Lin Qingyun narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at He Zhuoming; yet, everything she said was the complete truth.
He curled the corners of his lips into a smile and said, “You’re welcome. We’re good friends, aren’t we? Looking out for each other is only natural.”
He Zhuoming was once again won over by the male lead’s kindness and sincerity, and she began to reflect on why she had been so blind as to speak ill of him in the past—and while she was reflecting, she finished her meal and finally realized something.
“Wait a second… Qingyun! You can speak now?!”
Lin Qingyun let out a helpless sigh. “How did it take you this long to notice?”
“True, true,” she replied. “You did speak to me last night… but your voice was so hoarse then… has your throat fully recovered now?”
The smile on Lin Qingyun’s lips dimmed slightly, and he instantly lost all interest in continuing this topic. “There was never anything wrong with my throat; I’ve always been able to speak quite clearly. What happened yesterday belongs to yesterday, and today belongs to today—though I suppose the day before yesterday and the day before that could also belong to today…”
He Zhuoming moved her low stool closer to Lin Qingyun, peering intently at his face, her gaze traveling from his cheeks down to his neck.
Lin Qingyun paused, then reached out to press a finger against her forehead, pushing her leaning face away. “What are you doing?”
“Looking at you,” she answered honestly.
“Looking… at me?”
“Observing your complexion, your throat. Why couldn’t you speak before? Wasn’t it an illness?”
“It’s a very complicated reason—even if I explained it, Xiao He wouldn’t understand!”
He Zhuoming pushed his hand aside and insisted, “Then explain it first.”
Lin Qingyun furrowed his brow slightly, feigning annoyance, his eyes darting toward her. At a moment like this, if Xiao He had even the slightest ability to read the room, she would have known to skip the topic.
He Zhuoming caught Lin Qingyun’s gaze.
Blinking not once, she gazed at him with great anticipation, waiting for his explanation.
“…Because puppets just don’t talk!”
“Puppets?”
“That’s right. Puppets don’t talk, that’s the reason. The ‘me’ from yesterday was a puppet.”
As he spoke, Lin Qingyun affected a tone of nonchalance, all the while carefully observing every subtle shift in He Zhuoming’s expressions.
He was quite curious to see how Xiao He would react. With Xiao He’s brain, would she ever figure out that the “Lin Qingyun” who spent the entire day with her yesterday was actually just a wooden puppet?
He Zhuoming scrunched up her face in confusion. “Yesterday was a puppet, but today isn’t?”
“Today isn’t. Today is just me—Xiao He, I’m better today, right?”
“Huh?” she asked, bewildered.
“I mean…”
As the two were talking, the sound of conversation drifted in from outside the window, the sudden noise interrupting Lin Qingyun mid-sentence.
It was night once again.
He Zhuoming jumped up in a reflex, fearing another corpse revival. She instantly cast the puppet business to the back of her mind, nervously creeping toward the window to peek outside, before remembering Lin Qingyun and turning back to beckon him over.
Lin Qingyun stood behind her, and He Zhuoming grabbed his wrist, whispering, “There are so many people talking in the backyard. It couldn’t be ghosts having a meeting, could it?”
“We’ll know once we take a look,” Lin Qingyun said dismissively.
He reached out, his arm crossing over her shoulder to push the window open just a crack. He Zhuoming half-crouched, pressing her entire face against that narrow gap.
The moonlight was sliced into a thin, long strip, sticking to her eyes and the bridge of her nose.
Lin Qingyun looked down at her from a higher vantage point, his mind churning with the puppet’s memories.
In reality, the wooden branch puppet was also a part of him. Watching the puppet’s memories was naturally a first-person experience.
In the past, Lin Qingyun had often tossed out crudely made puppets to run errands. Sometimes, just for fun, he would create a dozen or more to be active in different places at once.
He acknowledged that all those puppets were parts of himself, happily accepting their first-person memories, feeling as if he were enjoying different pleasures simultaneously—until the wooden branch puppet appeared.
It was merely a part intercepted from his own self—the scrap of a scrap, the mud from a muddy pond—yet, after staying by Xiao He’s side for only a single day and night, why did it become… it became… as if it had detached itself from him?
Lin Qingyun was lost in contemplation, drifting away, not even sparing a glance toward the window.
He Zhuoming nudged him in the chest with her elbow and looked back into his eyes. “There are so many people!”
Lin Qingyun raised an eyebrow, finally shifting a modicum of attention toward the window: the post station backyard had suddenly become unprecedentedly lively. A group of men in black uniform coats and black boots were standing in a neat formation, arguing heatedly around the handcart holding the corpse.
Because they were crowded so tightly, He Zhuoming couldn’t see what was happening on the cart at all.
“They’re wearing bailiff uniforms,” Lin Qingyun answered lazily. “They must have rushed from Wen County to collect the body.”
“The post station is pretty far from Wen County. Why does a corpse require bailiffs from Wen County to collect it?”
It was a question born of complete ignorance of common sense, but Lin Qingyun patiently explained, “Because the deceased was an immortal sect disciple. Every major sect has its disciples enshrine a ‘soul lamp’ within the sect; when a person dies, the lamp goes out. The sect will then extract the disciple’s final memories before death from that lamp to determine the cause.”
“Post stations are built and maintained with government funds. A sect disciple dying here is a troublesome matter for the local government—look, the uniforms they wear are different from ordinary bailiffs. They belong to the provincial department specifically tasked with matters of the strange and supernatural.”
“Most of the bailiffs in this department are selected from the ranks of disciples belonging to the sects of the True Deities. Though their official title is ‘bailiff,’ their rank starts at the lower-sixth level, and they only take orders from their immediate superiors or the Emperor.”
He Zhuoming listened earnestly, while at the same time, a bit of original novel setting finally clicked into place in her mind.
True Deities would establish sects within their territories—though they rarely had the time to manage them personally. Sects were usually left to their subordinates or disciples. But the nature of these sects wasn’t as strict as in traditional cultivation novels; they were more like schools of immortality.
While enrolled, disciples were required to hand over spirit stones and a portion of the resources they obtained from training missions to the sect. Once they reached a certain level of cultivation, disciples could freely choose to leave the sect to find work elsewhere or stay on to hold a position within it.
Since immortal cultivation relied on talent and destiny—both rare items that required luck—ninety-nine percent of cultivators ended up with mid-to-high-level cultivation, enough to maintain their youthful beauty and live a few hundred years longer.
The remaining one-in-a-thousand elite would then pull hair, scheme, and turn against one another for that sliver of destiny, all to secure a position as a True Deity’s subordinate. If they weren’t willing to settle for a subservient life, they could risk everything to become a “corrupt deity” in a wild shrine. As long as they weren’t caught by the True Deity, they could live like petty kings.
After all, though being a corrupt deity wasn’t safe, the probability of having wishes granted was high! Who could refuse a pie that fell from the sky without having to work for it?!
He Zhuoming had understood this perfectly while reading the novel—because if someone told her that she just had to bow to some random, unfamiliar statue for her final exams to be perfect, for her to avoid summer interest classes, and for her summer homework to be done automatically without staying up all night in a hotel room mid-trip… He Zhuoming really would have wanted to try it.
But that was just thinking about it while reading. After transmigrating, she never wanted to again—now, whenever she thought of “corrupt deities,” the image of that bizarre, eerie statue in the mountain village would automatically surface, along with the memory of being starved for days. Her stomach seemed to have PTSD from that memory; the moment she recalled it, it would start spasming, making her feel like retching…
He Zhuoming heaved a dry retch.
“Why are you retching again?”
Leaning against the window frame, she answered with a weak voice, “Thinking about the memory of being hungry back then…”
“Who’s there?!”
Among the group of black-clad bailiffs, someone suddenly raised their head and shouted, flinging a short blade through the air!
The blade was fast as a meteor, but Lin Qingyun’s reaction was faster. He grabbed He Zhuoming’s shoulder and pulled her back—the blade grazed their hair as it flew past, embedding itself into the wall with a loud thrum.
The person who threw it followed instantly, kicking through the window and leaping into the room; the short blade flew back into her hand, its tip pointed directly at He Zhuoming and Lin Qingyun.
He Zhuoming, still terrified, looked lost—Lin Qingyun steadied her and whispered, “Stand steady.”
“I-I-I am standing steady…”
Lin Qingyun chuckled. “Use the same momentum you had when you flicked my hand and broke up with me to glare at her.”
He was joking, but He Zhuoming actually pulled a face, stiffening her expression into a cold, heartless glare, and stared hard at the person who threw the blade.
Even though the hand grabbing his was still shaking.
Lin Qingyun laughed inwardly, covering his face with his hand, the long pearl chain on his left ear swaying wildly, his eyes crinkling into crescents.
The blade-thrower frowned, asking in a sharp, demanding tone, “Who are you people?!”
He Zhuoming gripped Lin Qingyun’s wrist tightly, raising her own voice to match. “W-W-Who are you?! You smashed our window! You have to pay for it, or I’m calling the police to have them arrest you!”
The blade-thrower: “…?”
What on earth was this woman babbling about?
While the two sides were in a standoff, the other bailiffs and the elderly guard from the post station crowded in through the front door via the stairs.
The old man hurriedly stepped between them, bowing to the blade-throwing girl. “They’re our own people, own people, don’t fight—this young man is a musician from the Pear Garden, and that girl is his companion… Musician, this is Lady Xu Feixian of the Wen County Department of Affairs for Supernatural Affairs.”
“Lady Xu, the swordsman died of unnatural causes before the musician and his companion arrived to stay, so they should have nothing to do with it.”
Upon hearing this, Xu Feixian finally lowered her blade, no longer pointing it at them, though her phoenix eyes still surveyed them with a piercing gaze.
Seeing her put the blade away, He Zhuoming was less intimidated, and when stared at, she simply raised her chin and stared right back—if she was going to be inspected, she wouldn’t lose face.
However, if Xu Feixian were to draw her blade again, He Zhuoming would immediately hide her head behind Lin Qingyun.
Thankfully, Xu Feixian didn’t draw her blade again, merely asking in a cold tone, “Have you never seen the deceased before?”
Lin Qingyun smiled. “We’ve seen him. Such a large corpse lying there—I’m not blind.”
He Zhuoming nodded along. “Yeah, yeah. It was covered in a white cloth, super conspicuous.”
Xu Feixian’s lips twitched slightly, her gaze darting between Lin Qingyun and He Zhuoming—this man’s smiling expression was grating, and the young girl’s words were so earnest that because her expression was so sincere, it made it hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or if she was just purely dim-witted.
Taking a deep breath, Xu Feixian said, “I didn’t ask if you saw the corpse! I’m asking if you ever saw the deceased while he was still alive.”
He Zhuoming pondered for a moment, then asked, “Does he count as living or dead when he’s reviving as a corpse? I saw him reviving as a corpse last night.”
Xu Feixian frowned, scanning He Zhuoming from head to toe before finally turning to Lin Qingyun, pointing at her own temple. “Is there something wrong with your friend’s head? If she’s sick, go get medicine. Wen County is very close to here; there are several excellent physicians.”
Lin Qingyun kept his smile. “Xiao He’s brain works just fine. If your comprehension is poor, go get some medicine for yourself. Also, you broke our window and haven’t apologized to Xiao He yet. Did your mother not teach you manners? Or do you just not have a mother?”
Xu Feixian drew her blade in a flash; He Zhuoming immediately ducked behind Lin Qingyun, hugging his arm tight. “S-s-s-she—”
Lin Qingyun pulled her out and set her beside him, sighing. “Xiao He, you aren’t usually like this with me. Is this the standard of ‘Young Pioneers’ these days?”
The other bailiffs swarmed forward, dragging Xu Feixian away, while a middle-aged man with a mustache, who appeared to be the leader, sighed with exhaustion.
His attitude was much better than Xu Feixian’s, and he spoke to Lin Qingyun with courtesy. “We will repair the window. Disturbing you just now was my subordinate’s fault. My apologies.”
“We shall take our leave.”
With that, he waved his hand, and the other bailiffs hurriedly pulled Xu Feixian toward the exit. One person whispered a warning to her, “That’s a musician from the Pear Garden. If we actually fight, we’ll be the ones at a disadvantage. My little lady, just stop looking for trouble—let’s go, let’s go.”
Xu Feixian still looked furious, shooting several icy glares at Lin Qingyun. “The Pear Garden? Can disciples of the Pear Garden even be considered orthodox disciples?”
Throwing this remark of mockery and disdain over her shoulder, Xu Feixian shook off her colleague’s hand and stormed out first.
The other bailiffs didn’t refute the comment, though the middle-aged man with the mustache bowed to Lin Qingyun one last time before leading the group in a noisy retreat from the room.
A night breeze passed through the broken window and out the open door.
He Zhuoming said indignantly, “Why are these people like this! They didn’t even say sorry! Everyone of them is so annoying!”
“That blade-thrower is especially annoying. Look at that expression—she looks down on everyone like her eyeballs are stuck on the top of her head. What’s wrong with Pear Garden disciples? Pear Garden… sigh, Qingyun, why are Pear Garden disciples not considered orthodox?”
“Don’t pinch my arm first, and I’ll tell you,” Lin Qingyun said gloomily.
Only then did He Zhuoming realize she was still nervously gripping Lin Qingyun’s arm, her fingernails digging into his skin.
She quickly let go. “Sorry—is your arm okay?”
Lin Qingyun rolled up his sleeve to show her—several clear fingernail marks on his forearm.
He rotated his arm, saying nonchalantly, “Good thing you’re weak, Xiao He. Although those ‘born without a mother’ types are annoying, she wasn’t wrong.”
“The standard for an orthodox sect is that the sect must enshrine one or more True Deities and receive their protection. The Pear Garden only enshrines the Pear Palace Earth Immortal…”
“The Pear Palace Earth Immortal?!” He Zhuoming exclaimed.
Her reaction was too intense, and Lin Qingyun looked surprised. “Do you know this True Deity?”
He Zhuoming let out two hollow laughs, feeling her head spin.
At first, when they mentioned “Pear Garden,” she had no impression of it. But the moment Lin Qingyun uttered the name “Pear Palace Earth Immortal,” those words finally triggered her sparse memories of the original novel—wasn’t the Pear Palace Earth Immortal the title of the villain, Tang Shuayu?!
The Pear Garden enshrined the Pear Palace Earth Immortal, which meant the Pear Garden was the villain’s territory—but the male lead was in the Pear Garden faction… wait, the villain was still in his youth version, a down-and-out, crude, shameless wretch who had to rely on human trafficking to rake in massive profits. He didn’t look like a True Deity at all…
He Zhuoming clutched her head and collapsed onto the bed, muttering to herself, “Where exactly has the plot gone now? Why does it feel like none of the clues match up at all…”