Xiao Wa had already pried open the cage and flown to Yu Renwan’s side.
He perched on her shoulder, blowing on her bleeding forehead.
“It’s nothing, doesn’t hurt.” Yu Renwan knocked on the wall corner again.
Her constitution had destined her for bad luck, countless times skirting death’s door with no one to blame, but she had to admit—it was the main reason she could rank in the top 200 of the Supernatural Administration Bureau.
As her ties to a case deepened, she unwittingly dragged the culprit into misfortune: the more they tried to hide, the more bizarre ways they would cross her path.
Like this hollow corner.
Barely bigger than a palm—if she weren’t idle, who would knock on a whole wall just for a “Welcome In” banner, or tear the place up for no reason?
Jiang Yan’s earlier tapping had actually counted as painstaking.
By the glow of her phone, Yu Renwan climbed up, clinging to the rail step by step. She remembered her words to Jiang Yan earlier—if she found a clue, she’d tell her.
Jiang Yan had already given her a lot for no reason.
One should be grateful.
Halfway up, the fourth-floor door suddenly swung open. Jiang Yan frowned at the threshold.
“What took you so long?”
She’d been on the phone with Shen Huanhuan in the bedroom when she vaguely heard some noise outside.
Speaking, she eyed Yu Renwan, gaze lingering on the bruised forehead and knees. “You fell down the stairs?”
Yu Renwan nodded.
Jiang Yan leaned against the door: “Shen Huanhuan has a first aid kit, go find her.”
Xiao Wa was clearly outraged, thumping his wings at Jiang Yan, determined to smack some tears from this callous woman forcing Yu Renwan to soldier on while injured.
But before he could, Jiang Yan caught both his wings with one hand.
“I like your eyeballs, too,” Jiang Yan whispered in the little crow’s ear.
The crow was stunned.
The little crow balled up.
Jiang Yan let go; Xiao Wa scurried, lopsided, back to his cage and even locked the door behind him with a snap.
Yu Renwan missed Jiang Yan’s words and looked in surprise at the crow, but didn’t linger on it.
She declined Jiang Yan’s advice, “I’m fine, just a little bump… I just wanted to tell you, um, I just…”
Jiang Yan arched a brow.
Yu Renwan whispered, “There’s a hollow spot in that wall.”
Jiang Yan took less than half a second to get it.
“I knocked before…” She paused. “But a different spot?”
Yu Renwan nodded quickly, “Yes, just at the corner…”
Jiang Yan changed shoes and went downstairs, steadying Yu Renwan on her way to the half-floor at three-and-a-half.
She pointed thirteen centimeters above the right lower corner of the wall, “Right there, tiny, less than a palm.”
Jiang Yan squatted down and knocked.
A hollow, ringing note sounded.
It really was hollow.
Very well hidden.
Jiang Yan glanced around—no handy tools. She crooked her finger at Xiao Wa in the cage, “Come here, peck this open.”
“……..?”
Yu Renwan thought Xiao Wa would protest, so she went to stop him, but the crow actually opened the cage, nervously eyed Jiang Yan, and flew out.
Its eyes flickered between suspicious, fearful, and lost, but in the end, it landed in the corner, let out two pitiful caws, and began pecking.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Yu Renwan blinked in confusion, “Xiao Wa, aren’t you…not a woodpecker…”
Xiao Wa: thump-thump-thump-thump.
After some ten minutes, that part’s plaster was gone, exposing a red brick.
Jiang Yan pried the brick free, revealing a hole. She shone her phone’s light inside—the hole was deep, nothing but darkness visible.
Xiao Wa craned to peer, but Jiang Yan shooed him to the side.
Xiao Wa: “Caw?”
Yu Renwan scooped up the little crow and, after a brief coax, knelt to look in the hole. “What now, want Xiao Wa to make it bigger?”
Xiao Wa: “???”
That would be a huge job.
Jiang Yan shook her head, went to get a flashlight, and sent Yu Renwan a video call.
When Yu Renwan picked up, Jiang Yan wound a string around her phone and pushed it into the hole. The phone slid down by inertia, clattering to a halt as if wedged.
Jiang Yan did the same with the flashlight.
Once done, she went to look at Yu Renwan’s phone screen.
Now, the ball-sized space inside the wall was exposed to them.
The small interior was coated in gold dust, gleaming with opulence. Four vermilion pillars etched with symbols stood at the corners, and in the center, a finely carved golden lotus seat. In front of the lotus, three almost-spent incense sticks.
Atop the lotus, a statue of a white weasel.
It sat cross-legged, head bowed like a human, dressed in a gray Daoist robe trimmed with dull yellow stripes, both hands rounded and placed at its dantian, benevolent and dignified.
Yu Renwan’s breath caught.
“Th-this statue…”
Jiang Yan: “Not a statue.”
“It’s breathing.”
Now Yu Renwan didn’t dare breathe at all, staring. Only by watching closely could she see the white weasel’s stomach subtly rise and fall.
Then Jiang Yan, as if noticing something, tugged the string. Yu Renwan had assumed she’d just gotten the string from somewhere, not realizing it grew from Jiang Yan’s fingertip.
Jiang Yan hooked the string to adjust the phone—now the video was even clearer.
Now, they saw two other weasels.
Both were small; one sat on the left, one on the right, like two guardian deities flanking the white weasel.
Yu Renwan muttered, “One black, one yellowish…”
She remembered the two snakes she and Shen Xiaoxiao saw last night, inhaled sharply, and looked at Jiang Yan. Jiang Yan nodded.
“Should be those two.”
She’d thought as much—even if you killed an animal, only a rare nature spirit could take revenge; the three elders weren’t killed by snakes, but something else.
Now it looked like these two weasels.
They’d possessed the bodies of two snakes, pretending to be the snakes to avenge them and kill three seniors; otherwise, if it were only spirits, how could real snake scales be left at the scene?
So when they frightened Yu Renwan and Shen Xiaoxiao, those really were snakes—the suffocating feeling around the neck and the slickness in her hand were all real.
And so were the marks left on Yu Renwan’s neck.
But both the ligature marks and the blood from the snake being hit by the wardrobe were promptly erased by the weasel spirits, so Jiang Yan saw nothing when she woke.
Jiang Yan explained this to Yu Renwan.
Yu Renwan fixated on the phone screen, too scared to blink. She whispered, “Are weasels really that strong?”
“In folklore,” Jiang Yan said calmly, having just read a book about it, “they say: black at a thousand years, white at ten thousand.”
“It means a weasel’s cultivation isn’t easy. At a hundred, yellow fur turns silver-gray; at a thousand, the fur goes black; and at ten thousand, they turn pure white.”
“As for that white one, it’s at most two thousand years,” Jiang Yan sensed. “Probably ate some spirit herbs to turn white early—not anywhere near ten thousand. In this world, it won’t last that long.”
Yu Renwan had never dealt with weasel spirits, so she nodded, “Did you read all that in books?”
Jiang Yan hummed noncommittally.
“So impressive,” Yu Renwan whispered.
After a few more glances at the screen, she grew even more nervous: “Even if it’ll never see ten thousand, I’m not happy about seeing a two-thousand-year-old animal—it won’t eat us, right?”
Jiang Yan: “…No.”
Yu Renwan nodded, though her face clearly didn’t believe it.
She shrank her shoulders, then said, “Shouldn’t we run while it hasn’t noticed us?”
Jiang Yan: “I still have questions.”
She’d already guessed most of the answers—just needed to confirm.
Yu Renwan thought she’d misheard. “What?”
“I have a few questions.”
“…You’re going to talk to it?”
Jiang Yan: “Mm. You go over there.”
Yu Renwan licked her lips, shot Jiang Yan a look of disbelief, and slowly got up to give her space.
Jiang Yan crouched by the hole and said,
“The incense was lit by Meng Henshui; everything inside this wall was arranged by her. You already have such cultivation; you don’t need to stay here. That’s a debt of gratitude.”
The weasel in the wall sat as still as a statue, eyes down, as if it heard nothing.
Jiang Yan asked, “Is she your benefactor? Did she give you your opportunity to cultivate?”
Some in the livestream didn’t follow, so they asked what Jiang Yan meant.
A senior psychic explained: [There’s a weasel “petition-for-immortality” legend in folklore. I haven’t encountered it, but a friend has.]
[My friend told me that after reaching a certain age and gaining some skill, weasels can get a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to petition for confirmation from a human. This is very rare. The weasel will prepare for it, observing their chosen person, and at the right time will ask: “Do I look like a human?” If the answer is yes, the weasel earns a chance to be reincarnated as a human. Some weasels are greedy and ask, “Am I a mortal or a celestial?” If the person says ‘celestial,’ they earn a shot at true immortality.]
[For us, though, this is never as simple as just saying a few words. If you’re especially blessed, it might be fine. If not, the weasel might take away your opportunity to be human in your next life, and ‘immortal’ is even worse—nobody can take that karmic burden.]
[Some weasels are kind, rewarding their benefactor in return, but most just take your luck and leave. So if you ever run into a weasel asking for confirmation, just pretend not to hear and head where there are people—then it’ll stop following you.]
The white weasel still didn’t respond. As the last incense curled to nothing, its nostrils flared slightly.
But Jiang Yan didn’t care about its attitude—desire is the real answer.
She continued, “Every time Meng Henshui lights incense and makes a wish, you grant it, and the factory’s energy goes haywire. When she leaves, you retract your spirit, and everything returns to normal.”
“But spirits wishing for transcendence like you can’t take risky requests—any mistake would sap your power, so her wishes must be reasonable. At best, her wish could even benefit your cultivation.”
“—Right?”
Jiang Yan watched the screen, certain of her guess, and said calmly, “If you dared to agree to Meng Henshui’s request, it means all three dead old men were doomed anyway. Though I don’t yet know what Meng Xiangjiang did, they were all overdue for death.”
“Killing them brings you plenty of karmic hassle, but also boosts your luck or cultivation. So you sent your two weasels to help Meng Henshui’s wish come true.”
“But why kill snakes?”
Jiang Yan leaned her chin on her hand, pondering. “Why lure those seniors into killing snakes first?”
“That’s a lot of work—paying someone to collect snake corpses, giving Shang Demin and the rest the idea that selling dead snakes is profitable, hiring shills to boast about the mattress to get them to bring home one packed with snakes…”
“So much trouble.”
“Meng Henshui really worked hard just to make them kill snakes… Why?”
“Why go to such lengths?”
Jiang Yan fell silent, then, after several breaths, flicked her finger and smiled.
“I got it.”
The white weasel suddenly looked up, directly into the lens, as if meeting Jiang Yan’s eyes.
Jiang Yan: “Snakes are your natural enemy.”
“Those snakes were Meng Henshui’s offering to you.”
“Shang Demin and the others killed your offerings, so killing them was just—orderly, within karma.”
Jiang Yan’s lips curled. “Those dead snakes were so you could kill without blame.”