“You’re right. What we should be discussing now is how to break the curse. Is it possible to remove it?”
“It’s possible. But only once we identify the composition and origin of the curse.”
“How long will that take?”
“That depends. It could be three to five days, or three to five years.”
You Huang immediately started licking his lips again. “I don’t think the lady can wait—even three to five days might be too long.”
“There’s another way,” Xuan Ye said after a pause. He pulled Ban Xia closer, examining the mark on her forehead with an intense, focused expression.
“What way?”
“We redirect the curse—transfer it to another person,” Xuan Ye said, lifting his head. His tone remained gentle, but his gaze was resolute. “I’ll need your help.”
When Ban Xia woke up, it was already the next morning.
Both men were still in the room. Xuan Ye sat by her bedside, his fingers interlaced and pressed against his forehead.
You Huang was standing nearby, his gaze fixed on Xuan Ye’s hands, unwavering.
“The wound on your nail—I treated it. It won’t scar, and the nail will grow back,” Xuan Ye said immediately when Ban Xia raised her hand.
She looked at her fingers, noting most of her nails were intact, and let out a sigh of relief.
Xuan Ye turned his head toward You Huang, his expression clearly asking why he was still there.
You Huang shrugged, raising an eyebrow with his usual flair. “I’m just curious. Curious whether you can still wield your blade with your hands in that state.”
Xuan Ye tightened his interlaced fingers and pressed them harder against his forehead. “If I can’t hold my blade, you might finally have the chance to kill me. Care to try, Bamboo Brother?”
“If I were to take advantage of your weakness, what right would I have to look down on you later?” You Huang clicked his tongue, spun his cape dramatically, and disappeared into the daylight.
Ban Xia sat silently on the bed, watching Xuan Ye’s fingers interlock tighter and tighter. Gradually, understanding dawned on her.
“This happened because of me. I should bear the consequences,” Xuan Ye said, his hands still pressed against his forehead.
Ban Xia leaned back against the pillow with a sharp “Damn.”
“So, what now?” she asked, rubbing her temples, as direct as ever.
“We find him.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure something out.” Xuan Ye’s voice was low, his fingers gripping tighter as he pressed against his forehead, seemingly trying to suppress the chaos within.
He stood up but was immediately pulled back by Ban Xia grabbing his sleeve.
“I grew up in a funeral parlor. My dad was a mortician,” she said suddenly, the words coming out of nowhere.
Xuan Ye looked down at her, his eyes gentle and understanding, as if he didn’t need her to explain terms like “funeral parlor” or “dad.”
So she continued.
“Growing up, I was surrounded by ghosts. The funeral parlor was full of them. There was this one boy who died in a car accident—he only had one leg. I used to force him to play jump rope just to watch him fail.”
She paused, her tone light, the memories not entirely unpleasant.
“Then… I met a male ghost. A starving ghost from the Qing Dynasty.” Her voice faltered as her hands moved to cover her face.
Even now, she couldn’t confront that chapter of her life.
Xuan Ye leaned in, his voice soft. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”
Ban Xia looked up, her eyes steady. “That’s right. I don’t want to talk about it now. I just want to tell you that this ghost went missing once. The situation was critical, and I absolutely had to find him.”
“And?”
“And I calmed myself, focused all my energy, and somehow, I sensed where he was.”
Xuan Ye nodded slightly, urging her to continue.
“I don’t like it,” she said after a pause, taking a deep breath. “But I seem to have a natural talent for this kind of thing. Someone in my world, a Master Qi, even said my ability was the strongest he’d ever seen in his life.”
Ban Xia tried multiple times to sense the cursed ghost’s presence but failed to calm her mind.
Nearby, Xuan Ye tore the bedsheet into strips, wrapping each of his nails tightly.
He was certain now that the women’s nails had been torn out by their own hands. It felt as if millions of ants were gnawing at his nerves, and even he was tempted to rip out his own nails for relief.
Ban Xia’s gaze flickered to him. “It’s itching and burning like crazy, isn’t it? Feels like you’re losing your mind, doesn’t it? All you want is to rip them out?”
Xuan Ye let out a faint “Mm,” clasping his hands tightly and avoiding her eyes.
Moments later, as Ban Xia still struggled to focus, Xuan Ye began clutching his head, his fingers pressing hard against his temples, his back stiff as a board.
Something was wrong.
“This curse…” he began, his voice ragged, his breathing uneven.
“This curse doesn’t just target the nails—it invades the mind as well. It can create illusions,” he said after a pause, his words labored.
“What kind of illusions?” Ban Xia asked, her tone tinged with unease.
“Since the curse transferred from you to me, the illusions I see should be from your past,” Xuan Ye said, his voice hoarse. “The part of your past you can’t bear to face.”
Ban Xia froze, unable to respond.
The part of her past she couldn’t face.
There was only one possibility.
As Xuan Ye began describing what he saw, Ban Xia could do nothing but listen, her heart sinking as his words pulled her back into the memories she had tried so hard to bury.
It was the funeral parlor where she had grown up.
At night, the fluorescent lights cast a ghastly pall over the wet floors.
She ran frantically down the long corridor.
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