When Qu Qi woke up, she was lying just outside the mass grave.
The back of her head throbbed with a dull pain, as if she’d been struck. As she rubbed her scalp, she was immediately swarmed by spirits, who crowded around her so tightly not even water could have leaked through.
“Squeak squeak squeak!”
“Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!”
The spirits chattered and jostled excitedly, all observing this brave human. They had watched her walk into the Great Demon’s lair with their own eyes, only for her to reappear outside the graveyard ten minutes later, lying alone on the ground.
Qu Qi casually patted a spirit that drifted too close. “…What happened?”
The moment she spoke, her voice was so hoarse it startled her. She quickly pulled out her bamboo tube to drink. As she swallowed, she felt a nagging sense that she was forgetting something important.
Spirits: “Squeak!”
Feeling a pang of hunger, Qu Qi muttered to herself, “What time is it?”
She looked in the direction the spirits were pointing. The continuous rain of the past several days had stopped at some point. The sky was like a vast sheet of golden silk; crimson clouds and a burning sunset dappled the dark gold horizon like waves of wheat. Below, the deep green bamboo forest swayed in the wind. The silver-white, almost transparent spirits fluttered in the afterglow, a chaotic yet strangely harmonious tapestry of color.
Gold, gold she suddenly remembered a pair of beautiful eyes.
Qu Qi’s expression changed instantly. “My cat!” she yelled, realization hitting her like a freight train. “Where’s my cat?!” Where was her arrogant, world-disdaining B-king Cat Master?!
The spirits looked at one another, letting out confused squeaks.
Qu Qi scrambled up and scanned the area. There was no sign of a black cat. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she shouted frantically, “Mimi! Mimi, where are you?!”
The fields were silent. There was no response, only a faint ting-aling from her wrist.
“!” Qu Qi breathed a sigh of relief and managed a smile. She’d almost forgotten, the Rain-Bells. Right, as long as she had this bell, she could sense.
Following the resonance of the bell, Qu Qi rushed back to the nameless headstone. To her horror, the place where the trapdoor had been was now level ground. The smile froze on her face.
The bell let out a very weak chime, like a flickering lamp in a gale. The intermittent connection felt as if it were coming from somewhere incredibly far away.
Qu Qi couldn’t smile anymore. Her memories were sharpening. The last fragment of her memory was of the collapsing tomb, and a hand gently touching her forehead in the darkness.
…Her Mimi must have found a way to send her out, while it remained buried deep underground.
Even though the black cat was always elusive, Qu Qi just knew it would always come back to find her. But this time, it seemed it couldn’t.
The surrounding spirits didn’t understand. The human girl who was usually smiling and smelled so good suddenly seemed drained of all strength. She slumped to the ground, burying her face in her arms, motionless for a long time.
They whispered among themselves: “What’s wrong with her? Usually at this time, she’s already complaining about wanting to clock out.”
“Look, her shoulders are shaking. I think she’s crying.”
“Is she hungry? Should we find her some food?”
“Why bother? Let’s just eat her. She smells so good, I’m drooling.”
“Are you crazy? Everyone knows she’s the Great Demon’s prey. Even if we wanted to eat her, it wouldn’t be our turn…”
The spirits conferred for a moment. Minutes later, they flew back carrying a shivering wild rabbit and dropped it in front of Qu Qi. No reaction.
A moment later, a bound mountain chicken landed with a thud. Still no reaction.
Another moment passed, and a fainted lamb was carefully placed before her. This time, Qu Qi finally lifted her head. Her eyes were rimmed with a faint, tender red, clouded by a misty haze. She looked like a rose drenched in rain—brilliant enough to dazzle even in the depths of despair.
She sniffled, tears falling like broken strings. “My Mimi… My Mimi is gone—!”
The spirits watched her wail and looked at one another: “Is there really such a good thing? But why can I still feel Sheng Xizhu’s aura?”
“Good death, Meow! Good death!”
“But didn’t Sheng Xizhu die a long time ago? Can a Nightmare die a second time? Never heard of that!”
Qu Qi couldn’t stop crying, her neck flushing red from the effort. “It was so young, how could it go like this? To have a black-haired person see off a black-furred cat… It’s all alone underground, with no one to keep it company or ruffle its fur. What if it’s unhappy again—?!”
“Mimi, my kitty! How am I supposed to live without you?!”
Spirits: “…She’s acting, right?” Good grief, she actually thinks of Sheng Xizhu as a cat!
“This is a bit too much genuine emotion. Doesn’t look fake. Keep watching.”
Qu Qi cried for the duration of an incense stick. She absentmindedly grabbed a spirit, wiped her nose on it, and whispered, “…Thank you guys.”
She slowly stood up, carrying the rabbit, chicken, and lamb. She walked to the edge of the mass grave and lonely began to build a campfire, avoiding the nameless headstone.
The spirit that had been used as a tissue watched her mournful back with a face full of question marks: “???” Where are your manners?!
As night deepened, cooking smoke rose from outside the graveyard. Qu Qi placed the mountain chicken over the fire, turning the spit listlessly. She wanted to turn her grief into an appetite, using food to soothe her mood. If she ate something good and didn’t think about the cat, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
She brushed on sauce and spices; the savory aroma drifted far. Qu Qi took a bite, then another, her lips moving mechanically.
In the past, she would have feasted. Today, it tasted like wax.
The dead watched from a distance as she wiped her face with her sleeve again.
At some point, the surroundings grew darker. The moon was obscured by thick, heavy clouds. Withered leaves drifted slowly into the distance.
The wind was picking up.
In front of the nameless headstone in the deepest part of the graveyard, a place even moonlight couldn’t reach, a mass of shadow as thick as ink floated slowly over the ground. It was like a pitch-black pool, overflowing with a pale, winter-like aura cold, decaying, and lifeless.
No one knew when it had appeared. The shadow flowed over the tangled underbrush and bleached bones. Soon, it grew limbs, black hair, and a slender torso… taking a form nearly identical to a human.
The spirits fell silent. Terror climbed to its peak, sending a long-awaited shiver through the dead. Their sovereign had returned, and this time, she seemed even more powerful.
Qu Qi heard footsteps, accompanied by a faint ting-aling. The sound was almost imperceptible, like someone walking on tiptoes, landing each step with light elegance.
The bell on her wrist began to heat up. Qu Qi froze for a heartbeat, her eyes widening in disbelief. A blurry silhouette slowly walked toward her, stopping just outside the reach of the firelight.
Qu Qi stared, her fox-eyes wide. She sat by the bright fire, holding a half-eaten roast chicken, while the figure stood alone in the hazy darkness—a clear line of light and shadow separating them.
Using the glow of the campfire, Qu Qi carefully observed the shadow. She thought for a moment and asked with cautious concern: “Would you… would you like some?”
She didn’t know who this person was or why they had come. She had no cat; she had nothing now. Only the roast chicken in her hand was worth anything.
The person didn’t answer. After a moment of silence, they took a step into the firelight.
Qu Qi saw her face and suddenly forgot whatever she was going to say next.
The woman looked as if she had stepped out of a painting. Behind her were rows of cold headstones and wandering spirits, yet she was unmoved. Her features were calm, carrying a detachment that felt alien to the mortal world—a strange, eerie beauty that didn’t seem quite alive. It was the beauty of a flame at the end of its life, or a flower on the verge of its final curtain—mysterious, decadent, and in full bloom.
Her tattered, old-fashioned long dress and knee-length hair were a deep, heavy black, which only served to emphasize her pale skin—the kind of pallor that comes from being away from the sun for too long, as white and transparent as boundless snow.
She looked down, her pale golden eyes gazing at Qu Qi.
Sheng Xizhu replied, “I have no interest in human food.”
Qu Qi saw the red cord tied around the woman’s slender neck. The silver bell shimmered brilliantly in the firelight.
Qu Qi lifted her eyes, meeting those pale golden orbs. A roar echoed in her mind. “You’re… you’re Mimi?”
Sheng Xizhu looked at her. Her golden eyes exactly like the black cat’s held no emotion.
Qu Qi stood up abruptly, nodding repeatedly as if to comfort herself. “Right, right, it must be. You’re her.”
When she looked at the woman, it was as if she were looking at a lifeline. Her eyes, reflecting the firelight, were filled with a burning hope so fragile it felt like it would shatter at a touch. It was as if she were denied now, she would never be happy again.
Sheng Xizhu remained silent. Her gaze fell on Qu Qi’s slightly red-rimmed eyes.
This girl, she cried?
Just for a cat?
She didn’t understand. It was just a cat that had accompanied her for a dozen days. Was it worth it?
Sheng Xizhu’s expression was dark. She thought of her former senior brothers, sisters, and master ten years of companionship, the long years on Wangxi Peak, the turning of the seasons from childhood to youth. Even the deepest affection and trust had ended with her bones being scraped and her soul crushed.
But she looked at the girl’s eyes, which were beginning to well up with tears again, and in the end, she said nothing of her cynicism.
After a long silence, Sheng Xizhu gave a single nod. “Yes.”