Mu Qian Tan thought: Good thing this woman’s not dumb either. She saw through it but didn’t say. By now, the theater’s closed and everyone’s home. He can only ask from here. Talk more after saving her husband.
Jiang Yuanqi smiled faintly and tucked away the veil: “Alright, I figured as much.”
He checked Gao Yuan’s condition again, took out a bamboo brush, inkstone, and bottle of ink from his storage pouch, set them on a round stool, and said: “Please give me a white umbrella.”
Lü Jing agreed and quickly fetched one—a large white one with a few plum blossoms painted in the corner. She opened it: “No plain white, immortal. Will this do?”
Jiang Yuanqi poured ink into the inkstone, glanced up, and gestured for her to set it down: “Yes.”
He positioned the umbrella face toward him, and Jiang Yuanqi flicked his robe before dropping to one knee beside the bed. He dipped the bamboo brush in ink, first smearing away the plum blossom, then bit his fingertip and dripped blood into the ink. In an instant, it surged like crimson waves, turning all the ink in the inkstone a vivid red.
Having witnessed this miraculous immortal technique firsthand, Lü Jing couldn’t help but feel admiration. Her gaze toward Gao Yuan brimmed with hope.
The brush tip soaked up the red ink, as if letting out a satisfied sigh. Jiang Yuanqi lifted the brush, closed his eyes, and just as the ink was about to drip from the tip, he snapped open his bright, shining eyes. He plunged the brush down and began painting across the umbrella surface with the flair of a dragon and phoenix.
His strokes were precise and swift, without the slightest hesitation or pause. Every section between the umbrella ribs filled with a string of red characters, brilliantly scarlet as if to scorch the fabric, yet vividly alive, as if they might peel off the paper, take flight, and leap out the window.
He filled the entire umbrella surface in one breath, then slowly exhaled the breath he had been holding. He raised the umbrella, twirled it around, and handed it to Lü Jing. “This umbrella can summon souls. Take it.”
Lü Jing took it and held it over her head. In the broad daylight, a chill gathered beneath the umbrella, making her shiver uncontrollably, as if she stood in the depths of cold autumn.
He packed away all the items, and Jiang Yuanqi said, “Let’s go—to the place where you found your husband.”
The group left the house and didn’t walk far before stopping beside a cart shed. There was an inward-facing alcove shaped like the Chinese character for “mouth,” with straw, planks, broken wood, and black jars piled along the base of the wall—likely forgotten odds and ends someone had left there.
The ground bore chaotic footprints, left by people stepping in the rain-soaked mud, and since no one had come after the rain stopped, the prints remained perfectly preserved.
The footprints varied in size, with several strings of them. One could vaguely make out Gao Yuan fleeing here, the glamour corpse pursuing, the glamour corpse leaving, Lü Jing arriving afterward, and then Lü Jing taking Gao Yuan home.
Shang Shan tilted her head and looked around, letting out a few doubtful sounds before looking up. “This is so strange.”
Jiang Yuanqi said, “What does Lady Shang think?”
Shang Shan stood on tiptoe, raised her right hand with her palm perpendicular to her forearm, and waved it left and right toward the wall. “The wall is so high. That man definitely couldn’t have jumped over it.”
The wall was twice the height of a man. He was just an ordinary commoner, not a martial artist, so it was impossible for him to climb over. Jiang Yuanqi said, “Correct. So?”
Shang Shan said, “So how did he escape the glamour corpse’s pursuit?” She squatted in the corner herself and turned her head. “This is a dead end.”
New Year’s Money pretended to be the pursuer, forcing her into the dead end, bumping her butt, and pawing at her sleeve with its claws while meowing.
After observing for a moment, Jiang Yuanqi asked those beside him, “When you arrived, the glamour corpse was already gone, right?”
Lü Jing said, “Yes, only my husband was there.”
The footprints on the ground also showed that the glamour corpse had indeed left.
But the gruesome state of that old lady’s son’s corpse was still fresh in mind—stabbed dozens or hundreds of times until the body rotted away. It was clear this glamour corpse was a madwoman who loved tormenting people, utterly devoid of reason. Why would she let a prey that was already in her grasp go so easily?
It seemed only Gao Yuan could provide answers.
Jiang Yuanqi drew the demonic sound from his waist and held it to his lips. “When I start playing the flute later, stand behind the spot where your husband was—right there. Hold up the umbrella. He will slowly appear beneath it. Then keep calling him until he agrees to stand and go with you.”
Lü Jing followed the instructions to the letter. It was her first time facing a ghost, so she felt some tension, but thoughts of her husband filled her with courage. She stood at the base of the wall and opened the umbrella.
His lips pressed to the demon flute, and Jiang Yuanqi took a deep breath. He played a gentle melody rising from low to high, like a breeze rustling through bamboo leaves, yet laced with profound mystery. He stepped in a specific pattern, slowly shifting right, his gaze fixed on the base of the wall. Suddenly, a yin wind stirred there, and a greenish soul slowly appeared, huddled in the corner, trembling nonstop.
Lü Jing hurriedly called out, “Gao Yuan, Gao Yuan, Gao Yuan!”
She called more than a dozen times, thinking her voice wasn’t loud enough, and raised it higher. “Gao Lang!!”
Her voice nearly cracked, but the ghost showed no reaction, still huddled and motionless, as if frightened into immobility, mind blank.
Jiang Yuanqi was just about to tell her it was fine and to calm down when he heard Lü Jing tsk in frustration. Her fiery temper flared, and she grabbed the soul by the ear, yanking it up alive.
One note went sharp, nearly turning the tune comical. Jiang Yuanqi was torn between laughter and tears but saw it was effective enough, so he let her be.
Shang Shan rubbed her own ear, recalling the pain from being tugged the night before. She glanced sideways at her master, who still had that cold and aloof demeanor—different from the beauty on the bed under the hazy candlelight.
Her palm felt a bit hot against her ear, so Shang Shan looked away, scooped up New Year’s Money, and smooched it hard.
Jiang Yuanqi continued playing the flute, while Lü Jing held the umbrella, escorting the soul back home together. As they crossed the threshold, the talismans covering the door offered no obstruction at all. The soul, ear still gripped, crossed casually.
Lü Jing realized this was indeed a fake. The immortal’s words rang true, and she angrily moved her lips. “You always buy this junk. They talk it up like it’s amazing when you buy it, but it can’t even block your own ghost—worse than waste paper. Always falling for this crap at your age. What a waste of life!”
Muttering as she entered the room, she stood by the bed. Jiang Yuanqi’s flute melody suddenly turned urgent. He took a big step forward, and the soul seemed startled, darting left in panic but not daring to leave the umbrella.
The demonic sound grew more urgent. Suddenly, he sensed a warm spot on the bed, as if it could shelter him, so he lunged forward and tumbled into Gao Yuan’s body.
“Guh…” Gao Yuan’s breathing suddenly cleared. His chest ballooned like a inflating balloon, tensed for a moment, then deflated. He opened his trembling eyelids and, in a daze, saw the person by the bed. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Wifey…”
“Oh! You still know to come back!” Lü Jing’s eyes reddened for an instant before she suppressed it. She yanked him up and said to Jiang Yuanqi, “This is our lifesaver. Thank him quickly!”
Gao Yuan tried to kneel on the bed, but Jiang Yuanqi stopped him. “Rest first. Just answer my questions, and I won’t accept such a grand gesture.”
Shang Shan watched the whole process. It was her first time seeing talisman cultivation soul-summoning arts, and she found it endlessly fascinating. Her hands itched to learn it, so she secretly asked the woman, “Master, do you know this?”
Mu Qian Tan: “No.”
“Oh, oh, oh.”
After half a cup of tea’s time, Gao Yuan sat on a round stool, wrapped in a blanket, cradling hot tea, knees together. His face was still pale, with dark circles under his eyes, but his black-and-white pupils were normal. He looked much more alive than that morning.
“At the time, I was so scared. I lost the stool and just kept running, run run run. The rain was heavy, so I fell. After falling, I crawled to the side, trying to hide, but I didn’t make it. She followed in, and I felt that sword practically on my neck. But then she suddenly left.”
Jiang Yuanqi said, “Why?”
Gao Yuan said, “I was scared silly, huddled against the wall with my head down. I didn’t see anything, but I heard opera singing. A woman was singing.”
Shang Shan immediately asked, “What was she singing?”
Gao Yuan said, “This…”
Lü Jing said, “This is an expert immortal. Think hard. Don’t get it wrong.”
Gao Yuan shook his head. “Immortal, sorry. I don’t usually listen to opera. I don’t know what she was singing… Ah, wifey, you listen to it. You should know!”
Jiang Yuanqi said, “No harm. Hum a few bars for your wife to hear. Maybe she’ll recognize it.”
Gao Yuan said, “Okay.”
He lowered his head, recalling for a moment, filtering out the pattering rain in his memory bit by bit. He gradually hummed a few notes, stringing them into a snippet. Lü Jing listened intently, and after a while, her eyes widened. She spat out four words: “East City Jade Banquet!”
Gao Yuan stopped, drank some water to moisten his throat. Jiang Yuanqi said, “What’s the origin of this tune?”
When it came to opera she loved, Lü Jing knew it inside out. “This was written many years ago by a girl named Yu Yan, sung for her lover. The lyrics and melody were so sweet and honeyed! At first, she just sang it for fun, but later a troupe bought it, and it spread. Everyone loved it. If folks were out and about now, you could still hear it in the theater.”
Shang Shan dragged over a stool and sat down too, pulling it close. “So, so, do you know any actors who sing really well and are super pretty?”
Last night, they had seen that glamour corpse—tall and stunningly beautiful. If not for the ashen skin and bloodshot eyes, she would have been perfect as a graceful opera performer swirling long sleeves on stage. Jiang Yuanqi took out the face veil again, clutched it in his hand, and rubbed it, lost in thought.
Lü Jing said, “Anyone who can sing Jade Banquet is top-tier pretty and talented!”
Gao Yuan added, “But what I heard was choppy, floating and unsteady. Not that great, even a bit weepy.”
“Crying? Was she crying because she thought she sang badly?” Shang Shan bit her lip, puzzling over it but giving up. “Then tell me some who sing well, and some who don’t. Oh, and if any are deceased, write them down too.”
“Okay.” Lü Jing fetched paper and pen, wrote a list of names, then sighed while writing. “But the absolute best wasn’t any of these. It was an actress named Su Jin from years back. One note from her, and she conquered all!”
Jiang Yuanqi snapped back to attention, put away the face veil, and asked, “Su Jin? Was she good?”
“Good—exceptionally so. One in a hundred miles.” Lü Jing didn’t stint on praise. “Beautiful as a celestial fairy, figure to die for, singing top-notch. And her character was impeccable—she often gave her earnings to the poor. Perfect in every way! Shame she married poorly.”
Sensing a lead, Jiang Yuanqi pressed down on the paper full of names and asked, “Married to whom?”
Lü Jing showed a contemptuous expression. “To that Wen Family guy, of course.”
“Hm?” Shang Shan perked up and exchanged a glance with Jiang Yuanqi.
Jiang Yuanqi said, “Isn’t the Wen Family wealthy? How was the marriage poor?”
At this, Lü Jing fumed. “That Wen Wu is a heartless cad! When Su Jin married him, he wasn’t rich yet. Without her modeling their clothes and helping sell, with his pig brain, how could he have built the business? Once he got a bit wealthy, he couldn’t control himself—new loves over old, lust-crazed, whoring without hiding from his wife. Su Jin was literally angered to death!”
Shang Shan let out an “ah,” frowning her brows into an eight. “She died… Why don’t good people get good ends.”
Jiang Yuanqi asked, “When did she die?”
Lü Jing said, “Many years ago.”
He had thought Su Jin died harboring resentment and turned into a fierce corpse to take revenge on Wen Wu. But now, it didn’t seem likely. A corpse dead for years would have rotted to bones, yet the glamour corpse had intact flesh and skin. There was no such flesh-reforming technique in the world. And Wen Wu was still alive—if the glamour corpse was Su Jin, she wouldn’t have ignored revenge on that heartless man.
After all, hatred was also a fierce, hard-to-quell habit.
After a moment of silence, Jiang Yuanqi asked again, “Do you know about Miss Wen applying the coffin at the coffin shop?”
Lü Jing said, “Of course. That child had a hard fate too, but her temperament took after her mother—a good kid.”
Jiang Yuanqi said, “Did Miss Wen know how to sing East City Jade Banquet?”
![Why You Get to Be the Protagonist? [Transmigration]](https://i3.wp.com/dobytranslations.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/masterr.png?resize=151,215 "Why You Get to Be the Protagonist? [Transmigration]")
