Chapter 57

At that moment, Song Qian felt a chill pierce straight to her heart. This was no Jiang Yi at all.

“Who are you?”

“Jiang Yi” ignored her and sauntered over, hips swaying.

Song Qian’s eyes locked on her feet. There was no other reason; those steps were even more feminine than her own.

Evidently, a woman now inhabited Jiang Yi’s body.

With her hands bound behind her back, Song Qian watched the woman approach and yank open Song Qian’s collar. The top two buttons of the shirt tore away, exposing snow-white skin—and the jade pendant.

“What are you doing!?” Song Qian panicked. She struggled desperately, her wrists chafing raw against the vines, pain flaring with every twist.

Disregarding her thrashing, “Jiang Yi” reached out and plucked the jade free. It felt warm to the touch, smooth and exquisite.

Song Qian’s eyes burned as she watched it taken. “Give it back! That’s mine—give it back!”

“Jiang Yi” shot her a disdainful glance and snorted coldly. She turned and walked away, step by deliberate step, lifting the jade toward the night’s moonlight. The cool glow rendered it even more translucent.

“Such fine jade. Its Jade Spirit must be unparalleled.”

“Give me the jade.”

The icy voice from behind caught “Jiang Yi” off guard. She turned to regard Song Qian, whom she had just dismissed.

Song Qian stood with her head slightly bowed, her body trembling faintly. Wisps of black Ghost Qi flickered around her eyes.

“Jiang Yi” paused. This Ghost Qi…

Song Qian raised her head. Her eyes blazed blood-red, on the verge of dripping, ringed by Ghost Qi straining to erupt. She snapped the vines apart, thorns nearly severing the veins in her wrists. The metallic tang of blood surged through the dark air like crashing waves.

“Give… me… the… jade.” Song Qian tilted her head, enunciating each word like she was savoring it, eyes fixed on the prize in her captor’s hand.

Song Qian’s eerie appearance was unsettling, but it didn’t faze “Jiang Yi.” With a snap of her fingers, a figure emerged from the nearby woods.

“Wenjun, deal with her.”

Ming Wenjun bowed slightly. She glanced at Song Qian and hesitated. “Master, this Spirit Nurturer has formed a Spirit Contract with the Jade Spirit. We can’t touch her just yet.”

“Jiang Yi” blinked in surprise. “Spirit Contract?”

“What was the Jade Spirit thinking, sharing its lifespan with some ordinary mortal? Utterly foolish.”

“Then get her out of sight. That look is unnerving.” “Jiang Yi” waved it off, then paused as if struck by a thought. “That Mu Yu… do you know her?”

Mu Yu…?

Ming Wenjun lowered her gaze. Mu Yu had arrived in the village later on; she hadn’t brought it up yet. Had they already crossed paths?

Why ask about Mu Yu now? Did she know her?

Her mind raced, but yielded no answers. Ming Wenjun looked up evenly. “I don’t know.”

“I see.”

“Jiang Yi” sighed, then tossed the jade backward casually.

“I’m heading back. Bring the Jade Spirit… and this Spirit Nurturer too. Oh, and tell Buyu to speed things up. I’m not waiting around forever.”

Ming Wenjun caught the jade and bowed her head. “Yes.”

With that, Jiang Yi’s body went limp, collapsing unconscious to the ground.

Song Qian’s gaze shifted from the flying jade to Ming Wenjun.

Murderous intent gleamed in her eyes, fierce enough to tear the woman apart and devour her whole.

Ming Wenjun pocketed the jade, patted Song Qian’s cheek, then tilted up her chin. With her own hands, she refastened the pendant around Song Qian’s neck.

“Be good now. Don’t make trouble. It’s not your time to shine yet.”

Her slender fingers brushed Song Qian’s eyes. The roiling Ghost Qi recoiled at her touch, retreating back into hiding.

Ming Wenjun pondered a moment, eyes downcast, then produced a sheet of Talisman Paper. Crimson runes, drawn in cinnabar mixed with human blood, crawled across its surface. She pressed it to Song Qian’s chest and chanted an incantation. The paper ignited in a bizarre burn against her skin, and Song Qian’s vacant eyes twitched.

Outwardly, nothing seemed amiss. But Ming Wenjun knew the truth: layers of Ghost Qi now swaddled Song Qian’s pounding heart.

She had relocated the Ghost Qi from the girl’s eyes to her core.

Others cherished the Jade Spirit as a treasure, but Ming Wenjun had set her sights on the Spirit Nurturer. Song Qian’s yin-heavy constitution was tough as nails—ideal as a vessel to cultivate her Ghost Qi.

Her eyes darkened at the thought. She would mold Song Qian into the most loyal, most formidable ghost general.

No master. No one would ever command her.

When Ji Wuxin finally found Song Qian, she was slumped against a tree, lips pallid, sitting in eerie silence.

Ji Wuxin’s limbs went numb. She couldn’t bring herself to approach, terrified she’d arrived too late.

Her eyes drifted lower, and rage flared. Song Qian’s collar hung torn, her wrists crusted with blood—like some abandoned rag doll.

Closer now, Ji Wuxin spotted the faint rise and fall of her chest. Relief washed over her. She rushed forward and crouched.

“Song Sensen?”

She lifted Song Qian’s wrist for a closer look. Friction burns, deep gashes.

Someone had taken her, no doubt.

Ji Wuxin scanned the area, eyes narrowing on one spot. A body lay there.

She gathered Song Qian into her arms and stanched the bleeding as best she could.

Carrying her, Ji Wuxin approached the figure on the ground. Moonlight pierced the clouds, illuminating the boy’s face.

Jiang Yi?

Ji Wuxin frowned at the familiar features. What was he doing here?

Before she could puzzle it out, her gaze fell to his hand: a short vine segment, speckled with blood.

She glanced at Song Qian’s wrists, and a suspicion crystallized.

Had Jiang Yi abducted Song Sensen? What for?

Pounding footsteps echoed from behind. Ji Wuxin turned to see Lin Qing sprinting toward them.

“J-Jiang Yi!?”

Lin Qing doubled over, gasping. The sight on the ground nearly stole his breath.

“How long have you known Jiang Yi?”

“Over ten years. Why?” Lin Qing straightened, mopping sweat from his brow. Ji Wuxin’s skeptical look drew his attention to Song Qian and Jiang Yi’s states.

“You’re not thinking Jiang Yi took Song Qian, are you?”

Ji Wuxin nodded gravely.

It was the leading theory.

“Impossible,” Lin Qing declared. He squatted and tapped the vine, which stirred and slithered into Jiang Yi’s sleeve.

“Jiang Yi wouldn’t do that.”

Ji Wuxin fell silent. One cradling Song Qian, the other hoisting Jiang Yi on his back, they trudged wordlessly toward the Mountain God Temple.

Something else had gone down while Song Qian was missing. Another player, most likely.

A cool night breeze stirred, and Ji Wuxin felt her stir.

She looked down. “Song Sensen.”

Song Qian murmured, eyes cracking open in confusion as her arms looped around Ji Wuxin’s neck.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“You’re safe now. Everything’s fine.” Ji Wuxin patted her back, voice soft as a lullaby.

“The jade!” Song Qian jolted upright, nearly tumbling free. Ji Wuxin caught her. She reached for her chest, but agony lanced her wrist.

“Hiss…”

“Don’t move. I just stopped the bleeding.”

Song Qian stared at the lattice of wounds crisscrossing her wrist, expression troubled. How had she gotten these? No memory.

“Ji Wuxin, what happened to me?”

Ji Wuxin halted. “You don’t remember?”

Song Qian ransacked her mind, but it blanked after Liu Changsheng and Lin Qing laying the formation. Nothing beyond.

“No.”

They reached the Mountain God Temple. Liu Changsheng and Qi Buyu sat bolt upright at the entrance. Yun Chu, formerly sprawled by the Talisman Array, now perched obediently nearby, her Ghost Qi vanished clean.

Liu Changsheng rose at the sight of the bedraggled group, eyes narrowing further on Song Qian.

“Didn’t you head down the mountain?”

“Huh?” Song Qian slipped from Ji Wuxin’s arms, Master’s question muddling her further.

“I… don’t know what happened.”

Liu Changsheng glanced at Qi Buyu, whose eyes mirrored the confusion.

When she turned back, Qi Buyu dropped her gaze, brooding.

What was Ming Wenjun playing at? She’d stalled Liu Changsheng, yet here they were, all in one piece.

Liu Changsheng’s face soured after hearing Ji Wuxin and Lin Qing out. No question—Song Qian’s memory of the ordeal had been wiped.

Who would kidnap her, leave the jade, inflict no lasting harm? What was the angle?

“Down the mountain first. Sort Yun Chu, bandage those wounds.”

The group helped one another down the mountain, carrying Wu Yizhi’s body with them.

On the way back, Song Qian noticed that Yun Chu was still clutching the fake Liuli Lantern.

She murmured softly under her breath, and they could just barely make out:

“Liuli… Liuli…”