“Ah?” Song Qian didn’t catch her meaning.
Liu Changsheng said no more. She closed her eyes again and fiddled with the prayer beads in her hand. The relaxed furrow of her brows betrayed her good mood.
It wasn’t dark yet, but the group had gathered in the courtyard of Wang Dachuan’s house. Qi Buyu chattered the most and soon laid out her whole story. Her family owned several apartment buildings, pulling in over a hundred thousand in rent every month.
She was clearly a wealthy woman out in the open. Liu Changsheng stuck by her side because this rich patron Qi had shelled out a fortune to hire her as a traveling companion. The last time Song Qian and the others had run into Liu Changsheng on the train, she’d been on her way to pick up this generous benefactor.
Lin Qing and Song Qian exchanged a glance, unmistakable envy in their eyes. Man, they wished a rich lady would keep them too.
“Why aren’t you scared?”
Qi Buyu looked at him. “Scared of what?”
Lin Qing pointed toward Wang Dachuan, sprawled by the doorway. Anyone else would’ve recoiled in terror at the sight, slamming their eyes shut and backing far away. But from last night until now, Qi Buyu hadn’t shown a flicker of fear. She’d even been peering around with genuine tourist curiosity.
Qi Buyu let out a cheerful laugh, then dug into her pockets and dumped a pile of items on the ground in front of them.
Lin Qing gaped at the haul, barely holding back a curse.
Everything Qi Buyu pulled out was consecrated spiritual gear. Talisman paper was the most basic of the bunch—prayer beads, a beaded bracelet, a one-inch small peachwood sword, even Five Emperors’ Coins.
No wonder she wasn’t afraid. With this stuff on her, what restless spirit would dare come near? And now she had a powerhouse like Liu Changsheng watching her back.
“You… where’d you get all this?”
Qi Buyu swept the items back into her pockets with lavish flair. “Most were gifts. A few I bought.”
Gifts aside, this gear didn’t come cheap.
Lin Qing couldn’t hide his envy. Their crew was just too broke—even his talisman paper he had to buy himself.
“And I’ve been able to see them since I was a kid. After all these years, it doesn’t faze me anymore.”
“You can see them?” Song Qian had assumed she couldn’t. She shot a surprised glance at Ji Wuxin beside her, who seemed equally taken aback that Qi Buyu could.
Qi Buyu grinned at her, eyes flicking back and forth between her and Ji Wuxin before dropping a random line. “You two make a cute couple.”
“?”
The heavy darkness of the sky pressed down. Song Qian glanced up—the weather tonight looked grim.
A chilly gust swept through, and Qi Buyu scooted closer to Liu Changsheng, eyeing her black trench coat thoughtfully.
“You cold?”
Liu Changsheng sat with her eyes closed, turning her prayer beads, oblivious to Qi Buyu’s blatant scheming. “Nope.”
The words were barely out before Qi Buyu lunged for her coat. “I’m freezing. Lend me your jacket.”
Liu Changsheng was always so aloof and composed, but this was the first time anyone had tried stripping her coat off. She snapped her eyes open in flustered panic, clutching at her clothes. “What the hell!?”
Qi Buyu blinked, baffled by the overreaction. “I’m cold, you’re not. What’s the big deal with borrowing your coat?”
Liu Changsheng gripped her coat tighter and inched away from Qi Buyu, eyeing her like some handsy pervert.
“Liu Changsheng!” Qi Buyu’s voice cracked with grievance—whether from anger or the wind stinging her eyes, they’d gone red, brimming with unshed tears.
Liu Changsheng paused mid-step, then shuffled silently back to Qi Buyu’s side. With one arm, she pulled her into a tight embrace, draping the trench coat over them both like a cozy blanket.
Song Qian watched from the sidelines, eyes wide. Wait, it could go down like that?
Maybe it was her shipper goggles kicking in, but Song Qian suddenly felt like she’d stumbled onto the perfect pairing.
And there they were, her OTP, bundled together under one coat. Song Qian grinned like an idiot, unable to help herself.
Ji Wuxin watched her giggling dopily at the other two, a wave of irritation rising. She stepped right in front of Song Qian, blocking her line of sight, face sour. “What’re you staring at!?”
Song Qian’s smile dropped at the ghostly pale face inches away. She pouted, deflated.
Ji Wuxin: “?”
Not satisfied, Ji Wuxin cupped Song Qian’s face and forced her gaze upward, her voice laced with frost. “Look at me!”
Song Qian’s cheeks squished under the firm grip, her lips puckering out. Her words came muffled. “Pancake?”
Ji Wuxin got it. Her eyes narrowed, a bad feeling brewing. It hadn’t been that long—how was Song Sensen already bold enough to straight-up roast her like this?
The night breeze gusted relentlessly, sending the hem of Ji Wuxin’s red skirt fluttering like blooming petals. Her long black hair whipped wildly behind her, lending her the full menacing aura of a vengeful ghost.
Song Qian wrenched free and rubbed her aching cheeks. She started to turn and chew Ji Wuxin out, but a sudden gust plastered hair across her face.
“Pfft, pfft.”
Song Qian peeled the strands away and blinked. No sign of Ji Wuxin anywhere. Liu Changsheng and Qi Buyu just watched her quietly from the side.
She bailed?
Song Qian touched the jade at her chest. It was still there, but icy cold to the touch. Ji Wuxin wasn’t inside.
Song Qian grumbled inwardly. She hadn’t even gotten mad yet—why was the ghost throwing a tantrum? Talk about petty.
By the time Lin Qing returned from setting up the Soul-Summoning Formation, the group had shrunk from four to two.
“Huh? Where’s Song Qian?”
Liu Changsheng kept turning her prayer beads in silence, but Qi Buyu popped her head out from the embrace and winked at Lin Qing. “She went off to sweet-talk that ghost sister.”
Qi Buyu had no clue Ji Wuxin was the Jade Spirit. As far as she knew, she was just some ghost tagging along with Song Qian.
A classic unfinished human-ghost romance. How romantic.
Lin Qing just nodded and let it drop. With Senior Liu Changsheng around tonight, they probably wouldn’t need the Jade Spirit’s help anyway.
Song Qian really had gone looking for Ji Wuxin. She walked the path from Wang Dachuan’s place to Grandma’s house, but spotted no trace of the ghost. With a sigh, she headed straight home.
Grandma Song was still up when she got there. Song Qian yawned hugely as she reached out. “Grandma, why aren’t you asleep?”
Grandma Song had been lost in thought, head bowed. At the sight of Song Qian, she shot to her feet and seized her hand. “Sensen.”
“What’s up, Grandma?”
Song Qian grew uneasy at her grandmother’s uncharacteristic gravity.
Grandma Song’s eyes swept around Song Qian, hesitating before she spoke. “Is she… with you right now?”
“She?” Song Qian blinked, then it clicked—Grandma was talking about Ji Wuxin. Grandma knew!
Uncle Ji’s earlier words came rushing back, sending tidal waves through Song Qian’s mind. So Grandma knew about the jade too.
Her hand throbbed under the tight grip. Song Qian winced faintly; she’d seldom seen her grandmother this rattled.
“She’s not?” Grandma Song pressed, voice rising with agitation. “But your Uncle Ji said you could see her now.” Tears welled in her eyes, mingled with desperate hope and the terror of crushing disappointment.
“She’s not here right now.”
Grandma Song deflated in visible relief, her hold slackening. “Good. That’s good.”
“Grandma.” Song Qian pulled out the jade from her chest. “This jade…”
She let the words hang, waiting for her grandmother to fill in the blanks. If she and Uncle Ji both knew about Ji Wuxin, then they had to know she dwelled inside the jade.
Grandma Song’s gaze turned hazy, as if peering back through the years.
How long had it been? Close to ten years now? Grandma Song couldn’t pin it down exactly. All she remembered was that year when her little granddaughter fell suddenly, critically ill—some kind of chill syndrome, the doctors said. No medicine touched it. The child’s face grew gaunt, wasting away to a shadow in days. Desperate, Grandma Song had begged the town shaman, only for the woman to declare her Sensen’s fate too grim and sha-ridden to survive the month. Furious, she’d cursed the shaman rotten and spat in her house, branding her a fraud!
Sobbing all the way home, with Song Qian’s parents trapped out of town by some warehouse fire case and unable to return, Grandma Song had watched the dark circles deepen under little Sensen’s eyes, tears streaming as she rubbed warmth into her tiny hands through the nights.
Little Sensen only grew frailer. Grandma Song had steeled herself to follow her into the grave. Then one afternoon, Ji Jiusheng showed up at the door. Grandma Song remembered it vividly: the young man from out of town, unkempt with stubble, swaying like he hadn’t slept in days, clutching something fiercely in his fist.
He’d said, “I can save your granddaughter.”
“Was that what Uncle Ji brought—this jade?” Song Qian slipped it off and cradled it in her palm.
Grandma Song nodded and wiped away a tear. “Little Ji brought that jade and saved you with it.”
Grandma Song said something cryptic out of nowhere. “Little Ji only told me later that he had no other choice. It just so happened you were gravely ill at the time.”
Song Qian didn’t understand.
“Little Ji came to Weishui Village over a dozen years ago,” Grandma Song continued. “Back then, everyone in the village knew there was a stranger among us, but no one had any idea what he looked like.” She stroked Song Qian’s hand as if caressing the most precious treasure in the world. The way she looked at Song Qian was always filled with gentle affection—this was her beloved Sensen, after all.
“Later, Little Ji confided in me that he’d been hiding away in his house all that time, trying to figure out how to bestow a spirit upon his little sister.”
“His sister? Bestow a spirit?” Song Qian only knew what Lin Qing had told her—that all things could be enlivened with spirits. Could people be given spirits too?
“His beloved little sister had died, and he couldn’t accept it,” Grandma Song explained. “So he stole his master’s secret manual and hid here to study how to give her a spirit.”
“He’d brought his sister’s soul here and nurtured it for nearly ten years, but he’d never succeeded.”
A vague suspicion began to form in Song Qian’s mind. Then she heard her grandmother say, “Until one day, you got playful and went to play near his doorstep. You tripped and fell right there, crying your heart out without stopping. He had no choice but to bring you inside, give you some candy, and coax you until you finally quieted down.”
Grandma Song paused here, as if she could still picture little Song Qian bawling with her mouth wide open. She couldn’t help but chuckle.
Song Qian’s cheeks flushed faintly. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“It was that very day that Little Ji finally succeeded in fusing his sister’s soul with that nascent jade spirit,” Grandma Song went on. “Later, he realized it was because a drop of your blood had gotten on that jade.”
So that meant…
“Ji Wuxin is Uncle Ji’s sister!?” Song Qian shot to her feet in shock.
“Ji Wuxin? So that’s what that little girl calls herself now?” Grandma Song nodded with a fond smile. “I remember now.”
“Sensen, you have to treat her well.”
Song Qian blinked in confusion. “?” What was that tone from Grandma?
“Then I’ll give the jade back to Uncle Ji.” How could she keep holding onto something so valuable?
Grandma Song swatted her hand away and shot her a stern glare. “How can you even say such a thing!?”
“You’re not happy that the girl’s with you?”
“Huh?” Song Qian was utterly dumbfounded by the reprimand.
“Let me tell you something,” Grandma Song declared. “You have to wear that jade properly at all times—lose the girl before you lose the jade!” She shoved the jade back into Song Qian’s hand. “And if you ever mention returning it, don’t bother coming home.”
“A married daughter is like spilled water. She’s followed you, so you have to take good care of her.”
Song Qian felt like she’d just heard something earth-shattering. “Married???”
She was still an innocent unmarried girl—who had she married?
Grandma Song scowled fiercely, eyeing Song Qian like some heartless scoundrel who’d wronged an innocent maiden. “You can see her now, which means you’ve nurtured her to maturity. You’ve already consummated the marriage!”
“No, no, no, no, no…” Song Qian shook her head vigorously, her face burning red as she waved her hands frantically. “Grandma, you’ve got it all wrong. I haven’t!”
She and Ji Wuxin had only kissed at most—nothing close to consummation.
What a complete mess this was turning into.
Grandma Song gave her one last look before heading back to her room. In parting, she dropped a bombshell that left Song Qian sleepless for three whole days: “Anyway, she’s your wife now. Don’t go messing around—our Song family has never had a single case of marital infidelity.”
Song Qian felt like her mind had been split wide open. She stood there frozen in place.
Wife…
Ji Wuxin was her wife…
