Jiang Che felt the ominous premonition in his heart growing stronger and stronger.
He instinctively tightened his grip on Hu Qiao’er’s hand and whispered, “Qiao’er-jie, something doesn’t feel right here. Let’s go back for now.”
He was used to avoiding risks, especially when Hu Qiao’er was around. Any potential danger made his nerves taut.
But Hu Qiao’er gently pulled her hand free, her tone tinged with stubborn concern.
“A Che, that Auntie said something happened at the Boss’s house… Since we’re here, at least… at least see if we can help? What if…”
She didn’t finish her words, but Jiang Che understood what she meant.
Hu Qiao’er’s kindness always kept her from ignoring possible suffering.
Before Jiang Che could try to dissuade her again, Hu Qiao’er had already stepped forward a few paces.
She hesitated, then still raised her hand and knocked gently on the tightly closed wooden door.
“Excuse me… is anyone there?”
Her voice was especially clear in the silent alley.
There was no response.
Hu Qiao’er tried pushing the door, not expecting the hinge to creak with a harsh “squeak” as it opened a crack.
The door wasn’t locked. A strange, indescribable smell—part faint rot, part a stifling, heavy odor—drifted out from the gap.
Jiang Che’s heart sank abruptly.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with this smell.
“Qiao’er-jie!” He hurried forward, trying to pull her back.
But Hu Qiao’er had already squeezed sideways through the gap in the door.
Jiang Che had no choice but to follow right after, his new bamboo pole held defensively in front of him, Shen Shi spreading out as far as he could manage—even if limited, he had to ensure Hu Qiao’er’s safety.
The light inside the house was dim. Only a faint, yellowish oil lamp in the inner room barely outlined the tables and chairs in the outer hall. The oppressive odor in the air grew even heavier.
Hu Qiao’er covered her mouth, stifling a gasp, her eyes wide with shock as she looked toward the inner room.
Jiang Che couldn’t see, but he could sense a wave of deathly stillness.
By the bed in the inner room, a middle-aged man sat collapsed, his figure blurry and his presence weak.
He hung his head motionless, clutching tightly in his hand a thin, gray, lifeless hand protruding from under the white bedsheet.
On the bed, the white sheet covered a vague, human shape—only that hand was exposed, silently declaring the end of everything.
Deathly silence.
A suffocating compassion and despair filled the cramped space.
Hu Qiao’er’s eyes instantly reddened as she realized she had stepped into a scene of utter grief.
Seemingly hearing movement at the door, the slumped man slowly and stiffly lifted his head.
The lamplight illuminated half his face; those eyes were hollow, bloodshot, devoid of all vitality as though all life had left him with the person on the bed.
His cheeks were sunken and his beard unshaven—a stark contrast to the always-smiling Boss in the flour-dusted apron at the bun shop.
His gaze lingered on Hu Qiao’er’s face for a moment, expressionless, before slowly shifting to Jiang Che at her side.
His clouded eyes turned with excruciating slowness, as if it took all his strength just to recognize them.
“…It’s… you…” His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper grinding, weighed down by exhaustion.
“Sorry… today… there are no buns…”
His tone was frighteningly flat—no questions, no surprise, as if Jiang Che’s appearance at this time was completely natural.
He seemed certain Jiang Che was just here, hungry, looking to buy food. Any other possibility was beyond his exhausted mind.
Hu Qiao’er swallowed with difficulty, her heart squeezed tight as if by a cold hand.
She forced back her sobs, her voice trembling as she apologized, “S-sorry… Uncle, we’re not, we heard some things and were worried about you… so we wanted to check on you… The person on the bed is…”
The Boss’s gaze slowly drifted back to the bed. Finally, in those empty eyes, a trace of heartbreaking pain seeped out.
His cracked lips trembled, barely able to form a sound. “…My wife…”
Hu Qiao’er clapped her hand over her mouth in shock as tears welled up instantly.
The Boss suddenly lifted his free hand, clutching his forehead so tightly his fingers nearly dug into his scalp.
Stifled, broken sobs squeezed from his throat, saturated with crushing regret and despair.
“It’s all… all because of that bag of Ling Stone… brought disaster!!
My wife!! My child!!!”
Jiang Che was a little surprised by what he heard, and the reason was simple: the bag of Ling Stone the Boss spoke of.
Jiang Che still remembered—it was Lin Yin who’d given that bag of Ling Stone to the Boss when she first came to find Jiang Che.
“What exactly happened?”
Jiang Che asked.
The Boss looked up at Jiang Che, hesitated, then told him everything.
He told Jiang Che and Hu Qiao’er that he and his wife had known each other since they were young, married a few years ago, but had never dared have children—mostly because they felt their income was too meager to support a child, so they never tried.
But life as a couple brought many inevitabilities, and a while ago, his wife had unexpectedly become pregnant.
They’d saved up enough these days, so raising a child wouldn’t be a problem—only, his wife’s health was never very good, and she needed medicine to recuperate.
In the end, the Boss thought of that bag of Ling Stone Lin Yin had given him. He’d kept it hidden, but decided to secretly take out a few stones to use.
Just as life seemed to be looking up, one day the Boss came home from buying medicine to find the stash of Ling Stone missing, and at home—only his wife’s corpse, sprawled on the floor…
“A Che, what do you think?”
Hu Qiao’er led A Che out of the shop.
Jiang Che didn’t reply; he hadn’t heard her, lost in thought.
“A Che?”
“Mm? What is it, Qiao’er-jie?”
Only when Hu Qiao’er called again did Jiang Che come back to himself.
“I’m asking, what do you think about this?”
“Me?”
Jiang Che looked confused, but he did have some clues—specifically, the case with that Xie Xuan shifu who had died before.
But what puzzled him was that these Xie Xiu usually wouldn’t act so boldly—was there some compelling reason behind it?
Thinking of this made Jiang Che’s head hurt.
The source of his frustration was that guy called Xu Yan back then.
He clearly should have reported to the sect, told them there was more than one Xie Xiu, but instead he did nothing—he even killed to cover it up.
“It was probably the work of a Xie Xiu.”
“What’s a Xie Xiu? I’ve heard of Dan Cultivators, Sword Cultivators, and Magic Cultivators, but what exactly is a Xie Xiu?”
Hu Qiao’er truly didn’t understand.
“A Xie Xiu is a type of person who cultivates using extremely vicious methods. They grow powerful quickly, but in extremely sinister ways…”
“So you’re saying there’s a Xie Xiu in town…”
Hu Qiao’er understood.
“A Che, you look unhappy.”
“Me?”
Hu Qiao’er nodded. “Yeah, did this remind you of something?”
Facing Hu Qiao’er’s concern, Jiang Che paused.
He wanted to say it reminded him of Xiao Xia, but he didn’t open his mouth.
In Hu Qiao’er’s eyes, Jiang Che was like a child who’d been bullied, stubbornly refusing to talk about it.
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