**September 12—**a date Mo Xie would never forget.
On this day, he had followed Bi Xi’s suggestion to sell a fox pelt in the capital. After earning the money, he rushed home without rest, eager to see her. He had even bought her a beautiful hairpin, convinced he was about to give her a wonderful surprise.
But when he pushed open the door, all he found was Bi Xi slumped in the family’s simple armchair, her face pale and lifeless.
“I’ll honor the agreement.”
The voice came from inside the house—not a person, but a fox. The fox was speaking to a snow-white marten at Bi Xi’s feet.
“I’ll reveal my true form. With the honor of my fox clan, I guarantee I’ll keep my word.”
The marten made an indistinct sound, tilting its head as if responding while leaning against Bi Xi’s legs.
“Who are you?!” Mo Xie bellowed in fury, wasting no time in stringing his bow and notching a sword to it.
The fox, unwilling to fight, leapt through the window at the sound. But the white marten lingered a moment longer by Bi Xi’s feet before bolting through the door.
Both were skilled spirits, and Mo Xie’s sword didn’t so much as graze their fur.
Inside the house, only he and Bi Xi remained.
His legs weakened, and he staggered step by step until he reached her and cradled her in his arms.
There was no doubt—Bi Xi was dead. No breath, no heartbeat, no pulse.
Even her clothing wasn’t fully fastened.
Raising his hand to button her garments, Mo Xie gently tugged on her robe. Something fell from her body as he moved her—something that shocked him.
A bundle of straw, about the size of two fists, tumbled from her waist.
Confused, Mo Xie slowly opened Bi Xi’s robes further.
And then he saw it—a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
She, the graceful and noble Bi Xi, perfect like a goddess, was hollow inside.
No flesh, no intestines, no organs of any kind—only an empty cavity filled with congealed blood and... that bundle of straw that had fallen earlier.
What had happened here while he was gone?
Those two spirits—what had they done with Bi Xi’s organs? What kind of blasphemous deal had they made?
The thought burned like fire in his veins, driving Mo Xie mad. He lost his reason, his sanity, and his heart. Until his death, his hatred burned brighter than the heavens, never to be extinguished.
“Forgive me.”
At Bi Xi’s grave, all Mo Xie wanted to say was that simple phrase.
But as he opened his mouth, only blood poured out—thick, vile, unending.
Ten years had passed, yet he still hadn’t caught the marten or the fox.
In life and in death, he was a failure.
With these thoughts, the hand he placed on Bi Xi’s gravestone faltered. Slowly, he traced her birthdate and name, each groove of the engraving radiating his powerlessness.
“If you truly loved her, you should have been loyal and grown old with her, not stayed here clinging to her gravestone with empty apologies.”
A voice broke the silence from behind him, heavy with suppressed disdain.
Mo Xie turned to see Xuan Ye, unable to understand what he was saying.
“That’s why you didn’t truly love her—or at least, you didn’t love her enough,” Xuan Ye continued.
The conclusion drove Mo Xie to the brink of madness. Forgetting himself, he opened his mouth to protest, but all that spilled out was a gurgle of blood that ran down his chin.
“I’m here to collect you. Of course, you can resist if you like,” Xuan Ye said calmly, flicking his finger against the back of his crescent blade. With a clear sound, the blade slid from its sheath, its edge unwaveringly pointed at Mo Xie.
Nearby, Ban Xia sat on her rock, unfazed by the tension, and still fixated on a different matter. “You’re really thirty-eight?” she asked Chi Xue, doubt clear in her voice. “How do you take care of yourself? I don’t believe it—you can’t be older than eighteen.”
“What do you mean by ‘take care of myself’?” Chi Xue tilted his head, looking as clueless as ever. “I really am thirty-eight. My master said people of our clan age slower.”
“Rubbish! Your Ya Jin doesn’t look young at all.”
“Ya Jin is an exception. Every incarnation of Ya Jin carries heavy burdens and gives their all for the clan. None of them have ever lived past the age of thirty,” Chi Xue said, his expression turning somber. “My master said it’s Ya Jin’s fate.”
The word “fate” hung cold and heavy in the air, silencing both Ban Xia and Chi Xue.
Ban Xia swung her legs absentmindedly, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, Chi Xue crouched on the ground, first feeling only a numbness in his legs. But soon, an unfamiliar ache swelled in his chest—a rhythmic pain, almost as if his heartbeat belonged to someone else.
The pain brought guilt, sorrow, and a hint of determination—emotions that didn’t belong to him.
Following this inexplicable sensation, Chi Xue stood and began walking in a strange direction.
The closer he got, the stronger the emotions became. His heartbeat slowed, each beat carrying the weight of a heavy past.
Finally, in the shadows of a pine grove, the feeling reached its peak.
Farewell.
He felt the words echo in his heart, almost spilling from his lips.
They weren’t his words, but he could sense that, just beyond the shadows, someone was saying goodbye.
The dawn sky was slowly brightening, shafts of light piercing through the dense forest and outlining the silhouette of a figure.
The figure had a sharp, delicate face, slightly slouched shoulders, and a petite but elegant frame.
It was Amber.
“He’ll be cast into the River of Rebirth to start anew. That’s for the best,” Amber thought clearly, and Chi Xue, standing nearby, heard her thoughts as if they were his own.
“He won’t reincarnate,” Chi Xue said after a moment, hesitating as he decided whether to continue. “Spirits captured by Ya Jin are thrown into our clan’s Wheel of Eternity, where they are imprisoned for all their lives to come.”
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