“Spirits fall into three categories,” Xuan Ye began. “First, there are vengeful spirits like the ‘half-person’ you saw earlier, who require willpower to maintain their corporeal forms. Then there are ghost spirits, like the girl in the cave, whose souls can move freely and are visible only to those with yin-yang eyes. Finally, there are asuras—immortal beings with complete, independent lives of their own.”
“And?”
“You Huang is the last asura in existence,” Xuan Ye said slowly, his tone sharp and precise. “His spiritual power is incomparable to any vengeful or ghost spirit. Yet even he admitted—he’s no match for me.”
On the moonless night, Ban Xia sat before a candle, staring blankly at the flickering flame.
She knew exactly why she had agreed to act as bait. It wasn’t about justice or kindness. It was disgust—pure, unadulterated disgust at how women were being tortured and killed in such grotesque ways.
Before hiding, Xuan Ye had asked if she wanted to practice painting the five-petal plum blossom on her nail. After all, in complete darkness, it wouldn’t be easy.
She had refused.
By now, Xuan Ye was well hidden—where exactly, she couldn’t tell, but he was close. Midnight was approaching.
Ban Xia took a deep breath, held it, and finally blew out the candle with a “whoosh.”
The room plunged into darkness.
The hu brush was within reach, and the inkstone contained her freshly drawn blood, still warm.
Ban Xia picked up the brush and, feeling her way in the dark, dipped it into the blood. Then, she retrieved her secret weapon from her pocket.
Xuan Ye probably didn’t know that in her world, there was something called nail art tools. By sheer coincidence, she had brought a set with her before being transported to this world. Among them was an unused stencil in the shape of a five-petal flower.
With this, it was almost impossible to make a mistake.
In about three minutes, Ban Xia had finished painting the flower on her nail. She blew on it gently to help it dry.
Then silence fell—a chilling, eerie silence, punctuated only by her own heartbeat, echoing in her ears.
Ban Xia was not easily rattled. But in this moment, she couldn’t help but feel her spine tingle. The air seemed to shift, carrying with it a sweet, sickly scent—seductive yet sinister.
Time dragged on, every second and minute stretching under the weight of fear. Ban Xia’s heartbeat quickened. Unable to bear it any longer, she pulled out a flint, struck it several times, and relit the candle.
Midnight had passed. She was certain the blood demon wasn’t coming.
The soft yellow candlelight spread across the room, casting her pale face in the reflection of the bronze mirror. Behind her… a vague, shadowy figure emerged.
The night breeze made the candle flame flicker, and the shadow in the mirror became clearer—a human shape.
Ban Xia stopped breathing, placing a trembling hand over her chest to steady herself. Slowly, she turned around.
Someone was there.
A silent, dark figure stood behind her, its presence heavy and oppressive. It was impossible to tell how long it had been lurking there.
The limited candlelight revealed only two hands—and a pear.
The hands, unmistakably male, were elegant in shape yet devoid of fingernails.
Those nail-less hands held a small knife, delicately peeling a pear.
The pear was a sickly green, faintly streaked with red—eerily unnatural.
That scent filled the room again, thick and cloying, the mingling of blood and sweetness both alluring and menacing.
At last, the peel was removed. The green-and-red skin fell away, revealing flesh as white and translucent as crystal.
“Dry weather, miss. Have a pear,” the figure spoke at last, his voice low and slightly raspy. One of his nail-less hands extended forward, offering Ban Xia the pale, glistening fruit.
“It’s just a pear.”
The man’s voice came again from the shadows, low and raspy, carrying an undercurrent of deep exhaustion rather than overt malice.
The dim light of the room reflected off the pear, its snow-white flesh gleaming faintly, exuding an almost irresistible allure.
Ban Xia’s mind wavered. She instinctively reached out, her right hand spreading open, fingers nearly grasping the pear.
At that very moment, the room burst into sudden brightness as Xuan Ye broke through the protective barrier. His crescent blade shot from his hand, slicing the pear cleanly in two.
The Moonlight Blade hovered in mid-air, glowing softly, and its light illuminated the male ghost’s face.
Or rather, half of it.
It wasn’t that his face was damaged—half of it was hidden behind a mask, leaving only one side exposed. The revealed half was stunning: slanted, languid eyes radiated fatigue; a thin, tightly pressed mouth exuded elegance.
Ban Xia swallowed hard, warning herself that the masked half must be hideous beyond imagination. Without hesitation, she bolted out of the room.
Standing outside the house, she peered in through the window. Watching the scene unfold, she saw the handsome, half-masked man lift his nail-less right hand and brush it across his brow with casual disdain.
“And who might you be? Another Taoist from some backwater mountain?” he asked, his tone dripping with contempt.
“I’m neither a Taoist nor a backwater nobody,” Xuan Ye replied calmly. “I’m just a spirit collector.” With that, he curled his fingers, summoning the Moonlight Blade back to his palm.
The male ghost sneered but said nothing more. Raising both hands, he muttered an indistinct incantation.
A thick, overpowering scent filled the room immediately.
The pear skin he had discarded earlier began to curl and shrink, as if it were incense burning, releasing a smoky, greenish mist.
The aroma grew richer, almost wickedly intoxicating. With a wave of his hand, the ghost shaped the mist into a small beast, its form leaping and snarling, ready to attack.
This ghost wasn’t just beautiful—he could control scents.
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