The next morning dawned bright and clear.
When Jiang Yan awoke, Mu Wang had already changed back into a little flower, lying stiff and straight on the coffee table.
Jiang Yan didn’t bother to lower her voice; she went about her morning routine as usual, then walked over to the coffee table and picked up all the bank cards.
“Are these all mine now?” she asked.
The little peach blossom, as if disturbed by the noise, draped one petal over another, turned over lazily, and continued to sleep soundly.
No answer was as good as consent.
Jiang Yan slipped all seven bank cards into her own pocket.
Before heading out, she glanced once more at Mu Wang. At this moment, half his body was soaked in the pool of tears he’d shed the previous night, looking utterly wilted and pitiful.
After a moment’s thought, Jiang Yan leaned close and blew a soft breath onto the table.
Now the entire peach blossom was submerged in its own tears.
Jiang Yan straightened up, quite satisfied.
After leaving the apartment complex, Jiang Yan didn’t hurry to get breakfast right away. Instead, she stopped at the bank and tried out the cards at an ATM. Mu Wang’s bank card password was embarrassingly easy to guess. Jiang Yan entered it correctly on the first try, and was momentarily stunned by the string of zeros on the screen.
Each card left her a little dazed.
After being stunned seven times, Jiang Yan calmly put away the cards.
This must’ve been the result of three years of nonstop work, Jiang Yan mused.
She had no extravagant desires, so if it were up to her, she could live for seventy or eighty years on half a year’s worth of pay. Then she could take on more jobs and live longer, making the most of the Supernatural Administration Bureau.
But now, these cards all belonged to her. Jiang Yan pinched the plastic in her pocket, feeling thoroughly content—even the muggy weather seemed adorable.
Jiang Yan bought breakfast and returned home; Mu Wang was still asleep.
Oddly enough, the puddle of tears was even larger than when she left. The little peach blossom floated and swayed gently atop it, drifting back and forth.
Mu Wang had been too excited to sleep last night, and didn’t feel drowsy until just before dawn. At first, he dreamt a sweet dream: every time he blossomed for Jiang Yan, she would gather up the flowers, and he fought hard to suppress his laughter. But soon, the dream soured—he once again dreamt of Jiang Yan admiring other men, a recurring nightmare he seemed unable to escape. Heartbroken, he shed tears even in sleep.
But the dream grew increasingly suffocating, as if he were about to drown.
Indeed, that’s how it should be.
Isn’t it suffocating enough when his sister praised everyone but him?
Mu Wang lingered gloomily in the dream, but suddenly he caught the delicious scent of vegetable porridge.
He couldn’t help sniffing again and again.
Yes, daydreams shaped his night; he must have dreamed of Yu Renwan making porridge for his sister. He’d been so jealous he stomped out several blossoms on the tree in anger, even though he himself was quite good at cooking—
Ah, whatever the reason, this porridge really did smell good…
Jiang Yan lowered her gaze, watching as the dreaming Mu Wang floated to the rim of the bowl and fell silent.
“……”
“If you’re hungry, get up and eat,” she said.
The little peach blossom was clearly still half asleep, struggling to dip its “head”—the uppermost petal—into the porridge. Just as it was about to topple in, Jiang Yan quickly caught it.
Perhaps the position was uncomfortable, for Mu Wang slowly opened his eyes.
A few breaths later, a delicate and beautiful youth knelt on the floor in front of Jiang Yan. His hands rested on the edge of the porcelain bowl, his eyes and the tip of his nose tinged red. Like a puppy longing for affection, his gaze never left Jiang Yan for even a second.
“….”
With a touch of resignation, Jiang Yan tilted her chin towards the table. “There’s more on the table.”
Mu Wang turned, saw the bank cards from last night had all disappeared, and his lips curved into a happy smile.
“Good morning, sister.”
Jiang Yan asked, “When are you going to work?”
Mu Wang thought for a moment. “I used to pick up assignments every day, because my contract requires at least a hundred hours of work per week… but lately, while you’ve been on the show, I haven’t taken any jobs. They can’t make me unless I want to go.”
Jiang Yan said, “I’m not filming today.”
Mu Wang was momentarily taken aback. “Then I…”
“I’m going to buy clothes; you go to work,” Jiang Yan said.
Mu Wang looked crestfallen. “Oh… okay.”
He never refused her, so he just tried to slow things down—eating breakfast slowly, sweeping and mopping the floors, then carrying out two bags of trash.
Just as he was about to leave, Jiang Yan’s voice came from behind.
“Don’t take the Cangnan Sea assignment. If the Bureau asks you, refuse.”
Mu Wang spun around so quickly that his soft black hair pressed obediently to his cheeks.
“Okay, sister!”
*
After Mu Wang left, Jiang Yan pinched off all the peach blossoms that had sprouted on the sofa, the coffee table, and even the iron door—more than a dozen in all.
Mu Wang had little control over when he would blossom. Once he did, it was a biological invasion: no matter the environment, peach blossoms would sprout wherever he liked, even from the bottom of the sea.
Jiang Yan placed the handful of peach blossoms on the coffee table, changed clothes, and left.
Before shopping, she first stopped by the Supernatural Administration Bureau.
This time, she was again number one among both the internal recommendations and the fan voting. Cheng Guang had said that, along with her reward from last time, she should be able to enter a higher-level vault to select her prize.
Since this was her third visit, there was no need for Cheng Guang to escort her. Jiang Yan easily made her way to the old red brick building.
Pushing open the doors, she saw He Qingguang resting in his rocking chair, eyes closed.
Jiang Yan took the initiative and whispered the passphrase, “To Xiangxi to study corpse driving.”
He Qingguang barely lifted an eyelid. Upon seeing Jiang Yan, his mustache quivered in outrage.
Seeing her only dredged up memories of his poor elixirs; last time, circumstances prevented him from squabbling with Jiang Yan, but now, a half month having gone by, bringing it up again felt like a loss of dignity. Besides, Jiang Yan seemed a feisty type—she might complain to He Qingyuan, and then he’d get a beating from his elder brother!
He Qingguang mulled it over. Chastising her was out of the question, but he couldn’t simply swallow his grievances. So he snorted heavily and slapped a peach wood token down on the desk. “You useless junior!”
Jiang Yan thought He Qingguang sounded just like a quarreling elementary schooler online, so she let it go and gave him a magnanimous smile. She picked up the token and went into the elevator.
Behind her came the sound of He Qingguang jumping up in frustration, as if even angrier now.
Jiang Yan looked back at him, bemused, and pressed the button for the third floor.
The moment she entered, the vast electronic screen that spanned several meters high loomed ahead.
Miniature live feeds from various livestream rooms filled every corner of the giant screen. Even after two visits, Jiang Yan still found the sight impressive. She glanced at a few of the screens; right now, the four in the center were all dark, showing “disconnected.”
By her side, a young man helpfully explained, “That’s the team at Cangnan Sea.”
“Three are psychics sent by the Bureau to provide support, and one—Chen Xici—snuck in on his own. Five days ago, their streams briefly came online simultaneously, only to go dark again within seconds. Now, the Bureau has moved their feeds to the center, hoping to monitor any updates as soon as possible.”
“Will the Bureau send anyone else to support them?” Jiang Yan asked.
The young man shook his head. “No idea. There’s been no word from higher-ups, but the Cangnan Sea assignment has already turned red, which means it can no longer be accepted. With an energy field of this intensity… most likely, management-level psychics will be dispatched.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
Just then, two men and a woman entered from outside. They looked like a team, heading straight to the front desk. “Heard there’s an energy field assignment available?”
The receptionist slid a few panels on her device before turning it toward them. “Both of the current assignments remain unclaimed.”
“Both are for teams of at least six, and require at least one member ranked in the top thirty, two members in the top one hundred, and all members must have been streaming for over six months.”
The woman among them looked startled. “That’s a high bar?”
The receptionist sighed. “It’s for everyone’s safety.”
The three exchanged glances, then each shook their head.
After they left, Jiang Yan turned to the young man who’d spoken up. “The Bureau rarely issues energy field assignments, right?”
He replied amiably, “Very rarely. Hardly any supernatural entities ever form an energy field like this—at most one or two per year. The Bureau doesn’t want to risk losing its psychics, so these kinds of cases are usually handled by management.”
“In the past few years… as far as I remember, there have only been two energy field tasks issued. One was claimed by the third-ranked psychic, the other was the Cangnan Sea mortuary case—all the ones sent for that haven’t returned.”
“This time it’s…?” Jiang Yan prompted, curious.
He sighed, his refined face troubled. “There’s no choice. The rate at which energy fields are being formed is increasing—or rather, the infection rate among spiritual entities is rapidly accelerating.”
“While you were doing your third episode task, the Red Pillow website released new information: from March to May alone—just three months—four new energy fields were detected by the energy meters. And that doesn’t include the fields with built-in concealment functions; conservatively, it’s estimated that there are now six expanding energy fields in the country.”
“After discussion, Bureau leadership decided to let active psychics start dealing with these fields. The seniors are getting old; they can’t hold down the fort forever. Every psychic has to take responsibility.”
“The Bureau’s recently been trying to issue two energy field assignments,” Jiang Yan chimed in.
He nodded. “Yes. And I hear these two were handpicked as the most ‘manageable’ ones by the higher-ups.”
Jiang Yan understood now.
Energy fields formed when a spiritual entity absorbed enough turbid energy to begin emitting it in reverse, generating localized magnetic anomalies. So rather than say spiritual entities were being polluted more rapidly, it was more accurate to say that China’s—perhaps the world’s—turbid energy was growing in concentration and toxicity.
That was not good news.
At this rate, within a few decades, energy fields would spread to every town and city; not just the human world, but the living space for all species would drastically shrink.
Jiang Yan studied the giant screen thoughtfully. The four central feeds were like black holes, drawing the gaze of everyone in the hall.
The young man at her side also fell silent.
After a pause, he spoke softly: “I’m Song Zheng; I’ve been coming here every day lately. I wanted to thank you in person.”
Jiang Yan turned her head.
She remembered him—he had lent his five senses to Chen Ranyi. In reality, “lent” wasn’t quite right, since he couldn’t know how polluted Chen Ranyi would become, or whether she’d ever recall him again.
“No need,” Jiang Yan said. “Just part of the show’s process.”
“It wasn’t just the process—you all chose the gentlest way,” Song Zheng replied with a smile. “I really liked Ranyi. I’m very glad she could reincarnate, so I had to thank you in person. I already thanked Cheng Guang and the twins a few days ago.”
Jiang Yan did not comment.
Song Zheng unzipped his backpack and brought out a palm-sized bagua mirror, handing it to her. “A token of gratitude. It’s convex—a talisman for repelling evil. You can keep it at home for adjusting feng shui.”
There was no reason to refuse a free gift.
Jiang Yan accepted it without hesitation and tucked it into her pocket.
Her speed caught Song Zheng off guard; after a few breaths, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m glad you’re willing to take it.”
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
Jiang Yan looked down—it was a message from He Qingyuan, saying that if she accumulated her rewards again this round, she’d be given special permission to enter the Yao Management Department’s warehouse next time.
Most prizes from the Bureau benefited psychics, and Jiang Yan found little use for them. There might be far more she could use from the Yao Management Department, so she made her decision almost instantly.
“I’ll keep saving up, then.”
Once she’d replied, Jiang Yan saw no reason to linger. She nodded briefly to Song Zheng and turned to go.
But Song Zheng clearly had more to say; he hesitantly called out, “Wait…”
Jiang Yan paused and looked back. “What is it?”
Song Zheng pressed his lips together. “Your contribution in the third round goes without saying. Yu Renwan was the first to discover the weasel spirit; Shen Xiaoxiao guided Meng Chunhong’s possession, Shen Huanhuan was searching for clues throughout, and after finding the weasel spirit, Lin Xinjiu unearthed Meng Henshui’s secret, so the most likely one to be eliminated is Cheng Guang.”
“Lin Xinjiu will still be your teammate… He’s not quite how you all see him,” Song Zheng said. “If you ever need someone with spirit vision or remote spiritual detection, you could ask him for help—he’ll agree.”
Jiang Yan replied, “If I recall correctly, wasn’t Lin Xinjiu also part of why you lost your five senses?”
Song Zheng smiled bitterly and nodded. “He just hates supernatural entities too much.”
“We’ve been close friends for more than ten years; he used to be completely different.”
Jiang Yan raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
Song Zheng said, “Lin Xinjiu was born with spirit vision. He was registered in the Bureau when he was still in elementary school.”
“While I still had no idea what supernatural entities really were, Lin Xinjiu was already running tasks with a group of adult psychics, constantly using his ability to help them locate spirits.”
“He was too young for any spiritual livestreams, but he was extremely stubborn and wouldn’t listen to anyone. None of us knew what he wanted until much later. Turns out, Lin Xinjiu just desperately wanted to earn enough points to exchange for a warding talisman.”
“After his mother’s death, her spirit didn’t reincarnate, but returned home. Seeing his mother made Lin Xinjiu incredibly happy. He used his ability to help her hide again and again, evading many psychic searchers. He was too little to understand that all he wanted was for his mom to be there, growing up with him.”
“And then?” Jiang Yan asked.
“When Lin Xinjiu was fifteen, his mother was completely corrupted by the turbid energy while he was at school, lost her mind, and slaughtered his father and grandmother,” Song Zheng said quietly. “When Lin Xinjiu got home, all he found was blood, pieces of his loved ones, and a mother who wanted to kill him.”
“He crawled out, covered in blood. My family lived opposite theirs—I remember my mother called the police,” Song Zheng sighed. “He changed after that. He came to believe that remaining spirits bore original sin, that all souls lingering on earth deserved to die.”
“As he exterminated more and more spirits, his own temperament became extreme and volatile. I’ve read about this—the books say that when psychics destroy spirits, the entities’ turbid energy disperses rapidly. If a psychic is too close, it’s possible to be infected by some of it, which over time affects both body and mind.”
“I think that’s what happened to Lin Xinjiu.”
“In any case…”
Song Zheng said, “People all look at spirits differently, but Lin Xinjiu has never held back when it comes to tracking them down. If anything ever seems impossible to solve, you should consider working with him.”
Jiang Yan propped her chin in her hand, contemplating, but didn’t respond directly. Instead, she said, “Lin Xinjiu once said he owed me. I thought it was for discovering the weasel spirit—but now, maybe it was for something else.”
Song Zheng was momentarily taken aback.
Jiang Yan smiled faintly and left the Bureau.
*
Just as Song Zheng predicted, the person eliminated in the third round was Cheng Guang.
On the second weekend of May, Jiang Yan received a text from the Bureau and packed her bags for the coach bus.
When Jiang Yan boarded, the twins were in the second row, Yu Renwan was in the fourth, and Lin Xinjiu sat in the very last window seat.
“Good afternoon, Sister Jiang Yan~”
Shen Xiaoxiao waved enthusiastically when she saw her.
“Good afternoon,” Jiang Yan replied calmly, taking the first row.
With everyone aboard, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror, then asked Jiang Yuqing, “Shall we set out now?”
Normally, a driver only says “set out” when everyone’s arrived.
“Eh?” Shen Xiaoxiao exclaimed.
“But there are only five of us?”
Jiang Yuqing nodded to the driver. “Let’s go.” She switched on her stream and turned to explain, “Due to an emergency involving the new member half an hour ago, there will only be five participants this round.”
Shen Xiaoxiao pouted. “Too bad—I wanted to meet our new teammate.”
Jiang Yuqing smiled. “No need to be disappointed—you’ll meet plenty of new people during this assignment.”
Before Shen Xiaoxiao could ask more, Jiang Yuqing began her briefing.
“This assignment site is far away. We’ll head to the train station first; after a five-and-a-half-hour journey, we will arrive at our destination: Baishan Sanatorium.”
“Baishan Sanatorium is located in M City’s Baishan Town and was once well-known locally. In recent years, as the town developed rapidly, many local sanatoriums heavily promoted hydrotherapy and mini eco-parks. Baishan Sanatorium, however, stubbornly clung to its old ways and quickly fell into decline.”
“The Bureau sent someone to scout ahead two days ago. There are currently thirty-two people inside: twenty-five patients, and seven medical staff, including the director.”
Even Shen Xiaoxiao, who’d never been to a sanatorium, found the ratio a bit odd.
Shen Huanhuan noticed too, frowning. “Isn’t that too few staff? It doesn’t seem like enough compared to the number of patients.”
Jiang Yuqing nodded. “Yes, that is precisely the problem.”
“Last month, in April, some hikers from out of town found four horribly mutilated corpses while climbing Baishan Mountain. Because all physical traits and fingerprints were destroyed, the police had to use the blood sample database to identify two of them, both medical staff from the sanatorium.”
“Not everyone’s DNA is in the database, so the other two have yet to be identified. But as four staff members went missing that month, it’s likely that the other two were also sanatorium employees.”
Now, Jiang Yuqing’s expression grew solemn. “This was already the third deadly incident involving medical staff at Baishan Sanatorium this year.”
“The third?” Shen Xiaoxiao gasped.
Jiang Yuqing nodded. “The first was in February: the deputy director, who drowned. The second was in March: two nurses who were stabbed to death by a patient suffering from a violent episode. The third, in April, saw four deaths from blood loss—though the bodies were too damaged to determine a specific cause.”
Yu Renwan spoke timidly. “So… when did the energy meters pick up something wrong?”
If these deaths were caused by supernatural entities, those entities would have to be powerful. It shouldn’t have been detected only recently; perhaps the Bureau just hadn’t gotten around to sending anyone.
But Jiang Yuqing’s answer caught everyone off guard.
“The energy monitors didn’t register any abnormality.”
A stream of bewildered comments filled the livestream:
[What? No energy anomaly detected? Did I hear that right??]
[What’s the point then? These deaths don’t even seem supernatural—shouldn’t this be a police matter?]
[I agree. The Bureau has enough unsolved tasks as is—why look for trouble?]
Jiang Yuqing let the streaming comments slide by without changing expression.
“Yes, the energy monitors reported nothing unusual. But in mid-February, not long after the deputy director’s death, a psychic in the Bureau happened to visit the area on personal business. As she passed by the sanatorium, her ‘intuition’ compelled her to avoid the place.”
“Later, on the day she left, she forced herself to resist that sense of danger and tried to investigate, but as soon as she reached the gate, she collapsed before even entering.”
‘Intuition’—that mysterious sixth sense, able to steer one away from mortal peril.
Some psychics have extraordinarily high ‘intuition’ scores, giving them an almost supernatural gift: every decision they make is the right one.
“This psychic was Cheng Xuwang, currently ranked ninth on the Red Pillow leaderboard.”
Cheng Xuwang: the nation’s top psychic for intuition, deputy director of the Purification Department, and Cheng Guang’s third sister.
The chat fell abruptly silent—not one comment doubting the show’s decision.
Jiang Yuqing kept going with her briefing.
“After returning to the Bureau, Cheng Xuwang immediately reported the incident to the leadership. However, because of a backlog of cases and the recent explosion in energy fields, no one was sent out. During discussions for episode four, Cheng Xuwang again proposed Baishan Sanatorium.”
“Initially, the higher-ups declined, but given the participants’ outstanding performance thus far, Deputy Director Jiang decided to send you. Since intuition suggested this place as an episode site, perhaps it’s precisely Cheng Xuwang’s gift at work.”
“But,” Jiang Yuqing looked at the five of them, her expression grave, “any place that can keep Cheng Xuwang at bay must be extraordinarily dangerous.”
“You all have the right to withdraw at any time. I’ll wait for you outside throughout the task. If something feels off, you must abandon the mission at once, understood?”
Everyone gave a resounding assent.
Afterward, Jiang Yuqing pressed her lips together, deep in thought, as though wrestling with a difficult decision. At last, she faced the team.
She shared her own speculation about the location.
“A place that can evade the monitors…”
“If I’m not mistaken, Baishan Sanatorium is evolving into an energy field.”