Qiao Qian’s funeral had already turned unpleasant under Yu Zize’s interference, making the already heavy atmosphere even more so.
In the end, Chu Susu didn’t pay Kong Zhizhen any more attention, even though the other had said things she cared deeply about—
Like “Han Xuan’s aura has grown faint” or “Is she injured?” and the like.
“I’m just worried about myself,” Kong Zhizhen called out from behind her. “Though I’ve only met Han Xuan once, I’ve sensed her aura… Whoever could severely injure Han Xuan is definitely no ordinary foe. If I ran into them, I wouldn’t stand a chance either.”
But Chu Susu didn’t turn back because of this; she said nothing and left straight away.
Qiao Qian’s figure hovered by her side, calmly recounting her observations:
“I don’t know Han Xuan well enough to tell if this person’s telling the truth. But her eyes were glazed over, her condition all wrong. She’s clearly alive, yet shrouded in an aura of ‘death qi’.”
Indeed, just now they had all clearly seen Kong Zhizhen’s body twitching uncontrollably. If not for the black raincoat covering it, it could almost be called neurotic.
“Maybe she really sensed something and came to you out of self-preservation. But my advice is, no need to mind her. Better to avoid trouble.”
Chu Susu nodded, indicating she felt the same as Qiao Qian.
But it was undeniable that the words “severely injured” kept lingering in her mind.
Could Han Xuan get injured too?
She probably couldn’t.
Chu Susu forcibly suppressed the thought, inevitably recalling that rainy night a few days ago.
By the window, bodies intertwined, shadows flickering. She was held by the back of her head, nose tip pressed against Han Xuan’s, going back and forth, in and out, countless times.
At this thought, a hint of annoyance flickered in Chu Susu’s eyes. She quickly shook off the restless stray thoughts.
…She’d been brimming with energy while doing those things—how could she be injured?
Han Xuan hadn’t attended Qiao Qian’s funeral, but the next day, she appeared at the entrance of the funeral home.
The cemetery was the resting place for Qiao Qian’s body, and her parents didn’t want too many people disturbing it. So they rented a mourning hall at the funeral home, set up a spirit tablet, for friends and colleagues who weren’t that close in life to come pay respects.
Chu Susu had no work these days anyway, so she came early again to accompany Qiao Qian’s parents.
Watching others burn incense and bow before one’s own spirit tablet felt utterly bizarre—Qiao Qian now frowned, head lowered, observing it all with complicated emotions.
Even knowing her soul was still around, Chu Susu solemnly burned some things for her. The faint scent seemed to calm her spirit somewhat.
She quietly inserted the incense into the holder, her voice barely audible, meant only for Qiao Qian beside her:
“After seeing everything after death, do you still want to leave?”
The world wouldn’t stop turning for one less person. The company would hire new employees, friends might grieve but would forget in time.
Suicide hurt no one—only blood-bound parents and family suffered unimaginable pain.
Chu Susu sincerely hoped Qiao Qian could see this clearly and cherish her life.
The ethereal figure beside her remained silent for a long time, clearly lost in thought.
Qiao Qian’s parents were outside greeting visitors, with occasional voices drifting in, mostly words of comfort.
Chu Susu stood in the mourning hall, gazing at the wooden tablet inscribed with Qiao Qian’s name, slightly lost in a daze. Then those intermittent voices suddenly caught her ear.
“My condolences.”
The voice was soft, the tone faint, instantly drawing her gaze as she turned to find the source.
There weren’t many visitors for Qiao Qian; among the sparse figures, Han Xuan stood out in her black dress.
Her expression was calm, her attitude neither too familiar nor cold—perfectly distant.
Whether from the sunlight or illusion, Chu Susu felt Han Xuan’s cheeks looked even paler, devoid of any color.
Her already slender frame seemed even more fragile, the fabric hanging loosely on her, looser than before.
The moment their eyes met, Chu Susu felt a rush of blood to her head. She strode out directly, ignoring Qiao Qian’s parents’ surprised looks, grabbed Han Xuan’s wrist, and dragged her inside.
“Where have you been these past few days?” she asked, gritting her teeth slightly.
The mourning hall was dim; Han Xuan’s face bathed in shadow, giving off an indescribable fragility.
She stared at her wrist gripped tightly, a red mark forming from Chu Susu’s palm. She didn’t shake it off, only softly called:
“Susu.”
But Chu Susu’s gaze seemed to bore through her: “I’m asking where you’ve been.”
After that day, she’d gone back to that neighborhood once more, but the invisible door seemed openable only by Han Xuan herself. Standing alone there, it was just a dusty, long-unoccupied ordinary apartment.
“Tell me,” Chu Susu’s narrow eyes sharp, brows and eyes edged with ferocity, voice uncontrolled. “Han Xuan, what the hell do you mean? How many times have I looked for you? You show up when you want, vanish when you want—what am I to you?”
She already had a naturally intimidating look, and now truly angry, her presence was overwhelming—even Qiao Qian nearby jumped in fright.
She wanted to dissuade, but couldn’t get a word in.
Chu Susu’s grip on Han Xuan’s wrist tightened, uncaring if it hurt: “So you’re still not planning to tell me, right? About those two missing pieces of my memory.”
Qiao Qian knew she had a temper, but Chu Susu wasn’t usually one to flare up so easily, much less embarrass someone in front of others. It felt off to her.
Still, hearing their vague talk of “memory,” she wondered if there was some backstory she didn’t know. Hesitating, she softly said: “Susu, you…”
Their commotion was loud enough to draw worried glances from Qiao Qian’s parents—they naturally didn’t want arguments before their daughter’s tablet, lest it disturb her.
Considering this, Chu Susu barely reined in her anger and coldly gestured for Han Xuan to follow her out.
The two moved to a quiet spot outside the funeral home to talk.
But no matter what she said, Han Xuan just hung her head in silence, eyes occasionally flickering, giving none of the answers Chu Susu wanted.
Qiao Qian looked pained; after all, Han Xuan had given her a chance to choose, a benefactor. Seeing Chu Susu so provoked, she wanted to clear up the misunderstanding.
“Han Xuan, say something,” the hovering figure urged anxiously, pacing back and forth. “What did you do to piss Susu off this much? At least explain!”
What was with the endless silence?
But Han Xuan remained wordless.
Chu Susu seemed tired too, taking a deep breath: “No need to speak for her.”
With that, she decisively raised her hand, tone full of disappointment: “If you’re not here to explain, then don’t stay.”
These words seemed to strike a nerve in Han Xuan.
She finally lifted her head in a daze, softly saying:
“But tonight is the waxing gibbous moon.”
Witches are inherently bound threefold by the laws, and every waxing gibbous night was their most vulnerable time.
Not only could they not use magic, but they’d grow weak all over, covered in eerie, bewitching red patterns, fragile beyond compare—worse than an ordinary person.
Only staying in a home filled with Chu Susu’s aura could ward off the things lurking in the damp darkness.
“So what? I don’t care.”
Chu Susu’s expression was icy, resolute: “Since you’re hiding things from me, I have no reason to take you home anymore.”
“Susu…”
“No room for discussion.” Her beautiful eyes widened, lips parting, each word cutting deep.
“Han Xuan, I don’t want to see you again.”
Qiao Qian in midair gaped, eyes darting between them, unsure how to persuade.
Chu Susu wasn’t usually like this—why was she like she’d swallowed dynamite today, even sentencing her to “death”?
Instinct told her something was wrong, but knowing little of their history, she couldn’t say what.
“…Susu.”
Han Xuan blinked forlornly: “I…”
“You’re not leaving, huh.” Chu Susu’s chest heaved as she flung off her hand. “Fine, I’ll go.”
True to her word, she turned and strode away down the path at the funeral home entrance without looking back.
Even after dozens of meters, Han Xuan’s figure still stood there.
Head slightly bowed, she looked utterly dejected.
Eyes rimmed red, on the verge of tears.
“Oh dear, this…”
Qiao Qian looked around helplessly, unsure whom to comfort first, staying put to console Han Xuan. “Don’t be too upset, Susu she…”
But before she finished, she shut her mouth in shock.
Because she saw Han Xuan raise her head. Though her long lashes held lingering tears, her eyes were clear, devoid of any grievance or sorrow.
This left Qiao Qian baffled. What was going on with these two?
Han Xuan smiled carelessly, as if nothing had happened.
She didn’t offer any explanation to Qiao Qian, merely shaking her head to indicate it was nothing.
Then, thoughtfully, she raised her hand and stared at it intently.
As if savoring the sensation of someone’s fingertip scraping across her palm moments ago.
“Should I go persuade Susu?” Qiao Qian was completely baffled.
“No need.”
There seemed to be an implication in Han Xuan’s words:
“She probably doesn’t want you to go over.”
When Chu Susu burst onto the main street, the emotions from earlier were still churning inside her. It took a good while for her to calm down, only to realize she was leaning against the wall at the street corner, standing there in a daze.
The taste of being deceived and kept in the dark was far from pleasant.
Vehicles surged past like crashing waves before her eyes, yet she walked forward with lifeless eyes, aimlessly, with no idea where she was headed.
The one thing she was certain of was that her complexion right now must look utterly awful.
The long pedestrian overpass was surprisingly empty. Chu Susu turned off her phone and stood stunned beneath it for a long time.
A puddle on the ground reflected her haggard, soul-lost face.
She was just about to step onto the overpass when a car nearby slowly rolled down its window. With a hint of surprise, a voice called her name:
“Susu?”
Chu Susu turned around and peered fixedly.
For an instant, a flash of disappointment crossed her eyes, as if the very thing she least wanted to happen had come to pass.
But it was gone in a blink, unnoticed by anyone.
“Why are you here?”
