Chapter 61

After reading the message, Nan Qi paced over to the entryway. She changed her shoes, switched off the lights, and prepared to head home.

The instant she pressed the light switch, the entire room plunged into darkness.

There were no sounds at all. Nan Qi felt as though she couldn’t even hear her own breathing. What flashed before her eyes was the scene she had seen earlier in the video.

Through the thick veil of darkness, she glimpsed the morgue sign with its incessantly flickering lights.

And one of the precautions Tang Lian had mentioned: do not speak of the visions you see.

Ah—

No more thinking about it. Nan Qi’s fingers fumbled wildly along the wall until she found the light switch and snapped it on with a click.

This time, it was the incandescent bulb. The living room blazed bright as day, banishing the previous gloom and utter blackness. Under this harsh light, anything lurking in the shadows had nowhere left to hide.

Nan Qi patted her chest, her heart still racing with residual fear. It was too terrifying.

Her imagination had reached its peak. Her thoughts leaped to horror movie scenes in the blink of an eye, making it impossible for her to stay calm.

She glanced down at her feet, now slipped into her outdoor shoes, and silently took half a step back. She changed back into her slippers. If she went home now, she’d still be alone there. She dreaded imagining the house teeming with ghostly presences.

The hallway lights were voice-activated, which meant there was still a chance she’d face the darkness by herself.

Nan Qi instantly scrapped the idea of heading home right then. She decided to wait here for Tang Lian to return. At least with enough signs of human life around, she could feel secure before leaving.

Tang Lian had promised to wrap up her work as quickly as possible.

Besides, Tang Lian’s home enshrined a statue of Wang Lingguan. He was a Daoist guardian deity who commanded the power of thunder and fire—the most domineering forces on earth, capable of purging all illusions and malevolent spirits. Wang Lingguan’s true form was fiercely majestic: clad in golden armor and red robes, he stood atop wind-fire wheels, his three eyes glaring in fury. The fiery golden eye on his forehead could discern truth from lies and good from evil.

Nan Qi approached the small altar table bearing the statue. Imitating Tang Lian, she lit incense, inserted it into the censer, and clasped her hands together in sincere prayer for protection.

As the waves of sandalwood incense filled the air, Nan Qi’s frightened and restless heart gradually settled.

Bathed in an aura of serene chants and Zen tranquility, those frightening visions receded far away. Her heartbeat steadied to a normal rhythm.

Leaning against the sofa, her eyelids drooped without her realizing it.

Tang Lian arrived at the funeral parlor carrying her briefcase. A colleague immediately led her to the workroom and pointed to a body on the stretcher. “Just brought in. We called Xiao Pa, but she’s tied up with something, so they asked you to come instead.”

Tang Lian said nothing more. She walked over and began laying out her makeup tools, asking only, “What’s the situation?”

Her colleague pulled back the white sheet and explained, “A high school girl who jumped to her death. She’s pretty mangled. The family wants us to restore her appearance as much as possible. She was a girl who loved beauty in life and hoped to look pretty and dignified in her final farewell to family and friends.”

There was a note of regret in the colleague’s voice. After all, it was such a vibrant, flower-like age.

Even in their line of work, where they dealt only with the silent departed and had grown numb to life and death, they still held life in reverence.

With the sheet pulled back, a blood-smeared face too mangled to recognize swam into view. It was deeply unsettling.

The family had provided a photo of the deceased beside the stretcher, which could serve as a reference for restoring her features.

No trace of discomfort crossed Tang Lian’s face. She slipped on sterile gloves and leaned in close to examine the body, comparing it to the photo. She quickly formed a plan in her mind.

The tissue separation was far too severe; the repair would be significantly more challenging.

First, she needed to wipe away the bloodstains cleanly and suture the separated tissues to prevent secondary damage during makeup. She would apply foundation with a light touch but layer it thickly enough to cover the pallid complexion, making the deceased look natural.

As she worked through these steps, Tang Lian’s expression was one of utmost seriousness, a glint of compassion in her eyes. She approached every one of her silent clients with rigorous dedication.

Yes, Tang Lian was a mortician, and she loved her work.

Every day, in a studio thick with the scent of formalin, she applied makeup to the peacefully resting deceased. She tidied their appearances so that each one could depart with dignity and serenity, bidding a final farewell to their loved ones.

Doctors saved the living from injury and illness; morticians meticulously prepared the remains of the dead—whether from natural causes or otherwise—striving to keep their final visages natural and peaceful.

Tang Lian believed her profession was just as much about engaging with life on a daily basis. She witnessed countless partings, reaping moments of deep emotion amid frequent misunderstandings.

Even if most people couldn’t understand it—even if she constantly faced questions like, “How could a young woman like you think of doing this?”—she still wanted to be a tiny spark in the funeral industry, shining brightly.

She and her colleagues worked in near silence. The workroom echoed only with the faint clink of tools and the subtle sounds of makeup application as everyone focused with intense concentration.

When the makeup was finished and the remains tidied, three or four hours had passed in what felt like an instant.

Tang Lian changed into her casual clothes in the changing room and said goodbye to her colleagues.

Stepping out of the funeral parlor, she found the streets hushed and still, with only the streetlights dutifully casting their lonely glows.

It wasn’t until she passed the main city thoroughfare that the flickering neon lights reappeared.

She rubbed her neck, stiff from hours of bending low, and trudged homeward, her body heavy with exhaustion.

The moment she pushed open the door, the glaring incandescent light stabbed at her eyes. She squeezed them shut, taking a couple of seconds to adjust.

Then she sensed something off.

As if guided by intuition, she quickly searched the house. Finally, she spotted the girl sleeping soundly, sprawled over the sofa. A wave of immense joy crashed through her heart—Nan Qi hadn’t left!

Tang Lian only dared to gaze at the girl’s sleeping face from a distance.

She watched for quite a while before reining in her excitement. She was afraid the lingering formalin scent on her clothes might disturb Nan Qi.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, showered thoroughly, and spritzed on some perfume. Only after confirming no trace of the smell remained did she creep carefully to the sofa’s edge. Lowering her eyes, she admired Nan Qi’s peaceful sleeping form.

She had no idea why Nan Qi had changed her mind. She only knew that the sight of her upon returning home had instantly banished all her fatigue.

It was as if Nan Qi were her personal oxygen tank.

Tang Lian held her breath, terrified that even the slightest noise might wake the girl.

Nan Qi lay curled on her side atop the sofa, her long lashes casting faint shadows across her eyelids. Strands of her jet-black hair spilled over her cheeks, partially veiling her lovely brows and eyes. A tender impulse stirred in Tang Lian’s heart; she couldn’t resist reaching out to gently tuck the hair behind Nan Qi’s ears, fully revealing her clean and exquisite face.

Nan Qi slept deeply—the tiny motion didn’t rouse her.

A soft pink flush colored her cheeks. Every so often, her face nuzzled against the sofa’s plush surface. Her lips were pressed shut, her breaths coming in slightly uneven rhythms.

She was curled up just like a small animal wary of predators, her posture radiating a lack of security.

She must have been truly frightened by that horror movie.

Her sleeping form was adorably well-behaved, with no mumbling in her sleep or teeth-grinding.

Tang Lian’s heart melted into softness. Her gaze lingered mesmerized on Nan Qi as she kept watch over her slumber. Even as her legs and feet went numb from squatting, she had no desire to stand.

To fall asleep just like that? Without worrying about catching a cold?

Still, a voice deep inside urged her on, summoning her reason.

Reluctantly, she rose and fetched a down comforter from the closet in the second bedroom. She draped it over Nan Qi, tucking the edges securely around her and ensuring her hands and feet were fully covered before finally stepping away.

It wasn’t until dawn that Nan Qi stirred awake. Glancing at the blanket covering her—one that clearly wasn’t hers—she realized with a jolt that she had fallen asleep at Tang Lian’s house!

She clutched the blanket and sat up in a daze, her mind a whirl of shock and embarrassment.

Tang Lian had woken earlier and prepared breakfast. Seeing Nan Qi stir, she invited her over to eat with a natural ease, her tone as familiar as if this were their daily routine.

If Nan Qi hadn’t been fully alert, she might have believed they’d been living together for years.

Nan Qi let out a deep breath and pressed her palm firmly against her forehead, kneading it as a heavy gloom settled over her heart. She shuffled with dragging steps to the dining table and asked cautiously, “I didn’t cause you any trouble last night, did I?”

Tang Lian took her time, savoring the sight of Nan Qi in that state for a good while before breaking into a charming smile. In a tone of earnest gravity, she replied, “I only wish for more of it.”

“I really should give you a key. That way, you can drop by anytime.”

“That’s not necessary…”

“You said the same thing before, and yet here you were, sleeping like a baby in my home.”

“It was just an accident. It won’t happen again.”

Nan Qi buried herself in her porridge.

Of course, she had no intention of taking Tang Lian’s house key.

A few days after this unexpected overnight stay, Nan Qi had a case reach its trial date. She appeared in court alongside Lawyer He Ziyao from her firm. Once the verdict was handed down, the client broke down in tears on the spot, overcome with gratitude.

Such scenes had appeared countless times in Nan Qi’s career, and they no longer stirred any waves in her heart. When faced with the client’s emotional outburst, she didn’t volunteer to play the role of therapist. She simply offered a gentle remark: “A brand-new life is about to begin. Do you really want to cling to the past?”

“Hic.” The client suddenly let out a hiccup, and the torrent of tears came to an abrupt halt.

With the trial concluded and the remaining legal fees paid, the case was officially closed.

Nan Qi drove He Ziyao back to the law firm from the courthouse.

He Ziyao was still relatively new to the field. He had submitted his resume to Shengqi Law Firm precisely because he admired its two founding partners.

During the courtroom debate, deliberation, and verdict, his gaze of pure admiration had never once left Nan Qi.

Now, sitting in the car, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “Nan Par, you seem to be in such a great mood. Are you thrilled about the victory?”

“The way you dominated the courtroom while defending the defendant earlier was just too cool! Your voice didn’t sound aggressive at all, but your words were razor-sharp, striking right at the heart of the matter. You were like a cold-blooded assassin on the bench. The opposing lawyer’s evidence was flimsy, and their logic was full of holes—like a mouse facing a cat, they didn’t stand a chance. I need to stick close to you and learn by example.”

Nan Qi paused at his words, turning inward in surprise. Did she really look that happy?

As the car passed through a tunnel, she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass window—her lips curved up unconsciously.

Probably, yeah.

When Tang Lian had downloaded that manga app on her phone, Nan Qi hadn’t been exaggerating. These past few days, whenever she had a spare moment, she’d dive into the app and scroll through the comics.

At first, it was just idle curiosity.

But after finishing one chapter, she clicked the next, her fingers moving on autopilot all the way to the latest update. Before she knew it, she was utterly hooked, lost in a daze of reading.

She even chuckled indulgently at the touching love story of the protagonist in the manga.

Naturally, she started chatting with Tang Lian about it on her phone—discussing the plots, asking for recommendations, and complaining that the ones Tang Lian suggested were way too short. She’d binge them in one go.

Nan Qi had thought it would be a simple exchange, but Tang Lian suddenly turned difficult.

She demanded a small price before she’d share any more suggestions.

Not long ago, Nan Qi had been haggling over that very price.

A moment later, Nan Qi said softly, “No.”

Her good mood had a different source.

She was cheering for all the exquisite love stories in those manga worlds.

He Ziyao snapped back to reality, feeling a pang of embarrassment at his earlier, ridiculous guess.

How could Nan Par let a single case victory show so plainly on her face? She had long since grown indifferent to such things. On the contrary, the cases she couldn’t win were the rare ones.

He’d made a fool of himself without meaning to. Afraid of creating more awkwardness, he forcibly suppressed his urge to chat with Nan Qi.

Once they arrived back at the law firm, Nan Qi pulled out her phone, ready to pick up her conversation with Tang Lian.

Then a Weibo notification popped up.

It was from her special follow: [Bo Ranying sakura].

At the same time, a trending topic titled #Zhenyu Group Qiao Xiuyu and Bo Ranying Break Up# shot to the tail end of Weibo’s hot search list.

Incredulity creased Nan Qi’s brow. She read the notification text twice over, confirming she hadn’t misread a single word.

Slightly dazed, she tapped into Bo Ranying’s Weibo.