Qian Luo remained in a state of shock. Recalling Yin Tong’s reaction, she remembered how the woman hadn’t been angry at all—in fact, she had been remarkably gentle.
A multitude of suspicious points converged at once, making Qian Luo’s head throb. Her favorable impression of Yin Tong was so strong that even faced with the unfolding facts, she still struggled to accept them. “No… that can’t be right? Why set such an elaborate trap for a poor little ghost-tamer like me? I have no value…”
Qian Zhen sneered. “Naturally, no one set a trap to harm you specifically. You just happened to be a convenient piece on the board!”
The truth was undeniable. With just a few words, Qian Zhen had lanced the boil. Qian Luo sat in silence for a long time, replaying every detail of the incident. She had nothing left to say.
From the very beginning, she had felt it was a maze of shadows where everyone was a suspect. Truth and falsehood were indistinguishably blurred. She let out a heavy sigh.
Qian Zhen, having finished bandaging the wound, set her tools aside. She knelt down, took Qian Luo’s hand, and looked her in the eyes. “Luo, you aren’t a person of schemes. This situation is too complex. You should stop participating.”
Qian Luo didn’t want to give up, but she couldn’t find a single argument to fight back with. She could only mutter awkwardly, “I… I don’t want to quit just like this.”
Qian Zhen sighed. “If you need money, can’t you just ask me?”
In her heart, Qian Luo replied: It’s not about the money. Not anymore.
She wanted to give the girl an answer. That was all.
Finally, looking into her sister’s gentle eyes, Qian Luo said firmly, “Sister, I won’t give up. I can’t give up.”
Whatever Qian Zhen was about to say was silenced by the weight of that “can’t.”
…
2.
After finishing her soup, Ye listened to the sound of running water from the kitchen. She glanced at the clock—it was nearly midnight. She hesitated for a moment at Qian Luo’s bedroom door, her hand frozen in mid-air.
Finally, she didn’t knock. Instead, she pushed the door open slightly.
Inside, Qian Luo was watching television. She had a habit of watching TV in the dark; the screen’s light felt like an explosion of clarity against the shadows. On the screen was a montage of Zhou Xiaoming when she was alive—every smile as pure as a blooming white flower.
Lost in thought, Qian Luo was startled when something began burrowing into her blankets. Her hand instinctively reached for the peach-wood sword on the nightstand, but she stopped when Ye’s head popped out. Looking utterly unbothered, the cat-girl settled onto the pillow.
Qian Luo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What are you doing in here? Sister is home; aren’t you going to sleep with her?”
Ever since they were young, this cat had always seemed to prefer clinging to her Senior Sister.
Ye didn’t even open her eyes. She simply turned her back to Qian Luo and muttered, “I’m just afraid I’ll talk in my sleep and rat you out to her…”
Qian Luo panicked instantly and lunged forward to embrace the large lump under the covers. “I was wrong, I was wrong! You can sleep wherever you want! The whole bed is yours!”
Ye snorted. “Watching Zhou Xiaoming again?”
Qian Luo leaned her back against the headboard, idly fiddling with the remote. She looked at the screen and sighed. “This child… she’s so pitiful.”
The curtains were open, and the starlit sky looked down upon the sleeping world. The noise from the TV felt jarring in the quiet autumn night. After a long silence, as if she were a stone slowly sinking to the bottom of a clear pool, Qian Luo whispered, “Ye? Are you asleep?”
The night was still, the breeze cool.
Ye gave a soft hum. “What is it?”
Qian Luo curled into her corner. “I’m… worried.”
Ye didn’t respond until Qian Luo turned to look at her. Then, a muffled voice came from under the blanket: “Worried about what?”
Qian Luo tossed the remote idly. She felt a hollowness in her chest, as if she had lost something vital. Deep in the corners of her mind, the education she had received since childhood—those strict “ghost-tamer” rules—were like thorns rooted in the earth, forming a dense wall. But for the first time, after meeting a certain person, a crack had appeared in that indestructible fortress.
Was everything the sect taught me actually correct?
“Worried about what?” Ye repeated.
Qian Luo suddenly switched off the TV and dove under the covers, leaving only her eyes visible to watch the stars. “I feel like… I saw something as beautiful as a withering flower. Then the flower fell, left a seed, and that seed has sprouted in my heart. It’s taking root, bit by bit…”
She didn’t hear a reply. After a while, she heard the sound of steady, even breathing.
Ah, she’s asleep.
Probably for the best. If she heard that, she’d just mock me for being sentimental.
With that thought, Qian Luo’s heart settled. She closed her eyes and drifted into a deep sleep, the images she had seen on the TV projecting themselves into her dreams.
She didn’t know that right beside her, a pair of deep eyes—as dark and brilliant as the midnight stars—had suddenly opened.
…
3.
Zhou Xiaoming wandered through the darkness, lost. The night was deep and the dew was heavy, but she didn’t feel the cold anymore. She would never feel cold again.
Yet, though her senses were numb, she craved the warmth she had briefly felt. Time was running out; dawn was approaching. She had to find a place to hide—somewhere the light wouldn’t reach.
A strange sound behind her made her spin around.
Where the tree shadows met the moonlight, a blurry black mass emerged. As it drew closer, it took on the silhouette of a woman. Her face was indistinct, her long hair draped over her shoulders. A mist of dark energy swirled around her as she spoke: “When day breaks, the sun will kill you.”
Xiaoming didn’t like this woman instinctively, but she nodded politely. “Thank you.”
The shadow continued, “Ghost-tamers are… dangerous. But they are also powerful. They have ways… to let you walk in the sun.”
Since her death, Xiaoming had become wary of everything. This warning made her uneasy. She didn’t ask what the woman wanted, but she felt a growing suspicion. “Yes. Thank you.”
The shadow was too blurry to fully manifest. Seeing Xiaoming’s indifference, it seemed to grow anxious. “If you don’t make yourself… strong, you will be eaten by other ghosts…”
Xiaoming nodded again. “Thank you for telling me.”
But I don’t want to become like that. I don’t want to hurt innocent people. And I certainly don’t want… to force her to have to kill me.
She turned to leave, but the shadow called out, “They are investigating your death… you can make a deal. With the power of a ghost-tamer, you could gain so much!”
Xiaoming kept walking without looking back. She didn’t want to believe these people anymore. The world had abandoned her. She just wanted to wait for the truth, and then, as that girl had said, go to reincarnation.
If she didn’t gain anything, she wouldn’t lose anything. That way, her dead heart wouldn’t have to beat anymore.
However, the shadow refused to let go. It rushed forward, its voice halting and strained. “Let’s… make a deal…”
Xiaoming realized then that the woman was injured—severely. She couldn’t even maintain her shape. “I have nothing to give you, and I want nothing in return. No deal. Go away.”
The shadow stood its ground. “Don’t you… want to know who killed you?”
It was as if a sword had pierced a hidden wound. The pain Xiaoming had tried so hard to bury tore open, spreading until she felt a phantom convulsion.
I do. I want to know who betrayed me. I want the person who betrayed me to die a more miserable death than mine. As payment for the love I once gave them.
The shadow watched Xiaoming with something close to fear as the pure, nearly transparent girl began to radiate a violent, dark aura.
Finally, Xiaoming asked, “What deal?”
The shadow felt a surge of triumph but forced itself to remain calm. After a moment, it whispered: “Rule number one: Never trust a ghost-tamer.”
Then, the shadow let out a bitter laugh and spread its arms, revealing its mangled form to Xiaoming. “They are the ones who turned me into this.”