As night fell, those who had toiled for a full day and night finally found time to rest.
Su Lingxi had been waiting at the entrance of the estate for a long time before he finally caught sight of his target. He quickly darted forward, calling out, "Miss Shangguan!"
Shangguan Huanxi, covered in the dust of her travels, nodded slightly at the boy who had rushed up to her and replied, "Young Master Su."
"I contributed a lot during the recent chaos caused by the evil spirits! I caught many villains and protected many people. Miss Shangguan, did I help you?"
Shangguan Huanxi smiled. "Of course. You were a great help."
Though she had deliberately spread rumors of hidden treasures to lure more people, the Red Pavilion had remained reclusive. She never expected its young master would also come to Canghaizhou.
Encouraged by his goddess's praise, Su Lingxi's eyes sparkled with excitement. Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, he wanted to keep talking to Shangguan Huanxi, but just then, a graceful figure stepped into view.
Heart Knife had shed his usual black martial attire, now dressed in pristine white robes. A fan swayed gently in his hand, softening his usually sharp and cold features. The hem of his robe was embroidered with faint silver cloud patterns, shimmering faintly as he moved, lending him the refined air of a noble young master.
"What a splendid evening to encounter Lady Shangguan here. What a fortunate coincidence."
This was Shangguan Huanxi's home. She was simply walking through her own front gate—how could this be called a coincidence?
Su Lingxi shot him a furious glare. "Blade Demon, shouldn’t you be off pillaging and burning villages? What are you doing here?"
Heart Knife’s grip on his fan tightened. "How many times must I say it? ‘Blade Demon’ is a slanderous title! It was fabricated by those jealous of my peerless charm and dashing demeanor. I am an upright gentleman, free of wrongdoing!"
Su Lingxi scoffed. "An upright gentleman who peeps on women bathing?"
"That was a misunderstanding!"
"What misunderstanding? You’re just a lecherous wolf in disguise—what kind of gentleman are you?"
"Enough, you brat! Don’t think I won’t beat you just because you’re young!"
"I’m not a brat!"
Shangguan Huanxi sidestepped the quarreling pair, only to find Wenren Buxiao waiting for her further ahead. Slightly exasperated, she tried to avoid him, but he quickly closed the distance.
"Huanxi, the position of Canghaizhou’s governor was always meant to be yours. I was thinking—"
But Shangguan Huanxi didn’t give him time to finish. A sudden premonition made her pull out a paper effigy, and her expression darkened instantly.
The doll’s body was twisted as if its bones had shattered, its once-smooth paper now crumpled like it had been crushed by invisible hands. Its limbs bent at unnatural angles, the joints splitting open in long gashes.
Most horrifying was its left eye—the painted red pupil was torn apart, revealing a shattered eyeball beneath.
"Yi Moli!"
Shangguan Huanxi rushed to the prison at top speed. The guards stood motionless, their eyes hollow—soulless husks, their minds seemingly stolen away.
In the deepest cell, the stench of blood hung thick in the air.
The man lying in the pool of blood mirrored the paper effigy—his limbs grotesquely twisted, his flesh mangled, his bones crushed to pieces. His face was streaked with blood, and his left eye socket was a gory ruin.
Not long ago, he had spoken of wanting to start anew. Now, his curled fingers seemed to claw at something, but his fingertips only scraped through dark red mud—his last warmth fading fast.
Wenren Buxiao arrived a step too late. After a moment of shock, he quickly regained his composure. "It was that female physician. I’ll investigate personally."
He strode away, leaving the cell in silence.
Shangguan Huanxi stepped forward, her boots sinking into the blood as she crouched beside him. "Yi Moli."
His remaining eye flickered weakly, and a trembling breath escaped his throat.
She lifted him gently. "What do you want to say?"
Whoever had done this had granted him only enough life for one last sentence. After that, his final breath would leave him, and his soul would depart forever.
It was a cruel mercy—one sentence was nowhere near enough.
He had so much more to say.
Since childhood, he had known he was never the favored one.
His life had been deliberately tangled by unseen hands, as if he were a puppet in someone else’s play, forced to follow a script leading to ruin.
The things she had told him were truths no one else had ever taught him.
He had approached her with ulterior motives, but now, he couldn’t say whether it had been calculation or unavoidable sincerity that had driven him.
And he had so many questions left unasked.
Yi Moli’s fingers twitched, brushing against the ruined paper effigy. When he had crafted the life-substitute puppet, he had used his own eye as the "bridge." Now that the bridge was broken, the puppet’s protection was gone.
Shangguan Huanxi whispered, "I know. When you gave me the puppet, you truly wanted to start over."
His trembling fingers stilled, his remaining eye locking onto hers.
After a pause, she added, "If we’d had more time… perhaps I might have grown to like you. Just a little."
The corner of his lips twitched, as if attempting a smile.
He knew he was dying.
So he also knew her words were nothing but a lie—a kindness for a man with no future.
In the time he had waited for her, he had wondered what final words might make her remember him longer. But when she finally arrived, he thought of who she was—of her duties, her burdens.
And so, he spoke:
"My journal… has what you seek… hidden in the Land of Tenderness… Go find it…"
"Shangguan Huanxi… if I had met you twenty years ago…"
"Would I have had… another path to take…?"
Before the last syllable faded, his breath left him.
The eye that had once reflected blades and bloodshed now stared half-lidded into the void, as if tracing the shape of an imagined past—a life that might have been, twenty years ago.
Shangguan Huanxi felt his body grow cold in her arms. She had seen too many deaths to weep. Gazing into his vacant eyes, she murmured, "There are no ‘what-ifs’ in this world."
Her fingers gently closed his remaining eye. After a long silence, she added, "Don’t wander too far on the road to the underworld. Wait for me to send them to join you."
The night wind rustled through the trees, their branches casting twisted shadows on the paper windows—like beasts ready to devour.
In a dimly lit room, a pair of crimson eyes snapped open. A disheveled white-haired youth, ghostly in appearance, appeared at the window in an instant. His hand shot through the opening, seizing a shadowy figure by the throat.
A hoarse voice rasped, "You’ve developed a weakness. That’s no good."
The boy’s wild white hair obscured half his face, leaving only that blood-red eye gleaming in the dark—like stained glass dipped in blood.
"Too noisy."
The moment his fingers tightened, the crisp sound of the opponent's throat being crushed was unmistakable.
The figure collapsed to the ground—just another puppet.
He withdrew his hand and raised his gaze, staring fixedly into the distant night.
Beneath the shadows of the trees, the edge of a robe vanished from sight.
"Ninth?"
Chu'he sat up in bed, rubbing her drowsy eyes as she looked blankly at the figure standing by the window.
Ninth turned around, a lazy smile instantly appearing on his face. He returned to the bedside and pulled her back down. "It's still dark. Let's sleep a little longer."
Earlier that night, Zhou Xian had killed one fewer demonic entity than Jia Yi, forcing him to take on patrol duty as well.
Spotting a young woman walking alone with a medicine chest on her back, he hurried over. "Miss Lin, why are you out so late by yourself?"
Miss Lin smiled. "I just finished a house call."
Eager to impress, Zhou Xian immediately offered, "Let me escort you back to the clinic."
"No need. You have your duties. The clinic is just ahead—I can manage on my own."
Zhou Xian didn’t press further and nodded reluctantly.
At the break of dawn, Zhou Xian encountered Wenren Buxiao leading a group of men. Before he could voice his confusion, Wenren Buxiao commanded, "Hurry and arrest that physician named Lin from the clinic!"
Zhou Xian froze. "What?"
The solitary young woman never returned to the clinic. Instead, she entered a guest room at an inn, sat before the dressing table, let down her hair, removed her makeup, and leisurely changed into fresh clothes.
Exiting the room and descending the stairs, she was met with the clamor of voices.
"Did you hear? That Miss Lin from the clinic is a demon!"
"Miss Lin? That gentle soul? Impossible!"
"Who knows? Lord Wenren has ordered a city-wide manhunt for her."
The innkeeper, engrossed in gossip, suddenly caught sight of an ethereal figure and blinked in surprise.
A monk in moon-white robes approached with measured steps, his handsome features exuding compassion, as though the world's suffering was cradled in his serene gaze.
The morning light bathed his pale robes, casting an otherworldly glow.
A devout Buddhist, the innkeeper—especially awed by this unmistakably enlightened master—hurriedly wiped his hands and approached with reverence. "May I ask the master’s dharma name, your origin, and destination? This humble man would like to pay respects at the temple someday."
The monk smiled. "This humble monk is called Xuanzang, hailing from the Great Tang in the East, journeying westward to fetch the scriptures."
Without lingering, he left the inn, his retreating figure seemingly trailing the faint scent of sandalwood.
"A true master, no doubt!" The innkeeper grabbed a waiter. "How could you not tell me we had such an extraordinary monk staying here?"
The waiter scratched his head. "I don’t recall a monk ever checking in..."
"Useless!" The innkeeper smacked the waiter’s head, then muttered to himself, "Come to think of it, where is this 'Great Tang in the East'? And what’s this 'fetching scriptures' business? Never heard of it!"
