to report the case to the authorities,” Song Zhenguo said with a weary sigh.
Lu Sheng shook his head slowly. “I’m worried that even that wouldn’t help…”
Song Zhenguo glanced at him, confusion flickering across his face.
“Brother Song, I think you should go home. It’s getting late—let’s call it a day,” Lu Sheng said evenly. “Besides, we still have the preliminary examination tomorrow.”
“Alright, then. I’ll head back first. Yue Sheng, if you find any leads, you must inform me right away,” Song Zhenguo replied, his voice carrying a trace of fatigue. He sighed once more before parting ways with Lu Sheng.
Lu Sheng stood by the riverside, watching his friend board a horse carriage and disappear into the dim streets beyond. For a long while, he remained where he was, his gaze distant. His mind replayed every word and expression from Die’er and Jun’er, searching for cracks in their stories—but there were none.
“It doesn’t seem like they were lying,” he muttered under his breath. “But if that red boat wasn’t the one we boarded… then why was my money pouch on it?”
A chill stirred within him—a faint, unshakable premonition that he had just stepped into something far more troublesome than he could yet see.
…………
Song Zhenguo sat slumped inside the horse carriage, the rhythmic clatter of wheels echoing faintly through the night. His sighs came one after another, heavy and drawn.
He was, by nature, a sentimental man. Wang Ziquan’s disappearance weighed heavily on his heart. They had gone out together that night, and now there was no trace of him—no word, no sign, nothing but silence. No matter what, he knew he owed the Wang Family an explanation.
Ziquan wasn’t just an acquaintance; he was a close friend. The thought that a grown man could simply vanish by Cypress Pine Lake gnawed at him.
Could it be… The dreadful thought struck suddenly, chilling him to the bone. Could he have fallen into the lake?
A violent shudder ran through his body.
No! he clenched his fists, the thought hardening into resolve. If he’s alive, I’ll find him. If he’s dead, I’ll see his body with my own eyes! Ziquan went there because of me. If something really happened to him, then I, Song Zhenguo, must take responsibility!
Determination settled in his chest like cold iron. If Ziquan truly met with misfortune… I’ll go straight to the authorities.
His decision was made.
But as his mind steadied, another thought intruded—one that brought back the ache in his temples. What about Jun’er?
Her name lingered in his thoughts, soft and troublesome. He had spent over a thousand silver notes every month just to keep her by his side, ensuring that no other man could request her. It had already sparked more than ten fierce quarrels with his aging father, each one ending in bitter silence.
At that memory, a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes.
The carriage finally slowed to a stop before his residence. Song Zhenguo stepped down, handed the driver his fare, and strode toward the courtyard gate. The flickering lantern light washed over his weary face, but his expression remained clouded with thought.
A few servant girls noticed him returning and hurried forward to greet him. But before they could curtsy, he had already disappeared into the corridor, his robe trailing behind him as he walked swiftly toward his room—unwilling to see anyone, unwilling to speak a single word.
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