“Have a pear. Really, it’s just a pear.”
The voice lingered in the pear grove for a long time.
The soul flame of Chi Wang Chuan grew dimmer and dimmer, gradually being absorbed by the Moonlight Blade, until he could no longer maintain his human form.
And that pear—snow-white and crystalline—really was just a pear.
Ban Xia Half-Summer took a deep breath. Someone who hadn’t let emotions sway them for 800 years must have had something snap inside to actually reach out, take the pear, and bite into it.
The taste wasn’t bad—about the level of a fragrant Xinjiang pear. Nothing too miraculous.
She finished the entire pear in one bite, with no hesitation. Ban Xia was a straightforward person.
Soon, the pear was reduced to its core, which she held in her palm and showed to Chi Wang Chuan. “I ate it. It’s really just a pear. An ordinary pear.”
As she spoke, her peripheral vision caught something: the burn scars on her neck, left by ghost fire, were receding like a tide. In an instant, they were gone.
Reflexively, she touched the coin-sized scar on her forehead—the one that had forced her to keep her bangs long out of frustration.
No surprise, that scar was gone too!
So, this was how those women had regained their youth—it was all thanks to that pear.
If you passed the trial, you could reclaim your youth and win back the heart of someone you loved. From beginning to end, Chi Wang Chuan had never lied.
He was a ghost burdened with great sin, but his word was as solid as a mountain—there was a certain nobility in that.
Ban Xia cupped her face, sighing softly with mixed emotions.
“If I’m captured, the barrier around this grove will break.” From the other side, Chi Wang Chuan continued, “Do you remember the old man who led you here? He’s Ji Li’s enemy, filled with deep resentment. If he escapes…”
“I’ll take responsibility for that,” Xuan Ye interrupted in a low voice. With a flick of his finger on the blade’s spine, Chi Wang Chuan’s ghostly form dissolved into a streak of light and was completely absorbed by the blade.
The Moonlight Blade shifted in color. A green hue flowed across its surface, resembling the green mist that Chi Wang Chuan had controlled in the grove earlier.
Xuan Ye’s fingernail pressed against the blade’s spine, and fresh blood dripped onto the blade. The blood instantly turned to vapor, releasing a faintly sweet yet metallic scent.
“What happens to a ghost captured by the Moonlight Blade?” Ban Xia couldn’t help but ask, running her hand over the blade.
The blade trembled violently, resisting her touch, its green light flickering for a long time.
“All souls captured by the Moonlight Blade are imprisoned for eternity,” Xuan Ye replied calmly, tearing a strip from his sleeve to bind his injured nail. “Let’s go outside and see if that old man is still around.”
Ban Xia gave a faint “oh,” feeling a tightness in her chest. She said nothing more and followed Xuan Ye out of the grove.
Most of the strange mist in the forest had dissipated. They searched for a long time and found a few wandering vengeful spirits, likely those previously under Chi Wang Chuan’s command, but they couldn’t locate the frog-stamping old man.
“He’s already fled,” Xuan Ye sighed. “Where do you think he’ll go?”
Ban Xia lifted her head.
If you were him—cursed by Ji Li, exploited until there was nothing left, your fingernails ripped out, and finally discarded like garbage—where would you go?
Of course, you’d go seek revenge. Ji Li was gone, but her reincarnation, Yuan Fang, was still alive.
“I suppose I’ll need to head to the capital,” Xuan Ye said, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Your burns have healed. Whether you come along or not is entirely up to you.”
Meanwhile, atop the Qi Lan Mountains, Chi Xue squatted on the ground, nervously muttering to himself while drawing circles with a stick:
“It must be a ram, it must be a ram!”
No one knew how much time passed before a lamb was born. Uncle Qi finally stepped out of the room, frowned, and informed him, “Young Prophet Chi, it’s a ewe.”
Chi Xue’s shoulders immediately slumped.
His prediction had failed again. Forget foreseeing the upheaval of mountains and the rise and fall of dynasties—he couldn’t even guess the gender of a lamb.
Uncle Qi’s words of comfort fell on deaf ears. Chi Xue, shoulders drooping, shuffled over to his master, Gu Mo, sniffled, and looked pitifully aggrieved.
“Failed again?” Gu Mo chuckled, taking a deep drag on his pipe. “Doesn’t matter. Last time, when you predicted Aunt Lan would have a baby girl, didn’t she indeed give birth to a girl? You’re not wrong every time.”
“Even if I’m always wrong, at least people can laugh about it in hindsight. But for someone like me, who’s only right half the time, how am I even worthy of being called a prophet? It’s as meaningless as passing gas.” Chi Xue sniffled again. “Master, are you really sure I’ll be the next prophet of the clan? Could it be a mistake?”
“What do you think?” Gu Mo tapped his pipe against his hand.
“Master can’t be wrong…” Chi Xue murmured, staring blankly at the sky, half-covered in drifting clouds, before lowering his gaze to the moss-covered well beside him.
There was movement in the well, a hollow whooshing sound like a strong wind swirling below.
Chi Xue leaned closer, peering down with some concern. “Do you think they might break out?”
“Not for now.” Gu Mo tapped his pipe again. “Two days ago, I used my own blood to strengthen the seal. It should hold for a while.”
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