Chapter Fifty-Two: The Haunted House

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For most scholars, if the imperial examinations seem hopeless or there is a need to support the family, the most suitable path is often to become a teacher. However, being a teacher is not so easily done; entering the official academies is difficult, and running a private school is not an easy business either. Compared to these, becoming a household tutor in a wealthy family—a so-called “family instructor”—is actually the most comfortable route.

Many families of power and influence are reluctant to send their sons and daughters to official academies. Instead, they prefer to invite renowned scholars to reside in their homes and set up private classes. The advantages are obvious: the teacher can devote himself more attentively to the students, while the parents need not worry about their children being bullied or led astray outside.

Of course, those who are qualified to become family tutors generally receive excellent treatment, free from worries about food or clothing, and are paid handsomely. It is, therefore, a promising profession—especially when teaching girls, which is all the more trouble-free.

Meanwhile, Shopkeeper Li was rather puzzled. By rights, since the student was a young woman, it would be unthinkable to invite a young man as her tutor. Why was this? There was no need to ask: sometimes, after long days of close teaching, feelings could arise, and who could guarantee that the daughter would not end up with child, or that the teacher would not become the son-in-law? Such a scandal would be the laughingstock of all.

Yet, the wealthy Mr. Huangfu seemed to have no such scruples; he spoke straightforwardly, inviting Chen Jianchen to his home. Was it all because of that one poem? It seemed a bit too frivolous.

It was not only Li who felt this way; even Chen Jianchen himself was somewhat perplexed. Yet looking at the other man, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Sir, I am grateful for your kind offer. However, I am currently studying at Minghua Academy and fear I cannot spare the time.”

Setting aside other factors, the fact that Mr. Huangfu’s home was in Suzhou meant he would have to leave his hometown, making it a difficult decision. It was not that he was so deeply attached to his native place, but the inertia of habit made sudden departure somewhat hard to accept. Besides, while tutoring could bring in money, he could earn just as much staying in Jiangzhou. There was no need to go so far. Moreover, he still harbored some doubts about Mr. Huangfu’s identity and dared not rashly accept.

Upon hearing this, Mr. Huangfu asked rather anxiously, “So you truly do not wish to come?”

Chen Jianchen shook his head, “It is not that I am unwilling, but truly, I cannot get away. Please seek another worthy teacher, sir.”

At these words, Shopkeeper Li immediately straightened, itching to speak up himself: there’s a worthy teacher right here…

But to his disappointment, Mr. Huangfu did not even glance at him. He sighed with regret, saluted, and said, “If that is the case, I will not insist. If there is an opportunity in the future, I shall invite you to my house again.” After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he took up his brush and ink, bade farewell, and left, sighing all the way, clearly regretful at Chen Jianchen’s refusal.

Shopkeeper Li escorted him out. He did not feel it was a loss for Chen Jianchen to refuse the tutoring job. Chen Jianchen was young and promising, with a brilliant future ahead; to waste his time as a tutor would be foolish. It was better for him to focus on his studies at the academy and strive for success in the imperial examinations.

After this incident, Chen Jianchen’s standing in Shopkeeper Li’s eyes rose significantly. It was simple: he could provide calligraphy for Xueni Studio and help make money. His tone became much more courteous, inviting Chen Jianchen to send any calligraphy works to be sold on consignment, with the sales period extended to a full month.

After a few more words, Chen Jianchen returned to the academy.

—In the process of selling his calligraphy and ink to Mr. Huangfu, Chen Jianchen made a net profit of nearly nine ingots of silver, earning his first true fortune. With this sum, he could nearly open his own calligraphy and painting shop in Jiangzhou.

However, Chen Jianchen did not become complacent; such circumstances were far from normal. Though Mr. Huangfu himself seemed harmless, Chen Jianchen could not shake a sense of something being amiss. As the saying goes, “Where there is something strange, there must be something wrong.” Caution could do no harm.

In the days that followed, Chen Jianchen wrote two more pieces and consigned them to Xueni Studio, lowering the price this time. Beyond that, he asked Wang Fu to keep an eye out for a suitable place to rent for a calligraphy and painting shop.

When Wang Fu heard he was looking for a place in Jiangzhou, he readily agreed, pounding his chest with confidence. Well-connected and socially adept, he was sure to be of help.

Five days later, Wang Fu came to Chen Jianchen, saying, “Liuxian, I don’t know what’s going on lately, but there are hardly any street-facing properties available for rent…”

“Not even one?” Chen Jianchen asked.

Wang Fu frowned, “There are a few, but none that meet your requirements… Ah, but at the east end of the street, there is one house. It’s fairly large and the rent is cheap, but…”

He stopped mid-sentence.

“But what?” Chen Jianchen pressed.

Wang Fu immediately lowered his voice and whispered, “They say that house is haunted—no one dares move in or open shop there.”

“Haunted?”

Chen Jianchen raised his brows, “Tell me the details.”

So Wang Fu recounted the story:

That house belonged to a wealthy landlord named Geng in Jiangzhou, a separate residence originally used for selling oil. Business was going well, but half a month ago, in the dead of night, strange noises began coming from the oil storage—bubbling and gurgling, like a bull drinking water.

The commotion awoke one of the workers, who rushed out to investigate. Before he even got close to the oil barrels, he saw the oil churning and something huge writhing inside.

Upon hearing the noise, the monstrous thing stood up, baring its fangs and claws, its maw wide and bloody, its eyes bright as lanterns—ghastly as a demon. With one glare, the worker fainted dead away.

Fortunately, the specter seemed to have no intention of harming anyone, and the worker escaped with his life. Still, after that, he refused to have anything more to do with the place.

Upon hearing of a haunting, Landlord Geng was both frightened and angry. He hired Taoist priests to exorcise the evil, but after three attempts, nothing changed. The haunting continued, appearing every few days.

Before long, the oil shopkeeper and all the workers fled in terror. Landlord Geng could only leave the house abandoned, offering it for sale or rent at a low price.

But who would dare take it under such circumstances? And so, it remained vacant to this day.

A haunted house?

A slow smile spread across Chen Jianchen’s face. He did not doubt the place was genuinely troubled by some supernatural being. In fact, it suited his intentions perfectly. As for the Taoist priests the Geng family had hired, he was sure they were all charlatans—true cultivators were exceedingly rare in this world, and those who did exist tended to hide from the mundane world, seldom venturing into society. That he had met Qingyun was a stroke of fate.

“Brother Futai, I’d like to visit that house tomorrow,” he said.

Wang Fu was surprised, but then he recalled that Chen Jianchen had once received instruction in the mystical arts from Taoist Qingyun, and might indeed be capable of subduing the haunting. He promptly agreed.