Over the next few days, whenever Ji Wuxin showed her face, Song Qian would hound her with questions about why she had to make herself fall in love with her. The formidable ghost that was Ji Wuxin could only sneak out in the dead of night to catch a bit of television.
Song Qian had noticed that Ji Wuxin always deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere, as if the reason was something too mortifying to confess.
That night, as usual, Song Qian stayed up past one, finally ready for bed. The room felt stuffy, so she cracked the window open. A cool breeze washed over her face, wonderfully refreshing. Drowsy on the bed, she fumbled for the blanket to cover her stomach but couldn’t find it after groping around. Frowning, she sat bolt upright, forcing her eyes open just a slit…
“Ah! … Mmph!!”
Icy moonlight spilled through the window into the cramped room. The patch of light on the floor flowed like water toward the wall, plunging the space inch by inch into darkness. The girl on the bed gaped in horror, kicking frantically as she scrambled backward. The wall’s chill seeped through her pajamas and struck her heart like a dagger.
She had nowhere left to go.
Before her hunched a pitch-black mass on the bed. Perched atop its head was a grotesquely oversized eyeball that dominated most of its skull, fractured as if gouged hollow. Jagged bits of sclera around it had begun to rot, sagging over the edges. Song Qian couldn’t make out a pupil, but she felt its relentless stare boring into her.
This thing could touch her. An icy, clammy grip fastened around her ankle, sending her heart slamming into her throat. She fought down the wave of nausea.
Right now, she desperately wanted to retract the words she’d flung at Ji Wuxin days earlier. Sure, Ji Wuxin’s face was ghostly pale on a normal day, but compared to this abomination, she was breathtaking—a celestial beauty.
“Not you?”
The mass spoke without warning. The tendril coiled around Song Qian’s calf yanked hard, dragging her face-to-face.
Up close, she finally saw the truth of that enormous eye: its center bristled with countless tiny ones. The visceral horror hit like a punch; her stomach roiled.
It clamped a hold over her mouth too. Desperate to retch but unable, the agony built until tears streamed down her chin and soaked into her pajama collar.
The thin fabric grew damp, outlining the round jade pendant nestled at her chest.
“Where is she!? Where!!?”
A bellow erupted beside her ear, stirring a cascade of lank black hair. Only then did Song Qian register the horror: this black lump was a monkey, its fur unusually thick and matted!
Her mouth came free next. Monkey paws seized her throat. Suffocation gripped her instantly; she clawed desperately at them.
“Where is she!? Tell me!”
Desperate for answers but not truly murderous, the monkey released her just as blackness closed in and hurled her aside.
Song Qian crashed to the floor. Pain forgotten, she clutched her throat and gulped air. Her heaving gasps shredded her raw passage like broken glass; blood tainted her tongue.
The monkey vaulted down and squatted before her, shrieking: “Where is she!?”
Song Qian reached her limit. Chin lifted in defiance, tears carving paths down her cheeks, she locked eyes on that orb: “How am I supposed to answer if you won’t say who she is?”
Her arms quivered against the floorboards, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to crumble.
The monkey halted, seemingly mulling it over. Silence stretched, then it bellowed anew: “You know! You have to! She’s always glued to your side—where’d you stash her!?”
The words had barely left its maw when realization dawned on Song Qian. It hunted the female ghost in her home.
Damn it all! Why pull her into their ghostly feud!
The monkey read her reaction plain as day—the flare of fury and injustice in her gaze.
“You know!!” it howled, lunging.
Song Qian flung up her arms to shield her face, curling tight. At her age, she hadn’t figured on joining her ancestors just yet.
“What foul creature dares rampage here!”
The lights blazed on. Huddled in the corner, Song Qian lowered her guarding hands. Someone stood before her—short, hair a wild mess.
“Jiang… Yi?”
To her, he was a deity. The slight boy planted himself between her and the monstrosity, facing it alone.
Pity—she doubted he could take it.
“Go get…”
She’d meant reinforcements, Lin Qing specifically, but he shot her a sidelong glance: “Quiet. You’re grating.”
Song Qian: “…”
Like hell he was.
The black monkey, from the moment Jiang Yi appeared, meekly parked itself on the bed, its eye glued to his face.
Disgust twisted Jiang Yi’s features; he swung a fist into it.
“Eyeballing your old man?”
The monkey rolled off the bed, paws cradling its orb as it gaped at him and burst into sobs, the picture of a wronged spouse.
“Sir, how could you strike me! Waaaah~”
Song Qian glanced up at Jiang Yi, skepticism plain in her eyes.
He froze, then hammered it with more blows.
Pounding away: “Kinship, eh? Take that! Quit sniveling—swallow it!”
The monkey howled in agony, reared back with a roar, and darted out the window while Jiang Yi clapped hands over his ears.
Peace returned. Jiang Yi turned to haul Song Qian up from the floor, only to find her already on her feet, steadying herself against the wardrobe as she smoothed her clothes.
“That one in your house…?” Jiang Yi began with “ghost” in mind but trailed off, unsure.
Song Qian’s tone chilled: “No clue.”
“How’d you get in? That monkey knows you?” Calmer now, questions piled up.
Jiang Yi inhaled sharply, raking fingers through his tousled mop, at a loss for words.
“Er… later on that. Little Linzi gave you talisman paper, right? You have it on you?”
She caught his evasive flickers, eager to pivot, but spared him—after all, he’d just saved her hide.
“Living room.”
“Sure.”
Song Qian shrugged into a jacket, poured hot water for them both.
Jiang Yi waved off his cup: set it down to cool; too scalding.
The talisman paper he’d mentioned lay on the table—she hadn’t brought it to bed.
They lingered briefly; the doorbell chimed. Jiang Yi bolted, flung open the door, and dragged the arrival inside.
“Took you long enough—turtle speed.”
Lin Qing wrenched free, shot him a glare: “You think it’s next door?”
“What’s happened?” Lin Qing eyed Song Qian’s disheveled state and gawked.
Song Qian nursed her hot water, relaying the ordeal. That chokehold lingered; warm liquid soothed but speaking still burned, blood’s faint tang rising.
She stressed the monkey’s abrupt submission to Jiang Yi, that blurted “Sir.”
Lin Qing turned; Jiang Yi shook his head wildly: “No idea.”
“Thing’s too hideous to know.”
“Wrong person, maybe,” Song Qian murmured, cradling her pounding head.
Lin Qing clocked her pallor: “You alright?”
She flapped a hand, cocooning in a nearby blanket. Hoarse: “Fine.”
“She…” Lin Qing ventured toward Ji Wuxin, but the syllable sparked; Song Qian whirled with gritted teeth: “Get rid of her, can you?”
“Without her, this month’s freak show skips me!”
Tears brimmed; she needed release for the terror churning inside.
“Miss Song, I’ll have to clear it upstairs,” Lin Qing hedged.
“Ghostbusters, aren’t you? She’s right here—nab her!” Song Qian rasped, jabbing a finger roomward.
Lin Qing and Jiang Yi’s gazes converged. Ji Wuxin stood there unannounced, expression ashen.
She’d caught every word.
“Catch me?”
Song Qian froze at the voice but held her ground, back turned, voice steel: “Yes!”
Ji Wuxin clutched a box—an antique-style lunch carrier, perhaps. She set it on a side table, glided silently behind Song Qian.
A hand settled on her shoulder, registering the faint quiver: “Are you crying?”
In the next second, Lin Qing felt a sharp glare slicing toward him. That fierce lady stared at him icily. “Did you bully her?”
Lin Qing hurriedly shook his head, gave a quick rundown of what had happened the night before, then grabbed Jiang Yi and bolted out the door.
If Ji Wuxin truly lost her temper, he couldn’t fight her—and even if he tried, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Better to make a quick escape. Besides, she had no intention of harming Song Qian anyway.
The room fell silent, broken only by the occasional sob.
Ji Wuxin approached Song Qian. The sight of the wound on her face and the ring of ugly bruises around her neck made her brows knit together involuntarily.
The Song Qian she knew was always spotless and pretty as a picture, like a delicate little doll. Whenever she secretly watched Song Qian sleep, she couldn’t resist stealing a kiss—just like Jiao Niang used to do with her.
A translucent hand, misty and cool as fog, pressed gently against Song Qian’s cheek, caressing it with featherlight strokes.
Song Qian turned her head to pull away, but she moved too forcefully and aggravated the injury on her neck.
“Hiss…”
“Sorry,” Ji Wuxin said, her voice as cold as ice.
Song Qian glared at her, tears streaming down her face without stopping. This ghost had no feelings at all! She was covered in injuries because of her, and yet she acted so indifferent!
Ji Wuxin tried to wipe away her tears but couldn’t. She’d never dealt with anything like this before. The little spirits around her were always cheerful; none of them had ever cried like this.
Song Qian whined in a soft, pitiful voice.
“What are you doing?”
Song Qian’s back bumped against the sofa as Ji Wuxin cupped her face and leaned in closer.
Without a word, Ji Wuxin bent down and kissed the wounds on her face. To Song Qian’s astonishment, the marks actually began to fade away slowly under her lips.
Once the facial injuries were tended to, Ji Wuxin tilted Song Qian’s chin up. A cool kiss landed on the warm skin of her neck.
Song Qian swallowed hard, too stunned to speak. The blazing anger in her heart dwindled to just a fraction of what it had been.
“Kisses make the pain go away.”
Ji Wuxin kissed each bruise with earnest care, then lifted her gaze to the scrape at the corner of Song Qian’s mouth and leaned in slowly once more.
A cool breath ghosted over her lips. Glancing down, Song Qian saw the very ghost who had caused her injuries gently blowing on them.
“This sort of thing won’t happen again.”
Song Qian met her eyes. They were as cold and unyielding as ever, but she could see the sincerity shining through.
“Hmph.”
The bedroom was a total wreck, but Ji Wuxin held Song Qian close and nestled with her on the sofa the entire night.
Unsurprisingly, Song Qian woke up with a cold the next day.
“Stay away from me from now on!!!”
