Chapter 80: Disappearance

Had someone really entered her room? Gu Xianwang gently ran her fingers over the door handle. Her ears twitched slightly, and she suddenly noticed something off in the kitchen.

The sound was gone—the steady drip of water had stopped.

She walked along the wall toward the kitchen. In these self-built houses, the kitchen resembled an old-fashioned balcony: narrow inside, with a narrow doorframe. If someone were crouched in the corner, you wouldn’t spot them without getting close.

The sky outside was growing dimly bright. Tracing the angle of the light spilling across the floor, Gu Xianwang scanned the interior. No one was in the kitchen, but the faucet had been wrapped tight, layer upon layer, in bandages.

Those were her bandages. How had they ended up in the kitchen?

Barefoot, she approached the sink and untied the end of the wrapping. It was bound tightly but haphazardly, as if someone had simply been desperate to stop the leak. It didn’t look like the work of an outsider. Could she have been so exhausted lately that she’d started sleepwalking?

Puzzled as she unwound it, the bandage stretched about five meters long. Near the inner layers, the texture felt wrong. Gu Xianwang looked down closely and saw that the water-soaked sections left faint red stains on her fingertips when pressed. She quickly unraveled the rest, only to discover that the innermost segment was nearly saturated with blood.

In the morning light, she examined her fingers—from the web between her thumb and forefinger to her wrist, patches of dried, faint bloodstains marked her skin. The spots where she’d originally applied the bandages now appeared perfectly smooth, though the color was slightly off. Gu Xianwang rubbed one of the yellowish patches gently with her thumb. With just a bit of pressure, a thin layer of dead skin flaked away.

Something was wrong with her.

Gu Xianwang clutched the bandage in a haphazard fist and hurried into the bathroom. A mirror only slightly larger than a palm hung above the sink. She caught sight of herself: traces of blood still lingered beneath her nose and at the corners of her mouth, her skin eerily pale, making her dark eyes seem almost spectral. She blinked at her reflection, confirming it was indeed her, then abruptly lifted the bandage and inhaled deeply.

A fragrance—a familiar cool scent saturated the fabric, flooding her senses.

Her arm dropped limply. Gu Xianwang stared into the mirror for a long moment before letting out a relieved chuckle.

Now all the symptoms lined up perfectly—if the video on the floppy disk wasn’t a fake. What she was experiencing were the telltale signs of the Forbidden Witch Bone flaring up.

She tossed the sodden pile of bandages into the trash bin. Her shoulders slumped slightly. Well, that was something, at least. Better than the gnawing anxiety of doubting herself earlier. Now, at least, she was certain: she carried the Forbidden Witch Bone. Roads were roads, bridges were bridges. The debts on her body were finally accounted for.

She tugged her collar aside and ripped off the medical tape on her shoulder. The wound beneath had healed more slowly than the one on her arm; the yellow scar and layer of dead skin were still prominent.

Peeling away that layer of transparent skin—like a snake’s shed—she rubbed it between her fingertips. With a slight pinch, it crumbled into powder.

Was this some kind of transformation?

Would she ultimately become a Forbidden Witch, like the Witch Maiden in the cocoon?

No—there were more pressing matters first. If she truly bore the Forbidden Witch Bone, could it spread to Master, Senior Brother, Long Li, or Ye Chan?

Time was short. Gu Xianwang gritted her teeth. She had to understand the progression of her condition and the conditions for transmission—and fast. No matter what, she would protect the people she cared about.

Gu Xianwang scooped up a handful of cold water and washed her face thoroughly. Once she’d tidied up, she gauged the time, stuffed all her materials into her backpack, and hailed a cab straight to the hospital.

Doctor Han had pulled the night shift. Gu Xianwang intercepted him right before he clocked out. At first, he assumed she was inquiring about the ward transfer, but her question cut deeper.

“Did my mother’s skin develop any yellowish spots?”

“Yellowish spots?” Doctor Han guessed she meant bedsores. “For long-term bedridden patients like her, bedsores are quite—”

“No, yellowish spots—pale yellow, like pollen stains. The epidermis doesn’t rot; it’s a bit like mold but flakes off. Did she have any like that?”

So precise? Doctor Han thought back carefully. During rounds, the night nurse had mentioned similar yellowish patches on the patient’s neck and underarms—possibly a skin condition. Since it hadn’t impacted her primary symptoms, they hadn’t pursued it further.

“Yes, she did. Once she’s moved to a regular ward, you can have dermatology take a look.”

Indeed, Gu Xianwang’s heart sank slightly. She pressed on: “Did my mother have a nosebleed the day she was sent to the hospital?”

“Yes.” This time, the doctor answered without hesitation. “I remember it clearly. It wasn’t just a nosebleed—blood was pouring from both her mouth and nose. When she arrived at the emergency room, the oxygen bag was covered in it. If the ER staff hadn’t called ahead, I might have… Well, that’s all behind us now. Rest assured, your mother’s condition is improving steadily. She’s still in a coma, but that’s a sign her body is healing itself.”

Gu Xianwang’s expression remained impassive, untouched by any joy. She knew full well it wasn’t self-healing. Her earlier awakening had been nothing but a fleeting rally—a mere prelude to deeper transformation.

She thanked the doctor and stepped out of the outpatient building. The hospital grounds buzzed with activity, voices rising in a clamor. Outside the parking lot, cars snaked into a endless queue. The city surged around her—crowds, traffic, unrelenting noise—crashing down like a tidal wave.

With a faint frown, she retreated to the flower bed at the wall’s edge and dialed Yao Cuo’s mother.

It was seven in the morning when the call connected after twenty rings. The voice on the other end brimmed with surprise, warmth, and relief. “Xianwang, you’re awake? How are you feeling?”

“Oh dear, did the doctor tell you not to talk too much? Are you still coughing? What’s your temperature like? Auntie hasn’t been able to visit these past few days. Come over once you’re better, and I’ll cook up a feast to build your strength.”

Coughing?

Gu Xianwang tested the waters. “I’m… doing alright. How’s Senior Brother?”

“Sigh, don’t you worry about that boy. Take care of yourself first. When he wakes up, I’ll give him a proper talking-to. The two of you went out together, and he didn’t have a lick of sense—dragging you to such a dangerous spot. Thank goodness you’re okay now, or my heart… Ai, these last few days have been agony.”

Gu Xianwang froze. “Senior Brother still hasn’t woken up?”

A brief silence fell on the line. For all her scolding, she doted on her son deep down. “No, not yet. The doctor says it’s a high fever from a fungal infection in his lungs. But two days ago, someone sent over environmental samples. With the right meds, he’ll bounce back quick. See? Your body’s tougher than his—you woke up sooner. But you two better not pull any more stunts like that. Auntie’s ticker isn’t what it used to be.”

“Once you’re both out of the hospital, we’ll throw a proper spread and invite your Master. We owe him big time this round.”

The woman prattled on about obligations and etiquette, but Gu Xianwang’s face had gone stone-cold.

From their return from Guizhou to now, Senior Brother had remained unconscious from the lung infection. Why hadn’t Master told her? Even Nanny Chen had kept it hidden. The mycelium in that karst cave had clearly hit her harder, yet she showed no signs of infection. She’d assumed her bloodied cough at the altar stemmed from cave spore infestation. But now it seemed the mycelium she’d hacked up was the Forbidden Witch Bone inside her making itself known. Come to think of it, every Gu worm encounter made her the prime target—yet any that tasted her blood died on the spot.

Could the Forbidden Witch Bone work like the Yelang Clan’s Fly Gu Worm? Implanted in the body, did it shield her until activation?

Ye Chan had come through unscathed, likely thanks to the God Eye. Long Li… her constitution was anything but ordinary. Sara and the others were a question mark, but Long Li’s solo trip to Tianjin suggested they might all carry the spores too.

If so, her first order of business was pinning down the infection’s spread and vector. Nanny Chen had surely wiped her down during the coma. If blood had gotten on her…

She needed to head back now. Master might not buy her story, but she had to lay it all out. The Yang Family knew something about the Forbidden Witch Bone. Master might clash with them, but she’d weather the barbs if it came to that.

~~~

After a thorough discussion with the nursing home staff, Gu Xianwang slipped Auntie Jiang twenty thousand in cash, with instructions to use it as circumstances demanded—a clear request for extra vigilance.

She booked an afternoon flight. Between then and boarding, she messaged Long Li, but it vanished into the void with no reply. Unease gnawed at her, a hollow ache in her chest. She considered checking in with Ye Chan instead, but figured Long Li might be tied up with errands, overlooking the texts. A message or two wouldn’t raise alarms.

Finally, she opened the conference room chat and typed out a message: Ye Chan, have you felt any discomfort anywhere in your body over the past couple of days? Any nosebleeds, or yellowing of the skin?

No sooner had she hit send than she regretted it. Wasn’t this still just a single message?

Fortunately, Ye Chan—aka Chatterbox—was there to save the day. The group chat, dead for two days straight, suddenly exploded with five or six replies in quick succession. Ye Chan reported that she was feeling fantastic, way better than before. She’d even tested herself with a gym class yesterday, and her stamina could now take on ten of her old selves. She went on and on about how the God Eye lived up to its reputation as something the Yelang people would kill for.

Boiled down, it was simple: no bleeding, no yellow patches, feeling great, appetite perfect.

She was probably in the clear, no infection. Gu Xianwang stared at the screen, a smile tugging at her lips unbidden. Ye Chan had that effect—chatting with her was always so effortless, no awkward pauses, no second-guessing, no walking on eggshells.

The flight attendants had begun making their way down the aisle, politely reminding passengers to power down. Gu Xianwang was just about to close the app when another message popped up: I’ve forwarded those hieroglyphs to my advisor. He says the script bears some resemblance to Water Script, but it’s not an exact match.

Water Script?

She started to type a question, but the attendant was already approaching with a courteous bend and smile. Gu Xianwang gave a quick thumbs-up, fired off a reply—Got it. I’ll be back in Tianjin later. Let’s meet up if you’re free—and shut down her phone. She flipped the dark screen toward the attendant to signal all clear.

Sleep wouldn’t come even with her eyes closed. Once the plane leveled off into smooth cruising altitude, Gu Xianwang fished the thick stack of file folders from her bag and dove back in. This time, she spotted something she’d overlooked before.

Tucked into the page before the tracking report was a stray newspaper clipping, stuck fast to an academic paper and easy to miss. Dated 1981, it was headlined “Strong Condemnation of British Treasure Hunter’s Illegal Salvage Operations in Our Territorial Waters.” The article detailed how a Brit named Mike Hex had brazenly conducted unauthorized wreck-diving near the Xisha Sea, hauled up an ancient shipwreck brimming with artifacts from the previous dynasty, and shipped them straight to Germany for auction.

Judging by the timeline, this incident had likely put the nation on high alert, paving the way for the Marine Archaeology Team’s formation and their deployment to Hainan.

It jogged Gu Xianwang’s memory—something her Master had mentioned about an England-based marine salvage company. She rifled through the files again, but this was the only report tied to Mike Hex. No confirmation yet on any direct link to the company. If there was one, though, then by extension, Long Li might just be one of his employees.

That said, the piece painted treasure hunters like him as globe-trotting operators, not tied to any one country. Viking wrecks, Spanish galleons—they’d chase sunken loot anywhere, strike fast, and vanish, always dancing on the edge of international law. From the oblique questions she’d put to Sara and Chak, their outfit sounded airtight: disciplined, professional, battle-tested. Not some amateur hour. Sara and Chak didn’t even seem local—they’d clearly gone out of their way to learn Chinese. Nothing about them screamed “stumbled inland for a quick score.”

If this organization really traced back to that old-school treasure hunter, what had kept his focus pinned here from 1981 right up to the present day?

Had he uncovered some other lead amid that sunken ship’s cargo?

Questions churning in her mind, Gu Xianwang stewed all the way until touchdown. The moment she stepped off the plane, she whipped out her phone and searched the name. The results were slim: a handful of dusty articles on the Xisha salvage and auction, padded out with wild, rehashed legends. She tweaked the search to “British marine salvage company,” but it was just a flood of ads.

Dead end.

With a sigh, she grabbed a burger from a stand in the arrivals hall, wolfed it down in a few bites, and hailed a cab straight for Five Avenues.

On the ride, she pulled up the group chat again. Ye Chan had followed up her own messages with a few more chatterbombs, but Long Li stayed silent as the grave. Had the woman gone off-grid into the mountains again? How did she just vanish into thin air overnight?

She gazed out the window. The leaves on the roadside trees had begun to turn yellow bit by bit. It must have rained again last night—the ground was still wet. Autumn’s chill hung visibly in the air, and all the passersby had switched to long sleeves. She pursed her lips, unwilling to wait any longer. She pulled up the number she’d saved earlier and dialed it—

After a moment of silence, a female voice answered from the other end.

“The number you have dialed is powered off.”