Chapter 37

“So, they came looking for Aunt Mei, right?”

As a child, Song Qian had adored Aunt Mei—not just for her gentle nature and sweet temper, but because Aunt Mei was strikingly beautiful.

“But Aunt Mei… doesn’t she have a husband?”

Grandma Song let out a sigh, drawing Song Qian aside to sit down. She reached out and gently stroked her hair.

“Poor Yang Mei. A few years back, her husband went off to work somewhere and ran away with another woman, taking their child with him.”

So Aunt Mei’s family name was Yang.

“Grandma, we found Aunt Mei’s body.”

Grandma Song didn’t seem surprised at all. She continued to comfort Song Qian with that same soft touch. “You saw it yourself. Did it frighten you?”

Song Qian shook her head and lowered her gaze. A single tear fell. Surprised, she brushed her fingertip against her eyelashes—they were damp. She really was crying.

But that tear felt all wrong.

She was angry and saddened for Aunt Mei’s sake, it was true. Yet Song Qian wasn’t the type to cry easily.

She blinked, and suddenly her vision flushed an eerie crimson. The droplet on the floor turned into a bloody tear, vivid red searing into her eyes.

It hurt.

Song Qian clutched at her eyes as a relentless buzzing filled her ears. She slipped off the sofa and knelt on the floor.

Someone nearby was calling out to her, but the words were lost in the noise—she couldn’t make out the voice or what they were saying.

A pair of icy hands seized her wrist. Her own hand was pulled away by force, the grip impossibly strong. Song Qian struggled to pry her eyes open and see who it was.

The pain was too intense. She shook her head—she simply couldn’t. Someone lifted her chin, and then something cool pressed against her eyelids. The sharp sting began to fade, and those same icy hands wrapped around her from behind.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ji Wuxin’s voice cut through, laced with urgency.

“Strange. Why does the little maid carry such heavy ghost qi?” That was Liu Changsheng.

Ghost qi? Had she run into another ghost?

Song Qian couldn’t hear anything after that. It felt like she’d been hurled into a bottomless abyss, her body plummeting endlessly with no hope of rescue.

“Song Sensen!”

“Song Sensen!!”

From high above the chasm, someone cried her name in desperation. Song Qian reached upward, and a slender hand caught hers at once.

She looked up and saw who it belonged to.

Tears streamed down Ji Wuxin’s face as she clutched Song Qian’s wrist. “Song Sensen, where are you going?”

Song Qian blinked. The sight of those endless tears pierced her heart. This wasn’t how Ji Wuxin should be. She could be overbearing, haughty, utterly self-centered—brimming with any vibrant energy Song Qian could imagine. But this raw grief had no place on her face.

“Don’t go.” Ji Wuxin’s hold faltered. A deep gash appeared on her arm, blood pouring down in rivulets, soaking half of Song Qian’s clothes.

“Don’t go!”

Ji Wuxin wept on.

Once more, Song Qian watched from the outside, a mere spectator. She saw herself smile faintly at Ji Wuxin before wrenching free.

“No!” Song Qian lunged forward to intervene, but an invisible barrier held her back. Helpless, she watched herself tumble into the void. Ji Wuxin’s eyes blazed red as she screamed Song Qian’s name—then leaped after her without a second thought.

“Ji Wuxin!”

Song Qian shot upright in bed. Where was she? What was this place? Where was Ji Wuxin? Ji Wuxin…

Something blocked her eyes. She clawed at it—she had to see Ji Wuxin.

“Ji Wuxin.”

“What’re you on about? Summoning spirits at the crack of dawn?”

Her fingers had just brushed the covering when a sleepy grumble sounded from beside her, thick with morning irritation.

A hollow ache in Song Qian’s chest suddenly filled. She reached out and found something cool to the touch.

“Ji Wuxin?”

Ji Wuxin had almost kicked her right off the bed from that holler. Now, as Song Qian’s hand veered straight toward her chest, she eyed the blindfolded girl’s smile with a complicated look.

Doing this on purpose?

Oh, too shy to cop a feel before, but now that she’s blindfolded, anything goes?

Before the thought finished forming, Song Qian threw herself into a full embrace.

“Hey, you…”

Ji Wuxin flushed with unexpected heat. Her usual chill was slipping away.

Song Qian held on for a moment before releasing her. She guided Ji Wuxin’s hand to her own cheek.

“Pinch me.”

“?”

Ji Wuxin’s fingers sank into the soft flesh of Song Qian’s cheek. She couldn’t resist giving it a couple of rubs.

“No—pinch me for real.”

Song Qian needed to know this wasn’t the dream, that it had all been fake.

Ji Wuxin obliged with a light squeeze, her eyelids fluttering half-shut. The smooth texture under her fingertip tempted her to linger.

Song Qian felt nothing but a tickle—no pain.

She scowled fiercely and yanked the cloth strip away from over her eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey—Liu Changsheng said not to touch this. You’ve got to keep it on.” Ji Wuxin snatched the strip back and moved to replace it.

But as she glanced up, she froze in place. Song Qian sat there on the bed, her eyes aglow with red—the crimson deep in her pupils. Those uncanny eyes didn’t look frightening on her face. If anything, they stirred pity, her tear-rimmed gaze like that of a helpless little rabbit. Something ignited inside Ji Wuxin, a fire swelling out of control.

Song Qian watched Ji Wuxin stare back like an idiot, her own heart growing colder. Was she still dreaming?

She pressed her hand to her thigh. Time to test it.

Her nails dug in hard. Song Qian’s face contorted as she collapsed against Ji Wuxin.

“Damn… that hurts.”

Ji Wuxin wrapped her arms around Song Qian, her chest heaving with phantom throbs—though she had no heartbeat, the sensation was real enough.

Song Qian rubbed her thigh and gave Ji Wuxin’s waist a swat.

“You call that a pinch? Skip breakfast or what?”

If it hadn’t been like a playful pat, she wouldn’t have had to go so hard on herself.

Ji Wuxin’s thoughts were a foggy mess, hazy as that time she’d gotten tipsy. But she was clear-headed now—crystal clear that she wanted to kiss Song Sensen.

With that in mind, her gaze drifted to the exposed curve of Song Qian’s shoulder where her nightgown had slipped. She leaned down.

A soft kiss brushed the skin. Song Qian’s half-formed complaint lodged in her throat and went down unspoken.

“Ji Wuxin, what are you—”

Ji Wuxin said nothing, her lips tracing the line of Song Qian’s neck to the corner of her mouth.

Song Qian’s long lashes quivered. As the kiss deepened, she closed her eyes.

Knock knock knock.

The rapping at the door shattered the moment. Ji Wuxin whipped her head toward it, black aura practically rolling off her.

Who the hell had a death wish!

Song Qian tugged her clothes straight, shoved Ji Wuxin aside, and coughed to play off the awkwardness. “We should get up.”

Once Song Qian had grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom, Ji Wuxin stalked to the door and flung it open, face dark as thunder.

Liu Changsheng and Lin Qing stood there. Lin Qing’s hand, halfway raised to knock, dropped at the sight of Ji Wuxin’s murderous glare.

Who’d poked the bear this time?

“What?” Ji Wuxin spat through clenched teeth. She was ready to devour someone.

Liu Changsheng took one look and knew they’d interrupted something good. No wonder the jade spirit looked so peeved about her meal getting away.

“To check on the little disciple’s eyes. She hasn’t taken it off, has she?”

Song Qian’s sudden collapse the previous afternoon had given them all a scare. Liu Changsheng’s examination revealed ghost qi hidden in her eyes. She’d bound a strip of white cloth—first soaked in talisman water—over them, then drawn exorcism talismans atop it. A night later, it should be fine.

At the mention of the cloth strip, Ji Wuxin’s eyes darted away. She mumbled a vague “ahh, uh-huh.”

Song Sensen had yanked it off herself. Had nothing to do with her.

Liu Changsheng peered inside just as Song Qian emerged, changed. Those red eyes fixed right on her.

“Master?”

Liu Changsheng blinked in a daze, then shut her eyes and spun her prayer beads.

“Song Qian, your eyes?” Lin Qing pointed, astonishment clear in his voice.

Eyes tainted by ghost qi should be murky, pitch-black voids. Yet Song Qian’s sparkled like flawless rubies.

“My eyes?” Song Qian rubbed at them. No pain now—they felt perfectly normal.

“What’s wrong with them?”

Lin Qing’s bewilderment didn’t seem feigned. Song Qian grabbed the hand mirror from the bedside table.

The reflection was both alien and intimately familiar. She blinked. The girl in the glass blinked back.

This… was her!?

Song Qian flung the mirror onto the bed, unable to believe that the monstrous creature staring back was her own reflection. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes again. How could this have happened?

Ji Wuxin walked over and caught her hand, preventing her from rubbing any further.

Song Qian looked at her helplessly, her hand held fast. “My… my eyes…”

Ji Wuxin leaned in for a closer look. “What’s wrong with your eyes? They’re beautiful.”

Song Qian knew she was just trying to comfort her, so she turned her gaze toward the Master standing by the door.

Liu Changsheng sensed her stare. She opened her eyes and turned away—more precisely, she avoided looking directly at those eyes.

The Ghost Qi swirling in them was far too gloomy and ominous. What sort of ghost had Song Qian encountered, and why had it left its Ghost Qi lingering in her eyes like that?

“Little Disciple, there might be some trouble with your eyes. Once we’ve dealt with the Female Corpse, I’ll take you to someone who can help remove the Ghost Qi.”

With that, Liu Changsheng pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number, holding it to her ear.

Before the call connected, she twisted her head to fix Ji Wuxin with a stern look. “Don’t kiss her eyes.”

The Jade Spirit could not be tainted by Ghost Qi.

Ji Wuxin let out a cold snort. The resentment still simmered in her heart—did she think she would just obey like that?

As if anticipating her defiance, Liu Changsheng added, “If you want her to die young, then go right ahead and kiss them.”

Ji Wuxin: “…”

Song Qian’s face flushed red at those words. She pushed Ji Wuxin toward the door.

The three of them headed downstairs together, with Liu Changsheng taking the call at the entrance.

Back in the bedroom, Song Qian’s mirror lay abandoned on the bed—and in its surface, her face suddenly appeared once more. Those red eyes now gleamed with an added chill of malice and ferocity.

“Found it.”