Shen Huanhuan entered the main room just as Jiang Yan closed the diary.
As soon as she walked in, she shared what she had found: “It’s Xia Qing’s house. I found her memo pad in the side room, and there’s still a hair tie left behind by the student named Niao Niao.”
Jiang Yan took the memo pad. On the pink bunny notepaper were Xia Qing’s reminders to herself: lesson progress, homework assignments, and remember to return Niao Niao’s hair tie.
Shen Huanhuan opened her palm; a simple black hair tie lay quietly in her fair hand. “There’s a strand of hair on the hair tie; the end is curly, it should be Xia Qing’s hair.”
Jiang Yan understood: “She must have borrowed it from a student, like if their tie broke during class.”
“That should be it,” Shen Huanhuan replied. She looked up, studying the layout in detail. Once you accepted Xia Qing as the owner, the more effort Xia Qing put into the house, the sadder her suffering became.
And obviously, this house was filled with traces of Xia Qing’s life. Even if everything was covered in dust, it could not hide the owner’s optimism and gentleness.
Shen Huanhuan sighed, looking at the notebook in Jiang Yan’s hand: “Is that…”
Jiang Yan: “Xia Qing’s diary.”
Shen Huanhuan’s eyes flew open; Shen Xiaoxiao entered too, hurrying over. The two stuck their heads together, flipping through the diary — in truth, there wasn’t much content. Reading it three lines at a glance, it didn’t take ten minutes in all.
For ten whole minutes, the house was silent. Jiang Yan yawned, peacefully waiting for them to finish, then for possessions to take place, ghosts to be bound, and for her to calmly wait in the background for the next stage.
Eventually, the deathly silence ended with Shen Xiaoxiao’s outburst.
“Fuck!” Shen Xiaoxiao snapped the diary shut, furious, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
She fumed in helpless anger: “My pathetic vocabulary for swearing!”
“All of them need to be strangled, every one of them!!”
She started ranting: “Why don’t we just release Xia Qing now? She was clearly silenced—her obsession has to be revenge, let her do it herself! Everyone in this village is evil, not a single good person—dying is too good for them!!”
Shen Huanhuan cut her off: “Enough, that’s not our job.”
Though blessed with strong empathy, Shen Huanhuan stayed clear-headed: “Our work is to determine Xia Qing’s obsession. If that’s it, all we can do is call the police and let the law punish these people.”
Shen Xiaoxiao, always deferring to her sister, immediately fell quiet, her tone innocent: “I was just saying…”
Shen Huanhuan sighed, staring at the cover: “Xia Qing’s Little Happiness” written so beautifully. The prettier it was, the sadder, and the more ironic.
“Let Xiaoxiao take over now,” Shen Huanhuan said, turning to Jiang Yan. “Once she’s possessed, we can judge from Xia Qing’s words how corrupted her spirit is. After all, not much time has passed since her death; even being subdued, if her resentment grows, her humanity may remain. If so, Xia Qing’s personality would never let her harm the villagers.”
Jiang Yan agreed.
Shen Huanhuan continued: “If Xia Qing’s mental state is normal, I’ll take Xiaoxiao to the ancestral hall to release her. We should call the police now; after Xia Qing is out, she can watch the villagers be taken away by the police herself, and rest in peace.”
Clearly, the twins both felt Xia Qing’s obsession was related to the villagers. Which made sense—wronged and dead in the village, Xia Qing couldn’t help but hate them.
But…
Jiang Yan thought, in her dying moment, was that really Xia Qing’s obsession?
Leaning back in the chair, Jiang Yan looked at the diary, focusing on that final line. After a moment, she had an idea.
She asked Shen Xiaoxiao, “Can you let the living possess you?”
Shen Xiaoxiao was caught off guard.
Jiang Yan repeated: “Let a living person possess you—can you do it?”
Shen Xiaoxiao shook her head: “Impossible. The living’s spirit is bound by their body, can’t get out.”
Jiang Yan’s lips curved, “That’s good. Try letting Niao Niao possess you, using the hair tie as a medium.”
Shen Xiaoxiao was dazed: “Eh?” She didn’t get it, “Why would I let Niao Niao possess me? Isn’t our mission Xia Qing? Besides, I can only let a ghost possess me once every three days…”
Before she could finish, Jiang Yan interrupted bluntly, “Because Niao Niao is probably still alive.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “……….”
A while passed before she came to her senses, stumbling over her words: “A-alive? Isn’t she the ginseng, how could she still be alive?”
“Consider this,” Jiang Yan tapped the table, “What if Xia Qing was the ginseng.”
【???】
【Did I just miss something?】
【Wasn’t Niao Niao the ginseng, as per the villagers’ draw that night??】
“Ginseng’s special nature means anyone can be the offering. If Xia Qing died before Niao Niao, Niao Niao would have no reason to die,” Jiang Yan said. “Niao Niao’s body was never found, so there’s every chance she’s alive.”
“But…” Shen Xiaoxiao started to argue, but her frown deepened as Jiang Yan’s reasoning actually made sense. She gasped, following blindly, “Whatever you say— you’re right!”
Jiang Yan looked at Shen Huanhuan.
Shen Huanhuan bowed her head, thinking carefully: “The night Xia Qing followed Huang Jing, the villagers should have picked Niao Niao as the ginseng in the ancestral hall. So why the sudden change—just because Xia Qing died first?”
But if Niao Niao saw both her classmate and teacher die, she’s not like the three sacrificed kids—she can talk, answer questions, and has judgment. The villagers’ coldness should mean she’d be silenced too…”
“But what if someone didn’t want her to die,” Jiang Yan replied calmly, “For example, her adoptive parents?”
Jiang Yan leaned back in the chair, choosing a comfortable pose: “Like you said, Niao Niao was chosen as ginseng at the last minute. She had emotions and judgment. Unlike the other three raised as sacrifices, she was raised as a daughter—her adoptive parents would have bonded with her.”
“Put yourself in their shoes: once they found out she no longer needed to die, the adoptive parents would fight for her survival—maybe promise the other villagers that she’d never speak of what she saw.”
“So Niao Niao may only have been imprisoned somewhere, not killed.”
Shen Huanhuan opened her mouth, unable to speak.
After a while, she rubbed her brow, sincerely impressed: “You’re amazing.”
“Just a guess,” Jiang Yan said offhandedly. “All this depends on Niao Niao being alive—so your sister needs to check, see if she can prompt a possession.”
“If she can’t, then Niao Niao is definitely alive.”
Shen Xiaoxiao’s eyes began to light up.
She’d never thought of using her power this way. She used to be stuck thinking possession only meant ghosts, never considering other possibilities. Jiang Yan’s suggestion revealed a new use—no one could play dead in front of her.
This might sound minor, but in competition it’s invaluable—and if possession doesn’t work, she doesn’t waste her chance.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
Shen Xiaoxiao could hardly wait: “I’ll try right now!”
Jiang Yan nodded, “Go ahead.”
Shen Xiaoxiao immediately grabbed Niao Niao’s hair tie. With the medium set, she had practiced this process countless times, so she wouldn’t make mistakes. Sitting opposite Jiang Yan, she began reciting the soul-calling incantation, left hand raised, ring and little fingers bent, index and middle fingers straight and pressed together—her expression more solemn than usual.
Jiang Yan didn’t understand and just found it noisy. She dragged her chair aside and watched Shen Xiaoxiao closely.
Jiang Yan hadn’t expected Shen Xiaoxiao to be so obedient. If her guess was wrong, the possession attempt would be wasted, but Shen Xiaoxiao, trusting her, didn’t even ask. So obedient… At this, Jiang Yan’s gaze drifted over to Shen Huanhuan, who was staring unblinkingly at her sister. Shen Huanhuan was useful too; if she was good at binding spirits, she’d be good at binding people—the spirit is in the flesh, and once the spirit is bound, how can the body move?
Jiang Yan was drifting deeper into thought when Shen Xiaoxiao suddenly opened her eyes, dazed, silent.
Her eyes were wide and pale—the way albino eyes always were, and normally, after possession, her pupils would turn black.
Shen Huanhuan whipped her head to Jiang Yan. Almost at the same time, Shen Xiaoxiao shot up from her chair!
“Shit!” Shen Xiaoxiao exclaimed, shocked, “Possession failed—Niao Niao is still alive?!”
【“Just a guess—nothing special.”】
【So, that guy who says Jiang Yan is the first to be eliminated, still here?】
【Still here, burning talismans of clarity for himself.】
【LOL, but this girl really is smart.】
Jiang Yan shrugged: “That makes things simple.”
She stood up. “I’ll go find Niao Niao. You two go ahead and summon Xia Qing. If she communicates normally, release her as planned. If she’s too corrupted, wait for me to bring Niao Niao before releasing her.”
Shen Huanhuan understood: “You think Niao Niao is Xia Qing’s obsession in her final moment?”
Jiang Yan recalled Xia Qing’s last line in the diary: “This life, I never lit up a single soul.”
“I guess when she died, she didn’t know Niao Niao would survive, and had no energy left to hate the villagers.”
Jiang Yan didn’t waste time, heading outside. Enough time had passed for Uncle Huang to realize they hadn’t gone to the Silkworm House and to alert the Village Chief. There was no time to lose.
But—
She’d already guessed where Niao Niao was being held.
Shen Huanhuan watched Jiang Yan go, then turned to Shen Xiaoxiao and nodded: “Begin, I’ll stand guard.”
Shen Xiaoxiao once again raised her left hand, but before closing her eyes, she asked Shen Huanhuan, “Sis, if Xia Qing didn’t have time to hate the villagers, what exactly was she hating?”
Shen Huanhuan was silent for a while before quietly replying, “Maybe herself.”
When Xia Qing died, she didn’t know Niao Niao might still live. Her obsession wasn’t saving any one child, but that as a teacher, she hadn’t saved a single one.
“In life and death, she blamed the villagers. If not for us, if she’d broken free, the resentful, corrupted Xia Qing might have massacred the whole village.”
“But as psychics, we stick to the present—finding her obsession at the moment of death.”
“At that moment—it was just as the last page in her diary.”
“She hated herself for failing every one of them.”
*
Thunder crashed like war drums by the ear. The fragile eardrum couldn’t stand it, buzzing from the pounding. Jiang Yan made her way from Xia Qing’s home to the Village Chief’s house, irritated by the noise. Pouring rain whipped her umbrella, soaking her shoes and skirt. As she swept her wet bangs from her eyes, suddenly a door swung open ahead.
A villager stepped out.
Jiang Yan walked on as if she hadn’t seen him, but the man stepped in front to block her. He was over thirty, big and tall—half a head taller than Jiang Yan’s 1.74 meters—standing before her like an impenetrable wall of flesh.
Jiang Yan angled her shoulder, trying to dodge.
Clearly, he gave her no chance.
“What are you doing?” He eyed Jiang Yan’s heels, scoffing—what a foolish woman, wearing impractical shoes in a place like this.
He grabbed Jiang Yan’s arm. “Run? Where can you go? Where did you just go?!”
Jiang Yan was forced to stop.
“My ears hurt.” She acted as if she’d heard nothing else.
The man’s angry voice briefly overpowered the thunder, making her pained eardrums ache even worse.
“Damn it, I asked where you were?!”
Jiang Yan said nothing. She slowly lifted her head, staring straight at the man.
Lifeless eyes that inspired baseless fear. The man swallowed hard, let go of her, and Jiang Yan pulled her arm free, looking up: “Didn’t you say I can’t escape? What are you afraid of?”
He cursed and raised a fist in shame and anger. “You stupid bitch, I’ll—”
But as his fist touched her head, Jiang Yan’s side-hanging hand balled into a fist—she smashed his ear.
“Boom—”
A bolt of lightning split the sky, thunder followed, and his right ear went numb—he felt something shatter inside, and blood ran down, splattering the ground.
He touched his ear in disbelief; his hand was slick with blood.
The punch had ruptured his eardrum in half a second. Before the livestream could react, his face twisted, and he slumped to the ground.
Jiang Yan didn’t skip the follow-up. Gauging human tolerance for pain, she used her heel to stomp his fingers, twisting for good measure.
“Know what’s good about these shoes?”
A crunch of breaking bones.
The man lay in the mud, trying to grab Jiang Yan, but both hands were numb, useless on the ground.
Jiang Yan answered herself: “Everyone thinks they can catch me, but in truth, I was waiting for you.”
“These shoes? Everyone thinks you can’t run fast in them. It’s true—physical things don’t affect me, but they made you dare to chase me, and stomping someone feels pretty good.”
She finished with a laugh, umbrella raised, casually striding past him.
Like in the books, caprice was the true nature of monsters. Jiang Yan, long-lived, could control her moods and even amuse humans when she felt like it.
But now, she’d collected all the clues. Her shoes and hair were mud-soaked, and her ears hurt.
She was in a foul mood.
Things only worsened as more villagers emerged—houses opening one by one, forming a crowd in the rain.
Villagers with umbrellas began to converge. The man was dragged away, and the rest surrounded Jiang Yan. In the darkness, their clothing colours were lost—they were just faceless shadows, heavy with menace.
“What did you see?”
Their voices were chaotic, everyone talking: “Where were you just now?”
“Why did you run about?”
“What do you know?”
“Do you know Teacher Xia?”
“Told you they’re weird.”
They circled and whispered, dozens of different sentences and eyes boring into her. They didn’t rush to grab her; only seemed intent on driving her insane.
“Look at her, she’s really pretty.”
“Prettier than Teacher Xia.”
“You don’t think she actually knew Teacher Xia?”
“Who knows.”
“What if she calls the police?”
“Then she’s crazy.”
“Drown her?”
“Maybe she’s just wandering.”
“With rain like this, it’d be easy to slip into the stream.”
Jiang Yan stood in the rain under her black umbrella, feeling like a chunk of rotting meat drawing ugly crows. She squeezed her fingertips. As she was ready to act, Wang Baomin—who should still be lying at the mountain foot—was helped over by Uncle Huang.
He raised a shaking finger at Jiang Yan, but before he could speak, two mouthfuls of mud splattered out.
Uncle Huang told the crowd what happened. When he mentioned spotting Wang Baomin lying in the grass on the way down, everyone’s gaze toward Jiang Yan changed.
They’d been only guessing before, as the Village Chief had only phoned to say “those people disappeared,” told everyone to check the back hills and Xia Qing’s house. But then they saw the man lying on the ground and Jiang Yan standing nearby.
In other words, no one really knew what Jiang Yan had done—just some baseless suspicion had them ready to kill her.
Now, their fake trip to the Silkworm House, only to knock out Wang Baomin and return, had been exposed; the villagers had even less reason to let her go.
Wang Baomin, furious, would’ve died if discovered later, with the rain flooding his nose. He staggered two steps at Jiang Yan and suddenly roared, pulling a knife from beneath his coat, stabbing at her throat.
It all happened so fast. Any serious injury to Jiang Yan would draw an outside investigation. But Wang Baomin, blinded by rage, drove the knife straight at her neck—yet the expected sound of flesh being pierced never came. He froze, looking down: his right hand was empty.
Jiang Yan twirled the knife in her hand; it was as supple as a silver snake, and as Wang Baomin stared in disbelief, she spun it effortlessly, then, in a reverse grip, stabbed—blade slipping between his ribs, straight to the heart.
The movement was smooth. Before anyone realized what happened, Jiang Yan had already stepped back, letting the blood spurt harmlessly by.
Wang Baomin staggered and collapsed. He fell in his own blood, eyes wide, as if he never understood what happened. Blood spread from his chest, melding with filthy mud.
Silence.
Jiang Yan raised her hand innocently: “A helpless, miserable girl managed to snatch a mugger’s knife in panic; in mortal peril, she had no choice but to strike. Who’d have thought a random thrust would kill her attacker? She swears, she only wanted to protect herself.” She spoke lightly, gently; then bowed her head, smiling, as she played with the sharp knife.
When no one spoke, she sighed, bored, and moved on.
A heartbeat later, as if some seal had been undone—
Screams broke the silence. Wang Guilan shrieked, the Village Chief lurched forward, villagers all moved—yet, curiously, half of them felt blinding pain at any intent to stop Jiang Yan, as if their ankles were hacked through. In agony, they struggled to step toward her.
Still, more than ten villagers managed to crowd around. Jiang Yan walked on at a steady pace, twirling the knife. In the instant before the nearest villager reached her, a golden light flashed—the man’s limbs were instantly bound, and he collapsed, gasping in pain.
Jiang Yan blinked and set down the knife.
Shen Huanhuan had arrived.
“Jiang Yan, I’ve got it here—go find Niao Niao!” Shen Huanhuan wiped rain from her face, shouting from a dozen meters off, “Xia Qing says Niao Niao can’t hold on, she’s—”
Jiang Yan finished the line: “Under our bedroom.”
—“Under our bedroom.”
They spoke simultaneously, word for word. The livestream heard it clearly. Jiang Yan opened her umbrella and ran for the Village Chief’s house to finish the mission smoothly.
The livestream was baffled.
【Wait, how did Jiang Yan know Niao Niao was under the bedroom??】
【Feels like Jiang Yan could finish this task all by herself…】
【Agreed, but the twins did help.】
【Jiang Yan’s state just now really scared me. I thought she was super easy-going before.】
【What about Wang Baomin? No way he survives a heart stab.】
【Hey, he was coming at her throat—self-defense, the Administration Bureau will handle it.】
【I’m just curious how Jiang Yan knew where!】
Actually, it was easy to deduce.
After inferring Niao Niao was probably alive, Jiang Yan almost instantly guessed where she was—because of what happened the first night.
The first night, the three sacrificed children’s spirits chose to scare her. She’d thought about it often. Why pick her? Even if it was random, it shouldn’t have been—the spirits would sense energy, and as the most powerful being here, she shouldn’t be targeted by weak spirits.
Was it because she was the only one awake? That didn’t make sense, as spirits could invade dreams—just last night she was scared in a dream, and she knew that night Cheng Guang had been up all night, anxious as well.
So Jiang Yan reasoned: the three spirits were likely forced to pick her, or maybe it wasn’t a scare at all, but through the “drip drip” sound, to cover another noise—like…
That night, weak cries for help she, awake, might have heard.
With that, it followed—the Village Chief’s house was the perfect prison: as the chief, villagers trusted him; his family, with their own offering, sided with the village and would never betray it; and, not having raised Niao Niao, he’d have no softness, hiding her forever as he hid the village’s secrets.
With Shen Huanhuan binding the crowd, Jiang Yan moved unimpeded.
She pushed open the door and found a sealed dry well behind the kitchen. With no hesitation, she tossed her umbrella aside and leaped into the shaft.
After all, food had to be brought to Niao Niao, so the well was not deep—three to four meters. Jiang Yan used her flashlight to examine a tunnel at the bottom; from the direction, it led right under their bedroom. Just a few steps in, she smelled a stench.
Iron rust, sour food, and human waste.
Jiang Yan closed her eyes, gave up immediately, and climbed out. She grabbed a jacket, then a coat, wrapped her mouth and nose in a scarf, and then, with a bucket of water, went back down.
This time, holding her breath, she made her way as the tunnel got lower and narrower, crawling the last stretch to a dead end.
A girl, wasted to nothing, was curled in the corner, head bowed.
A few steps closer revealed her four limbs were wired to wooden stakes, her skin chafed to rags, some flesh growing into the wires themselves.
At that moment, two gray rats were eating her festering wounds; she showed no response, only a tiny shudder in her wrist as a tongue dug deep.
Still alive.
Jiang Yan set down the water, and the rats scattered instantly. She rinsed the ground, found a safe spot to stand, and approached.
She patted the girl’s cheek. “Niao Niao?”
No response.
Jiang Yan guessed that, after the others entered the village, the chief had stopped bringing food to avoid detection.
She dabbed water on the girl’s cracked lips. The lips moved faintly, a tiny breath brushing Jiang Yan’s hand. Jiang Yan cupped some water, bringing it to Niao Niao’s lips. “Drink a little.”
The girl stirred, flexing her fingers. Jiang Yan saw a sharp stone in her grip, the palm marked red from long clutching.
Jiang Yan checked, then pushed the water closer; this time, moisture seeped into the girl’s mouth, and some trickled in—she swallowed instinctively. Her eyelashes fluttered, opening her hollow gaze.
Her eyes were vacant, resting on Jiang Yan or perhaps no one at all.
“My name is Jiang Yan,” she said.
“We came here because Xia Qing sent us.”
The girl’s eyes blinked sluggishly.
She had lovely eyes—or rather, eyes too clean, pure black, only dulled by a haze.
She stared at Jiang Yan for a long time, as if she didn’t understand.
“Xia….”
Jiang Yan nodded.
The girl’s eyes reddened, on the verge of crying, but with no tears. Her throat quivered—she’d not spoken in ages—and made only hoarse, harsh noises.
“Xia…huh…Xia…teacher…”
Jiang Yan spoke plainly: “Xia Qing can’t reincarnate out of guilt and self-loathing, so I came to find you.”
“Your name is Niao Niao, right?”
Niao Niao was only seven, probably couldn’t understand ‘self-loathing,’ but she understood guilt. She quickly shook her head, then nodded, fearing Jiang Yan’s confusion, nodding again.
“You’re right—Xia Qing shouldn’t feel guilty. You are Niao Niao.”
Niao Niao nodded vigorously, gasping for breath. Years of starvation made even this exhausting.
So weak, she hunched over, bound by wires—like a fledgling bound by the wings, neck straining in a sigh.
“What’s your full name?” Jiang Yan asked gently.
Niao Niao swallowed and managed: “Lin Niao.”
Jiang Yan hummed in reply.
Not knowing how Shen Huanhuan’s side fared, Jiang Yan didn’t delay—she used her little knife to cut the wires binding Niao Niao’s limbs. Blood leaked, wounds were rotten and crawling with maggots.
The girl bit her lips, but didn’t scream.
Jiang Yan wrapped her in the coat and hurried out. As they reached the bottom of the well, footsteps sounded above—it was Zhao Chong and Xiong An.
Zhao Chong spotted Jiang Yan below and jumped in, no questions, crouching to hoist Niao Niao up via his shoulder.
Jiang Yan raised an eyebrow.
Zhao Chong said, “Shen Huanhuan’s spiritual power is about to run out. Only Cheng Guang is helping—let’s go.” He lowered his voice, “Competition is competition, but saving a life is saving a life.”
Frankly spoken—Jiang Yan accepted, stepping on his shoulder, passing Niao Niao to Xiong An at the rim, who clumsily took the girl, afraid to hurt her.
After Niao Niao was safely out, Jiang Yan climbed up as well, took her from Xiong An, and then Xiong An helped Zhao Chong up.
Niao Niao was light, not even as heavy as the snack-filled bag Shen Xiaoxiao carried, but Jiang Yan didn’t want to carry her, so she handed her back to Xiong An. The three hurried outside—and just as they did, a boom came from the ancestral hall, and a cloud of dust billowed up.
Having finished the possession and confirmed Xia Qing’s consciousness, Shen Xiaoxiao and Shen Huanhuan split up: one went to release Xia Qing, the other to hold off the villagers.
Shen Huanhuan finished her part; now, Shen Xiaoxiao had freed Xia Qing as well.
The ancestral hall was in ruins.
Countless spirit tablets shattered to splinters; the Medicine King’s portrait behind them was in tatters, powerless to suppress any ghost.
Just then, a girl in a floral dress drifted out from the hall. Her hair was long and beautiful, all wet. Xia Qing ignored the villagers who ruined her, flying fast toward the Village Chief’s house.
After her death, Xia Qing’s parents thought she would want to keep watching over the village children, so her ashes were split in two—one for her home, one for the village chief. But rather than being scattered on the back hill as her parents wished, the chief secretly buried them under the ancestral hall, “for safety.”
Trapped by her own obsession, Xia Qing’s spirit didn’t go home but returned to Silkworm Village. She joyfully discovered Niao Niao alive, but also saw the inhuman torment she had endured.
All these months, trapped in darkness by the ancestral hall’s idol, Xia Qing’s spirit weakened, able only to project a little consciousness—killing the silkworms in bulk while watching Niao Niao’s state. As the silkworms died, outsiders had to be called in; she hoped anyone from outside could come and reveal the truth.
Time dragged; her mind grew clouded. Yet, thanks to the idol’s divinity, her soul was not deeply corrupted—she still remembered her name, why she wouldn’t reincarnate.
She was a teacher.
Had she saved anyone?
Had she lit up a single life?
And now, with Niao Niao, was living really less painful than dying?
Xia Qing rushed toward Niao Niao; Niao Niao, cradled by Xiong An, was carried toward the hall, shaking violently as her wounds touched the cold air. Xiong An, a sturdy middle-aged man, was heartbroken—he draped his jacket over her legs.
Xia Qing and Niao Niao drew closer.
Police sirens sounded at the village entrance—the Supernatural Administration Bureau, always watching the livestream, had the police intervene and was now on site. Shen Huanhuan also withdrew her spiritual power. Binding dozens at once, she’d overextended herself—but luckily only for a short time, sparing her body. Cheng Guang supported her as she gasped, the sweat and rain mixed on her brow, feeble and exhausted.
Shen Xiaoxiao hurried back from the ancestral hall, sending Cheng Guang away and leaning on her sister, chattering and cursing villagers from a distance.
At this moment, the villagers cowered on the ground—some gave up, some shouted abuse. A woman, seeing Niao Niao, suddenly blazed with hope. She wrenched herself from the police grip, hair falling crazily and shouting:
“I’m your mom, Niao Niao, I’m your real mother, don’t hate me—”
No one acknowledged her. Her hands were cuffed, her body forced low and shoved into a police van.
Everything was organized: forty-nine villagers were quickly loaded onto police vehicles.
Xia Qing floated before Niao Niao.
She bowed and thanked the psychics again and again.
Niao Niao could not see her, but the psychics who’d opened their spiritual eyes just now could. Xia Qing was crying and laughing, unable to control herself while bowing.
“Alive, alive is good,” she said with a smile, but soon tears followed, “That’s not Niao Niao’s mother. Don’t listen to her.”
“Niao Niao will have a mother who loves you.” Xia Qing tried hard to wipe her tears, but seeing the girl’s emaciated frame, she only cried more, “You’re still growing—how are you so thin.…”
Shen Huanhuan comforted her quietly, Xia Qing held back tears, trying to think happy thoughts.
“I still had a birthday present for Niao Niao, though her birthday’s long gone. Can you help give it to her?”
Niao Niao couldn’t hear her. So Shen Huanhuan relayed, “Your teacher says she’s happy you lived, and she has a birthday present for you.”
“The gift is a book. You’ll get it soon.”
Shen Huanhuan had already seen the book and its inscription.
“Teacher Xia wrote in the book that she believes there’s a wind inside you, that can carry you high, out of these mountains.”
“You can do that, can’t you?”
A wail broke from Niao Niao’s throat; at last, the tears welled up. Who knew how many times she’d tried to cry these months, but was still unable to shed a tear, nor know how sad she was. She finally broke down sobbing, her thin body shaking, and her chest racked with helpless sounds.
Xia Qing tried to stroke Niao Niao’s hair, but her spirit couldn’t touch flesh—her hand passed right through. Xia Qing’s eyes grew desolate; after a long while, she said softly, “I’m sorry.”
“I really wasn’t a good teacher.”
Shen Huanhuan pressed her lips together, paused, and passed on the words.
Niao Niao froze, tears still on her face, now even more at a loss; she shook her head desperately—so hard her coat slipped off, revealing her bloody, skeletal ankles.
Xia Qing could not bear to look, eyes closing.
Niao Niao opened her mouth. Her voice was hoarse, each word a struggle through pain and raw throat:
“No… don’t say sorry,”
Choking on the words: “I most…,” she took a big breath, “I like Teacher Xia best!”
Xia Qing sobbed along with Niao Niao. With Shen Huanhuan’s help, she told Niao Niao all her hopes for her: how to protect herself, how to study, and how to repay society. Soon, the ambulance arrived, and Xia Qing fell silent, watching as Niao Niao was lifted onto a stretcher.
Before Niao Niao was taken to the hospital, Jiang Yan, quiet until now, spoke:
“Well, did she light you up?”
The girl, ashen, eyes barely open on the stretcher, heard Jiang Yan and mustered the biggest smile.
“She did.”
–
A yellow floral dress fluttered in the wind.
The first time Xia Qing died, it was in silence; this time, she died again, but with many people crying for her.