“The one buried here is my man,” Feng Yi replied in her usual straightforward manner.
“You said you sold yourself to save him?”
“Yes.” Feng Yi felt hot and tugged her collar open halfway. “I sold my body to men to pay for his medicine. A poor couple’s struggles aren’t unusual—there’s nothing extraordinary about it.”
“Then why did he still die?”
“Why did he still die?” Feng Yi tilted her face upward and laughed, her gaze dreamy and unfocused. “Because he was a proud man…”
Indeed, Gu Qin had been a proud man. When Feng Yi first met him, he was a guard for the Qi Wei Escort Agency, standing as straight as a spear no matter where he was.
At that time, Feng Yi was a spirited fisherwoman, deftly casting nets, braving the sea, and drinking with men, losing to none.
Gu Qin fell in love with her free-spirited nature. For her, he turned against his family and abandoned his livelihood. Together, they arrived in the capital with nothing but bare hands.
“With my own two hands, there’s no challenge we can’t overcome,” he had said with bold confidence.
Back then, he hadn’t known that his once-strong body would fail him as soon as they reached the capital. The hands that had wielded blades with skill were soon reduced to thin, withered sticks.
Even then, he woke up every morning to weave bamboo baskets and mats, splitting bamboo with his worn blade, working in short bursts before being overcome with sweat.
“A man should provide for his family. I can’t live off my wife,” he had said, even when his back could no longer straighten.
Such a proud man—what could his reaction have been when he discovered Feng Yi had sold herself to Qi Feng Tower to pay for his medicine?
From that moment on, he never spoke another word. He refused all treatment and passed away five days later.
As a man, his final act of dignity was not to burden her.
“I shamed him, and that’s why I didn’t dare carve my name on his gravestone,” Feng Yi said bitterly, lifting the now-empty wine jar. She only then realized it was dry.
“Do you regret it?” Chi Lian pressed.
Feng Yi, utterly drunk, didn’t hear the question. She gazed up absently and murmured, “His hands were big, and my face was small. I always liked burying my face in his palms—they could almost cover my entire face.”
Chi Lian hesitated, then slowly reached out his hand. He cupped her face gently and asked in a low voice, “Like this?”
Feng Yi nodded and buried her face in his hand. Tears silently spilled down her cheeks, soaking into his icy palm. She rubbed her face against it, murmuring, “Why are your hands so cold? I remember your hands were always warm.”
“Because I’m already dead. I’m a ghost now,” Chi Lian said softly, playing along with her drunken delusion, assuming the role of Gu Qin.
Feng Yi held his hand tightly, her tears flowing uncontrollably as she sobbed, her voice breaking.
“You’re not afraid of me, even as a ghost, because you miss me, right?” Chi Lian lifted her face and licked away her tears.
His tongue was long and slender, its tip forked, bright red—a serpent’s tongue.
But Feng Yi, lost in her drunken haze, didn’t notice. She only clung to him, kissing him deeply, as if trying to pour all her heartache into that single embrace.
“She was wiping a gravestone. Whose gravestone was it?” Chi Xue finally spoke, long after the image in the basin had disappeared, his reaction incredibly delayed.
“There were characters on the gravestone. It said ‘Gu Qin,’” Xuan Ye replied, his sharp observation evident.
“Gu Qin…” The procuress rubbed her forehead as if the name rang a faint bell. “That does sound familiar. Who was he…”
“He was Miss Feng Yi’s former husband,” said a maidservant who attended Feng Yi, stepping forward to clarify. “I remember her mentioning once that she buried him in the eastern suburbs.”
Without a word, Xuan Ye and Ban Xia vanished, racing to the location.
“Wait!” Chi Xue, still lagging behind, shouted belatedly. Naturally, he stayed put and didn’t catch up.
The cemetery in the eastern suburbs was vast, but Xuan Ye and Ban Xia quickly sensed the ominous energy and found Feng Yi almost immediately.
By then, Feng Yi was astride Chi Lian, her clothes disheveled. Her fair, supple skin glistened with sweat, her chest heaving as moans of pleasure escaped her lips. She was utterly lost in a haze of passion, overwhelmed by desire and delight.
Xuan Ye didn’t waste words. He simply threw the Moonlight Blade into the air. Its sharp edge gleamed as it slashed off a strand of Chi Lian’s hair.
The sudden turn of events startled Feng Yi, jolting her awake. She turned to look at Chi Lian, and her expression froze in terror. Her eyes widened to their limits.
Chi Lian still retained a mostly human form. His face was strikingly handsome, though unnervingly otherworldly. But below his waist, his lower body had reverted to its true form: a slick, glistening serpent’s tail that dragged on the ground.
“You… you… who are you?” Feng Yi, usually bold and composed, stammered in fear.
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Chi Lian said with a smile. His body was still joined with hers, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her onto his hips. “What matters is that I’ve taken a liking to you. Since we’re being interrupted here, let’s go to my cave and continue.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ban Xia spat at him, her tone full of scorn. “You think you’re such a big deal—like you’re some kind of Killing Hall deity? Do you think we’re just corpses standing in your way?”
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