Fang Songhe withdrew his gaze from the distant figure's retreating back, looking somewhat embarrassed. "My apologies."
Sang Duo pulled Cang Yan a step away, eyeing him warily. "I already promised the young master I wouldn't hide anymore. What do you want from us?"
Fang Songhe straightened, his expression serious. "You're from Miaojiang, so you must be familiar with its past. I'd like to ask—did anything significant happen in Miaojiang a hundred years ago?"
Back at the estate, a maid asked, "Miss, would you like to visit the young master?"
Li Furong shook her head. "I want to rest. You don’t need to stay with me."
The maid found it strange. Ever since that night when her mistress returned late, she had been acting oddly—no longer clinging to the young master as before, barely seeing the master, and often shutting herself in her room, lost in thought.
Obediently, the maid left. Li Furong slumped onto the table, her mind drifting.
"What troubles you?"
The old man appeared out of nowhere, already seated across from her as if he owned the place, leisurely pouring himself tea.
His internal injuries weren’t fully healed, nor was the gu poison neutralized, but his external wounds had improved enough for basic movement.
Li Furong had grown used to his ghostly presence. She didn’t move from the table, murmuring, "If one day you discovered your family wasn’t truly yours… what would you do?"
The old man’s hand paused on the teacup. Behind his mask, his murky eyes fixed on her. "What would you do?"
"I don’t know." Li Furong pressed her lips together, burying her face in her arms. "This life of luxury was never mine to begin with. They told me… I have an older brother still alive. But I don’t know how to face him. Just seeing him fills me with fear… and guilt."
The old man’s tone was cryptic. "Oh? You have a brother."
"He must have suffered terribly…" Li Furong clutched her sleeves, her breath uneven.
"If you pity him so much, why not leave the Li family and go find him?"
Li Furong lifted her head. "But what about Father and Brother?"
The old man chuckled. "So you can’t let go of the Li family either. In that case, why not pretend you know nothing and keep living as their young mistress? Isn’t that better?"
Li Furong lowered her head, twisting her sleeves, her face conflicted.
The old man sipped his tea, then asked lazily, "Is the brother who raised you really less important than some stranger tied to you by blood?"
"That’s not right."
A whisper-soft voice interrupted. The old man glanced down, studying her intently.
Li Furong raised her face, her gaze clear as spring water. "Why must they be compared at all?"
Silence settled in the room, broken only by the faint aroma of tea lingering in the air.
"Back then, the lady in yellow descended like a celestial being, saving the city from plague. It was in Yangcheng that she met the young man from Miaojiang."
"That Miaojiang man’s methods were bizarre and horrifying. If not for the lady in yellow, he would’ve used his puppets to abduct the gravely ill for his gu poison experiments."
"Later, the lady accompanied him from Yangcheng, passing through Wutong Village, Canghaizhou, and Xiaocheng, all the way back to Miaojiang."
"Somehow, Miaojiang was embroiled in a witchcraft and gu uprising. The rest is history—the lady perished, and the Miaojiang man mourned her for a few years before moving on, marrying, and having children as if nothing happened."
Painter Gao swallowed nervously, watching the man before him. "My master was deeply saddened to hear of the lady’s death. That’s all I know."
In the Chu residence, Painter Gao sat stiffly on a stone stool, surrounded by a circle of people whose scrutiny weighed heavily on him.
Their eyes shifted to the painting in Chu'he’s hands.
Chu Sheng stroked his beard, glancing at Ninth. "Are all Miaojiang people white-haired?"
Ninth lazily lifted a hand, twirling a strand of his long white hair, a smug smile curling his lips. "A’he likes my hair."
Chu Sheng snorted, his expression souring.
Bai Lian approached with a bowl of lotus seed soup. "Hero Fang, you’ve worked hard. I made this myself—please try it."
Fang Songhe hastily sidestepped, retreating to Ninth’s side. "I’m not hungry, but I appreciate the gesture."
Bai Lian moved to follow, but Chu Sheng’s sharp gaze pinned her in place.
She forced a smile, picking up another bowl from a maid’s tray and handing it to Chu Sheng. "Master, you should have some too."
She longed to get closer to Fang Songhe, but with Ninth nearby, she shuddered and stayed put.
Ninth couldn’t care less about shielding Fang Songhe from admirers. He tugged Chu'he’s hand, steering her a few steps away.
"I’ve investigated. A century ago, Miaojiang was split into two factions—the Witchcraft Sect and the Gu Sorcery Sect. Their infighting caused countless deaths. Eventually, the gu insects, having devoured too many of their own, broke free from control, leading to the Witchcraft and Gu uprising."
Fang Songhe, seeing Bai Lian edging closer again, swiftly repositioned himself beside Ninth.
Ninth, who’d been secretly holding Chu'he’s hand, shot him an annoyed glare.
Fang Songhe pretended not to notice and continued, "When both factions were weakened, they finally joined forces to trap the rampaging gu insects in the Gu Pool. But the creatures grew restless, threatening to break free again. That’s when they needed a sacrifice—a special individual."
Chu'he pressed, "What kind of person qualifies as ‘special’?"
"Someone who’s mastered gu sorcery to its peak, whose flesh and blood are strong enough to serve as a vessel for countless gu insects to hibernate within. Only such a person could quell their fury and end the uprising."
A body becoming a nest for thousands of gu insects.
A chill ran down Chu'he’s spine. Her gaze snapped to the man beside her.
Ninth, however, remained detached, even poking her cheek playfully when she looked at him, his lips quirking in that faint, enigmatic smile.
Fang Songhe studied the painting of the white-haired man’s silhouette, his expression grave. "Countless gu techniques originated from him. He pioneered puppet sorcery and tamed innumerable gu insects. Undoubtedly, he was the ideal sacrifice."
"Yet for some reason, he didn’t die."
"He walked out of the Gu Pool and merged the two warring factions into one—the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect—becoming its first sect leader."
Fang Songhe’s voice dropped. "The White-Haired Ghost massacre in Wutong Village sixty years ago, the chaos in Canghaizhou two decades later, the extermination of the Cang family fifteen years ago, and now the supernatural disasters in Xiaocheng and Yangcheng… I don’t believe these are coincidences."
After a pause, he said, "I suspect the sect leader from a hundred years ago… is still alive."
A cold wind swept through. Several people shuddered.
Bai Lian was the first to panic, hiding behind Chu Sheng. "How is that possible? No one can live that long!"
Chu Sheng tensed up. "Without evidence, we shouldn't jump to conclusions."
Fang Songhe turned to Ninth. "What do you think?"
Ninth smirked. "Who knows?"
Suddenly, Chu'he grabbed Ninth and pulled him away. She glanced back and said, "It's late, and I'm tired. I'm taking Ninth back to rest!"
Fang Songhe watched their retreating figures and murmured, "Many skilled fighters have arrived in the city recently. A storm is brewing."
Chu'he's grip on Ninth's hand tightened.
Ninth bent down and gently patted her head. "Don't be afraid, my dear Chu'he."
Chu'he didn't respond, quickening her pace until she practically dragged him into her room. After shutting the door and windows, she released his hand and immediately began unpacking a bundle on the bed, pulling clothes from the wardrobe.
"I'll go find my father soon and tell him I'm taking you on a trip far from here!" When she looked up to fetch more items, she noticed Ninth idly lingering beside her. She shoved him impatiently. "Stop lazing around! Pack whatever you need—quickly!"
Ninth caught her hand, halting her frantic movements. "Why leave now? Aren’t we about to be wed?"
"Are you truly this dense?" Chu'he pursed her lips, gripping a strand of his hair, her voice edged with urgency. "I can feel it—everything happening is aimed at you. We must go now, or it might be too late!"
What Gu pool?
What sacrificial rites?
These absurd events from a century ago—she wouldn’t let them happen to Ninth.
Ninth leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly against the agitated girl’s. His crimson eyes flickered. "But this is your home, Chu'he."
"We can always return after leaving, but if something happens to you..." Her voice wavered. "I’m afraid I’ll never find you again."
Ninth froze, his breath hitching.
He had always believed himself fearless, yet the tremor in her voice clenched his heart.
Chu'he stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. The moment she closed her eyes, vivid scenes flashed through her mind—
In the cave of medicinal test subjects, his broken body buried under a tide of insects.
In the woods outside the inn, kneeling in a pool of blood, clutching his own dripping heart.
On the outskirts of Canghaizhou, no longer even human, reduced to a grotesque, writhing mass of Gu insect corpses.
Her voice thickened with emotion. "Chi Yan, I can’t bear to see you suffer again."
The young man lowered his gaze, the light in his crimson eyes trembling like ripples across a wind-stirred lake. A strand of silver hair slipped free, tangling with her dark locks until the boundary between them blurred.
His arms tightened around her, restraining his strength to avoid hurting her. His pale hand pressed against her back, veins rising as he struggled to contain the surge of emotion.
"Chu'he."
"Hm?"
His voice was hoarse, strained. "Am I... important to you?"
She pressed closer, muffling her words against his chest. "Of course you are! You’re the one I love, the future father of our child—how could you not matter?"
He chuckled softly, stroking her hair before nuzzling her cheek. "Silly girl."
To consider someone like him precious—she really was hopelessly foolish.
