Both Yun Xi and Zhang Huailu froze.
“Risen from the dead?”
The clerk caught his breath and, stammering, recounted what had just happened.
They had carried Cheng Chang to a small room in the rear hall and summoned the coroner to examine the body. After the examination, the coroner reported that the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose showed nothing unusual—death by drowning was confirmed. He then intended to insert a silver needle into the abdomen to check for signs of poison.
But this was, after all, the body of the Third Young Master. Inserting a silver needle into his abdomen would leave a mark no matter how small. And if the needle turned black—would they cut him open or not? Prince Cong doted on his son; what if cutting him open meant he’d be buried without a whole body?
They deliberated for a while and decided to consult Zhang Huailu first. But as they glanced casually at the long table, they saw that Cheng Chang’s eyes had opened, staring fixedly at them.
Everyone in the room was struck dumb with fright.
That wasn’t all. In the next instant, Cheng Chang actually spoke.
“He spoke?” Zhang Huailu found this hard to believe. He’d heard of dead men suddenly opening their eyes, but never one speaking. Had he truly seen a ghost?
“Yes, the Third Young Master, he—he said…” The clerk, face flushed, tried to imitate Cheng Chang’s tone from earlier. “He said, ‘What’s going on here?'”
Three parts puzzled, three parts confused, three parts bewildered—the imitation was uncannily accurate.
Zhang Huailu glanced at Yun Xi. “Go take a look.”
In the courtyard outside the small back room, all the staff on duty huddled fearfully in a corner, watching the doorway with a mixture of terror and unease. Cheng Chang was leaning against the doorframe, retching violently.
In fact, this was not the first time Cheng Chang had regained consciousness.
His first moment of awareness had come when he was pulled from the bottom of the river and towed toward shore. His head had been splitting with pain, and he’d quickly sunk back into darkness.
His second moment of awareness came when he was being lifted onto the cart and stumbled. He’d forced his eyes open, seen ancient buildings and streets around him, assumed he was dreaming, and closed his eyes again.
Now was his third moment of awareness—rafters overhead, a half-open lattice window, everything unmistakably ancient. Someone nearby was saying they needed to fetch the coroner.
Coroner—meaning a forensic examiner?
Only then did Cheng Chang open his eyes, wanting to ask the people around him what exactly was going on. But the moment he spoke, everyone seemed to be struck with terror and scattered in a panic.
His body had just been pulled from drowning, still not entirely rid of the river water in his stomach. The moment he stood and stumbled toward the door, he vomited violently.
Once he’d finished retching, Cheng Chang looked around again—winding corridors, arched doorways, stone paths. Even the most elaborate film set wouldn’t stretch this far without a single camera in sight.
Right. Time-travel, or whatever this was called.
Absurd as it seemed, he was starting to understand.
He’d been working overtime until midnight the night before, still doing an asset valuation for a client when his heart suddenly stopped. A project worth tens of millions—well, that deal was truly dead now.
A commotion arose outside the small courtyard. Cheng Chang looked up to see several more people hurrying over, among them a striking young woman carrying a sword.
Zhang Huailu, along with everyone else in the courtyard, stared in stunned silence for a long moment before someone finally murmured, “He has a shadow.”
A shadow—not a ghost, then.
Stories of the dead returning to life weren’t unheard of, but witnessing it firsthand was still hard to believe. When Cheng Chang’s body had been carried back, he had clearly, thoroughly been dead.
Zhang Huailu was the first to recover his wits. Seeing that Cheng Chang had mostly finished vomiting, he quickly ordered, “Water! Bring water for the Third Young Master at once!”
A clerk hurriedly poured a cup of tea and offered it up, calling out with a trembling voice, “Third Young Master.”
Cheng Chang, still bent double from retching, braced himself against the doorframe and reached out one hand to take the cup.
Having just come back to life, his entire hand was still deathly pale, carrying the cold temperature of a corpse. Without meaning to, he brushed against the clerk, who was timid by nature. Startled, the clerk’s fingers trembled, and the teacup slipped from his grasp, striking Cheng Chang’s forehead before the hot tea splashed all over his face, the cup shattering on the ground.
The entire courtyard froze in shock once more.
Tea trickled down Cheng Chang’s face in streaks, leaving faint red marks in its wake—clearly, it had scalded him a little.
Cheng Chang, too, was a bit stunned.
The clerk collapsed to his knees, kowtowing frantically. “Mercy, Third Young Master, mercy—!”
The last time Prince Cong’s household had hosted a banquet, the cook had added an extra spoonful too much of sugar to the pastries. After eating them, Cheng Chang, without a word, had ordered the cook dragged out and beaten with clubs.
And this time…
Everyone stared at the bruise forming on the Third Young Master’s forehead and the tea dripping down his face—this was far worse than a little too much sugar.
Looking at the clerk, whose fate now seemed grim, everyone felt a pang of pity and knelt down alongside him in solidarity.
Zhang Huailu stepped forward, asking anxiously, “Third Young Master, are you hurt? The physician will be here immediately, immediately.”
His tone was laced with fear and careful deference.
Cheng Chang wiped his face with one hand. “Give me a moment.”
“Yes, yes.” Zhang Huailu answered, then glared at the clerk and scolded him. “How could you be so careless? Can’t even pour a cup of tea properly? If it weren’t for how diligently you usually serve, I’d have you clubbed and thrown out of this office this instant!” Then, turning back to Cheng Chang, “Third Young Master, this clerk is young and careless, but just now his mistake came from excessive concern for your wellbeing. I will dismiss him today—I only ask that the Third Young Master spare him this once.”
Cheng Chang replied, “That’s not necessary.”
Everyone in the courtyard froze again, unsure they’d heard correctly. Not necessary—meaning not necessary to dismiss him?
At that moment, the physician summoned that morning finally arrived.
The constables opened up another room, and two attendants helped support Cheng Chang, guiding him into a chair so the physician could check his pulse.
The pulse was steady and strong—not at all like someone who had just died.
The physician glanced at Cheng Chang and asked, “Third Young Master, might I check your other hand as well?”
Cheng Chang switched hands.
The pulse in the other hand was equally vigorous and healthy.
The physician stood and bowed to Cheng Chang. “Congratulations, Third Young Master, many congratulations! To die and return to life surely means great fortune lies ahead, great fortune indeed!”
Though his mouth offered congratulations, his brow was furrowed with an expression of premature worry, as though anticipating trouble to come.
Cheng Chang felt even more bewildered, unsure how to respond appropriately. Congratulations back to you?
Beside him, Yun Xi asked, “Physician Qi, might you examine him more carefully? The Third Young Master was submerged in the water for nearly half an hour—we mustn’t let any lingering ailment go unnoticed.”
Hearing this, Cheng Chang glanced at Yun Xi again.
Whether it was his imagination or not, out of everyone in this room, she seemed to be the only one who genuinely wished for him to live.
Physician Qi checked his pulse once more and asked, “Does the Third Young Master feel unwell anywhere?”
Cheng Chang considered carefully. Hmm, a bit dizzy from all the vomiting, seeing things slightly doubled. “I think… I’m hungry?”
Everyone in the room froze again for a moment.
The Third Young Master was accustomed to the finest delicacies served on jade plates; the office’s crude food could hardly be worthy of his refined palate.
Zhang Huailu said, “Perhaps this humble official could send someone to accompany the Third Young Master to the Zuixiang Restaurant for some light refreshments?”
In truth, as Cheng Chang spoke, his gaze had already drifted to the pastries on the side table—for some reason, this official hadn’t offered him any.
Fine, then. He had no idea what this Zuixiang Restaurant was, but since he was new here and unfamiliar with the place, it seemed sensible to go out and take a look around.
Attendants brought forward a set of clean clothes. Zhang Huailu said, “Third Young Master, your clothes have been soaked through. Though they’ve dried somewhat by now, they’re still damp and might make you ill. Best to change before heading out.” He hastily added, “This humble office is crude, but this is the finest garment we could find here. If it’s not to your liking, Third Young Master, simply discard it once you return to your residence—simply discard it.”
With that, without waiting for Cheng Chang’s response, he led the group out of the room, leaving only two attendants behind to help him change.
Cheng Chang was normally dressed in fine silks and brocades, resplendent in every color, quite ostentatious. Today, in plain, unadorned robes, he looked as clean and refined as an immortal beneath bamboo groves. As he stepped outside, a ray of spring sunlight happened to fall just right—whether it was the brightness of the light or something else, it seemed to strip away the arrogance and domineering air usually etched on his brow, revealing an elegance that hadn’t been there before, making him even more striking than before.
The crowd in the courtyard stared, transfixed.
Heavens above, how was this face even made?
Dying once had somehow made him even more handsome.