Chapter Ninety-Four: Silent Contempt

So, I decided to split up with Peng Li. I instructed Peng Li to quickly track down the address of that ghostly scholar and detain him, while I would immediately go and find Wang Feiyang.

Wang Feiyang is a professional paper craftsman, and I believed that only he might be able to explain the mysteries confronting us at this moment.

Soon, we left the funeral parlor. Peng Li returned directly to the police station to command the technical department to pinpoint the ghost scholar's location as soon as possible, while I hailed a cab to the Triangle Monument.

When I arrived at General Fei’s paper crafting shop, I saw Wang Feiyang sitting on a small stool at the entrance, focused intently on weaving bamboo strips with his slender knife.

At his feet lay a large pile of bamboo strips, thin as paper. A gentle breeze stirred them, causing the strips to flutter lightly into the air.

“Brother Yang!” I called as I approached and stood beside him. Wang Feiyang looked up and, beneath his cold gaze, a hint of warmth appeared. “Wu Dao, what brings you here?”

I replied with a grin, “Just missed you. So, how much progress have you made now?”

He answered confidently, “I can now weave seventy-two strands!”

Hearing this, my heart leapt with joy. “Not bad, Brother Yang! Last time you were only at forty-nine strands. Didn’t expect such improvement in just a few days.”

Wang Feiyang pursed his lips and said, “Still far from one hundred twenty-eight strands. You always come knocking only when you need something. So, what’s the matter this time?”

Wang Feiyang had indeed changed. Though his appearance remained as cold as ever, I sensed a newfound calm and composure within him. The harshness that once lingered about him had softened significantly.

Without beating around the bush, I explained everything that had happened in recent days and finally asked if he knew anything about the paper figure.

Wang Feiyang shook his head. “I haven’t seen Wang Lun’s body personally, so I can’t say for sure.”

I asked if he could come with me, and he immediately put away his bamboo knife and headed towards the shop.

Before he entered, a voice called out from inside — Yan Fei. He said Wang Feiyang wasn’t officially part of the paper crafting shop yet, so he didn’t need to report his whereabouts.

From Yan Fei’s tone, I detected a hint of displeasure, as if he blamed me for disturbing Wang Feiyang at this time. I had wanted to ask Yan Fei if he knew anything about the paper figure, but seeing his attitude, I dropped the thought.

I hurriedly said, “Brother Yang, if it’s inconvenient for you, then forget it!”

Wang Feiyang shot me a sharp glance, then decisively walked toward me instead of entering the shop. He simply said one word: “Let’s go.”

“But Brother Yang, Master Yan might be unhappy!”

He sneered coldly. “Since you asked me to come, what does it matter if I’m not Yan Fei’s disciple?”

Without hesitation, Wang Feiyang strode out. At that moment, a sharp command came from inside the shop: “Stop!”

Wang Feiyang didn’t even turn his head. Then I heard a sigh from inside, followed by a faintly black-glowing bamboo knife flying out and landing firmly in the dirt before Wang Feiyang.

“Young man, your old knife looks dull. Here’s a new one. Handle your friend’s matter well—don’t disgrace the Flying General’s Paper Shop!”

Hearing Yan Fei’s words and seeing the knife in front of Wang Feiyang, an indescribable joy surged within me.

For a moment, a faint smile appeared on Wang Feiyang’s cold face. He bent down and swiftly drew the knife, and I distinctly heard a hum.

“Silent Blade.”

Wang Feiyang stared at the knife, expressionless, and recited the two characters engraved on the blade. Besides the edge, the entire knife was etched with strange runes. Silent Blade must be its name.

“Thank you, Master!” Wang Feiyang turned back and bowed deeply to Yan Fei, his face brimming with emotion.

Yan Fei’s voice came through once more: “No! Until you weave a hundred twenty-eight strands, I don’t recognize you as my disciple!”

With that, the shop’s door slammed shut, and Yan Fei’s voice fell silent.

I congratulated Wang Feiyang and together we took a taxi back to the funeral parlor.

Because Peng Li had already notified the police there, they didn’t stop us when we said we wanted to examine Wang Lun’s body again. Once inside, I immediately lifted the lid off Wang Lun’s ice coffin for Wang Feiyang to inspect.

Wang Feiyang stared at the body for over ten seconds. Then, as if he had discovered something, he suddenly struck Wang Lun’s chest with the Silent Blade. I did not stop him but watched quietly to see what he intended.

The blade was incredibly sharp. Before it even touched the chest, it had already sliced open a gash. Wang Feiyang withdrew the knife and slid his hand into the opening.

Though I already knew Wang Lun’s body was actually a paper figure, seeing this still sent a chill down my spine.

Wang Feiyang’s hand probed inside, searching as if for something. After about ten seconds, a trace of excitement appeared on his cold face. He seemed to have found something and slowly withdrew his hand.

At that moment, I saw a dark, coconut-shaped object in his palm.

“What’s that?” I asked, frowning.

“A heart! A paper-crafted heart!” Wang Feiyang tossed it aside without hesitation, then plunged his hand back into Wang Lun’s chest. For the next minute, he pulled out a liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys—all made of paper, yet with no visible signs of construction. They were black, slimy, and utterly repulsive.

I instinctively took a step back. “Who would make such a paper figure? The exterior is lifelike enough, but why replicate internal organs perfectly as well?”

After a moment of thought, Wang Feiyang looked at me seriously and asked, “Are you saying this man was killed half a month ago, yet half a month later, he reappeared outside your school’s KTV, only to be struck on the head by your friend with a beer bottle?”

I nodded eagerly. “Yes. But now it’s clear—the real Wang Lun died half a month ago. This is just a paper figure.”

“No, you’re wrong!” Wang Feiyang immediately contradicted me. “He did die half a month ago, but the one your friend killed later was also him.”

I was stunned. “Brother Yang, what kind of joke is this? I’m more confused than ever.”

Wang Feiyang explained, “This Wang Lun doesn’t know he died half a month ago. To him, the moment your friend killed him is the true death. The organs I pulled out are all exactly like human organs, nothing missing. Without them, he couldn’t have revived.”

I noticed Wang Feiyang had learned to tease a bit. I urged him, “Brother Yang, just tell me—what have you figured out?”

He glanced at Wang Lun’s body, then after a moment’s thought said, “If I’m right, this guy has been made into a paper puppet.”