Chapter 109: Qu Chen

Chu Susu was very unaccustomed to Kong Zhizhen’s touch and instinctively flung her away, her tone slightly cold: “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

As far as she knew, this person and Qiao Qian weren’t acquainted at all.

Kong Zhizhen, wearing a black hooded raincoat, shook her head. There was a hint of urgency in her gaze as she gestured for Chu Susu not to press for details just yet.

“What were you looking at just now?”

After realizing that the other might be able to see souls, Chu Susu hadn’t let her gaze drift toward Qiao Qian again. Instead, she stared intently at Kong Zhizhen.

She wanted to discern whether it was just a casual glance or if Kong Zhizhen truly had something extraordinary about her.

“Nothing.” Kong Zhizhen blinked, her voice not particularly clear amid the sound of the rain. “I just saw you staring at the air the whole time and thought there might be something there.”

The sky was overcast, and with most of her face hidden under the hood, Chu Susu couldn’t make out her expression.

Whether this was a lie or not, only Kong Zhizhen herself knew.

Chu Susu had her suspicions but kept her composure, leading her to a secluded corner where no one would notice.

She and Qiao Qian had been good friends for many years, after all. Even if Chu Susu deliberately avoided looking at her right now, Qiao Qian immediately caught on.

She floated over on her own, hovering nearby as she sized up the two of them.

“I don’t know this person. She’s not my friend,” Qiao Qian whispered softly into Chu Susu’s ear. “But…”

Her tone seemed a bit hesitant as she trailed off.

“I keep feeling like she’s different from ordinary people somehow. But I haven’t been a soul for long, so I can’t quite put my finger on it. I can only get a general sense.”

By all rights, only Chu Susu should be able to hear Qiao Qian’s voice.

As Qiao Qian spoke, Chu Susu kept watching Kong Zhizhen’s reaction and saw no change in her expression. Only then did she relax.

It wouldn’t be convenient to respond to Qiao Qian in front of Kong Zhizhen—otherwise, she’d look like she was talking to herself.

So Chu Susu subtly made a hand gesture behind her back to signal to Qiao Qian that she understood.

“Miss Kong, what exactly are you trying to say?” She then asked Kong Zhizhen coldly. “This is my friend’s funeral. If you don’t have anything important, I’m afraid I can’t entertain you right now.”

Unexpectedly, the next few words from Kong Zhizhen sent a jolt through her heart. Even the Qiao Qian floating in midair couldn’t help but reveal a stunned expression.

“I can sense it—your friend isn’t dead.”

Kong Zhizhen’s expression was utterly calm, and paired with her black raincoat, she seemed somewhat enigmatic.

Today’s Kong Zhizhen was markedly different from usual. In the two previous encounters Chu Susu had with her, she’d always dressed in an extremely flashy, individualistic style—eye-catching in a crowd, like a peacock fanning its tail feathers.

But right now, not only was Kong Zhizhen makeup-free, she was dressed head to toe in black, as if afraid of drawing any attention.

Her serene, bottomless eyes were utterly at odds with the pouring rain.

Chu Susu reacted quickly, forcibly suppressing her shock and putting on an offended expression. Her beautiful eyes widened:

“What do you mean? Please respect the deceased and don’t say such things.”

This was a secret between Han Xuan and Qiao Qian. By rights, aside from Chu Susu, no fourth person should know.

Could it be that she wasn’t an ordinary person after all?

“I know you might be very surprised, but it’s all true.”

Kong Zhizhen wasn’t surprised by her reaction and didn’t get angry. She simply continued,

“I don’t know your friend, but I can sense that her soul hasn’t gone to where it’s supposed to.”

Qiao Qian’s figure shifted forward, darting right in front of Kong Zhizhen’s eyes, but the other woman’s gaze didn’t waver in the slightest.

This was beyond the limits of human eye control—it proved she truly couldn’t see Qiao Qian.

Of course, Chu Susu wasn’t foolish enough to admit it outright. She just kept up her irritated act and raised her voice: “I’m saying it again—show some respect! Otherwise, I’ll call security from the cemetery and have you leave.”

At those words, Kong Zhizhen sighed in disappointment but showed no intention of giving up.

“If after hearing what I have to say next, you still think I’m talking nonsense, then I’ll leave on my own.”

The rain grew heavier, making it hard to even see her mouth moving. Only faint remnants of her voice lingered.

“I can sense one other thing—that you’ve lost your memory twice before.”

For a long moment, Chu Susu didn’t respond. Silence hung between them.

But Kong Zhizhen was satisfied to see her pupils visibly contract.

She knew she’d hit the mark.

“How did you ‘sense’ that?” Chu Susu narrowed her eyes warily. “Explain clearly.”

She had only recently read those related books, and alarm bells were ringing in her mind. Could Kong Zhizhen be a witch like Han Xuan?

But that idea had too many inconsistencies. First, Kong Zhizhen’s abilities were clearly different from Han Xuan’s—as a witch, she shouldn’t be unable to see Qiao Qian.

Second, the raincoat she wore today covered her eyes so thoroughly there was no chance of using them as a medium.

In any case, Chu Susu wouldn’t bring up that keyword herself.

She figured Kong Zhizhen wouldn’t reveal her origins—and sure enough, that was the case.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” Kong Zhizhen said lightly. “But what I can tell you is that I can indeed see things others can’t.”

“Oh?”

Chu Susu stared hard at her eyes, trying to detect any familiar purple hue. In the end, she only saw the most ordinary brown.

She suddenly stepped closer, exuding an oppressive aura: “Then tell me—when did you first notice?”

Kong Zhizhen paused, then lifted her face to meet Chu Susu’s gaze without a hint of fear:

“A few months ago, the first time I saw you.”

—

The music festival was packed with people, her friends laughing and chatting nearby, occasionally casting curious glances at those around them.

Kong Zhizhen was focused on the music onstage when a friend nudged her: “Hey, isn’t that girl your type?”

“My type?” She didn’t take it seriously, assuming her friend was just teasing. “Come on.”

“Just take a look.”

After being prodded several times, Kong Zhizhen finally turned her head.

And in that instant, she froze in place, her gaze locked onto that girl and refusing to budge.

Her friend thought she’d been stunned by the looks and chuckled mischievously before coughing lightly to urge her to seize the opportunity.

Her friend knew her pretty well, it had to be said.

That girl was indeed strikingly beautiful, poised and elegant, with a unique aura that made her stand out in the crowd.

But that wasn’t why Kong Zhizhen was stunned.

In truth, from the very first glance, she hadn’t even paid attention to the girl’s appearance.

The only thing she noticed—were pitch-black lines, like chains, coiled around the girl.

In Kong Zhizhen’s vision, Chu Susu was like a bird imprisoned in a cage, bound from every angle without a single gap, airtight, with not even room to breathe.

Only near her heart were there two small openings.

—

Kong Zhizhen’s description was extremely vague, leaving Chu Susu baffled. She couldn’t help frowning: “Chains? Black lines?”

She didn’t have anything like that on her.

“Yes, that’s what I saw. Inside the chains, there’s a layer of faint white mist—that’s what’s keeping the chains from invading you.”

Kong Zhizhen swallowed, speaking slowly as if struggling to depict exactly what she’d seen.

“So what do those black lines do? Is the white mist protecting me?”

“Those black lines are curses.”

Curses?

Chu Susu’s eyes went blank for a moment. She recalled a passage from the book—

Dark-hearted, twisted witches liked to cast curses on humans.

But she quickly dismissed the dangerous thought.

Chu Susu told herself in her mind that the book’s accounts might not be reliable.

She saw a glint of longing in Kong Zhizhen’s eyes as the other woman continued slowly.

“And that white mist is the purest demonic power.”

“I admit, from the start, I approached you because of that white mist and the black chains. Devouring it—or even just staying near it—would benefit me greatly.”

“That time in the restaurant when I saw you and sat down next to you, it was because I was drawn to whatever was on you again.”

“At first, my intentions weren’t pure.” Kong Zhizhen gave a stiff smile here. “But I never expected that someone even more powerful was already by your side. I got a taste of my own medicine that day, so I never dared contact you again after.”

In just a few words, Chu Susu fully understood what Kong Zhizhen meant.

If what she said was true, then there seemed to be something on her body that could tempt her, to the point that Kong Zhizhen wanted to approach her to gain some benefits.

But on the day they had bumped into each other by chance at the restaurant, Han Xuan had been there too. Not only had Kong Zhizhen failed to achieve her goal, she’d ended up falling into the hospital instead.

From the looks of it, Kong Zhizhen was a being similar to the Witch, but her abilities were far inferior—or rather, her “magic” ability was so feeble that it didn’t even deserve to be called that.

Her logic held up for now, but why had the other woman suddenly shown up at Qiao Qian’s funeral and confessed all this to her?

Chu Susu knew her reaction right now had already exposed a flaw. If she were an ordinary person completely ignorant of these things, she wouldn’t have chatted with Kong Zhizhen for so long.

“Last time, I learned my lesson. I shouldn’t have approached you again.” Kong Zhizhen hesitated, a conflicted look on her face. “But…”

“What?”

“But just now, when I saw you from afar… I discovered…”

Kong Zhizhen seemed to be afraid of something, her lips pursed tight, a trace of panic flickering in her eyes.

“The lingering Han Xuan aura on your body has become extremely faint. It’s almost gone.”

“Has something happened to her? Or did something badly injure her?”

At the same time, Qiao Qian’s figure hovered silently behind Kong Zhizhen, her gaze cold and piercing.

After a long moment, she made a small gesture toward Chu Susu. Her lips parted slightly, forming silent words—mouthing them without a sound.

“Don’t believe her.”