Ji Cizhao, who had just returned from Luoyi, was slightly startled when the face revealed beneath the removed fu talisman turned out to be a woman’s. After asking his question, the woman remained silent for a long while, her brows furrowed. He asked again, “Did you encounter a Shadow Ghost?”
Wu Ping’an did not recognize the person before her. For a moment, she was dazzled by his striking appearance, but quickly regained her composure, accustomed as she was to Ji Yuwei’s even more beautiful face.
“I did. It was chasing me from behind,” Wu Ping’an said fearfully, glancing backward. Yet all she saw was the quiet night, with no trace of a terrifying, bloody ghost.
Just moments ago… the ghost disguised as Dai’er had been chasing her, blowing on her neck several times. How could it be gone now?
Ji Cizhao examined the direction she indicated and released the monster beast from his shoulder to track the ghostly aura.
He turned his gaze back to Wu Ping’an, his tone carrying a detached, business-like quality. “Do you know what the ghost looked like? How did you encounter it? Describe everything in detail without leaving anything out.”
Wu Ping’an turned to look at the young man who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He had an upright face and knew spellcraft—perhaps he was some kind-hearted noble from Jianye. She decided to tell him the truth.
“It was a girl dressed in fine silks, her face completely disfigured. The first time was in a cave outside the city—she sat on me, laughing. The second time was in the garden of my residence—she hugged me from behind, leaning her head against my shoulder and blowing air. The third time was just now, in front of my house, guarding an oil lamp and beckoning to me.”
Ji Cizhao noticed her voice trembling as she recounted what had just happened, clearly terrified. Yet she managed to regain her composure quickly, succinctly describing the scenes and the ghost’s appearance. He scanned her figure once more.
She bore no ghost mark on her body, nor was she under any yin curse. Most likely, she had come into contact with the ghost before its wrongful death and was now being haunted.
However, this matter had little to do with him. Ji Cizhao withdrew his gaze and waited for her to finish.
After speaking, tears welled up in Wu Ping’an’s reddened eyes. She wished the man before her could split into four, surrounding her on all sides to keep the ghost from approaching.
Unexpectedly, he merely listened in silence, maintaining an indifferent demeanor as if it were none of his concern. He nodded and said, “I understand.”
Wu Ping’an looked at him with hopeful eyes.
He showed no reaction, instead lifting his gaze to the sky above.
No. Wu Ping’an desperately wanted to ask him: “And then what?”
He stepped past her as if to leave.
Instinctively, Wu Ping’an grabbed him, her voice trembling and breaking. “Sir!”
Ji Cizhao frowned, staring at the hand gripping him. “Let go.”
Wu Ping’an released her grip but spoke quickly, “Kind sir, I’m afraid of ghosts. Is there any way you can help me get home safely? My younger sister is at home, and I don’t know how she’s doing.”
She had thought the young man, though seemingly cold, must be kind-hearted—otherwise, why would he have chased after her earlier? Yet he avoided her gaze, and after listening indifferently, he retorted, “That is your sister. What does it have to do with me? Choose between letting go or losing your hand.”
Smile.
She would hate him.
Wu Ping’an forced a smile through her fear, watching as this hypocritical man withdrew his sleeve, turned, and disappeared into the moonlight.
Wuwuwu. Wu Ping’an covered her face. Torn between continuing to search for Ji Yuwei and returning home to check on Dai’er, she turned and ran back.
Perhaps the Shadow Ghost had fled upon seeing someone skilled in spellcraft, or maybe it had been driven away by the man earlier. In any case, when she returned to her doorstep, the ghost was gone, and Dai’er was waiting for her in the courtyard.
Dai’er saw her enter with a pale face, rubbing her eyes, then gestured to ask what was wrong.
Wu Ping’an, afraid of frightening her, forced herself to say it was nothing and quickly closed the door, leading her toward the room.
The two originally slept in separate beds, but fearing ghosts, Wu Ping’an climbed onto Dai’er’s bed at night.
Dai’er was puzzled at first but eventually held her, patting her back to soothe her.
People of this era were accustomed to demons and monsters, no longer finding them strange, but Wu Ping’an had lived in the modern era after the nation’s founding, where no monsters or ghosts existed, and she harbored an innate fear of ghosts, ingrained in her bones to this day, still unable to adapt.
She felt ashamed as a mature woman twenty-five years older than Dai’er, yet still so terrified of ghosts. Her body, however, honestly snuggled closer to Dai’er. The fear of ghosts in this moment equaled her fear of this extremely feudal era, making her long intensely for the modern world.
In the Ji Manor ancestral hall, candlelight flickered brilliantly. The ornate plaques were gilded with gold foil, their surfaces painted with bright vermilion to depict each ancestor and the deceased, stacked into a narrowing tower that rose higher and higher.
Accompanied by the hoarse cry of a falcon, the door was blown open by a gust of wind, causing the massive green jade five-branched candlestick—seven feet five inches tall, carved with coiling dragons at its base and holding candles in their mouths—to sway violently. After the candles steadied, a youth knelt peacefully on a rush cushion.
His purple wide-sleeved robe and trailing skirt were neatly arranged, his gentle brows and beautiful face illuminated softly by the lamplight. Hearing the sound, he turned to look at the newcomer with a smile. “Has elder brother returned home?”
Ji Cizhao ignored his innocent demeanor, strode inside, and asked directly, “I encountered someone on the road just now being chased by a ghost.”
Ji Yuwei kept his head level, kneeling naturally. “Though I do not understand what has happened to elder brother, you have disrupted Wei’s ancestral worship.”
Ji Cizhao looked down at him, a faint trace of dissatisfaction in his faint smile.
Ji Yuwei loved beauty and cleanliness—when had he ever worn mud-stained official shoes in the manor? Not only was his hair still tied up, but he knelt in the ancestral hall with the demeanor of a broken, pitiful, and down-and-out gentleman. No matter how one looked at it, there was something eerie and peculiar about him.
Ji Cizhao stopped asking about outsiders and inquired instead, “What is the meaning of this attire of yours?”
Ji Yuwei smiled, with a hint of youthful regret. “No special meaning. It is only that elder brother’s appearance has disturbed me. I should have returned after finishing the ancestral worship.”
Ji Cizhao knew he was spouting nonsense. After questioning him, he no longer dwelled on it and said directly, “I heard you tattooed Ming Ziyao’s face. Now he has come to me seeking an explanation.”
Ji Yuwei replied softly and gently, “Why not let them come to me directly?”
Ji Cizhao couldn’t be bothered to scoff.
What difference was there between seeking out Ji Yuwei and seeking out a Shadow Ghost?
“Recently, I have been busy with matters outside and was unaware of what has happened in the manor. I heard from the servants that Yulian died without cause,” Ji Cizhao said calmly.
“Oh, that is indeed true,” Ji Yuwei acknowledged.
Ji Cizhao: “Why did you not report it to me?”
Ji Yuwei smiled. “A useless person who only knows how to talk of love and romance—even if told, could he have flown back?”
Ji Cizhao: …
In the past, Ji Yuwei was malicious but at least maintained appearances, hypocritically calling him elder brother. When had he ever been so venomous? It was clear that his earlier interference had angered Ji Yuwei.
Uncertain what ghostly affairs Ji Yuwei was up to now, Ji Cizhao suppressed his anger while growing wary.
The candlelight flickered and hissed. The youth, who had been kneeling devoutly on the rush cushion, suddenly blinked, his brows and eyes curving. The red vermilion between his brows seeped with a touch of sorrow, and his voice was as light as the mist rising from the incense burner, low and tinged with coldness.
“Elder brother, Fifteenth Sister died in the mouth of a monster beast. When Father and Mother return home, I wonder how grieved they will be.”
The Ji Clan originally resided in Langya Linyi in ancient times, and later the entire family crossed southward and moved into the Wu region. Thus, useless descendants were raised in Linyi, while useful ones were nurtured in Wu.
Upon hearing this, Ji Cizhao furrowed his brow. The fifteenth younger sister, Ji Yulian, was a girl kept close by their mother. Not long ago, she had followed their mother’s instructions to come to Jianye to deliver medicine to Ji Yuwei, but now she had been brutally killed by a monster beast.
Although there were many younger sisters in the family, she was the one their mother doted on.
If their mother and father found out, they likely wouldn’t blame Ji Yuwei but would instead hold him accountable. No wonder Ji Yuwei remained calm and unhurried.
Ji Cizhao stroked the falcon on his shoulder and, weighing the pros and cons, took responsibility for the matter. Still, he felt compelled to remind Ji Yuwei: “I will stay in Jianye for a few days to investigate who is behind this before leaving. Also, Father intends to arrange a marriage alliance with the Ming Clan. Regarding matters related to the Ming Clan, it would be wise to show some restraint.”
The young man’s lips were thin and red, and he smiled faintly under the lamplight.
From his expression, Ji Cizhao could see the words “What does that have to do with me?” and knew he hadn’t taken it to heart. He was accustomed to Ji Yuwei’s vengeful nature—beautiful on the outside but cruel within—and turned to leave the ancestral hall.
As the door closed, the flickering lamplight crept toward the kneeling youth. His vibrant, exquisite appearance brimmed with vitality, but the warmth in his eyes had vanished.
No wonder Wu Ping’an hadn’t pursued him—it turned out she had been intercepted halfway.
The previous night, after encountering the Shadow Ghost, Wu Ping’an had intended to inform Ji Yuwei the next day. Unexpectedly, he did not come; instead, it was the young man she had briefly met the night before.
“Who are you?” Wu Ping’an asked, looking at the servant dressed in Ji Manor attire and then at the handsome, stern-faced young man.
Before she could ponder further, the young man before her calmly stated his identity: “I am a son of the Ji Clan, Ji Cizhao. I had the briefest encounter with you last night.”
Wu Ping’an’s face fell. “I have long heard of the esteemed reputation of the eldest young master.”
So it really was the male lead she had begun to dislike—no wonder he had been so cold and ruthless last night.
Seeing the woman’s inexplicably dejected expression after he introduced himself, Ji Cizhao frowned and spoke bluntly: “My younger sister Yulian died because of you, so I have come specifically to invite you to the manor prison for a discussion.”
Before her death, Ji Yulian had been bumped into by Wu Ping’an in full view of everyone. Witnesses had noted the fierce and malevolent look in Wu Ping’an’s eyes at the time. Since Yulian had just arrived in Jianye and had not yet made any enemies, he had traced the matter here in just one night.
Wu Ping’an had already developed a dislike for Ji Cizhao after witnessing him whip Ji Yuwei that day. Although her impression had improved slightly after he rescued her last night, it wasn’t by much. Now, he was trying to arrest her and take her to prison without distinguishing right from wrong.
Wu Ping’an politely declined: “I have already explained to the Fifth Young Master of your esteemed manor that I did not kill that young lady. Moreover, without evidence, I cannot go with you.”
Ji Cizhao frowned. As the eldest son of the Ji Clan and holding the position of Commandant of Justice, he was accustomed to hearing the defenses of criminals. This was the first time someone had dared to refuse him so boldly.
At first glance, Wu Ping’an appeared to be an honest person from the common streets, yet she had the courage to deny his accusations. Such a person might very well be capable of deception.
Ji Cizhao’s expression remained cold and unreadable as he raised his hand with restraint and said, “Are you feeling guilty? If you want evidence, I will bring the witnesses for you to see.”
Wu Ping’an had never killed anyone and thus felt no guilt. Moreover, with Ji Yuwei in the Ji Manor, she was even less worried.
At this thought, even Wu Ping’an herself was unaware that she had unconsciously come to trust Ji Yuwei. When faced with danger, he was now the first person she thought of—a stark contrast to her initial feelings.
Seeing the guards behind him, Wu Ping’an knew she had no power to resist if he intended to take her away. To avoid unnecessary suffering, she weighed the pros and cons and said, “Then allow me to settle my younger sister first before accompanying you to the manor.”
Ji Cizhao had just parted his lips to speak when he saw the woman standing at the doorway turn and walk inside.
Since the door was wide open, he could see clearly into the courtyard where a tall, thin, sallow-faced girl stood. On her body was a mark even lower than that of a slave—she could not even be called human, but rather an edible “two-legged sheep.”
He watched as Wu Ping’an stood before the girl, gently patting her head and softly instructing her not to open the door unless it was her knocking, nor to come out looking for her, as she would return soon.
The girl obediently nodded, her hands swiftly gesturing.
Ji Cizhao did not understand what she gestured, but he saw the woman turn around and stand before him, raising her almond-shaped dark eyes, clear and bright in their depths.
“I will go with you.”
Wu Ping’an was taken by Ji Cizhao to the place where Ade had been bullied to death.
Although a living person had once died here, in an era where human life was as cheap as grass, nothing had changed. The shops remained open, and people came and went. Upon seeing Ji Cizhao, they scattered, afraid of offending a noble and losing their lives.
Wu Ping’an stood in the center, watching as Ji Cizhao’s servants dispersed the onlookers, leaving only those commoners who still remembered the incident.
It was quite terrible.
She had publicly risked her life to offend Ji Yulian, a noble, so many still remembered the scene. When they pointed her out, there was no room for denial.
After the thirteenth person knelt on the ground, trembling as they pointed at Wu Ping’an and described the scene, Ji Cizhao stopped bringing more people.
“Is there anything you wish to dispute about what these people said?” he asked.
Wu Ping’an shook her head. What they said was the truth, but she looked at Ji Cizhao and denied it: “This only proves that I had a conflict with her, not that I killed her. Anyone with eyes knows I have no spellcraft—not only am I incapable of killing, but with my status, I couldn’t even get close to her, let alone arrange for her to be devoured by a monster beast. If you intend to use this as evidence to conclude that I am the murderer, I cannot accept it.”
Ji Cizhao was not surprised by her words: “I will take you to see the real witness.”
The witness he spoke of was a female slave who had served Ji Yulian.
Wu Ping’an was escorted back to Ji Manor, where in a dimly lit prison cell, she saw a somewhat familiar face hanging from a wooden frame.
The familiar face lifted her head, and upon seeing Wu Ping’an, she cried out loudly: “Great Young Master, it was her! Before my lady and I left, I saw the hatred in her eyes with my own eyes. Later, not long after my lady returned to the manor, she was killed while fetching medicine for Fifth Young Master at Foshan. After my lady left, I accidentally learned that Fifth Young Master was at Foshan and went to catch up with her. But I saw my lady brutally killed on the road, and on my way back, I happened to run into this woman holding a burnt fire talisman. My lady’s hair was also scorched by a fire talisman—it was her.”
This was the same female slave who had hurried over after Wu Ping’an bumped into Ji Yulian, saying that “Fifth Young Master” was there. Now, she pointed at Wu Ping’an, claiming she had seen her and that she was the one who killed Ji Yulian. Her words were earnest, and after interrogation, they seemed credible.
Wu Ping’an looked at the dispirited female slave and remembered that after Ade’s death, she had once gone to fetch a fire talisman used for cremation, intending to burn Ade’s body. On her way back, someone had indeed bumped into her. At the time, she was still immersed in the grief of Ade’s death, dazed and unaware.
So this slave girl wasn’t lying. In the coincidence and truth she witnessed and perceived, regardless of her motive for the crime, she was the murderer. Any explanation she offered would be feeble, and in the eyes of those who had already formed their judgments, her words would seem pale and helpless.
Ji Cizhao looked at Wu Ping’an standing under the dim candlelight. The interrogation in the gloomy manor prison, the crackling flames in the copper basin accompanied by the stench of blood, all stimulated the mind.
From the moment he first approached the slave girl, she had maintained this account. Even after interrogation, she insisted she hadn’t misremembered, making it unlikely her words were false. Moreover, the two had never met before, so the slave girl had no reason to falsely accuse Wu Ping’an without cause.
Ji Cizhao asked, “What other witnesses are needed?”
Wu Ping’an shook her head. “No other witnesses are necessary. What she said might be true, but that doesn’t necessarily make me the murderer. According to her account, she encountered me on the road. But did she specify when her mistress died? What if she died before I obtained the fire talisman? And where exactly did she encounter me? How far was it from the place of death? Would it have been possible for someone like me, who knows no spellcraft, to travel back and forth in time? Setting all that aside, I only wish to ask the young master one thing: could you inform me?”
After she finished speaking, the slave girl tied to the rack cried out in fear, tears streaming down her face. “First Young Master, it was her! This servant is not lying!”
If she were falsely accusing someone, she would face death. The slave girl feared that Wu Ping’an’s clever words would not only convince Fifth Young Master but also sway First Young Master. Yet she was absolutely certain she hadn’t been mistaken—it was Wu Ping’an.
“Speak,” Ji Cizhao said, motioning for someone to gag the slave girl. He sat in his chair, allowing Wu Ping’an to continue.
Wu Ping’an asked, “If everything she said is true, then how could I have known the victim’s movements in advance, used a fire talisman to burn her ahead of time, and even guided monster beasts to devour her? The young master should also know that I am just an ordinary commoner. I cannot control yao beasts, nor do I know any spellcraft.”
Ji Cizhao frowned. This was precisely what puzzled him.
Seeing his hesitation, Wu Ping’an seized a glimmer of hope and pressed on. “Could this not prove that she chased after her from the manor, but the victim was already dead—her hair burned, her head gnawed—and in her haste to report back, she happened to encounter me on the road? At that time, I was using a fire talisman to cremate a friend. Could she have mistaken me for the murderer? Isn’t that also plausible?”
Although the slave girl’s words sounded correct, even leaving Wu Ping’an unable to refute them directly, she was aware of the “montage lie.” Often, such people spoke nothing but the truth, but by rearranging the order of their statements and combining them with facts—without needing to conceal anything—the meaning could change entirely.
“So the young master’s evidence still fails to convince me. I know with absolute clarity that I have never killed anyone,” Wu Ping’an said in one breath, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Ji Cizhao.
Ji Cizhao, in turn, studied her. As far as he knew, Wu Ping’an was indeed an ordinary commoner. Yet even at this point, she firmly denied the accusations, calmly and logically pointing out the inconsistencies. Whether she had committed murder or not, she undoubtedly earned a measure of his admiration.
But admiration was one thing; handling matters impartially was another.
Ji Cizhao felt regret. At present, she was the only one with a motive for the crime, and there was even a witness pointing the finger at her. Regardless of whether she had killed anyone or not, she couldn’t escape this.
“I cannot verify the truth of your words, madam. I fear you must endure hardship and remain here, so that I may ascertain the facts. If it is indeed true that you are not the lady in question, I will personally apologize to you then.” He stood up, his demeanor handsome yet aloof.
Wu Ping’an had not expected him to detain her. Subconsciously, she glanced at the maddened slave girl hanging on the wooden frame and couldn’t help but clutch her skirt, stepping backward. “This is extracting a confession under torture!”
Ji Cizhao replied, “There will be no forced confessions. It is only that until the suspicion on you is cleared, you must remain in the prison. Only if you are truly proven to have killed someone will you be subjected to punishment.”
The young man stood with a cold and detached air in the dimly lit dungeon, so unfeeling that Wu Ping’an angrily realized that if she had encountered Ji Cizhao from the start, she would not have been standing here unharmed. At the same time, it made her clearly contrast how much more benevolent Ji Yuwei was.
It seemed that regardless of whether she had killed anyone or not, she would be imprisoned. If this man insisted on defining her as a murderer, she might even lose her life in this cell.
Just as Wu Ping’an was considering other strategies, the faint rustling of robes dragging along the ground and the clear, jade-like voice of a youth suddenly came from outside the prison.
“Brother, Ping’an did not kill Yulian.”
Ji Cizhao turned around.
There stood a strikingly beautiful youth, dressed in a white tunic with wide sleeves and a trailing skirt, at the entrance of the dimly lit cell. The flickering firelight danced upon his snow-white skin, and the red mole between his brows was vivid.
Ji Yuwei did not look at Ji Cizhao but stared intently at Wu Ping’an, whose face was deathly pale. Upon seeing him appear, she even felt a sense of relief, as if she had narrowly escaped death, her eyes blazing with hope and expectation.
He saw in her eyes a fierce longing for life, a trust that he could rescue her from peril, and even a wholehearted belief that he could save her.
This was truly… the most beautiful expression Wu Ping’an had ever shown. It was so beautiful that it made his entire body burn with heat, his cheeks flushed red. An indescribable excitement seemed ready to burst from his skull, and his heart beat with an eerie rhythm.
Such a feeling of joy—he was willing to call it the pleasure of controlling Wu Ping’an.
Excessive pleasure often caused Ji Yuwei to lose control, so he stopped looking at Wu Ping’an. Biting his tongue to suppress the pain, he inevitably turned his head, his eyes slightly reddened at the corners, toward Ji Cizhao. “Brother, Wei guarantees that Yulian was not killed by her.”
“This person is under suspicion,” Ji Cizhao said expressionlessly, looking at the youth’s tender, dark eyes. Though his words seemed gentle and consultative, they were merely a notification of his intent to take her away.
Ji Yuwei paced into the cell, standing before Wu Ping’an. He gently took her trembling hand, which was tightly clutching her clothes, and gazed intently into her half-lifted eyes. “Ping’an, Wei believes you.”
Wu Ping’an’s hand trembled with heat in his palm.
He said, “Ping’an did not kill anyone. Wei can guarantee it with my life. If she killed Yulian, Wei will take my own life for today’s trust. Brother, I am taking her away.”
Wu Ping’an had not expected him to say something so grave.
In the end, she was once again taken from the prison by Ji Yuwei.
Stepping out of the foul-smelling, dark dungeon, the warm, clean sunlight fell upon her skin, filling her with a sense of relief as if she had been reborn.
In the prison, Ji Yuwei had guaranteed with his life that she had not killed anyone. Thus, even though she remained a suspect, she was able to leave the prison with him.
She followed Ji Yuwei step by step toward the Apricot Grove.
The blossoms in the Apricot Grove had long since fallen into the soil, becoming nourishment. The tender green trees now bore thumb-sized fruits.
The servant laid out a carpet under the tree, arranged wine and pastries, then removed their shoes before quietly bowing and retreating.
Wu Ping’an knelt on her heels, gazing at the familiar scenery. Only after a long while did her tightly wound heart finally relax, giving her a sense of renewal, as if she had been reborn.
She glanced sideways at the young man beside her, who was frowning slightly as he poured wine, and asked him, “Why do you trust me so much?”
They had only known each other for a short time—not nearly long enough for him to trust her unconditionally. Wu Ping’an couldn’t understand it.
Ji Yuwei set down the wooden ladle, lifting his brows like distant mountains, his features as still as dark silver as he gazed quietly at her. “Because Wei believes Ping’an would not kill Yulian. Everything you said, Wei finds very reasonable. You have no sufficient motive, not even any spellcraft, so Wei trusts you.”
“What if I really did kill her?” Wu Ping’an couldn’t help asking.
His long brows furrowed slightly, as if seriously contemplating the possibility.
In the end, after a troubled, deep thought, he arrived at an answer and replied to her, “Even if Ping’an did kill her, Wei could still clear your name.”
“Why?” she asked again, as though unable to find peace without knowing the reason.
And Ji Yuwei understood why she kept asking—because from beginning to end, she remained wary of him, never truly believing his words. But today was different from before.
He would say, “Ping’an, you know, Wei admires you.”
After he spoke these words, he indeed saw Wu Ping’an’s pupils tremble, her body shifting slightly to the side.
But he would still comfort her. “Ping’an, don’t be afraid. Wei merely admires you, that’s all. That is why Wei will protect you and clear your name. Moreover, Wei’s belief that you did not kill Yulian is not blind trust. It comes from knowing your character through our interactions. If even I did not believe you, who else would?”
Upon hearing this, Wu Ping’an was momentarily stunned, then remembered—yes, now, aside from Ji Yuwei, probably no one would believe her.
Ji Yuwei smiled, watching the struggle on her face. After experiencing disbelief from everyone, being accused as the murderer, trampled into the mud, even unable to control her own life—his unconditional trust and protective admiration would move anyone.
So he had long said, Wu Ping’an was a bird tied by a string in his palm; no matter where she flew, he would always pull her back.
Next, he only needed to draw a little closer.
“Ping’an, have you forgotten? Yulian’s breath is within you. Wei can extract it to find the monster beast and prove your innocence.”
“Hmm…” Wu Ping’an opened her eyes wide, looking up at him. “Then… you should go quickly. I’ll hold my breath for a while.”
Ji Yuwei did not respond. Instead, he looked at the exposed section of her wrist, expressionlessly placing his hand over it, his thumb pressing against the red mole.
That was the breath he had planted. Unless she carved out that piece of flesh, no matter where she went, he could find her—even across the Otherworld, as long as it remained, he could find a way to reach her.
Wu Ping’an watched as the youth lowered his head, a faint smile curling his red lips. She waited for him to extract the last trace of breath so she could leave, hoping not to be dragged into the rest of this.
But when Ji Yuwei finally released her hand, Wu Ping’an heard him speak with an apologetic tone. “The last bit cannot be extracted from here. Your heart is beating too fast. Perhaps we need to change locations to extract it. Is that alright?”
Was her heart beating fast? Wu Ping’an listened to his slightly uneven breathing, carefully feeling the thumping in her chest.
It seemed so—so fast, faster than the last time her heart stirred, so fast it made her feel ashamed.
Even though Ji Yuwei was helping her, she felt these ripples of emotion.
Wu Ping’an nodded trustingly. “Alright, change locations then. I… can do it.”
She thought extracting breath would be like before—if the wrist didn’t work, then the chest. But when the youth’s faint medicinal scent, masked by floral fragrance, drew near, Wu Ping’an realized it was not the same.
Her dark, almond-shaped eyes wide open, holding her breath, she watched as Ji Yuwei placed his hands on either side of her, lowering his head until his androgynously beautiful face filled her entire vision.
The youth leaned closer.
Wu Ping’an felt as if shrouded in white mist, bound by invisible spider legs that held her body in place, sitting rigidly in her seat as Ji Yuwei’s moist, reddened eyes pressed close. The thin red lips beneath his gaze parted like flower petals.
“Let Wei help you find the killer.”
Perhaps because his movements were too intimate, Wu Ping’an leaned back, her stomach trembling with tension. Gasping for breath, she tried to open her mouth to inhale, but he was too close. When she secretly took a breath, all she could smell was the fragrance seeping from his open collar.
“I…” She opened her mouth to speak, only to find her throat dry and hoarse.
He tilted his head, waiting for her to speak, his gaze fixed on her lips.
Even after the tense fear she had just experienced, her lips were dry and pale, devoid of any beauty, yet he couldn’t look away.
This wasn’t the first time Ji Yuwei had looked directly into her eyes, but it was the first time he noticed that her eyes were as round as unripe apricots on a tree, her pupils tinged with a chestnut-brown hue. Her sparse, curled lashes, fair skin, and smooth facial contours were offset by her unremarkable features—a low nose and full lips—which detracted from her otherwise rather beautiful eyes.
In fact, if he covered those eyes, she could easily be categorized as plain, even ugly.
If she weren’t from the Divine Realm, he wouldn’t have touched her at all, let alone harbored the desire to kiss her.
Yet with a face like this, even as he retreated to this point, she calmly rolled up her sleeves and said, “Then hurry up and take it. I’ll hold my breath for a moment.”
Couldn’t she see that he wanted to kiss her?
Wu Ping’an wanted to speak again, but when she saw his gaze fixed directly on her lips, her face instantly flushed with heat.
Because she suddenly remembered hearing that a man’s desire to kiss someone is impossible to hide, and he perfectly exemplified what it meant to crave intimacy.
Sure enough, just as the thought crossed her mind, a pair of cool, slender hands cupped the back of her neck. The youthful, slightly sweet breath washed over her face, and she was completely enveloped in shadow.
Ji Yuwei had kissed her twice before. Once in the bamboo grove, where he touched her neck—that could be considered innocent.
The second time was in the ancestral hall. Though that kiss was merely lips pressed against lips, it carried a hint of desire and sensuality, yet it could still be called innocent.
Only this time was different.
Author’s Note:
Announcement: The next chapter will be released at midnight as we enter the V-arc. Time to start falling in love and getting cozy! [Throws confetti]
Also, here’s a preview of a fantasy story in the works, “The Honest One Can Only Fall Deeper into the Battlefield of Love.”
Synopsis:
(Third-person narrative in the main text)
My younger brother and I were in a cold war. That day, he strapped on his sword and stormed out, and I hardened my heart and didn’t go after him. But he didn’t return for a long time.
He had never been away from me for so long. I felt regret, remorse, and sorrow, so I too strapped on my sword and prepared to search for him.
Unexpectedly, my brother returned.
But it wasn’t the younger brother I had raised by my side who came back—it was my biological younger brother, whom I had lost by my own hands over a decade ago.
I hadn’t seen my biological brother in years, and he had grown more outstanding than I had imagined—with long, elegant brows, beautiful eyes, lips as red as cinnabar, and a smile that resembled a gloomy crescent moon. It was hard to describe, but in short, he was beautiful.
He was gentler and more obedient than the younger brother I had raised by my side as a substitute for my longing, and he made me ache with pity even more. However, whenever he experienced negative emotions—such as anger, grievance, or sadness—his eyes would uncontrollably turn completely black. When he was happy, excited, or joyful, his eyes would occasionally turn completely white, an eerily strange sight.
He said he was ill, so I racked my brains to find a doctor for him. I also stayed with him at night when he was afraid, feeling heartbroken for him. But strangely, whenever I was alone with him, I would feel drowsy, vaguely sensing an invisible energy brushing over my face and even my body.
As for my adopted brother, after storming out and staying away for many days, he returned on his own. However, when he saw me holding the young man’s hand and earnestly recounting the past, his beautiful face—like exquisite, vibrant glaze on white porcelain—looked as if he were about to cry, with a hint of something eerie.
After returning, my adopted brother also acted strangely. I couldn’t quite put it into words, but I noticed he was always secretly watching me—hiding behind door cracks, window sills, and once I even found him under the bed, his face flushed and stifled.
I scolded him several times, and he always promised to change, yet he only grew worse. Every time he was caught, he would cover his eyes, blushing deeply, panting and crying through his fingers, insisting it was the last time.
The odd behavior of both brothers made me worry they might both be ill, so I strapped on my sword and decided to seek out the Immortal Elder.
On my way back from seeking the Immortal Elder, I returned a day early and finally understood what was strange.
They had fought in my absence—a chaotic, dark battle with raging winds and dense Eerie Qi.
And I discovered that the one who had returned was not my biological brother, nor was my adopted brother the same as before—at least, the ones from before had been living humans.