Ban Xia took a deep breath, feigning a playful air. She dipped her hand into the lake water and splashed a little, saying, “The water’s already getting pretty cold.”
“Mm,” Xuan Ye replied earnestly. “Tomorrow, I’ll go with you to buy some warmer clothes.”
“My neck wound is already healed,” Ban Xia added.
“Mm.”
“But I’d like to stay,” Ban Xia whispered. “Even though you’re very capable, you always seem to falter at critical moments. I think you really need someone to assist you.”
Hearing this, Xuan Ye smiled faintly. He seemed to understand exactly what she meant by faltering at critical moments.
The atmosphere between them softened, like a flower bud about to bloom, only waiting for a gentle breeze of understanding to coax it open.
The birch trees by the lake began to rustle without wind, moving to an inexplicable, subtle rhythm of ambiguity.
Amber’s magic was beginning to take effect.
Ban Xia understood the cue, slowly leaning her head toward Xuan Ye’s shoulder, gazing out at the moonlit lake as though lost in thought.
Xuan Ye didn’t pull away.
“It smells lovely. Do you smell it?” Ban Xia murmured against his shoulder.
Indeed, the fragrance was enchanting, a blend of indescribable allure.
The flowers and grasses under the moonlight seemed alive, exuding a carefully balanced aroma. Amber’s magic had orchestrated it all—a delicate, mesmerizing blend, gentle yet tantalizing, like invisible hands drawing Ban Xia and Xuan Ye’s spirits closer together.
A faint blush appeared on Xuan Ye’s face—barely noticeable but undeniably present, a beautiful and vulnerable reaction.
The seductive fragrance was working.
Almost unconsciously, their faces drew closer together, their breaths mingling, brushing against each other’s lips.
Ban Xia saw the truth in Xuan Ye’s ink-black eyes—an undeniable sincerity.
Their lips touched, just a fraction away from a deep, lingering kiss.
“I’m not worthy.”
At the last possible moment, Xuan Ye pulled back, speaking those four inexplicable words.
So close to success, Ban Xia sighed internally, feeling a pang of frustration. She looked at him with silent dismay.
“I’m not worthy of your affection,” Xuan Ye repeated, lowering his head.
“Why?”
“Because I will inevitably fail you,” he replied quickly, his voice hurried and unclear, as though he couldn’t face the answer himself.
“The night grows cold with heavy dew. Let’s head back,” he said, cutting off any further discussion. He escorted Ban Xia back in silence, never looking at her again.
By the time they returned to the inn, it was well past midnight. Yet Ban Xia couldn’t sleep.
The sting of rejection wasn’t something she was accustomed to.
The moon outside was full, its light bathing everything in silver. Ban Xia threw on a robe, rubbed her temples, and stepped out into the night.
There was a faint rustling sound behind her, as though someone was following.
“Sorry you couldn’t help me,” Ban Xia said, thinking it was Amber.
The figure didn’t respond but approached slowly, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Ban Xia glanced back slightly and immediately sensed something was off.
The hand on her shoulder was rough and strong, clearly a man’s hand—nothing like Amber’s.
“Ah…” The figure made a guttural sound. From the voice, it was clear the person was mute.
Ban Xia steadied herself, slowly turning to face him.
“Ah…” he repeated, his face slightly contorted as though trying to ask something. His mouth hung half-open, but inside there was only a stub of a tongue.
He struggled to make a few more unintelligible sounds before blood gushed out from his mouth like a torrent, dripping heavily from his lower lip.
III
The ghost’s dwelling turned out to be an abandoned temple. Upon entering, Ban Xia was greeted by a large, fierce-looking stone statue of Zhong Kui (a deity known for subduing ghosts and evil spirits).
It seemed this was a ghost with no fear of taboos.
Sitting on the cold ground, Ban Xia wrapped her clothes tightly around herself and said, “My friend is a master at exorcising spirits. His powers are extraordinary, so you’d better let me go now.”
The male ghost didn’t respond. Instead, he removed the longbow from his waist and began sharpening a gleaming, unsheathed sword.
Yes, a sword—three feet long—not the usual arrows that would accompany a bow.
Zhong Kui’s statue was made of stone, and the ghost used one of the deity’s legs as a makeshift whetstone. Back and forth, he dragged the blade against the stone with unwavering focus.
Ban Xia began inching away silently, rising to her feet and creeping step by step toward the temple door.
She reached the entrance and, without hesitation, broke into a sprint.
The ghost, still sharpening his sword, only looked up at this point. He remained unhurried as he picked up the large bow, carefully placed the sword on it, and drew the bowstring taut.
With a sharp whoosh, the sword shot through the air, propelled purely by strength and precision. It quickly caught up with Ban Xia, slicing through her shoulder sleeve and pinning her to a tree like a wild boar.
Shortly afterward, the ghost approached, slinging Ban Xia over his shoulder like a dead animal. As he carried her back to the temple, Ban Xia decided to speak.
“You must’ve been a hunter when you were alive. Definitely,” she said.
The ghost, unable to speak, gave her a look that seemed to confirm her guess.
“Can you at least tell me why you captured me? If you can’t talk, you could write it down. At least let me die knowing why.”
The ghost ignored her, carried her back to the temple, and unceremoniously dumped her on the ground. He tied her hands and feet, then resumed sharpening his sword.
Lying there, Ban Xia truly felt like livestock awaiting slaughter.
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