At the foot of Mount Mao, a low, expectant female voice echoed inside a dark cave.
There was no reply. The cave’s male inhabitant, Chi Lian, who feared the cold, was immersed in a hot spring, his eyes closed, his expression unreadable.
“Perhaps this time, you’ll find someone suitable to replace me,” the female voice continued.
“Do you really want to leave so badly? Have I treated you poorly?”
“You’ve treated me well.” The woman approached, trailing her hand in the water. “But I still want to leave.”
Chi Lian didn’t respond immediately. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed her wrist. “I won’t let you leave. I’m no saint—I don’t know how to let go!” With that, he pulled her into the water.
Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving. Chi Lian couldn’t help but reach out and grab the softness there.
As he kneaded her, the woman’s cheeks flushed deeply, and she leaned against his shoulder. “I know this time of year makes your desires especially strong,” she murmured. “So take me if you must. Let my soul scatter, and I’ll finally be free.”
“Celibacy spell!” Chi Lian hissed through gritted teeth. “You asked me to teach you the Celibacy Spell, only to turn it on yourself. My dear Su Yun, when did you learn such cunning?”
Su Yun smiled slowly, her answer cryptic. “The Celibacy Spell has no cure. You said so yourself.” Leaning closer, she slid a hand downward, teasing him provocatively.
Beneath the water, hidden currents surged wave after wave, stoking a smoldering fire in Chi Lian’s chest. It burned deep, a flame that consumed his very heart.
“Go find another woman,” Su Yun whispered in his ear, her voice as soft as a breath yet sharp as a dagger. “I’ve sent out another copper coin. Maybe this time you’ll find someone who suits you, and you’ll realize that in this world, you don’t need me.”
Chi Lian erupted in fury. He stepped out of the pool, naked, his long, narrow eyes glowing green in the darkness. Grabbing his reddish-brown robe, he threw it over his shoulders, the fabric dragging water as he stormed away.
“Feng Yi went out?!”
At Qi Feng Tower, Chi Xue, still looking dazed, asked again after a pause, “She really went out? Where did she go?”
The procuress, familiar with his poverty, looked at him with indifference and replied, “I don’t know. Feng Yi, as our top courtesan, does what she pleases, and it’s not my place to meddle.”
“Where she went is a matter of life and death. This is serious.” Xuan Ye pulled out a small piece of silver from his robes.
The procuress’s demeanor softened, though her answer remained the same. “I truly don’t know. Every year around this time, Feng Yi goes out. She doesn’t let us ask questions, and with her temper, I don’t interfere.”
It seemed she was telling the truth.
Ban Xia, Xuan Ye, and Chi Xue exchanged uneasy glances.
Chi Xue scratched his head and stammered, “I… I might be able to find her. Maybe. Two days ago, I wiped a drop of her blood on my eyelid. Her aura should still linger.”
“You haven’t washed your face for two days?” Ban Xia rolled her eyes toward the heavens.
Chi Xue, intimidated by her sharpness, didn’t dare respond. Instead, he asked the procuress for a basin of clean water.
When the water arrived, it was filthy, and the copper basin reeked of grease and heavy perfume.
Frowning, Chi Xue drew a drop of blood from his own forehead and mixed it with the faint traces of Feng Yi’s aura left on his eyelid, combining both into the basin. Standing beside it, he began a ritual. His face turned bright red as he focused, holding his breath so hard he eventually let out a loud fart.
Everyone in the room wrinkled their noses. Ban Xia, known for her sharp tongue, laughed mercilessly. “Ha! Another fraud monk pretending to be mystical with a dirty basin. Who do you think you are? Teach me that chant, and I guarantee I’ll outdo you at this game.”
Chi Xue, as dense as ever, believed her and earnestly began teaching her the chant, one word at a time.
Ban Xia, playing along, took a mockingly regal posture, imitating the elven queen from The Lord of the Rings with exaggerated seriousness.
Then, the water began to ripple.
Without any wind, an eerie five-petaled flower-like pattern formed on the water’s surface, spreading rapidly to the basin’s edge.
Strange phenomena unfolded.
The basin’s water revealed an image—a faint scene of Feng Yi gently wiping a gravestone with a cloth, her expression tender.
The gravestone bore only two characters: “Gu Qin.” Feng Yi lingered over each stroke, polishing it for a long time.
“I’m not unhappy,” she murmured. “Everyone’s life is like this—mostly disappointment, with the occasional joy.” She brought out a jar of wine, not to offer as a libation but to drink herself, unscrewing the lid and taking deep swigs.
Beneath the earth, Gu Qin, long dead, offered no response. His soul had passed to the afterlife.
“It didn’t bother me, so why should it bother you?” Feng Yi muttered, her drunken gaze fixed on the tomb. “To save you, I sold myself. With that as the reason, it wasn’t disgraceful. Why don’t you understand?”
Still, there was no reply. The jar of daughter’s red wine was soon empty.
Feng Yi gave up, resting her head against the cold green stone of the gravestone. The cool breeze teased her hair, lulling her into a drowsy state.
Moments later, the pouch at her waist began to stir. It alternated between hot and cold, faintly emitting a red glow.
Feng Yi, deep in her drunken stupor, half-opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a pair of ghostly green eyes, burning like will-o’-the-wisps.
“The person buried here… who is it to you?” The owner of the green eyes spoke softly. His reddish-brown robe fluttered in the wind as he slowly sat down beside her. His body, icy cold, leaned against her shoulder.
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