Chapter 31

Ah He struggled fiercely, trying to break free from Jiang Yiguang’s embrace, but the hands clamping around her were like iron bands. After her resistance proved futile, a string of pitiful “meow meow” cries escaped her mouth.

Jiang Yiguang bit her lower lip, her heart pounding chaotically. She feared that if her single surge of determination faltered, she would soften and glance back at Fu Juan, whose expression was veiled in shadow. Perhaps it was the enchantment of tonight’s spring breeze and moonlight—recollecting the Fu Juan she had just glimpsed, it was as if she had caught sight of a singularly unrivaled clear moon. How could anyone not be captivated by moonlight?

The cat demon Ah He spoke plaintively, “I want to go home.”

Jiang Yiguang bent a finger and rapped her head, sighing. “Didn’t you see those spell talismans? Do you think you can get into that house?”

Ah He wilted instantly.

Sensing Ah He’s unhappiness, Jiang Yiguang softened her tone to console her: “It’s fine. If you can’t get in, that malicious ghost won’t be able to go in and harass the old lady either.”

Ah He managed a quiet “Mm,” resting listlessly in Jiang Yiguang’s embrace. But when her gaze swept past Jiang Yiguang’s arm, her fur immediately bristled, and she said nervously, “She followed us!” Both were from the Mystic Sect, yet Ah He didn’t resist Jiang Yiguang; however, when encountering Fu Juan, she felt no longer a spirit cat with awakened intelligence, but a little white mouse at someone’s mercy. She didn’t want to be captured at all. Twisting her body uneasily, Ah He added, “She’s in a wheelchair but still moving so fast. Is she going to take me back to the Xuanzhen Dao Court?”

Jiang Yiguang was silent for a moment before saying, “If that’s the case, why don’t you just go and register?” Facing Fu Juan, she had absolutely no confidence. In the plot, Fu Juan was a clear moon she was infatuated with, but simultaneously, a great mountain pressing down upon her. Right now, controlled by Fate, no matter what her feelings toward Fu Juan were, she hadn’t been able to break free. “I’ll figure out a way to get you out,” Jiang Yiguang added, a little hesitantly; even she didn’t believe her own words.

Judging by the way Jiang Yiguang had fled in panic earlier, Ah He didn’t dare believe her either.

One was grand and vast like a towering, majestic mountain; the other warm and gentle like a small stream. No matter how you looked at it, there was no chance of victory.

Ah He didn’t wail further. She schemed quietly in her mind, and finally, catching Jiang Yiguang off guard, she directly activated her grand escape technique, leaping out of Jiang Yiguang’s embrace and vanishing instantly into the undergrowth.

Jiang Yiguang frowned, staring at her empty arms, while from behind came Fu Juan’s crisp, cold voice.

She was calling “Jiang Yiguang.”

Jiang Yiguang’s limbs stiffened, exactly like a wild mountain spirit whose true name had been spoken, losing its ability to move.

She had already firmly refused, and Fu Juan was the one “pestering relentlessly” now. That had nothing to do with her, right?

Why was the system playing dead at a time like this?

Embracing a spirit of great fearlessness, Jiang Yiguang’s steps halted completely. She spun around abruptly but unexpectedly plunged straight into Fu Juan’s deep gaze. She suddenly recalled the works of Gu Kaizhi she’d seen at an art exhibition: an air of solemn majesty, a natural, inherent stillness amidst grand solemnity, yet with a spirit that was gentle and tender, possessing a transcendent grace like a banished immortal entering the mortal world.

Jiang Yiguang couldn’t help it. She cursed herself under her breath, purely as an emotional release.

“Jiang Yiguang.” Fu Juan called her name again, each syllable clear and round, crisp and clean like fine pearls dropping onto a jade plate.

Jiang Yiguang drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the stirred romantic fancies and reveries. She averted her eyes from Fu Juan and squeezed out a businesslike smile. “Is there anything else? It’s getting late. I want to go back and sleep.”

Fu Juan ignored Jiang Yiguang’s excuse. She gazed at her intently and inquired, “Did you come looking for Aunt Jiang?” It was a question stated with such certainty it needed no denial from Jiang Yiguang.

“What if I did? What if I didn’t?” A sudden wave of irritation surged within Jiang Yiguang. Right now, she wasn’t entirely controlled by Fate, yet she hadn’t fully cast it off either. She felt like a bucket hanging in midair, neither fully up nor down. Thinking about Fu Juan felt wrong, yet not thinking about her was, in turn, impossible. The images hidden deep in her memory were sometimes blurred, sometimes vivid and bone-deep clear, but none of it was the oblivion Jiang Yiguang yearned for.

“I’m looking for Aunt Jiang too.” Fu Juan’s tone at that moment was as light and cheerful as a teenage girl’s. She propelled her wheelchair forward, slowly closing in on Jiang Yiguang. Ever since her legs had become like this, she’d always had to look up at people. Yet she disliked such “inequality,” which had fostered her usual posture of cold indifference, “looking at no one.” Now, however, she tilted her head slightly up, gazing unwaveringly at Jiang Yiguang, whose expression was half-hidden in the dimness. Her look was earnest and solemn, as if she were lifting a brush to draw a talisman.

A retort—”You look for yours, I’ll look for mine”—stuck in Jiang Yiguang’s throat. She tugged at her sleeves in agitation. She needed to avoid Fu Juan’s gaze, lest she feel like a petty ghost exposed and with nowhere to hide under Daoist magic. She circled behind Fu Juan, placing her fingers on the push handles, and emphasized deliberately, “I’m here for tourism.” She pushed Fu Juan forward. The system hadn’t judged the recently concluded task as a failure, and the world Compatibility Value on her character panel hadn’t shown any new changes. A flicker of confusion passed through Jiang Yiguang’s eyes; the system’s very existence also made her uneasy.

Fu Juan responded with a bland “Mm,” reverting to her previously taciturn manner.

Facing this version of Fu Juan, Jiang Yiguang actually breathed a sigh of relief. If Fu Juan were as clamorous as a little sparrow… wouldn’t that be a joke?

After escorting Fu Juan to the hotel where she was staying and booking her a room, Jiang Yiguang paid her no further mind. In broad public view, Fu Juan wouldn’t display any extraordinary abilities. But once back in her room, naturally, those three little paper dolls would attend to her; it wasn’t Jiang Yiguang’s place to worry. Perhaps because she’d encountered the cat demon and seen Fu Juan again, Jiang Yiguang didn’t sleep well that night, repeatedly waking from deep slumber. By the time she finally fell asleep and woke again, it was already ten o’clock the next morning.

Jiang Yiguang fumbled for her phone on the nightstand. Apart from a message from Lu Yaotiao asking if her travels were pleasant, there was only one text from Fu Juan.

【Let me know when you wake up.】

Just looking at those six words, Jiang Yiguang could picture her coolly aloof, distantly detached, and slightly arrogant demeanor.

Who’s going to tell you? So she thought, yet her hand, acting entirely of its own accord, had already fired off a reply: “Okay.”

There was no recall function for text messages. Hugging her phone, Jiang Yiguang’s sole consolation was that her reply was equally “cold,” on par with Fu Juan’s.

Jiang Yiguang spaced out for a while. When she came back to her senses, her phone remained utterly silent. She scoffed to herself, tossed off the covers, and quickly freshened up. Though Jiang City didn’t boast any particularly notable scenic spots, in these lovely spring days, even wandering through streets and alleys had a unique charm. She couldn’t let this beautiful sunny day go to waste.

Just as Jiang Yiguang finished getting ready, the doorbell rang with perfect timing. She rose to open the door and immediately met Fu Juan’s gaze. Perhaps due to poor sleep, a trace of weariness and exhaustion lingered beneath Fu Juan’s eyes. Jiang Yiguang opened her mouth; any sharp words simply couldn’t come out. She stepped aside to let Fu Juan pass, watching as she wheeled herself into the room.

“Are you going to Crabapple Street?” Fu Juan asked.

Jiang Yiguang glanced at Fu Juan, puzzled.

Ever since yesterday, the Fu Juan she’d seen hadn’t seemed quite right. Could it be that she’d injured her head during that last incident?

Seeing Jiang Yiguang remain silent, Fu Juan added quietly, “I thought you might be interested in it.” Jiang Yiguang was somewhat different from before. If she wanted to step into that world, Fu Juan could act as a guide before Aunt Jiang returned.

Jiang Yiguang countered, “Do I look like someone who enjoys meddling in other people’s business?”

“No, not really.” Fu Juan shook her head. The Jiang Yiguang in her memory… was selfish, cold, obsessive, and narrow-minded. When would she ever care about the lives of others? “But you still got involved,” Fu Juan continued.

“Why?” Jiang Yiguang had actually wanted to ask this since yesterday.

Fu Juan stated flatly, “Aunt Jiang would be very gratified to learn what you’re like now.”

Jiang Yiguang: “…” She didn’t look at Fu Juan anymore, merely raising an eyebrow in a smile. “I don’t feel like going out, and I don’t want to know anything about the Mystic Sect.”

Fu Juan looked at her deeply and answered, “Alright.” She never tried to persuade anyone. It seemed considerate on the surface, but in truth, it was a lack of necessary patience. Watching Fu Juan leave, Jiang Yiguang felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest. Her plans to go out and have fun were ruined by her sunken mood. Sitting on the sofa, Jiang Yiguang yanked and beat a cushion to vent. She didn’t curse Fu Juan, fearing it would deepen the person’s mark on her heart. She replaced all instances of “Fu Juan” with “system” and railed furiously for several minutes before finally releasing the pent-up frustration. She reached up and flicked her hair, revealing a dignified and elegant smile, looking as though the person who’d just been going nuts moments before had absolutely nothing to do with her.

Five minutes later.

Jiang Yiguang scowled unhappily at Ah He, whose fur was in complete disarray as if she’d just fought something.

Ah He clawed at Jiang Yiguang’s trouser leg, desperately wanting to drag her and flee together. “Go, go, go!”

In the end, Jiang Yiguang refrained from bullying the little cat further and instead spoke earnestly, “The Yin ghost matter will be handled by someone. Don’t worry.”

“No, no, it’s not that, my owner, she— she—” Ah He’s tone was frantic, as if she might start crying from sorrow the very next second.

Jiang Yiguang frowned, scooped Ah He up in one motion, and rubbed her head. “Don’t panic. What happened?”

Ah He’s voice carried a sob. “I— I— I don’t know. I can’t get in. She fell down.” The cat demon hadn’t been enlightened for long and hadn’t fully grasped everything about human society.

From her incoherent description, Jiang Yiguang managed to piece together the whole story. The old lady had gone out early in the morning to scavenge, but when passing the crabapple tree, she’d seen something unknown and suddenly dashed toward it. However, the old lady was advanced in years, and her legs were unsteady. She hadn’t run more than a few steps before falling to the ground. A kind-hearted person from the same street had helped the old lady back home. Ah He was extremely worried about the old lady’s condition, but the spell talismans outside the courtyard repelled not only Yin ghosts; her own demon qi was suppressed, too. Now she was unable to go home.

Jiang Yiguang muttered “Oh no,” and without needing further urging from Ah He, rushed out of the hotel in a flurry.

By the time she arrived, the nosy neighbors had dispersed. The courtyard gate stood open. The old lady, wearing reading glasses, sat on a low wooden stool, and beside her was Fu Juan in her wheelchair.

Fu Juan was bowing her head, peeling an apple. A sliver of clear sunlight fell upon her, exuding an inexplicable sense of years’ tranquility and peace.

The moment Ah He spotted the old lady, she leaped from Jiang Yiguang’s arms and dashed toward the courtyard. Jiang Yiguang sensed a shift in the “Qi Flow,” glimpsing the faint golden glow on the talismans. Her expression changed abruptly. Quick as lightning, she snatched Ah He back, frowning as she called out, “Fu Juan.”

The old lady heard the voice, looked up at that moment, and smiled—kindly and gently. “Ah He is back.”

Ah He: “Meow, meow.” She didn’t dare reveal her “demon” nature in front of the old lady.

Fu Juan remained silent, patiently cutting the apple into small pieces and handing them to the old lady. Once she set the fruit knife down, her right hand, resting on the wheelchair, made a slight hooking gesture. Those several spell talismans originally stuck to the wall instantly transformed into streaks of golden light, whooshing back into her sleeve. Only then did Jiang Yiguang sigh in relief, releasing Ah He and striding briskly into the courtyard.

The courtyard wasn’t large, but it was quite tidy. On the right side of the entrance was a well, beside it a water bucket. Behind were neatly stacked firewood and a pile of cardboard boxes. On the left was a small vegetable patch, the growing greens bursting with vigorous life. Yet on the old lady herself was something entirely opposite: the heavy, dying air of fading twilight.

The old lady gazed at Jiang Yiguang with warm affection and said amiably, “You’re Little Juan’s friend?” The passing years had left too many traces of wind and frost at the corners of her eyes and brows; only the gentleness remained, like a fine wine growing ever more mellow and rich with age. She made a motion as if to stand and receive the guest, but her hand was suddenly held by Fu Juan.

Fu Juan smiled slightly. “Please rest well. We still have matters to attend to.”

The old lady glanced at Jiang Yiguang.

Jiang Yiguang curved her eyes into a smile and followed Fu Juan’s lead. “I’m here to find Little Juan, and we have a prior engagement.”

Upon hearing this, the old lady nodded repeatedly. “Then you should go and be busy.” Her gaze swept over Jiang Yiguang and Fu Juan; a trace of wistful loss flickered in the depths of her eyes.

Jiang Yiguang pushed Fu Juan out of the small courtyard. She lifted her head; the sunlight was a bit dazzling, completely lacking the lovely feel of warm light settling upon a person.

“The old lady has negative energy on her. She likely consumed something that harbors Yin miasma,” Fu Juan suddenly spoke.

Jiang Yiguang: “Mm?”

Fu Juan: “She herself is unaware. It should be the doing of that Yin ghost.”

Jiang Yiguang frowned. “Holding a grudge?”

Fu Juan continued, “A Yin miasma object used to extend life. She will stay alive, but inside, she’ll gradually be infected by the Yin miasma, ultimately turning into a walking corpse bit by bit.”

Jiang Yiguang: “…” It was difficult to say whether this was love or hatred.

“The old lady was an embroiderer in her youth.” Fu Juan pondered for a moment, then recounted in detail what she’d discovered. “At that time, it coincided with the great upheaval in Shenzhou. Invaders had stormed into Shenzhou; the flames of war raged everywhere. Her family met with great calamity, and she was left alone. You must understand, in that era, for an orphan girl to survive in troubled times was extremely difficult. She was captured by marauding soldiers and sold to Smoothwater Garden, gifted to a household as a concubine. In the end, the eldest daughter of that household, who’d returned from studying abroad, rescued her and brought her here, to Crabapple Street.”

Jiang Yiguang’s heart clenched. She hastily pressed, “And then?”

“And then an army of justice arrived. Crabapple Street became safe, but that eldest daughter left. The old lady waited for her for many, many years, but she never returned.”

Jiang Yiguang held her breath, patiently waiting a long while but hearing no further continuation. She couldn’t resist asking, “That’s it? That’s all?”

Fu Juan shot a sideways glance at Jiang Yiguang and did not continue the story. Instead, she analyzed coolly, “The old lady is alone and destitute. The likelihood of having made enemies is small. If that Yin ghost was willing to seek life-extending medicine for her, then she must have been very close to her in life. Ordinary ghosts exist by clinging to obsession. The person the old lady waited for—chances of her surviving in that turbulent era of a shattered land were slim. It’s highly probable that it’s her, having returned.”

Jiang Yiguang mulled it over and thought Fu Juan’s speculation had some merit. But after all these decades, suddenly showing up? That was too strange. No—this was a world derived from a novel. Under the pen of its “Creator,” anything appearing was plausible. Was this part of the main storyline? Or an unimportant side plot? Or perhaps a “shockwave” triggered by the “butterfly effect”?

Fu Juan added, “The old lady saw the person she was waiting for under the crabapple tree.” That was the bedrock upon which she based that speculation.

Jiang Yiguang asked, “So you’re going to find that Yin ghost?”

“She is a ghost; she should enter the cycle of reincarnation.” Fu Juan’s face was cold. “Refining life-extending substances from Yin miasma objects isn’t a good thing. Besides, normal ghosts—do you think they have such an ability?”

Jiang Yiguang gave a sheepish smile. She had never even encountered many ghosts before; how could she possibly know?

“What will you do?” The question slipped out of Jiang Yiguang, and she instantly regretted it the moment it left her mouth. She could only silently pray that Fu Juan would ignore her. Now that someone was handling the matter, and she wasn’t drawn into a task, why waste the time and energy?

Fu Juan said only one word: “Wait.” The old lady was advanced in years, her organs all deteriorating. If that Yin ghost wanted to feed her life-extending substances, she would naturally appear on Crabapple Street as well.

Jiang Yiguang answered with an “Oh,” keeping her mouth firmly shut. She moved her feet to turn, planning to drop the matter of Crabapple Street. It was only when she heard the slight scraping sound of the wheelchair against the ground that she realized her hand was resting on the push handle, and she was taking Fu Juan along with her as she moved. On the street, a few tourists who’d wandered into the small alley stood scattered about. Their gazes fell upon them, full of awe mixed with a hint of pity and regret. Jiang Yiguang had originally intended to let go of Fu Juan’s wheelchair, but upon glimpsing those gazes, she subtly changed direction, avoiding those superfluous stares.

“Going back to the hotel?” Jiang Yiguang’s tone was uncharacteristically mild.

Fu Juan: “No.”

She turned her head to look at the crabapple tree at the street corner. Her usually composed thoughts somehow became restless, rising and falling like petals drifting in the wind.

Jiang Yiguang didn’t ask what Fu Juan wanted to do. Avoiding the crowds, she released the wheelchair and sat on a stone bench with her legs crossed, lowering her head to play with her phone.

She didn’t notice that Fu Juan’s gaze had passed over the fluttering crabapple blossoms and landed warmly upon her.