Chapter 73.2: You Make Me Sick, Li Lan

After finishing, Li Zhuiyuan tore out the two pages of the report and slid them across the table.

Now, at the dining table, the woman held the report sheets while the boy held the file, and both began reading quickly.

Li Lan finished first. She set the report sheets down, closed her eyes, and lightly tapped the table with her fingertips.

Li Zhuiyuan soon followed. So many strange incidents had taken place in Fengdu’s history—yet they only survived as scattered gossip over tea or in the fading recollections of the elderly.

Time is the best eraser. Even if someone investigated now, it’d be impossible to retrieve such a solid, detailed record.

There’s a saying: "You can give the wrong name, but not the wrong nickname."

Fengdu wasn’t called Ghost City for no reason.

The supernatural occurrences clustered around it seemed to follow some distinct rhythm.

Yin Fuhai’s funeral had been conducted by Li Zhuiyuan himself. He had personally witnessed the scene of four ghosts carrying the coffin.

Whether the Yin Changsheng mentioned in Baopuzi and the “Daoist friends” he spoke of still lingered—Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t be sure.

But one thing was clear: Ghost City still retained a peculiar...

You could call it a ritual. A rule. Or more coldly, a logic invisible to the living.

He had a sharp memory. If he returned to Ghost City as an adult to investigate its core, the information in this report would save him a great deal of time.

Brother Liangliang had once said: Ghost City didn’t have much time left.

Li Lan pulled another file from her briefcase and tossed it to the boy.

Li Zhuiyuan opened the folder. The title on the first page read: “Report on Civil Air Defense Project No. 572 in Ji’an.”

His fingers clutched the document tightly. The calm expression he had been maintaining finally broke.

A wave of fear and confusion gripped him.

The Ji’an air defense structure with severe water seepage—the sightings of Goguryeo specters during the investigation…

These were stories told by Luo Gong during a late-night barbecue in Wanzhou.

Why had Li Lan specifically chosen to show him this report?

The previous two reports, 841 Freighter and Fengdu Anomalies, had clear connections to him—places he had visited or people he had encountered. They were traceable.

But how did gossip exchanged over grilled fish and soy milk make its way out?

Did Luo Tingrui tell someone?

Or was he questioned and reported it?

No—that wasn’t within Li Lan’s reach, given Luo Tingrui’s status.

Besides, Brother Liangliang had said their work on the Wanzhou project had only just wrapped up. Luo Gong had been closely overseeing it the whole time.

So if it didn’t leak from Luo Gong, then it had to be one of the others present.

Xue Liangliang. Tan Wenbin. Runsheng.

Li Zhuiyuan’s breathing turned ragged. Cold sweat seeped from his brow.

He wanted to analyze the leak, but doing that required casting aside emotion and treating everyone with the cold equality of logic.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal—just a minor issue.

But he was facing Li Lan.

He’d been holding it together the whole time.

A single crack right now might bring the whole dam crashing down.

His long-dormant illness was beginning to stir.

Li Lan looked at her son’s pale, anguished face, and instead of showing concern, the corners of her mouth curved faintly.

As if watching a clown—desperately trying to dress himself while remaining utterly exposed.

Then she spoke—for the first time since they came home.

Because shared affliction makes you crueler, more precise in triggering a relapse.

She said:

“It was the one you trust and love the most.”

In a flash, Ah Li’s image flooded Li Zhuiyuan’s mind. He had shared everything with her.

And just like that, he calmed.

Li Lan’s eyelids drooped slightly.

The boy opened his right hand. The scars were long gone, but he remembered the five fingernail wounds gouged into the skin.

That night, the girl had pried open his palm, seen his self-inflicted wounds, and turned away in anguish.

The next day, she returned, sitting in the doorway, her foot on the threshold.

If it had been Ah Li who leaked the info—did she tell Liu Yumei, who then passed it on through her contacts?

It was logically sound.

But only if Ah Li could speak.

“Heh... hehe… hehehehehe…”

Li Zhuiyuan laughed.

What he thought would be a deep and complex riddle ended with simple arithmetic.

The painstaking build-up, the intimate setting between mother and son—the sharpest dagger in the world is a lie wrapped in truth.

He looked up at Li Lan across the table.

You shouldn’t have added that last sentence.

You thought it was the final straw.

But you handed me the rope.

That one slip of yours exposed your play: the Ji’an Civil Defense Report was your probability card.

You couldn’t get Luo Gong to submit to interrogation, but you had access to his résumé. You could see, from his behavior afterward, his fixation on the Goguryeo phantoms in the defense structure.

You must’ve also read the report on the Yong State underground palace. You calculated that Luo Gong probably talked to us about it—because I’m still his student.

But whether he actually did, you didn’t know.

This was a probability play. And if I really dove into figuring out who leaked it, I’d be walking straight into your trap.

Li Zhuiyuan didn’t respond immediately. He tore a report sheet and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Then picked up the pen again and began writing about Zhu Changyong.

Tan Yunlong had probably already reported most of it, but the detail about the turtle crawling out of Zheng Haiyang’s family’s mouths—he didn’t know that part.

After pushing the written sheet toward Li Lan, Li Zhuiyuan picked up the Ji’an Civil Defense Project Report again.

Yes, Luo Gong had said he filed a report—but received no follow-up. Because his report described a “dream,” and amid all the others, it seemed unremarkable.

But even before Luo Gong’s team arrived, even before the flooding began, people had already died.

And when they did arrive, many got trapped inside. Luo Gong surviving was nothing short of miraculous.

They really did dig something up in the mountain. Not a tomb. Not a shrine. Not an underground palace.

But…

The conclusion to the report was missing.

Not because Li Lan had withheld it—she didn’t know either. Or perhaps, she couldn’t bring the complete report home.

But that didn’t matter. The conclusion was still just educated guesswork.

He’d go himself someday. He wasn’t particularly interested in Goguryeo culture—but he was very curious about Luo Gong’s “white moonlight.”

That night, listening to Luo Gong tell the story, he had sensed omissions. This report only confirmed it.

The exchange was over.

Li Zhuiyuan stood from the table—not heading for the door, but toward the counter. He picked up the kettle, washed it at the sink, filled it with water, and put it back to boil.

As the water heated, he grabbed the rag from the counter, scrubbed the sink’s stained edges clean, then rinsed and folded the rag neatly by the side.

The kettle began to whistle.

Li Zhuiyuan walked over to Li Lan, picked up the glass she had used earlier for tap water.

Li Lan watched his movements, her face calm.

But her hands had disappeared into her coat sleeves.

Li Zhuiyuan poured the boiling water into the cup, then gently blew on it.

“Hoo… hoo… hoo…”

Then, smiling with innocent warmth, he offered it to her.

“Mom, drink some hot water.”

Li Lan’s body trembled. Her breathing quickened. Veins bulged at her neck.

Come on then.

Let’s make each other sick.

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