Nan Ke was startled. “You’re looking for medicinal materials for me?”
“That’s right.” Su Youqi only then remembered he hadn’t fully explained this to Nan Ke, so he continued, “I guess I forgot to mention it. After carefully analyzing your situation, it seems your condition was engineered by someone right from your mother’s womb. Managing to hold on and delay your living soul from detaching until now is entirely due to the profound accumulated blessings and protection of the Nan family.
“However, because the detachment was delayed for so long, the current compatibility between your physical body and your soul isn’t ideal. If we stuffed you back into your body right now, you would inevitably suffer another episode of soul detachment down the line.
“Soul detachment isn’t a good thing. The more frequently it happens, the worse the compatibility with the body becomes. If something goes wrong or an accident occurs, at best it will shorten your lifespan, and at worst, you’ll simply cease to exist.
“Therefore, we must find specific medicinal ingredients to harmonize your energy, restoring your soul and body to an optimal state of compatibility. Only when we return you to your body then will you grow up healthy and live a long, full life.”
Otherwise, Su Youqi could have easily shoved Nan Ke’s soul right back into his physical body on the very night of their ghost marriage.
“I see.” Realizing Su Youqi had quietly considered and planned so much on his behalf, a strange, warm ripple stirred within Nan Ke. Outwardly, however, he maintained his composure and smiled as usual. “Then I’ll have to thank you, Youyou.”
Nan Ke had stealthily upgraded Youqi’s nickname to Youyou.
Su Youqi felt something was slightly off, but having heard similar affectionate variations from Zhu Wenyu and Qin Shuya, he was already thoroughly accustomed to the moniker Youyou. Deciding not to dwell on it, he let Nan Ke use the nickname freely.
Nan Ke swiftly pivoted the conversation, asking, “So what kind of medicinal material are you looking for here this time?”
“The Two-Life Flower.” Su Youqi was just about to offer a more detailed explanation when Guan Hongyu interrupted him.
“Third Brother, let’s go!”
It turned out the group had finished their posturing tasks and were preparing to set off for the main base of the regular cast members.
Guan Hongyu muttered, “What were you mumbling to yourself about just now?”
“Nothing much. I just suddenly thought of the legend you told me earlier, the one about the Two-Life Flower.” Since the topic was already on the table, Su Youqi smoothly steered it forward, turning to ask a local villager acting as their guide, “Aunty, does your area really have Two-Life Flowers?”
Coincidentally, at that exact moment, they ran out to meet one of the regular cast members who had come to greet them. Overhearing Su Youqi’s question, the newcomer sprinted over and chimed in excitedly, “I know the answer to this one!”
“Brother Yangjia!”
Seeing the newcomer arrive, the group of minor unknowns let out another wave of squeals and gasps.
The newcomer was Xu Yangjia, a currently booming trending idol blessed with striking looks and solid acting chops. He possessed a natural gravitational pull for attention wherever he went and served as one of the primary regular anchors of Rural Life.
Xu Yangjia offered a bright smile to greet everyone, jogged over to Su Youqi’s side with the eager expression of someone who had just found a kindred spirit, and began giving a popular science breakdown: “There really are Two-Life Flowers here, and there are tons of them! Right up on the hillside behind where we’re staying, there’s a huge patch of them. They’re blazing red and gorgeous!”
Some participants were hearing about the Two-Life Flower for the very first time and blurted out, “What is a Two-Life Flower?”
“You guys might not have heard of the Two-Life Flower, but you definitely know its other name!” Xu Yangjia adopted a mysterious expression. “It’s Manjusaka, the legendary spider lily from the banks of the Underworld road where the flowers and leaves never meet.”
Watching Xu Yangjia’s theatrical display, Su Youqi inexplicably felt he bore more than a passing resemblance to Guan Hongyu standing right beside him.
“Whoa, Manjusaka! Does a flower like that actually exist?”
“Aren’t spider lilies just made-up nonsense from novels? They’re real?”
Many had heard grand tales of Manjusaka and spider lilies. Whether their astonishment was genuine or purely for the cameras, the group erupted into synchronized expressions of wonder and identical questioning.
“There’s nothing mystical or supernatural about it like you kids are making it sound!” At that moment, the middle-aged villager Su Youqi had questioned earlier spoke up lazily, chuckling at them as if they were a bunch of worldly-inexperienced children. “Spider lilies, phantom flowers, and all that nonsense, around here we just call them red spider lilies!”
Red spider lilies.
The pristine white moonlight in the sky had suddenly plummeted straight to earth, landing face-first in a thick puddle of yellow mud.
The entire group experienced a collective sense of profound disillusionment.
Only Xu Yangjia maintained an expression of absolute nonchalance, confirming the villager’s explanation: “That’s right. Locally, spider lilies are just called red spider lilies, and there are countless amounts of them. You’ll see once we enter the village; they’re literally everywhere!”
As if serving to validate Xu Yangjia’s words, the moment they stepped across the village entrance threshold, they spotted several clusters of red spider lilies blooming in vibrant, blazing crimson along the roadside.
The villager casually plucked a single stem and handed it to Su Youqi. “Here, kiddo, this is it. That red spider lily you were talking about.”
Su Youqi accepted the flower and offered the villager a polite word of thanks.
Perhaps genuinely intrigued by this myth-infused flower encountered for the first time, the rest of the cast members each plucked a specimen to fiddle with in their hands. The female participants, in particular, found the blooms remarkably striking and harvested multiple stems apiece.
“Hey, Sangxi, you didn’t pick any flowers just now? Here, let me share one with you.”
A sharp-eyed female cast member noticed You Sangxi holding empty hands and proactively offered him a stem.
You Sangxi, however, politely declined. “No thanks, I’m carrying everyone’s bags, so it’s not convenient to hold flowers. You keep them and have fun.”
Earlier, while everyone else was busy gathering flowers, You Sangxi had volunteered to take charge of carrying the group’s plastic bags and gear.
Noticing You Sangxi’s hands weighed down entirely with plastic bags, the girl felt bad pushing the issue. She let out a cute, playful chirp of a sigh, thanked him for his hard work, and skipped off happily.
Su Youqi narrowed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the fiery-red Two-Life Flower resting in his palm while casting a casual, seemingly accidental glance toward You Sangxi, the sole person across the entire group who had not touched a single bloom.
Naturally. Who with an unstable soul would ever dare touch a Two-Life Flower?
A flower blooming along the path of the Netherworld, a soul-guiding blossom meant to lead the departed down into the abyss.
It looked like this variety show trip was guaranteed to deliver plenty of entertainment.
With the market flooded by similar productions, the viewership ratings for Rural Life had begun showing signs of fatigue. To manufacture a fresh gimmick, the production crew had deliberately selected a location steeped in occult folklore. Now that Su Youqi had successfully nudged the conversation forward, the crew naturally capitalized on the momentum.
Consequently, Su Youqi and the others were handed their second mission: Return from the River of Forgetfulness.
Participation in this mission was entirely optional.
As a general rule, most of the rotating guest stars, accompanied by two regular anchors, would head out while the rest of the cast remained behind at the base camp to cook and relax.
This time proved no exception. Huang Jingyun, who needed to look after the juniors, led a team alongside Xu Yangjia and another regular named Li Hua. Nearly all the newly arrived minor unknowns scrambled to join, with the sole exception of You Sangxi, who voluntarily requested to stay behind and help with kitchen preparations.
Zeng Chu attempted to persuade You Sangxi to come along. After all, this was the primary gimmick pushed by the production team to drive traffic, meaning screen time was guaranteed, and missing out on it would be a terrible waste.
Yet You Sangxi remained resolute in his refusal, insisting that someone needed to stay behind to assist the senior crew members, otherwise it would look poorly upon them.
Hearing that logic, Zeng Chu decided it made sense. While feeling a twinge of regret, he deferred to You Sangxi’s choice, secretly marveling at what an extraordinarily considerate and selfless person You Sangxi truly was.
Su Youqi, who had monitored You Sangxi and Zeng Chu’s entire interaction, mentally noted: If there’s ever a textbook example of someone getting sold into slavery while actively thanking their captor, Zeng Chu is Exhibit A.
The rest of the cast felt secretly thrilled that You Sangxi had voluntarily bypassed such a golden exposure opportunity. They couldn’t care less; in fact, they prayed You Sangxi would chain himself to the kitchen stove forever so he couldn’t compete with them for camera angles.
After all, You Sangxi possessed a deeply calculating nature, proving exceptionally skilled at putting on a front in front of lenses and stealing the spotlight.
Along the way, a local villager hired by the production crew briefed the group on the local folklore background.
Roughly three years ago, a villager ventured up into the mountain after dark. Upon returning, he suddenly collapsed into a state of chronic unresponsiveness. Medical checkups at the hospital yielded zero diagnostic answers, prompting his family to consult a Daoist master, who declared the man had encountered a malevolent spirit and had his living soul yanked away.
The Daoist performed rituals to hunt down the missing spirit, only to discover it had already drifted toward the reincarnation cycle.
Undeterred, the Daoist spent ages scouring the mountain trails where the victim had disappeared until he finally unearthed a genuine specimen of the red spider lily, utilizing it to snatch the man’s soul back from the brink.
“According to his family, the spider lily the master brought back that day was three times the size of an ordinary red spider lily, and its petals were dyed a terrifying, dripping crimson.” The villager sharing the tale clearly harbored plenty of personal skepticism. “None of us actually laid eyes on it aside from his immediate relatives, so who knows if it was even true.
“Anyway, that’s how the story goes. Following that single incident, that Daoist used the event to market himself everywhere, establishing a massive reputation across our surrounding districts as a renowned master.”
Nearly everyone in the touring group was a young adult boasting higher education and a strictly materialistic worldview. Once the story wrapped up, someone immediately chimed in, “That sounds a lot like a vegetative patient suddenly regaining consciousness.”
Another cast member jumped right in to agree, “Right, exactly! Medical miracles happen all the time. Weren’t there news reports just last month about a vegetative patient waking up after lying in bed for over a decade?”
Within the domain of science, such events were categorized as medical miracles. Within the domain of metaphysics, they were designated as a return from the River of Forgetfulness.
“Spot on, spot on! That’s precisely what the vegetable awakening theory was. When the incident first happened, a young man from our village who was away studying at university said the exact same thing.” The villager nodded furiously like a pecking chicken. “When the accident occurred, his son was studying far away, and the family kept it quiet to avoid disrupting his exams. They only told him after the man had already recovered. When the son rushed back home, he gave the exact same explanation.
“He claimed his dad simply experienced a spontaneous neurological awakening from a vegetative state, and it just happened to coincide with that Daoist passing through. The spider lilies had nothing to do with it. If spider lilies were actually that miraculous, the patches growing around here would have been stripped bare by people ages ago!”
Judging by the tone of the villager’s commentary, he clearly leaned toward endorsing the rational explanations of the victim’s son.
However, a puzzled cast member raised a hand to ask, “Mister, given your generation, shouldn’t you hold a bit more belief in ghosts and spirits? How come your mindset is so remarkably modern and progressive?”
The old man immediately bristled in defense. “Of course I believe! Why wouldn’t I? There are deities three feet above our heads. I just don’t believe in the flower nonsense.”
“Ahem! Alright, let’s keep moving!”
Sensing the occult mystery intended to draw in viewers was dangerously veering into a public science fact-checking lecture, a production staff member hurriedly stepped in to rescue the segment.
Recalling the objective of their current mission, the group awkwardly pivoted the conversation back, pasting on expressions of feigned awe and credulity.
Lacking the polished acting chops of the entertainment industry, the villager stared in sheer bewilderment at how smoothly the group flipped their expressions back and forth.