It was not the most critical question, but something about it nagged at Bai Youwei.

Every other household in the village had two or three children. Why did Li-shi have not a single child — to the point that after her death, there was no one left to erect a spirit tablet for her?

The old woman shook her head immediately. “Li-shi’s constitution was weak — too fragile.”

The old man inside replied: “Li-shi was quite young when she married in. The first time she gave birth, she nearly lost her life. Though she managed to survive, the child didn’t live past one month. The children she bore afterward also failed to survive — all died in their swaddling clothes, gone before they could grow…”

The old man finished speaking and let out a long sigh, then said: “I’m tired… Old woman, is there any water?”

The old woman’s face fell, and she rose and went inside, pulling the door shut behind her with a bang.

All three questions had been answered. The NPCs had withdrawn.

The four of them outside exchanged glances.

Fu Miaoxue muttered: “Didn’t people in ancient times marry quite young? Fifteen or sixteen was normal. If Li-shi was even younger than that… how young was she? Fourteen? Thirteen?”

Bai Youwei reminded her: “Li the Scabhead had a head full of scabs. And he was desperately poor.”

Fu Miaoxue’s face twisted with revulsion. “He looked that awful — how desperate must her parents have been to marry their daughter off to him?”

Du Lai said: “Perhaps Li-shi’s family was even poorer. In ancient times, many families were so destitute they couldn’t put food on the table. They would marry off their daughters to get some betrothal gifts to live on, or to have something left over for their sons to take a wife.”

“There’s one other possibility,” Shen Mo said. “Li-shi herself may have been unattractive, or suffered from some physical ailment.”

Like fits like, after all — if Li Qianggui was a poverty-stricken wretch with a head full of scabs, then perhaps Li-shi also had some shortcoming of her own.

“There’s a complication,” Du Lai said with a small smile. “We don’t know anything about Li-shi — not her name, her age, where she came from. We still have no way to determine why the female bone-carrier won’t stop.”

“We can at least rule out avenging her husband,” Bai Youwei said calmly. “No children, an ugly husband, a destitute household — in those circumstances, I don’t believe they would have been a devoted couple. There was likely far more resentment than affection.”

Shen Mo considered for a moment, then raised his eyes to glance at the sky. “The village head’s home typically holds the village register. If we go there now, we should still have time.”

Du Lai gave a slight nod.

When it came to stealing things, no one’s skills were more practiced than his.

Du Lai quickly found a household with laundry hanging out to dry, changed into a set of gray hemp village clothes, then scooped up a handful of yellow earth from the ground and rubbed it evenly all over himself, rendering his entire appearance dull, gray, and unremarkable. Hunching low and keeping his head down, he headed over to the village head’s house.

Shen Mo, Bai Youwei, and Fu Miaoxue waited outside.

Before long, they saw him come out.

He was out too quickly, and his expression was troubled — everyone assumed he had failed, that he hadn’t retrieved the register. But then Du Lai reached into his lapel and produced a register, handing it to Shen Mo.

“Got it,” Du Lai said, his brow furrowing slightly. “But Li-shi’s name isn’t in here.”

Bai Youwei gave a small start, then seemed to realize something. “Let me see.”

Shen Mo had just opened the first page. At her words, he passed it to her.

The first page was a geographical overview of the village — roughly how many people, how many fields, what crops had been planted, and so on.

After that came the records of each household, arranged by generation from the grandparent level down to the present day.

Bai Youwei found Li Qianggui’s name.

His parents had long since passed. His two older brothers had also died in succession. Li Qianggui had lived to the age of seventy — a long life, by any measure. Had he not been beheaded, he likely could have lived much longer.

Beside Li Qianggui’s name was a small line of text:

*”Wife: Li-shi.”*

No given name. No age. No other information — as if she were an appendage. Whether she existed or not, no one knew.

Bai Youwei’s brow furrowed. She turned a few more pages and drew a slow breath.

“Most of the women in this village have no names.”

—