The ambiguity of the night seeped through the candlelight, creating a suffocating, unsettling humidity.
The youth held her wrist with one hand while the other cupped her face, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. Yet, being inexperienced, he did not know how to fill her mouth, only trembling with teary, dark lashes as he slowly licked—her teeth, her upper lip, her lower lip, even the corners of her mouth.
Ji Yuwei had never kissed anyone before. Even in Jianye, where concubines were exchanged openly, where surface glamour masked a private world that viewed debauchery as a shared pleasure for the refined and the vulgar alike, he had prided himself on remaining aloof, deeming no one worthy of his attention. He looked down on those who indulged, viewing them as beasts enslaved by desire. Thus, the virginity seal at the center of his forehead had never faded.
Naturally, he did not know how to kiss, unaware that the constant flow of saliva from his cheeks, too much to swallow, was a sign of pleasure.
He lifted his damp, sticky eyelashes, the corners of his eyes red as if traced with crimson ink, his cheeks flushed as he panted and smiled. “Ping’an, I wasn’t lying to you earlier. I truly wanted to kiss you.”
He thought Wu Ping’an was leaving because his words had sounded too insincere, so in this moment, as if guided by some unseen force, he recklessly attempted to seduce her.
He only wanted to go to the Otherworld, to seize her living essence, to live forever without illness or pain. She was, after all, so ordinary—what harm would it do to give it to him?
“Ping’an?” Ji Yuwei leaned against her cheek, his pupils unfocused as he called her name, carefully savoring the thought of the Otherworld, of immortality. His icy body seemed to grow warm, trembling.
Wordless excitement made him want to kiss her again, to suck the living essence from her tightly sealed lips, to replace her entirely.
Ha…
Tormented by pleasure, his tears fell like pearls, streaming down his flushed cheeks and dripping onto Wu Ping’an’s face.
Wu Ping’an’s mind was blank, her eyes vacant. Though she did not understand what he was saying, her heart raced wildly in her chest, screaming at her.
This beat for him.
She trembled, snapping out of the daze left by the kiss, and noticed Ji Yuwei, collapsed on top of her, was crying. Instinctively, she raised a hand to touch her face.
This time, her hand slipped free easily, and she felt the tears covering her own cheeks.
Glancing sideways, she saw the youth with flushed face and damp lashes, his red, soft tongue peeking out as he wept and gasped, like a discarded toy after being played with.
The wet tears on her face were all Ji Yuwei’s.
He forced a kiss on her, yet ended up crying himself?
Wu Ping’an glanced at him, her head numb as if about to explode, her face burning as she pushed him away and scrambled to sit up in panic.
Her mind was in chaos; she wanted to leave, unaware that the moment she withdrew her hand, her erratic and strange heartbeat was gradually calming down.
The sleeves of her silk robe were wide, and Ji Yuwei easily hooked his fingers into her cuff. His dark, misty eyes gazed at her as if through a fog as he slowly sat up, meeting her gaze. His thin, crimson lips parted hoarsely to utter her name.
“Ping’an.”
Wu Ping’an dared not move, the wet sensation of his tongue still lingering on her lips, her chest tight and breathless. “That just now…”
She was still searching for words when Ji Yuwei spoke first. “Just now, Wei was presumptuous.”
His long, elegant brows like distant mountains were shadowed with gloom, yet he refused to admit fault: “I also knew Ping’an wished to leave, which is why I kept that trace of living essence—to keep you by my side a little longer. It was never my intention to make things difficult for you; in that moment, I simply couldn’t help myself. Just as I told you before, I always want to kiss you—that was no lie.”
He was trying to prove the truth of his earlier words, but Wu Ping’an couldn’t process what he was saying at all; her mind was in a daze.
That had been her first kiss—taken by a boy seven years her junior. What should she say? Be magnanimous, or slap him?
No one had ever taught her. She had never even experienced the feeling of being moved by a man before, yet just moments ago, her heart had pounded like thunder—a flutter she had never known before.
Could it be… she had also fallen for Ji Yuwei?
At this thought, Wu Ping’an’s breath hitched. Before she could carefully discern whether that flutter was genuine or not, her wrist was lightly touched again by Ji Yuwei.
“Ping’an?” The youth in white robes sat gently and kindly beside her, a lingering blush still on his cheeks. His moist, dark, and tranquil eyes stared directly at her, making her feel her wildly beating, uncontrollable heart once more amidst the suffocation—as if it were madly stirred by his gaze.
Even as her body screamed how deeply moved she was by Ji Yuwei, she gritted her teeth, trying to suppress and calm the strange pounding of her heart.
Yet, as she wrestled with these stirrings, her heartbeat grew faster and faster, racing alongside her breath as if she might die at any moment from the overwhelming palpitations.
In the end, she was no match for it. Avoiding his hand, she pretended to gather the dishes. “It’s getting late, I… should go back.”
Hearing this, Ji Yuwei did not stop her. He watched as she picked up the food box and walked out of the ancestral hall with stiff, clumsy steps, even forgetting about the ghosts outside.
Only when the cold wind outside brushed against her did Wu Ping’an snap out of her chaotic thoughts and realize what she had just promised Ji Yuwei.
Wu Ping’an found a quiet spot, sat on a bluestone, hugged the food box, and looked up at the sky. Her mind kept circling back to what had just happened in the ancestral hall, accompanied by regret.
She should have gritted her teeth and resolutely let him take the last trace of breath. Otherwise, if he did this again in the future, wouldn’t she just give in every time?
If she stayed any longer, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t fall for Ji Yuwei. Tonight, he had only kissed her, yet her heart had behaved so strangely, making her unable to tell whether it was genuine attraction or simply shock.
What had she even done? Had she lacked boundaries, giving Ji Yuwei the wrong impression, which led him to say such things?
Wu Ping’an had never been in love, nor had she ever liked a man before. In the past, she had only admired public figures, but that was merely appreciation—like admiring beautiful porcelain, finding them pleasing to the eye and paying a little more attention, regardless of gender.
For some reason, she thought of Ji Yuwei’s kiss again. The lips he had licked still seemed to carry a cool breath; the tears that had fallen stickily on her face, and she could even smell the medicinal bitterness masked by the floral scent—thick and overwhelming. The hand holding the food box felt damp and clammy, as if Ji Yuwei had turned into a ghost and begun entangling her from her feet.
Entangling…
Wu Ping’an suddenly sensed something was wrong. It wasn’t just as if something was entangling her—there really was something damp clinging to her back, its chin resting on her shoulder, exhaling a chilling breath tinged with medicinal bitterness.
Wu Ping’an stiffly shifted her gaze downward to the right.
Tonight, there were no stars. The brilliant full moon against the gray-ink sky seemed like a stamped imprint, quietly radiating the depth and vividness of the night while also illuminating the face of a female ghost without whites in her eyes. Her black pupils exaggeratedly occupied the entire eye sockets, and her disheveled wet hair clung to her pale cheeks. The golden silk satin dress she wore overlapped with her skirt.
Upon seeing the ghost, Wu Ping’an erupted with unprecedented strength, picked up the food box, and hurled it at her.
The ghost dispersed but quickly coalesced again into a slender figure. Beneath the exquisite long skirt were beautifully patterned silk shoes. As she reached out, her pale ghostly wrist, adorned with a gleaming golden bracelet, emerged from her sleeve.
She stared at Wu Ping’an as if wanting to speak, but when she opened her empty black mouth, blood spilled forth.
Wu Ping’an’s gaze swept over the familiar golden bracelet on the ghost’s wrist. Seeing the ghost reach out toward her, she turned in fright and ran forward, clutching her skirt, her heart filled with terror of ghosts. The earlier ripples of emotion had completely vanished.
This was the second time—the second time she had been ambushed by a ghost, and it seemed to be the same one.
But wasn’t this Ji Manor? It was normal to encounter Shadow Ghosts in the outskirts, but why were there ghosts in Ji Manor too?
This wasn’t right. Wu Ping’an ran until tears streamed down her face.
Thick fog obscured the moon, and a cold, eerie aura condensed in the ancestral hall where candle flames flickered.
A young man knelt peacefully on a cushion, intently watching the dancing shadows cast by the candles beneath the plaque. Suddenly, the door behind him was pushed open, but no trembling, panicked voice of a woman followed. He turned his head, his eyes moving along with it.
Seeing Wu Ping’an’s pale face, Ji Yuwei tilted his head and smiled softly. The gentle light fell on his forehead, where a red mole added a touch of compassionate grace.
“Ji Yuwei, there’s a ghost outside.”
Seeing the young man’s face, Wu Ping’an nearly wept with relief. Tears of fear for the ghost welled up in her eyes.
Ji Yuwei, who had been kneeling upright, leaned slightly forward. He glanced behind her and called her over with a smile. “Ping’an, did you see wrongly? There’s no ghost behind you. If you’re afraid, you can come here.”
Wu Ping’an dared not look back. She hurried over and sat beside him, recounting the ghost she had encountered earlier outside. “I didn’t see wrongly. There really was a ghost.”
Ji Yuwei stood up to comfort her with his gaze. “Ping’an, sit here for a while. Wei will go close the door.”
Only then did Wu Ping’an remember that in her panic, she had forgotten to close the door when she entered.
She watched as the young man, having knelt for too long, rose and walked toward the door with a slightly stooped posture. He stood at the doorway, glanced outside, pressed a seal on the door, and then turned back to her. He knelt again on the cushion as a sign of respect.
“Did you see the ghost?” Wu Ping’an asked.
Ji Yuwei shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Ping’an, could you describe in detail what you saw earlier?”
Wu Ping’an glanced at the door, recalling the terrifying scene of the ghost clinging to her back, its arms and legs wrapped around her. She said to him, “I had just left here and was passing through the garden. Seeing the moonlight was lovely, I sat on a stone to admire it. Suddenly, I felt a chilling presence behind me, and then I saw a female ghost blowing air into my ear. She seemed to be dressed very luxuriously, wore gold on her wrist, and her face was completely disfigured.”
Her voice trembled as she described the ghost. After listening, Ji Yuwei’s expression remained completely unmoved. He didn’t even offer the expected comfort, instead staring intently at her eyes, which had lost focus in her panic.
The ugly female ghost was nothing more than idle talk to him, slipping in one ear and out the other, holding no interest. He much preferred Wu Ping’an’s eyes—like pearls covered in dust, which, when washed with water, would reveal their clean, luminous glow.
“Are you listening?” Wu Ping’an hadn’t heard a response from him for a while, only to find him staring straight at her. Though his expression was soft and smiling, it gave her an inhuman, eerie feeling.
The young man blinked, continuing to smile: “Ping’an, don’t be afraid. Perhaps it’s because ancestral halls are gathering places for Shadow Ghosts, and you don’t know spellcraft, so you’ve been haunted by a Shadow Ghost.”
These words did not reassure Wu Ping’an; instead, her heart skipped a beat before slowly sinking.
Being haunted by a ghost—no matter who heard it, it was never good news.
Seeing her pitiful appearance—on the verge of tears yet forcing herself to hold back, her eyes reddened—Ji Yuwei thought for a moment and said, “If Ping’an doesn’t mind, stay here with Wei tonight, and I’ll send you back tomorrow.”
“Alright.” Even if Ji Yuwei tried to send her away now, she wouldn’t dare to step outside.
With an extra person present, Ji Yuwei took four rush cushions and arranged them side by side, letting her make do for the night here.
Wu Ping’an lay on the cushion, watching his back as he continued to kneel.
He was so good that she suddenly wondered if what she had seen earlier was just an illusion.
Author’s Note:
The Mountain Ghost is a purely evil Black Mud Villain. He is selfish, treats human lives as worthless, is extremely obsessed with appearances and voices, and is an utter scoundrel—a piece of trash. There will likely be no redemption arc, so please only continue if you can accept this~ His despicable behavior will become increasingly apparent later on. Though he is bad, he is also flamboyant [dog head holding a rose].