He Jia Feng Yi carried a lamp through the shadows of the Imperial Preceptor's residence, his footsteps echoing as he entered the library. The Imperial Preceptor cared nothing for reading—the library existed purely for show, as all prestigious families in Nandu maintained such structures to demonstrate cultural refinement. Unlike the fashionable wooden buildings favored by other nobles, this one rose from stone blocks and mortar, resembling an ancient altar in the darkness.
Inside, books lay scattered in careless heaps, dust thick upon their spines. Clearly, no one had disturbed them in years.
He raised his lamp and moved through the space with practiced purpose, somehow locating specific volumes from the chaos. He checked a title, then placed the book on the third shelf of the fourth bookcase from the left. Another book found its place on the first shelf of the second bookcase from the right. After arranging seven books in this deliberate pattern, a faint grinding sound emerged from within the library. The bookcases trembled, sending dust cascading downward as an entrance materialized in the floor. Stone steps descended into darkness, where faint lights flickered in the depths below.
He Jia Feng Yi extinguished his lamp and descended. Behind him, the secret door sealed itself with a whisper of stone against stone.
The staircase twisted underground before opening into a chamber ablaze with light. One hundred and fifty-nine lamps illuminated the space with the brightness of midday. At the center stood a Yellow Register altar—though such altars were traditionally erected beneath open sky, this one had been built in the earth itself.
The Lower Prime Yellow Register: when stars abandon their proper courses, when sun and moon lose their radiance, when rain and drought fall out of season, when cold and heat rebel against order, when warfare spreads without cease, when epidemics flourish and famine follows upon famine, when death comes without warning and lonely souls wander while new ghosts suffer injustice—if the proper rituals are performed, disasters may be dispelled, the living will receive blessings, and the netherworld will be graced with mercy. From the Son of Heaven down to the common people, all may establish it.
He Jia Feng Yi circled the altar once before casually lifting an openwork white porcelain cover. Beneath it, a red candle burned with an unnatural blue flame.
A heart candle. The essence of some evil ghost.
Red spots bloomed immediately across the back of his hand, spreading like spilled ink up his forearm. He instinctively stepped back, examining the marks with distaste.
"Ghost energy is truly filthy," he muttered, shaking his head.
His expression twisted with disgust as he extended thumb and index finger to pinch the heart candle, holding it far from his body. He carried it to a side table and began his work.
Duan Jingyuan felt wrong from the moment she left home. She couldn't identify the source of her unease, but something felt off-kilter, and her eyelid had been twitching incessantly.
Perhaps her unsettled mind made her more critical—she browsed through her usual embroidery shop but found nothing that pleased her. As she prepared to leave empty-handed, a servant boy mentioned another batch of patterns in the back courtyard, pieces others had commissioned. Not wanting to return home with nothing to show, Duan Jingyuan asked to view them first. If she found something appealing, she could negotiate with the owners.
The servant boy's face lit up with excessive eagerness as he led her and her maid Bi Qing toward the back courtyard. The moment Duan Jingyuan crossed the threshold, a cloth clamped over her mouth and nose. Through the pungent, overwhelming odor, her drowsy mind registered two facts: this servant boy's face was unfamiliar, and his attentiveness had been far too keen.
Time passed in a drug-hazed blur. Duan Jingyuan woke in an unfamiliar room with dry, burning eyes and a head that pounded like a war drum. When she tried to rub her temples, she discovered her body wouldn't obey—her hands and feet were bound, her mouth stuffed with cloth. Turning her head with effort, she saw Bi Qing in the same condition, eyes wide with terror as she looked around, muffled sounds escaping her gag.
The door swung open. Duan Jingyuan looked up to see a face she'd hoped never to encounter again—Wang Qi strode in wearing elaborate brocade, smugness radiating from every gesture. Three men followed in his wake.
Understanding crashed over her. She glared and made indistinct sounds of fury.
"Two weak women drugged and without strength, how could they possibly cause trouble? Binding them so tightly is boring. Quickly untie Miss Duan and Miss Bi Qing," Wang Qi waved his hand with a malicious smile.
The servant-like men moved forward to release them. The moment her bonds fell away, Duan Jingyuan tried to flee, but her limbs felt like water. She couldn't even stand, much less run. Bi Qing rushed over and pulled her into a protective embrace.
Fighting to keep her voice steady, Duan Jingyuan said, "Wang Qi! What do you think you're doing? I warn you, I am the legitimate daughter of the Duan family. If you dare harm me, neither my father nor my brothers will let you get away with it!"
"Of course I know that you, Duan Jingyuan, are the precious pearl of the Duan family, General Duan's sister, with your nose in the air. But my father is also the current Minister of Revenue, and our family holds the hereditary title of Marquis. Yet you dare to be indifferent to me and even show displeasure in front of Fang Xian Ye? What is Fang Xian Ye anyway? A lowborn with no father, no mother, no family background. You would go to his seat but not to mine?"
His words grew harsher, his expression twisting with each sentence. Terror clawed at Duan Jingyuan's throat as she retreated until her back hit the wall. Wang Qi seemed to savor her fear. He crouched down, bringing his face level with hers.
"Do you think your father and brothers can do anything to me? Once we have consummated our marriage, for the sake of your reputation, your Duan family will have no choice but to marry you to me. Besides, because of Duan Shunxi, my sister's whereabouts remain unknown to this day. How much does the Duan family owe my Wang family? How dare you even question me about these matters?"
Duan Jingyuan's face went chalk-white as she forced out through gritted teeth, "No… my brother will not let you get away with this!"
Wang Qi smiled and reached for her collar. Suddenly, Bi Qing launched herself at him, her nails raking across his face as she screamed, "Don't you dare touch our young miss!"
Blood welled from the scratches. Wang Qi stumbled back, fury contorting his features. "Catch her and beat her severely!"
The three servants seized Bi Qing immediately. She fought like something possessed, all fire and desperate strength, her voice raw as she hurled curses—"scoundrel," "beast," "may you die a miserable death." Duan Jingyuan shouted for them to release her maid, struggling to rise only to collapse again.
Bi Qing hadn't been drugged as heavily and still had some fight left, but three men proved too much. In the violent struggle, someone threw her hard. The back of her head struck the sharp corner of a cabinet with a sickening crack. Her pink-clad figure froze for an instant before she crumpled to the floor, taking a vase with her. Blood pooled beneath her head, spreading dark and fast. Her body twitched once in that growing pool. Her clever mouth, which had always defended her young mistress, fell silent. Her eyes remained open, fixed on the girl she'd served since childhood.
Duan Jingyuan froze, the moment stretching like pulled silk before shattering. She burst into tears, crawling toward Bi Qing on her weak limbs, calling her name over and over.
When the servants moved to drag Bi Qing's body away, Duan Jingyuan clung to her maid's arm with desperate strength. From the corner of her eye, she saw Wang Qi covering his scratched face as he approached, hand outstretched.
Bottomless despair opened beneath her. If he touched her, she would bite him, scratch him, gouge out his eyes. She would fight to take half his life before ending her own.
His hand descended toward her face.
Then his fingers fell off.
It sounds absurd—impossible—yet it happened exactly so. His index and middle fingers simply dropped to the floor, leaving two bleeding holes in his hand. The cuts were impossibly clean, as though made by the sharpest blade in existence.
Wang Qi stood frozen in shock. When a crow landed abruptly on his shoulder, he finally began to scream, clutching his mutilated hand. More crows poured through the window like black water, filling every corner of the room in a dark, seething mass. They descended on his severed fingers with eager beaks.
Yet around Duan Jingyuan and Bi Qing, the crows left a careful circle of empty space.
Wang Qi's servants, faces drained of color, pulled him toward the door. When they looked back, an extraordinarily beautiful woman stood in the room. She was tall with porcelain-pale skin, a black mole beneath one phoenix eye. Her red cross-collared robe seemed to absorb the light. She stood with hands clasped behind her back, and her eyes were completely black—no whites visible at all.
When she noticed them turning, one eyebrow arched slightly. "What's wrong? Weren't you happy just now? Are you leaving already?"
Wang Qi's hand shook as he pointed at her. "It's you… from the Duan family…"
"An evil ghost," He Simu said simply. She extended one pale, slender hand and snapped her fingers. The sound cut through the air like a blade.
Instantly, Wang Qi's three servants were beheaded. Their heads rolled across the floor, and the crows fell upon them with savage enthusiasm.
Wang Qi's scream was inhuman. He collapsed, legs trembling violently, terror loosening his bladder. His mouth worked uselessly, stammering pleas for mercy.
He Simu beckoned with one finger. Wang Qi rose into the air by his neck, lifted by invisible force, struggling desperately as his breath was cut off. She ignored his flailing and walked forward, stopping before Duan Jingyuan.
"Do you want him killed?" she asked seriously.
Duan Jingyuan stared at this woman who was familiar yet utterly strange.
Was this He Xiaoxiao? It was her, but also… not her. The young woman before her was too pale, blue-purple veins visible beneath translucent skin. An eerie, unnatural aura emanated from her like cold fog. And her eyes—still pitch black, without whites.
She looked like He Xiaoxiao's corpse given life.
Sensing Duan Jingyuan's fear, He Simu closed her eyes. When they opened again, she had suppressed the ghostly aura. Now her eyes showed distinct black and white, clear as a living person's.
"Do you want him killed?" she repeated.
Duan Jingyuan's expression wavered with uncertainty before she shook her head.
He Simu nodded with understanding. "To torture someone, there are many methods better than death."
She waved her hand. Wang Qi plummeted from mid-air and collapsed on the floor. He prostrated himself immediately, wailing, "Thank you, immortal, for sparing my life! Thank you, immortal, for sparing my life!"
He Simu half-turned her head. "I told you, I am not an immortal. I am a ghost."
"Yan Zhang," she called.
A female figure materialized from blue smoke, wrapped entirely in black cloth with only her eyes visible. She knelt halfway to the ground. "My King, Yan Zhang is here."
The head of the Xiao Ghost Palace, Yan Zhang.
He Simu gestured with her chin toward Wang Qi, who trembled like a man with fever. "This man likes young women, and coincidentally, the young women in your palace also like men. Play with him, but don't go too far. Just leave him alive."
Yan Zhang glanced at Wang Qi, assessing. "To what extent can we play? Until he loses his mind or becomes impotent?"
"That's acceptable."
"I obey your command."
Hearing this exchange, Wang Qi fainted outright, collapsing in a heap. He Simu turned to look at Duan Jingyuan, who huddled in the corner clutching Bi Qing's body, staring at her with mingled fear and confusion.
"Who… who are you?" Duan Jingyuan whispered.
He Simu walked toward her. The crows obediently took flight, clearing a path. "He Xiaoxiao," she answered.
Duan Jingyuan shook her head frantically. "No… Miss He… Miss He is human, she's someone my brother likes… a living person."
He Simu simply looked at her, saying nothing.
Suddenly, Bi Qing's body convulsed violently—a final burst of dying energy. Her hand clutched at Duan Jingyuan's sleeve. Duan Jingyuan looked down immediately, voice urgent and breaking. "Bi Qing… Bi Qing…"
Her gaze lifted instinctively to He Simu, as if seeking help. But when she saw that face—neither fully human nor fully ghost—the plea died on her lips.
She feared this He Xiaoxiao.
He Simu lowered her gaze to the dying girl and asked gently, "Bi Qing, do you have a wish?"
Tears seeped from Bi Qing's eyes. Her voice came in faltering fragments. "My… my brother… he's committed a crime… imprisoned… my mother alone…"
"You hope your brother can be released to care for your mother in her old age?"
"Yes…"
"Then I will rescue your brother and give your mother enough money to last her lifetime. Are you willing to let me eat you?"
At the word "eat," Duan Jingyuan pulled Bi Qing closer with horrified strength. "No, you can't…"
"Willing…" Bi Qing whispered. Her trembling hand reached out to grasp the hem of He Simu's skirt.
He Simu bent down and caught Bi Qing's collar, lifting her effortlessly. Bi Qing's feet dangled helplessly. Then blood sprayed across the room. Her head lolled to the side, lifeless.
He Simu lowered Bi Qing to the ground, arranging her body with surprising care. Wind gusted through the window, making He Simu's long hair and red robes billow dramatically. Several silent crows settled on her shoulders. Bi Qing's fresh blood spattered her face in dark drops, transforming her into something from legend—a specter from the Blood Lake Hell itself.
Duan Jingyuan stared, unable to look away.
He Simu crouched down. Her eyes were clear now with distinct black and white, but still cold as winter stone. She looked at Duan Jingyuan. "Do you have strength? Can you stand up?"
She reached out to take Duan Jingyuan's hand. Like a startled bird, Duan Jingyuan jerked away violently, almost knocking herself over. He Simu's hand remained suspended in the empty air between them.
"How dare you!" Yan Zhang's voice cut from the side. "Such ingratitude, daring to reject the King…"
He Simu raised her hand in a silencing gesture, and Yan Zhang fell quiet. He Simu stood, drew a half-circle in the air with her right hand, and a scroll flew from a nearby vase into her grasp. She held one end and offered the other to Duan Jingyuan, looking down at her.
"If you don't want to touch me, hold onto this and stand up."
"Or stand up on your own. First, you need to stand up. Don't show useless pride."
Duan Jingyuan bit her lip, staring at He Simu. After a long moment's hesitation, her trembling hand finally reached out to grasp the scroll. With He Simu's steady assistance, she rose from the ground on unsteady legs. Even standing, she swayed, her hand gripping the scroll like a lifeline.
He Simu looked at her and smiled slightly. "Very good."
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