Late Night Bookstore - Chapter 12
The owner smiled faintly, without the slightest hint of anger, merely finding the situation amusing.
A person’s aura and demeanor often convey more credibility than their words.
Hiss…
A crisp, drawn-out sound echoed, resembling the shedding of a snake’s skin, as the owner began peeling away his own skin.
At the same time, the owner’s frame gradually shrank, his physique becoming thinner, like a balloon slowly deflating after a small puncture.
Now, Zhou Ze finally understood why the bowl of noodles had been overcooked. This kind of transformation undoubtedly took time.
Although the owner still wore his apron and clothes, his face had turned into that of a somewhat youthful young man. The young man’s lips curved in a smile, exuding a natural allure, especially the delicate arc at the corners of his eyes, enough to stir a subtle itch in the hearts of those nearby, regardless of gender— just the right amount of charm.
It felt odd to describe a man as “charming,” but some men are innately more seductive than women, reminiscent of ancient emperors who indulged in male favorites. Such men, it seemed, could be more feminine than women themselves.
“Am I attractive?” the young man asked Zhou Ze.
Zhou Ze, feeling a wave of nausea return after barely suppressing it earlier, apologetically waved his hand and held his chest as if trying to avoid vomiting.
Every grain in the dish represents hard-earned labor, Zhou Ze thought, fully aware of the effort behind each meal, especially food that had already entered his stomach and was about to be digested.
The young man sat down on a chair nearby, casually playing with a lighter. He scrutinized Zhou Ze, curious because Zhou Ze had seen through his disguise. He had thought his imitation was flawless, especially in a small eatery like this, where nothing should have gone wrong.
Most importantly, he had been mimicking his own parents.
Ever since childhood, he had carefully observed every gesture and expression of his parents, etching their mannerisms into his memory.
“How did you discover me?” The young man could no longer hold back.
“Aren’t you a ghost?” Zhou Ze asked simultaneously.
The young man frowned slightly, thinking Zhou Ze was mocking him for pretending to be something supernatural. But in fact, Zhou Ze had assumed from the start that he was a ghost.
Zhou Ze didn’t like to meddle in other people’s business, especially since he himself had recently been quibbling over the price of a freezer. He didn’t feel qualified to intervene. Yet, this matter was happening next door, so ignoring it wasn’t an option.
So Zhou Ze felt that no matter what, it was better to confront the situation first. If it was something easy to resolve, he would handle it himself. If it was difficult, he could always move again.
“It’s your nails,” Zhou Ze said. “I have a sensitivity to nails.”
The owner’s wife had served Zhou Ze his noodles and the owner himself had offered him a cigarette. Their nails had been clearly visible to him.
Although the texture and thickness of their fingers differed, the patterns on their nails were identical.
Recently, Zhou Ze had been paying extra attention to nails, not just his own, but other people’s as well.
The young man squinted slightly, his gaze showing a trace of frustration. Details, it seemed, were not up to par. Even though he had let his guard down, being caught was still a slip on his part.
“You’re really not a ghost?” Zhou Ze pressed.
If this person were human, it would indeed be bizarre. Zhou Ze hadn’t encountered many ghosts in his time, aside from his journey through the underworld. In the human world, such encounters were exceedingly rare.
“Skin painting is an ancestral craft passed down in my family,” the young man said as he stood up and reached for Zhou Ze’s hand, placing it on his chest. “However, it was lost for many generations and it wasn’t until my generation that it was rediscovered.”
The gesture felt intimate and inappropriate but Zhou Ze instinctively squeezed. He didn’t think his lack of sleep— thanks to Dr. Lin— was causing him to develop an attraction to men. Still, the young man before him was indeed more seductive than most women.
“No bones?” Zhou Ze showed a look of surprise. “No, it’s osteomalacia.”
Osteomalacia, also known as rickets, was a condition caused by a deficiency of calcium, leading to impaired bone mineralization, softening of the bones and susceptibility to deformation. Zhou Ze, having been a doctor, was familiar with the condition. However, just as even a common cold can have many variations and different pathologies, osteomalacia also has many subcategories and the young man in front of him seemed to be an extreme case.
Ancient records from the Spring and Autumn period spoke of a prince from the State of Lu who suffered from such a condition. His body was so soft and boneless that he could move like a snake as well as walk like a person.
“You can think of it as a hereditary disease, one that only manifests in rare cases. None of my ancestors managed to master the skin-painting technique because they didn’t have this condition. As for me…”
The young man smiled but didn’t finish his sentence.
“So, you really aren’t a ghost?” Zhou Ze asked again, still unconvinced.
“My name is Xu Qinglang,” the young man replied solemnly.
“Who are you imitating?” Zhou Ze asked.
“My father and mother.”
Zhou Ze paused, a wry smile appearing on his face.
Well, this is awkward.
After finishing his noodles earlier and watching Dr. Lin leave, Zhou Ze had tried to provoke the young man, hoping to expose him. But instead, it turned out that Xu Qinglang was merely role-playing to honor his deceased parents.
From Zhou Ze’s perspective, however, he had mistakenly assumed the young man was a ghost, akin to those in stories like “Painted Skin”, where a ghost murders someone, steals their skin and pretends to be human.
“Well… I’m sorry, then.”
It felt inappropriate to joke about someone’s mother.
“I’m not angry,” Xu Qinglang said. “But I am curious. Why did you think I was a ghost?”
“No particular reason.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost?” Xu Qinglang asked.
“I am a ghost,” Zhou Ze said seriously, looking directly at Xu Qinglang.
His expression was earnest, his demeanor solemn, as if revealing a deep truth.
Xu Qinglang froze for a moment, then couldn’t help but burst out laughing. His gaze toward Zhou Ze softened, as if looking at a fool.
Zhou Ze nodded. Sometimes, even when you tell the truth, people think you’re joking.
“Anyway, my apologies. By the way, that skin, was it real human skin?” Zhou Ze asked out of curiosity.
“Fish skin,” Xu Qinglang replied, “processed, painted and crafted.”
“Then why are you selling noodles?” Zhou Ze said, somewhat confused. ” I’ve heard that a snakeskin garment from the Hezhe tribe can fetch a significant price when sold as a work of art. Yours should be worth even more, don’t you think?”
“I can’t bring myself to sell family heirlooms for profit.”
“Then you must be pretty well-off,” Zhou Ze said.
“My family just went through a redevelopment relocation,” Xu Qinglang didn’t answer directly. “We got over twenty apartments.”
“…………”
Zhou Ze took a deep breath.
Life really is unfair. In his past life, he had worked hard as a doctor and earned little, while this man had casually inherited twenty apartments.
Though Tongcheng wasn’t Shanghai, real estate prices were still steep, easily exceeding ten thousand yuan per square meter.
Heir to a fortune—so enviable.
Zhou Ze shook his head, “So, are you going to keep making noodles?”
“Are you going to keep selling books?” Xu Qinglang asked in return.
Both men asked their questions at the same time.
“For now,” Zhou Ze answered.
“Same here.”
“Alright then. By the way, do you have other flavors of sour plum juice?” Zhou Ze was genuinely curious. “Like bitter melon or grape?”
“I have secret recipes. I can make them,” Xu Qinglang answered honestly.
“Great.” Zhou Ze patted Xu Qinglang on the shoulder.
His touch sank into Xu Qinglang’s soft, pliable body. It felt like pressing into cotton—weak and boneless. Imagining Xu Qinglang lying on a bed…
Zhou Ze quickly conjured the image of Dr. Lin stepping out of the shower in her nightgown to suppress his inappropriate thoughts.
Zhou Ze left the noodle shop, while Xu Qinglang entered the back room, lifting a curtain to reveal a woman’s skin hanging inside.
“Mom, do you think he believed me or not?” Xu Qinglang asked.
The woman’s skin swayed gently, as if saying “no” or perhaps uncertain herself.
……………
Back at his bookstore, Zhou Ze saw that the freezer had been set up. Now, he just had to reorganize the failing bookstore that Xu Le had left behind. It couldn’t continue losing money like this.
The sign outside read “Xu Le’s Bookstore,” a name so outdated it practically screamed bankruptcy.
In any case, the entire store reflected an air of inevitable failure, both inside and out.
Zhou Ze sat at his computer and tried several times to log into his old QQ account but couldn’t get past the security verification. Appeals didn’t work either.
In the end, Zhou Ze left the shop and hailed a taxi. He planned to change the store’s name or put up a new sign.
He knew an elderly man who ran a sign-making shop, specializing in wooden plaques. The man had often donated to an orphanage Zhou Ze had been part of as a child. Even when Zhou Ze grew up and began working, the two had continued donating together.
The sign-making shop wasn’t far— just at the foot of Langshan Mountain. All the surrounding shops sold incense and candles, except this one, which sold plaques.
However, when Zhou Ze arrived, he found the shop undergoing a major cleanup. Even the plaques had been taken down.
A middle-aged man was directing the workers.
“Who are you?” the man asked when he saw Zhou Ze approach.
“I’m looking for Mr. Zhao,” Zhou Ze replied, speaking respectfully of the elderly craftsman.
“Sorry, my father passed away last month,” the man answered.
“Passed away?” Zhou Ze was taken aback and felt a twinge of sadness. Although he hadn’t been close with Mr. Zhao, they had known of each other for many years. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t been invited to the funeral.
Besides, the old man’s family probably had no affection for the orphanage that had always benefited from his donations. They likely didn’t want to notify the orphanage of the funeral for fear of further financial requests.
“Are you here to order a plaque?” the middle-aged man asked.
“Yes,” Zhou Ze nodded.
“We’re not making plaques anymore,” the man apologized. “From now on, we’re selling incense and candles.”
Langshan, being one of the ten lesser-known sacred Buddhist mountains, didn’t attract many tourists. But during festivals, the locals would visit to burn incense and pray. That alone made selling incense and candles a lucrative business.
It was a classic case of living off the resources at hand.
“That’s a pity,” Zhou Ze said, feeling a little regretful.
He decided he’d visit the old man’s grave.
“However, we still have a few plaques my father made before he passed. They weren’t custom orders, so they’ve been sitting around. If you like any, I can sell them to you cheaply,” the middle-aged man said, intending to get rid of them as scrap.
“Sure, let me take a look,” Zhou Ze agreed.
He followed the middle-aged man to a small courtyard in the back. The man unlocked a storage room and turned on the light.
Inside, a jumble of old tools and materials was scattered about. Clearly, the man’s children had no intention of continuing the sign-making craft.
These days, everyone used neon or LED signs. No one had the patience for hand-carved wooden plaques anymore. It was hard work and didn’t bring in much money.
Fwoo… The middle-aged man blew on a few plaques on the ground and said, “Take a look, 200 yuan each. If you see one you like, you can take it. If not, no hard feelings.”
It was clear the man wasn’t hopeful about selling them.
Zhou Ze walked over to inspect the plaques.
The first one read: “Life and death are predestined, wealth and honor come from fate.”
Zhou Ze shook his head. The man sighed, knowing that plaque wouldn’t sell.
The next one read: “Men fear ghosts. Ghosts understand the cruelty of men’s hearts.”
Zhou Ze paused, intrigued. He had a sensitivity to this sort of thing.
The man didn’t bother sighing this time. No one would want such a grim sign for their shop.
The third plaque read: “Believe it or not, this is what I heard.”
Zhou Ze chuckled.
Seeing Zhou Ze’s smile, the man grinned as well. Finally, someone was interested in one.
Storyteller Bamboo Ninja's Words
Hey! ༼ つ ◕‿◕ ༽つ Thank you for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed it! Updates will happen daily (will notify in discord if I take a break)
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