“If you let fear hold you back, how will you lead? That is not the way you have ever handled matters.”
Mei Xian immediately lowered her head.
“You are right, Divine Lord. I will remember your guidance.”
Jin Xiu waved a hand dismissively.
“At the Flower Festival, I will officially announce your new role to the entire clan.”
Mei Xian bowed in acknowledgment.
Yet, she still did not leave.
Jin Xiu raised a brow.
“What is it?”
Mei Xian finally spoke.
“If she insists on living as a mortal, perhaps… it was meant to be.”
Her voice was calm, yet there was an unmistakable sharpness in her words.
“Her celestial fate was severed long ago. It was Xing Xing’s own recklessness that caused this in the first place.”
“You have already done everything in your power, Divine Lord—why should you still feel guilty?”
Jin Xiu stilled, following her gaze.
He quickly understood what she was referring to.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Mei Xian looked at the withered camellia on the table and murmured,
“Perhaps… you should send her back.”
Jin Xiu remained silent for a long time before finally saying,
“Forcing someone through reincarnation requires immense power. It would drain too much of my strength.”
“I will consider it… after I pass my tribulation.”
Mei Xian nodded and quietly left.
* * *
The rain had not stopped.
Thin mist curled in the air, and the courtyard was dimly lit by a few flickering torches.
On the stone steps, a man lay motionless.
He was in his thirties, his face pale as a corpse, yet the thin, eerie smile on his lips made the scene all the more chilling.
A group of people huddled together, their expressions ranging from fear to disbelief.
The two concubines, too terrified to step outside, hid behind a window, peering through the gap with wide, anxious eyes.
One of the servants, though visibly shaken, mustered the courage to speak up.
“Master… something is terribly wrong with this place. We should leave immediately.”
Yang Zhen’s face was grim.
He stared at the lifeless body on the ground for a long time without saying a word.
Zhao Xing, however, was shaking uncontrollably.
“It’s that female ghost!” he stammered.
At once, all eyes turned toward Hong Ning’s room.
Her door was shut tight.
Inside, there was no movement—only silence.
“Master, we must go now!” Zhao Xing pleaded desperately, no longer caring about appearances.
“We cannot fall into her hands!”
“She warned us last night—told us to be cautious. That means she knew something was going to happen!”
He pointed at the dead man.
“Wang Hu was strong as an ox—how could he suddenly drop dead like this?”
His voice trembled.
“We already examined his body—not a single wound on him.”
“If it wasn’t an evil spirit, then what else could have done this?”
“You’re certain there are no wounds?”
A woman’s voice suddenly interrupted.
Zhao Xing’s face drained of color.
He stumbled several steps back, pointing at her with a trembling finger.
“You… you… what are you—”
The words caught in his throat.
Hong Ning paid him no attention.
She walked straight to the corpse and knelt beside it.
The group instinctively stepped back, giving her space—all except Yang Zhen, who remained motionless.
Aside from his disheveled clothing, the body showed no visible wounds.
Hong Ning frowned.
She checked again and again, but still found nothing.
Finally, she stopped and fell into deep thought.
For a woman to live alone in the wilderness, it was clear she had courage.
But this level of fearlessness was beyond what Yang Zhen had expected.
He let out a short scoff.
“They’re all trained fighters,” he said. “Do you think they wouldn’t recognize a wound?”
Hong Ning lifted her gaze.
“Where was he found?”
No one answered.
Yang Zhen simply tilted his chin slightly, gesturing toward a half-open door across the courtyard—an empty, unused room.
Hong Ning’s voice was calm.
“He was lying just like this when you found him?”
At her words, the group exchanged uneasy glances.
Yang Zhen’s lips pressed into a thin line before he finally spoke, his voice clipped.
“His clothes were disheveled.”
Understanding dawned.
No wonder they had been looking at her so strangely.
She had been confused—after all, a succubus or a ghost that drained a man’s vitality wouldn’t usually kill him outright in a single night.
As she fell silent, Yang Zhen grew impatient.
“Well?” he pressed. “Do you have any insight to offer?”
His handsome features bore a striking resemblance to Bai Ling.
For a moment, Hong Ning felt a wave of disorientation.
But then she saw his cold, indifferent gaze—completely devoid of any concern—and she snapped back to reality.
She quickly looked away, laughing self-mockingly.
“Young Master Yang would do best to leave as soon as possible.”
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