A Secret (GL) - Chapter 25

That night, the duration Gu Shuge could be sensed lasted for three hours—a full hour longer than the previous night. It was the largest increase to date; previously, the biggest jump had been only twenty minutes.

Shen Juan pondered for a while why it had increased so much and asked, “Did you feel anything different today?”

Gu Shuge immediately thought of the fact that she had “drunk” Shen Juan’s blood during the day. Pretending to have no clue, she wrote in Shen Juan’s palm: “None.”

Ever since she started writing in Shen Juan’s palm, things like the quill and ink had been tossed to the back of her mind. She deliberately pretended to forget those writing tools, choosing only to write in Shen Juan’s hand. Whether Shen Juan had forgotten as well or was simply indulging her, she didn’t bring the paper and pen over either.

Seeing her say “none,” Shen Juan meticulously recalled if anything else had been different yesterday. The most significant thing was Xiaoge touching her blood. Could it be related to her blood?

While deep in thought, she felt two taps in her palm.

This was Shuge getting her attention. Shen Juan stopped her train of thought and raised her palm slightly so Shuge could write more comfortably.

The fingertip slid across her palm, leaving behind two words: “Go sleep.”

It was already past 3:00 AM. If she didn’t sleep now, it would be dawn soon.

Shen Juan was indeed tired. If this had been a few days ago, she would have done everything possible to figure it out, but now she wasn’t so rushed. Everything was improving. Xiaoge could communicate with her through writing, and the time she could be sensed was getting longer.

The shadow of death was receding.

Shen Juan was no longer as frantic. She said, “Alright. The light in the study is on; go write down the details of the case.”

A fingertip drew a checkmark in her palm.

Shen Juan suddenly felt the night grow tranquil, as if time had slowed down, filling her with a sense of lingering attachment. She called out softly, “Xiaoge…”

Gu Shuge looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

Shen Juan had originally wanted to ask, “You won’t leave, will you?” But as the words reached her lips, she realized that perhaps even Xiaoge couldn’t be sure if she would stay forever or suddenly vanish. She changed her words at the last second: “If you get tired writing, take a rest. No need to rush.”

It turned out she was just reminding her to rest. But a ghost doesn’t even have a body; how could they get tired? She couldn’t help but smile—even Shen Juan had her muddled moments. She then wrote a “Good” in her palm.

After Shen Juan went upstairs, the large manor suddenly fell silent. Standing in the spacious living room, Gu Shuge felt a moment of aimlessness. She steadied herself and walked to the study. Shen Juan had laid out three sheets of white paper in a row, spread flat on the desk for her convenience.

Gu Shuge sat down, looked out the window at the shadowy night for a bit, and then began to write as she recalled.

She first wrote that there were no lies in what Muzi had said today. Muzi really had accidentally seen her booking the tickets and thus knew she was returning and the specific time. As for the bakery, she really had mentioned it to her friends a year ago. Those present at the time were exactly the ones Muzi had listed.

However, it wasn’t going to be easy to investigate. It wasn’t a secret; just as she had mentioned it casually, the friends who heard it could have mentioned it to others.

Still, tracing that line was a direction. Those friends were Chinese, and during the holidays, some would likely return home like Muzi, making it convenient for the police to summon them.

Even though Muzi implied she was the only one who knew the itinerary, Gu Shuge still felt it couldn’t be her.

She had two reasons. First, Muzi had no motive; they got along well, and she hadn’t offended her. Second, and most importantly, Muzi lacked the means. While the first reason was subjective, the lack of means was a concrete fact.

Based on the case so far, the culprit had one very important characteristic: wealth. Without money, one couldn’t promise a heart to Zhang Meng, let alone the surgery fees. This was a murder for hire; the culprit must have shown Zhang Meng their financial power, or he never would have followed their orders.

She wrote these deductions down, adding that as far as she could remember, only Muzi knew her itinerary. She added “as far as I remember” because someone in the shadows might have had other ways of knowing.

Shen Juan valued order in her work, and Gu Shuge, influenced by her, was also very methodical.

She wrote in bullet points, much like answering a short-essay question on a social studies exam. After finishing the section on Muzi, she began to write about the night of the “first” accident.

She explained clearly why she had been walking, why she chose that path, and why it was at that specific time. If she hadn’t been tripped at that moment and the flowerpot had hit her head, she would have had no chance of survival.

And that girl—why was it that the flowerpot clearly fell from a high floor (which a careful person could easily see), yet she spoke to Shuge on the second floor, pretending the pot had fallen from there?

Even now, Gu Shuge couldn’t figure out that girl’s behavior or the purpose of that unnecessary act.

Because she was writing in great detail, she had to dig into her memory for every scrap of information, trying to record her conversation with the girl as accurately as possible. Since she naturally wrote slowly—while a normal person could write sixty or seventy words a minute, she could do six or seven at most—and had to recall details, she had been writing for a long time and still wasn’t finished.

At some unknown hour, a layer of damp mist covered the windows, obscuring the view outside; she only knew it was light.

Footsteps came from outside. Gu Shuge calculated that the servants must be arriving for work. She intended to ignore it and continue writing, but after a few strokes, she suddenly realized: if someone came in to clean the study, they would see an empty room with a quill floating in mid-air, writing by itself.

Gu Shuge laughed at the thought. If someone saw that, they’d probably be scared half to death.

Shen Juan really was brave; she hadn’t been afraid for a second.

Gu Shuge remembered the first night after her death. At midnight, Shen Juan had suddenly looked over, staring straight into her eyes and calling her name. It had startled her at the time.

How could she be so bold? If it were her, and she felt the soul of someone who had died that day appear in her house, she wouldn’t stay to investigate—she’d probably have fled to a temple to seek protection.

But on second thought, Gu Shuge felt deeply moved. Shen Juan wasn’t just unafraid of her ghost; she actually wanted her to exist.

In this world, truly only Shen Juan cared for her and was good to her.

She exhaled slowly, and the quill suddenly dropped. Gu Shuge went to pick it up but missed; she couldn’t touch it. This time she didn’t panic; she familiarly touched the blood in the glass dish and was able to pick up the pen again.

However, the blood in the dish had turned into a gel-like substance, making it hard to dip. The quill would drop every few minutes, and she’d have to dip it again.

To prevent the servants from being frightened, Gu Shuge stopped writing and set the pen down. She wanted to go out and take a look.

She was going to walk through the wall, but then she remembered that Shen Juan was starting to be able to sense her silhouette and movements, so she used the door instead.

Outside, the servants were indeed arriving. Someone was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. But the breakfast would likely go to waste today; Shen Juan probably wouldn’t come down on time, having gone to bed so late.

Gu Shuge wandered through the house. Someone was shoveling snow outside. Shuge walked beside them, being careful not to let them walk through her. After watching the snow for a bit, she went back inside.

Breakfast was ready and set on the table.

Thus, Gu Shuge knew the time: it was 8:00 AM. Shen Juan came downstairs at 8:00 AM and left at 8:30 AM every day. This had been her routine for years; when they were still on good terms, Shuge had even teased her for being so rigid.

Recalling the past, Gu Shuge suddenly felt a bit low.

She only now realized that since she became a ghost, Shen Juan’s attitude toward her was exactly the same as it used to be. She hadn’t changed her way of treating her despite the four years of distance.

Gu Shuge’s heart was a tangle of emotions.

The sound of footsteps came from outside. Gu Shuge instinctively looked toward the door.

Lin Mo had arrived.

He walked in with large strides and greeted the servants with a smile. Gu Shuge wondered why he was here so early. She didn’t move out of the way, and Lin Mo passed right through her body.

“Has the Chairman not come down yet?” Lin Mo asked.

A maid replied, “Not yet. There’s no movement in the room; she’s probably not up.”

Lin Mo looked surprised; after all, Shen Juan’s schedule had always been very regular.

“Miss Shen also didn’t come down until after nine yesterday,” the maid added.

Lin Mo gave an “Mhm,” took a bag of items from his briefcase, and handed it to the maid. “This is something the Chairman requested. Give it to her when she comes down. I have to head to the office.”

The maid took it and agreed. Lin Mo left as hurriedly as he had arrived.

Gu Shuge walked over to look and found that the bag contained blood-collection equipment. Shen Juan must have asked Lin Mo to deliver it before she went to sleep last night. Knowing what it was, Gu Shuge lost interest. Bored, she went upstairs to check on Shen Juan. She stood outside the bedroom but didn’t go in, lingering for a bit before returning to the study.

The servants hadn’t entered yet. So, while keeping an eye on the movement outside, she picked up the pen to continue writing, intending to stop immediately if anyone came in. However, no one disturbed her until Shen Juan came downstairs.

Shen Juan had put on makeup—it was exquisite. As she walked over, Gu Shuge looked up and nearly brushed against her chest. Even knowing she couldn’t touch her, she instinctively froze, carefully nudging herself away.

If I could smell, I would have smelled her fragrance just now, she thought, her heart racing uncontrollably.

Shen Juan sensed a lot of “wavy lines” again—the peaks and valleys were jumping rapidly. Feeling it was a bit strange, she asked, “Are you feeling very complex right now?”

Gu Shuge didn’t understand what she meant by “complex.” Then she saw Shen Juan pick up the papers she had spent all night writing and realized she must be referring to the case. She used the quill to draw a checkmark on another sheet of paper.

Shen Juan glanced at it out of the corner of her eye. In her mind, she circled the fact that “wavy lines = complex emotions” once more as a confirmed point. She then looked down to continue reading the paper.

Gu Shuge had almost finished writing; the events had been described in full, with only her personal opinions left to add.

After Shen Juan finished reading, she sat in contemplation for a good while. Suddenly, she asked, “Why did you return to the country?”