Song Qian now had Liu Changsheng by her side, so Ji Jiusheng felt a bit more at ease. Though he still wanted to catch one more glimpse of his little sister, he knew rushing things wouldn’t help. He’d waited over a decade already—what was a little longer? Once his body recovered some, Qingqing would recognize him, surely.
Ji Jiusheng agreed to return to South River City First Hospital with Ji Jiuge for treatment. Ji Shixing, her ribs broken, was carted off with him.
Song Qian had known back when they dated that Ji Shixing came from serious money, but even she hadn’t imagined a private jet would come rumbling in less than half an hour after one phone call from Ji Jiuge, as if it had been waiting just for them.
“Sensen, Qingqing’s in your hands now.”
Song Qian nodded. “I’ll study hard with Master.”
Ji Jiusheng was stretchered onto the plane, Ji Shixing trailing behind with a stony face. As she passed Song Qian, she shifted her arm away ever so slightly, refusing even the barest brush of contact.
Song Qian’s mouth twitched. She ignored the childish display—who else was to blame for her own willful nonsense?
Once everyone was gone, Song Qian glanced back. Liu Changsheng and Lin Qing stood waiting in the distance, patient as ever.
“Master.” Song Qian walked over.
Liu Changsheng gave a faint hum. “Come on. Your senior brother left something for you.”
“Wait—Master!?”
Lin Qing’s eyes bounced between Song Qian and Liu Changsheng. What the hell had gone down while he was gone!?
Song Qian arched a brow at him, smug as could be. She knew how much Lin Qing idolized Liu Changsheng. “Yep, I took Senior Liu as my master. Guess we’re colleagues now.”
Lin Qing gaped at Liu Changsheng. A disciple!? Senior Liu had actually taken Song Qian under her wing?
Liu Changsheng paid his shock no mind. Her sugar mommy was still laid up in the hospital—she needed to get back and tend to her.
“So who’s this senior brother of yours? Why’d Senior Liu take you on?” Lin Qing peppered Song Qian with questions as he walked beside her.
That was Senior Liu Changsheng! The legend he’d heard about in the group chat. Wuwuwu, he wanted in on that too!
By the time the three reached the ward, a lone nurse was straightening the sheets. The bed where Qi Buyu had been lay empty.
Liu Changsheng’s prayer beads hesitated for a beat, but she said nothing and turned on her heel.
Song Qian sneaked a glance at her. For some reason, her master seemed… unhappy.
“Excuse me, miss—where’d the young woman from this room go? Brown wavy hair, mid-twenties?” Lin Qing remembered Qi Buyu had been fast asleep when they stepped out.
The nurse looked up, still fuming from a scolding by her supervisor. But the sight of a clean-cut guy asking questions melted her irritation away, replaced by a sugary smile. “She took off ages ago.”
“Took off?” Song Qian eyed Liu Changsheng’s retreating back. Wasn’t Qi Buyu with Master? Why’d she bail first?
On the drive back, Song Qian kept stealing looks at Liu Changsheng in the rearview mirror. Qi Buyu’s vanishing act drew zero reaction from her—just the same eyes-closed, beads-twirling poise from their first meeting.
As if Qi Buyu were some acquaintance of a few days, unworthy of a second thought.
Her master came off a touch aloof.
“Am I that fascinating?” Liu Changsheng’s eyes flicked open, catching Song Qian’s scrutiny in the mirror before she could look away.
Song Qian nodded without shame. “Master’s gorgeous, yeah.”
Liu Changsheng shot her a look, then shut her eyes once more.
Just the subtle quirk at her mouth betrayed her good mood. Song Qian grinned to herself. Turns out her master wasn’t so standoffish after all.
Back at Grandma Song’s house, Song Qian filled her in on Ji Jiusheng’s situation and introduced Liu Changsheng. Lin Qing had headed to the village head’s place to track down that body pulled from the well.
~~~
In a dilapidated temple outside Weishui Village
“Master, why no hotel in town?” Lin Sheng prodded the dying fire pit, listless, snapping twigs to feed the flames. It couldn’t blaze too bright—villagers nearby might spot it.
Her master, Lin Changhe—nearing forty—leaned against a pillar, eyes shut.
Lin Changhe patted his pocket at her words. Flat as a board, not a bill in sight.
Boss hadn’t paid up—what could he do? Little disciple would have to slum it a bit longer.
“Closest spot to Weishui Village. Tonight, we hit ’em when they least expect it. With this woman in hand, Liu Changsheng’s nothing to sweat.”
A bound woman lay at his feet, out cold, hair a tangled mess over her face.
“Oh.” Lin Sheng hugged her knees and chucked another stick into the fire. Her stomach rumbled now and then.
So hungry.
Lin Changhe turned away, fished out his phone, and tapped a pitch-black profile pic.
“Boss, little disciple’s starving. Wage advance?”
Reply zipped back: “Gave you some two days ago—boozing again? Poor Little Sheng, stuck with you.”
Guilt twisted in Lin Changhe; he froze over the keyboard, words failing.
A bit later, two hundred yuan pinged in.
His eyes lit up. Snatched it up.
“Thanks, boss!”
Heh heh—he’d treat little disciple to a hundred’s worth of food, pocket the rest for drinks. Life was sweet.
He lurched to his feet, stuffing gear into his bag.
“Lin Sheng! Food time!”
Silence. Just the fire’s crackle. Had hunger done her in!?
Lin Changhe whipped his head up. No fainting spell— a wild-haired female ghost had her by the throat. Icy yin energy poured off her as she fixed him with a glare.
“Master…” Lin Sheng rasped a plea.
Lin Changhe clocked it: no murder in her eyes, just using Lin Sheng as leverage to chat.
“You the one tossed down the well?” Lin Changhe wondered if she wanted payback.
The female ghost swept back her hair. Firelight gleamed on a bloated face slashed to the bone. Her killer hadn’t held back, terrified the cuts wouldn’t finish her, so into the well she went.
Lin Changhe winced. Damn his sharp night vision—something on her face writhed slow and nasty.
Good he hadn’t eaten, or it’d come right up.
“You after the Jade Spirit?” Her voice plunged the temple into deeper chill. Cold gusts swirled ’round Lin Changhe, clawing to burrow into his bones. Resentment like hers was no joke.
Lin Changhe’s hidden hand crumpled a talisman. She knew of the Jade Spirit too. If she was gunning for it…
“You won’t touch the Spirit Nurturer at her side.”
Lin Changhe got it now—the Spirit Nurturer was her mark. But those two were linked tight as life and soul; spare her, and good luck snagging the Jade Spirit.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Feigning ignorance of the tie, an idea sparked.
“Do what you want for the Jade Spirit, but her life stays untouched.”
“If anything happens to her…” The female ghost didn’t finish—her grip crushed tighter. Death’s hue crept over Lin Sheng’s face.
“Never!” Lin Changhe barked. Lin Sheng’s color pinked up; he exhaled. “Won’t lay a finger. Scout’s honor.”
“But Spirit Nurturer and Jade Spirit are tangled up.” Lin Changhe played conflicted, scheming filthier paths in his head.
“To keep her safe, maybe…”
“Go on,” the female ghost pressed.
Lin Changhe chuckled, hook set. “Maybe I could use a little assist from you.”
~~~
At Grandma Song’s house
Song Qian sprawled on the bed, thumbing through the book from Liu Changsheng: Essential Handbook for Xuanmen Beginners.
Brand spanking new, like hot off the press. Mass-produced, huh?
The contents were cryptic as hell. Song Qian’s lids grew heavy, the book sliding under her head as sleep claimed her.
A breeze tickled. Song Qian blinked awake. Hair veiled her sight, but peering through, she spied blue skies, a garden bursting with blooms, and a girl of seven or eight.
The little girl’s face was as delicately carved as pink jade, tilted to one side as she gazed at Song Qian. Her eyes were like black grapes, blinking innocently, her long lashes casting faint shadows in the sunlight. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Sister?”
Song Qian shook her head to clear the dizziness, smoothed back her hair, and gazed at the girl. Unable to resist, she reached out and gently touched her head. “Are you calling me?”
The girl broke into a grin, revealing a gap where her two front teeth should have been—she must have been in that awkward stage of losing baby teeth.
Noticing Song Qian’s eyes lingering on her mouth, the girl shyly covered it with her hand, her cheeks flushing pink.
“What’s your name?” Song Qian crouched down to meet her at eye level. This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful child she had ever seen.
“Ji Jiuqing.”
The girl reached out and took Song Qian’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapping tightly around the index finger of Song Qian’s larger one. An inexplicable sense of closeness seemed to flow naturally between them, as if it had always been there.
Song Qian felt a flicker of recognition. Ji Jiuqing… the name was so familiar.
She was certain she knew this girl, yet her mind was a complete blank. Even the name itself felt shrouded in a haze she couldn’t penetrate.
“What’s your name, Sister?”
“Song Sensen.”
Song Qian had intended to give her proper name, Song Qian, but somehow her childhood nickname had slipped out instead.
The girl tugged her to her feet—or rather, Song Qian watched in bewilderment as her own body rose, pulled along by the child. She could see herself and the girl clearly, but she had no control over her actions. She was nothing more than a spectator.
What puzzled her even more was that the version of herself being led away was her twelve- or thirteen-year-old self.
Song Qian watched silently from the sidelines as the two girls wandered among the flowers and grass, watching the sunset paint the sky. They moved with the easy familiarity of friends who had known each other for ages.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the scene blurred violently. Song Qian snapped back into her own body.
The girl stood before her, pouting with tears welling in her eyes. “You’re leaving again.”
Song Qian blinked in confusion. What did that mean?
The girl’s face drew closer, filling her vision, until Song Qian felt the soft, warm wetness of a kiss on her cheek.
“Song Sensen, you’re mine.”
Song Qian bolted upright in bed. The curtains had been left open, and sunlight streamed in mercilessly. She threw up a hand to shield her eyes.
Ji Jiuqing…
Ji Jiuqing! It all came flooding back—that was Ji Wuxin. She had dreamed of Ji Wuxin as a child. No… it was her own childhood with Ji Wuxin.
The more she thought about it, the more something felt profoundly wrong. Song Qian rubbed her throbbing temples.
Once the pain eased a little, she threw back the covers, ready to get out of bed. Glancing to the side, she spotted a hand with clearly defined knuckles resting on the neighboring bedding. Its owner was staring at her with a dark, sullen expression.
“You dreamed of other ghosts.”
