At nightfall, the streets of Fujian City quieted beneath a crescent moon as He Simu and Duan Xu took lodging in the best inn the city had to offer. To protect He Simu from the disturbances of malevolent spirits—or so he claimed—Duan Xu insisted on staying in the same room with her.
Naturally, propriety dictated he sleep on the floor while He Simu claimed the bed.
Duan Xu removed his veiled hat with deliberate slowness, finally revealing his true form to the human world. As he spread his blanket across the hardwood floor with practiced efficiency, he couldn't resist remarking, "Since you have no sense of touch, isn't it a bit of a waste for you to sleep on the bed?"
He Simu lay sprawled across the quilts like a contented cat, her voice carrying a languid edge that suggested she was already half-asleep. "With such audacity, isn't it a waste for you to be human?"
The retort landed with perfect precision. Duan Xu immediately grinned—that fox-like smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes—and wisely closed his mouth. After finishing his preparations and returning to his makeshift bed, he discovered that He Simu had already fallen into deep slumber, her arms wrapped around a pillow in an unconscious embrace.
Originally, evil ghosts neither slept nor dreamed. Such mortal weaknesses had been burned away by the fires of their transformation. Yet during this strange period of exchanging senses with Duan Xu, He Simu had begun falling asleep at regular intervals each night, as though his humanity was bleeding into her supernatural nature.
Several times before, he had indulged in the guilty pleasure of watching her sleep. Each time, he noticed she always hugged something—a pillow, a bundled blanket, once even her own arm folded across her chest. She seemed to need to hold something to sleep soundly, like a child seeking comfort in the dark.
The observation stirred something indefinable in his chest.
Duan Xu blew out the lamp, plunging the room into shadow. Moonlight poured through the paper screens like liquid silver, transforming the mundane space into something ethereal. He sat cross-legged on his "bed," propping his chin on one hand as he watched the sleeping Ghost King with the focus of a scholar studying sacred texts.
Her face was half-buried in the quilted bedding, arranged in a posture that seemed simultaneously evasive and utterly comfortable—a contradiction that somehow suited her perfectly.
She was indeed breathtakingly pale, like the finest white porcelain that had never known the sun's touch. The pallor made her features appear even more striking—her dark brows and lashes, her ink-black hair spilling across the pillows like calligraphy on blank parchment. Ink and cinnabar on white paper, creating a composition both bewitching and dangerous.
Being so beautiful and having lived for so many years, she must have had countless lovers throughout the centuries. Would this Ghost King be like an emperor in the mortal world, with a harem of devoted consorts? Did spirits gather at her feet, vying for her attention like courtiers before a throne?
The thought made something uncomfortable twist in his gut. Duan Xu narrowed his eyes, a dangerous glint replacing his usual mischief. With deliberate intent, he reached out to pull the pillow from her arms, moving it left and right in a slow tug-of-war until he finally succeeded in extracting it from her unconscious grip. He placed it casually on his own bed, as though stealing comfort from a Ghost King was merely another evening's entertainment.
In her sleep, He Simu's brow furrowed with displeasure. Her hand began searching across the bed sheets, fingers moving in small, seeking motions as if trying to find her pillow again, to reclaim what had been taken.
Duan Xu lowered his gaze to watch those slender fingers moving across the pristine bedding, gradually approaching his arm like a moth drawn to flame. When her hand finally made contact, coming to rest warmly upon his single-layered sleeve-covered forearm, he didn't avoid her touch.
He could have. Should have, perhaps.
But he didn't.
Indeed, her fingers—having found his sleeve-covered forearm—seemed to assume in her unconscious state that they had reclaimed the missing pillow. She pulled it toward her with surprising strength for someone supposedly asleep.
Duan Xu bent forward, yielding to her pull like a willow bending in wind. He watched with fascination as her brow smoothed, relaxing as she peacefully hugged his arm against her chest. The sight stirred equal parts amusement and something far more dangerous in his heart.
He thought that if He Simu were to wake now and witness this compromising scene, once she regained her full powers in eight days' time, this arm of his might truly be forfeit. She might tear it from his body and add it to whatever macabre collection Ghost Kings maintained.
But Duan Xu was not one to quit while ahead.
He had never possessed that particular virtue.
He was, by nature and inclination, the type to push his luck until it shattered beneath his feet.
He lay prone at He Simu's bedside, propping himself on his free arm as he studied her with the intensity of a painter memorizing his subject. Her movements had revealed her face fully from its nest of bedding, presenting it completely before him like an offering.
The moonlight loved her, he thought. It traced the elegant line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the shadow of her lashes against her cheeks.
"He Simu…" he called her name softly, testing the waters.
Naturally, she didn't respond. The Ghost King slumbered on, oblivious.
"He Simu…"
"He Simu…"
He called her three times with varying intonations—gentle, questioning, almost reverent—but she didn't wake from her slumber. The stillness emboldened him. He smiled—that dangerous, reckless smile that had preceded so many of his worst decisions—and said to the sleeping woman, "If I wanted to kiss you, you wouldn't kill me, would you?"
The question hung in the moonlit air, unanswered.
"Hmm, you have no powers now, but if you settle accounts in the autumn…" He paused, considering. "Does that mean I only have eight days left to live?"
Eight days until she regained her strength. Eight days of borrowed time.
Duan Xu slowly moved closer to He Simu, his breath mingling with hers as he gazed at her sleeping face. The distance between them narrowed to nothing, measured in heartbeats and held breath.
"Simu," he called, slowly enunciating each syllable as though the name itself held power.
Si-mu.
It wasn't clear—perhaps not even to him—whether he was calling her name or expressing something far more dangerous. Longing, perhaps. Or a confession he could only voice when she couldn't hear.
This utterance of "Simu," spoken with such tender intimacy, made He Simu furrow her brow in her sleep. Her eyes slowly opened, heavy-lidded and unfocused. She seemed to have just awakened from a dream, her gaze not entirely clear as she looked at Duan Xu—so impossibly close—as if unable to distinguish between the realm of dreams and waking reality.
Was this real? Or another phantom conjured by sleep?
The moonlight traced an arc of luminescence in the eyes of the person before her. His eyes were round with slightly upturned corners, bright and clear as spring water over jade stones. They held an expression of such innocence and sincerity that he resembled nothing so much as a youth who had never known deception.
How utterly deceptive.
He Simu, still caught between sleep and waking, murmured vaguely, "These eyes are so beautiful."
"Want to collect them too?" His voice carried a hint of amusement, acknowledging her reputation.
"Eyes need to be… alive to be beautiful." The words emerged drowsy, honest in a way consciousness would never permit.
"…I see. Then you must let me live well." The promise held layers of meaning, a plea disguised as observation.
Duan Xu smiled gently, and those bright eyes that had captivated her closed as he leaned forward to bridge the final distance between them. The kiss was feather-light, shallow as morning dew on petals—yet it carried with it the clear fragrance of his body, like flowers blooming after spring rain, transferring from his lips to hers in that suspended moment.
He Simu's eyes were open. She was stunned, frozen in that instant as her mind struggled to process what was happening.
Duan Xu was kissing her.
Little Fox Duan… was kissing her!
The audacity—no, this transcended mere audacity. This wasn't just taking liberties. This was crossing every boundary between them, burning every bridge, shattering every unspoken rule of their arrangement.
She narrowed her eyes, dangerous intent crystallizing in her gaze. She was about to react—to push him away, to demand explanation, to do something—when she saw the fearless offender suddenly open his eyes. A glint of alertness replaced the tender expression, sharp as a blade unsheathed.
Duan Xu moved away from her in one fluid motion, his battle-honed instincts overriding everything else. He draped his black outer robe over her shoulders and made a swift gesture of silence, one finger to his lips.
He Simu found herself enveloped by the lingering fragrance from his clothes—sandalwood and something uniquely him. She looked at him coldly, questions burning in her eyes, when she too sensed the disturbance. Before long, suspicious figures materialized outside their door like shadows given form.
After a slight rustling—the sound of picks working locks—the door was pushed open without so much as a creak.
It was a group of people dressed entirely in black, moving with the practiced efficiency of professional killers. Mortal assassins, their faces wrapped to conceal identity, their hands already reaching for weapons.
Duan Xu and He Simu exchanged glances across the moonlit room, an entire conversation passing between them in that single look.
So this is how the night would unfold.
These assassins, numbering about twenty, quickly assessed the situation. Seeing that both Duan Xu and He Simu were already awake—alert and watching—they immediately abandoned stealth in favor of direct assault. Without preamble or explanation, they drew their weapons and rushed forward like a dark tide.
Duan Xu sighed, the sound carrying genuine regret. "I don't like killing people without explanation."
Despite the protest, his body moved with the fluid grace of a dancer and the precision of an executioner. He moved nimbly among the assassins, seeming to flow between them like water through stones. His scabbard blocked several sword strikes with minimal effort, the sound of metal on wood ringing sharp in the confined space.
Then his dual swords were unsheathed in a single smooth motion, flashing silver in the moonlight as he moved like wind given form. He spun in circles, each rotation bringing his blades across exposed throats with surgical precision. The assassins fell like autumn leaves, their lives ending before they fully registered the danger.
The only one who attempted to ambush He Simu—clearly believing the woman to be the easier target—was run through from behind by Duan Xu's sword before he'd taken three steps. The blade emerged through his chest in a spray of crimson before withdrawing just as quickly.
In an instant, blood splattered everywhere, painting the walls in abstract patterns of violence. This sudden assassination attempt lasted only the span of a few heartbeats before Duan Xu calmly wiped his swords clean and sheathed them with a quiet snick of metal.
Killing, it seemed, had always been what he excelled at most.
His talent lay not in preventing death, but in delivering it efficiently.
From the room now littered with corpses, bright lanterns began to rise—luminescent orbs emerging from the bodies like fireflies born from decaying grass. They flickered with ethereal light before disappearing through the window into the night sky, carrying the souls to whatever judgment awaited them.
Duan Xu turned to look at He Simu, his expression returning to that easy smile as though he hadn't just ended twenty lives. "Bright lanterns rising, stars moving in reverse—so this is how death appears to evil ghosts."
The sight that only she could see, now shared through their connection.
However, He Simu didn't return his smile. Her expression remained carefully neutral, revealing nothing of her thoughts. She descended from the bed, still wearing his black outer robe that draped around her like a shroud, and stared into his eyes as she walked toward him step by deliberate step.
The atmosphere shifted, growing dangerous and tense as a drawn bowstring. Each footfall seemed to echo with unspoken threat.
Duan Xu stood his ground without avoiding or dodging, meeting her approach with the same recklessness that had led him to steal that kiss. When she stood before him—close enough that he could feel the absence of warmth from her body—he said casually, as though discussing the weather, "This room is now so dirty, it's uninhabitable."
Twenty corpses tended to have that effect.
He Simu stared at him expressionlessly for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face for something he couldn't name. Then, without warning, she suddenly averted her gaze and walked past him toward the corridor, her movements sharp with suppressed emotion.
Duan Xu was taken aback by the dismissal. He turned, calling after her, "Where are you going?"
He Simu's steps paused at the threshold, but she didn't turn back. Her voice emerged flat, carefully controlled. "Didn't you say the room is uninhabitable? We need to ask the innkeeper for another room."
The mundane response was somehow more unsettling than anger would have been.
Duan Xu was silent for a moment, processing this unexpected reaction, then smiled and followed her. "How can we let Your Highness run errands personally?"
In his imagination, she should have been furious. Should have threatened him with creative dismemberment, or at minimum demanded explanation for his audacity. But she did none of these things. She behaved as usual, as if his kiss had been nothing more than an illusion conjured by moonlight and proximity.
This nonchalant attitude of glossing over the incident was deeply puzzling. It didn't seem like tacit approval of his actions—her body language was too controlled, too careful. Perhaps she truly intended to settle accounts with him later, once her powers returned.
Would those eight remaining days mark not just her restoration, but his execution?
Perhaps I've finally pushed too far, he thought, though he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.
He Simu informed the innkeeper that they had encountered bandits, offering no further explanation for the carnage in their room. They changed accommodations that very night, the innkeeper asking no questions that might prove dangerous to know the answers to.
The next morning, as golden sunlight painted the city's rooftops, the owner of the inn personally came to check on the situation and offer apologies for the previous night's "security failure."
The inn's owner was none other than Master Yilier himself.
When the innkeeper came to He Simu's new room to report Master Yilier's arrival, He Simu had just ordered a table laden with fragrant delicacies—dishes that filled the air with mouthwatering aromas of spiced meats, steamed buns, and delicate pastries. Seeing the nervous innkeeper, she smiled with seemingly genuine warmth and said, "I've smelled enough of this aroma, but I can't possibly eat it all. Take two plates for yourself."
Duan Xu, wearing his veiled hat that rendered him invisible to mortal eyes, smiled silently at her casual generosity. She's quite generous with my money, he thought with wry amusement.
The innkeeper had no time to accept such offerings, his hands twisting anxiously as he reported that the master had learned about last night's "bandit attack" at the inn. Before he could finish his warning, the wealthy master whom He Simu and Duan Xu had encountered earlier entered with measured steps, several servants trailing in his wake like lesser planets orbiting a sun.
The innkeeper immediately prostrated himself in deep obeisance. "Master."
He subtly signaled to He Simu with increasingly frantic eye movements, whispering urgently, "This is Master Yilier! Kneel and pay your respects!"
He Simu glanced at Yilier with studied indifference, making no move whatsoever to leave her seat. Instead, she said in flawless Huqi language, her tone carrying the casual ease of addressing an equal, "Master, would you like to sit down and eat with me?"
The innkeeper's signals became so frantic his eyelids were practically convulsing.
The bells at Yilier's waist jingled softly with each movement as he surveyed He Simu, then shifted his attention to the evil ghost beside her—or what he believed to be an evil ghost—whose face remained hidden behind the veiled hat. To his surprise, the "ghost" very politely stood up from his seat and moved to the side, making a welcoming gesture with his hands.
Yilier was genuinely taken aback. All the evil ghosts he had encountered in his years of dark dealings had been haughty creatures, arrogant in their supernatural superiority. This was the first time he had witnessed such courteous behavior from one.
Interesting, he thought.
Yilier waved his hand dismissively, sending the innkeeper and his servants scurrying from the room like mice fleeing a cat. After examining the young woman and her supposed ghost servant for a long moment—assessing, calculating—he walked over to sit beside He Simu with the confidence of one accustomed to being obeyed.
"My inn has failed to take proper care of you, miss. This meal is nothing—a pittance. If you like, I can order the best cooks in the entire city to prepare another feast for you."
The offer was generous, but his eyes remained calculating.
He Simu rested her chin elegantly on one hand, laughing softly—a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Failed to take care? I think the care was excellent. Sending so many people to keep me company in the middle of the night was truly a surprise."
Her words dripped with honeyed sarcasm.
Yilier caressed his jewel-encrusted golden belt hook, the gesture revealing his comfort despite being so directly confronted. He showed no embarrassment at having his test exposed, instead laughing with apparent generosity. "You travel with a ghost, miss. How could those people possibly harm you?"
"Is that so?" He Simu's smile sharpened. "Master Yilier must have thought that if they killed me, it would merely be the death of a foreign commoner—easily covered up, quickly forgotten. And you wouldn't need to worry about settling the matter. But if they couldn't kill me, well… you'd take the opportunity to probe my background and assess my capabilities."
"Hahaha, why must you phrase it so unpleasantly, miss?" Yilier's laugh boomed across the room, neither confirming nor denying her accusation. "I'm merely curious by nature. People have always nurtured small ghosts—minor spirits trapped in talismans or vessels. This is the first time I've seen someone nurturing an evil ghost in adult form, one that can move freely."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted meaningfully to Duan Xu, who seemed to chuckle softly beneath his veil.
Duan Xu thought this was truly an entertaining scene—a living person mistaken for an evil ghost, and an evil ghost mistaken for a living person. The irony was delicious.
He Simu shook her head with apparent innocence. "Who says I nurture him? I am the master and he is the servant; I command him as I please."
Yilier's face registered genuine surprise, his expression shifting like clouds across the sun. In all traditions of ghost nurturing that he knew, the relationship had always placed the ghost as master and the human as servant—the supernatural being granting power while demanding devotion. Yet here was a method of completely reversed roles, with the human wielding authority over the spirit.
His eyes slightly darkened with intensified interest as he smiled, though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "By what method do you command this evil ghost, miss? Would you be willing to transfer this evil ghost to me? I would pay handsomely, of course."
"You want my ghost?" He Simu's laugh was light, almost teasing. "I've heard you nurture the Xu Ghost Palace Master. One person cannot serve two ghosts—I can't let my ghost steal the Xu Ghost Palace Master's devoted servant."
She picked up her chopsticks with deliberate casualness and selected a piece of braised pork, bringing it to her mouth with the grace of nobility.
It smelled truly divine—the perfect balance of savory and sweet, the meat so tender it practically melted. But on her tongue, it tasted of absolutely nothing. Ashes and air.
The price of her current condition.
She set down her chopsticks and met Yilier's gaze directly. "What's the matter? Could it be that Master Yilier has also heard that the Xu Ghost Palace Master has committed a crime and wishes to abandon him before the consequences arrive at your door?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications and danger.
The game, it seemed, was only beginning.
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