After speaking, Jiang Yan left the Yao Management Department.
She took out her phone to contact Yu Renwan, only to find that Yu Renwan had also come to claim her reward for the fourth round. As soon as Jiang Yan reached the Bureau’s entrance, she ran into Yu Renwan coming downstairs.
Upon meeting, Jiang Yan handed over the talisman in her hand. “This is for you.”
“And if you come across anything valuable in the future, I suggest you give it to me as well.”
Yu Renwan, still dazed, accepted the yellow talisman.
Because Jiang Yan hadn’t taken the plaque, Yu Renwan didn’t know what function the talisman had. Just as Jiang Yan was about to explain, Xiao Wa suddenly poked out its pitch-black little head.
“Caw!”
It anxiously cut Jiang Yan off, darted forward, snatched the talisman from Yu Renwan’s hands, and clung to it tightly.
Jiang Yan had disrupted Pingping’s control over the group at the end of the fourth round by unleashing her yao energy, so Xiao Wa knew Jiang Yan was a yao, but, out of fear of retaliation, hadn’t told anyone.
Jiang Yan held out her hand, letting Xiao Wa perch on her palm. The little crow leaned in, babbling for a long while. At last, Jiang Yan nodded.
“Then let Yu Renwan’s mother teach her how to use it.”
The little crow looked very troubled. “Caw?”
Jiang Yan frowned. “Yu Renwan still doesn’t know her own situation?”
The little crow shook its head furiously.
Jiang Yan said, “You can’t hide this forever. Only by understanding herself can she make full use of her abilities. As a crow yao, how can she not know this?”
The little crow sighed with aged resignation.
The situation truly was special.
Since Yu Renwan was born, disaster had followed everyone around her. At first it was minor, but after enough incidents, someone sought out a folk psychic.
That psychic was somewhat skilled. Though he didn’t discern Yu Renwan’s half-yao identity, he sensed her unusual constitution. He instructed her family: if they wanted their clan to survive, they had to sever all ties with her.
The Yu family of Yincheng had been renowned for opera for a thousand years, with ancestors who sang for emperors. The family head cared above all for the family’s prosperity. When Yu Renwan’s father was alive things had been fine, but after his death, mother and daughter struggled within the family, eventually moving out.
Because Yu Renwan’s mother had suffered serious injuries before her pregnancy, her health irreversibly declined. After Yu Renwan was born, her condition worsened. Three years ago, they moved out, and Yu Renwan juggled several jobs to support them. Two years ago, someone in the Supernatural Administration Bureau discovered Yu Renwan’s abilities, and she officially joined, taking missions to earn money for her mother’s treatment.
Yu Renwan’s mother loved her daughter dearly, but for that very reason was deeply afraid Yu Renwan might resent her—for her birth, her constitution, her unhappy life. So she’d always kept silent, and Yu Renwan never learned of her half-yao heritage.
The little crow hopped about anxiously, hugging the talisman.
It hoped Jiang Yan could find some solution, but Jiang Yan had none to offer.
This talisman had been transformed from Yu Renwan’s mother’s true form; Yu Renwan could completely absorb the energy within it.
If Jiang Yan was right, after absorbing the talisman, Yu Renwan’s ability would upgrade, and her spirit would be remade. Except for immortality, she’d become nearly indistinguishable from a yao.
By then, her identity could no longer be hidden.
Hearing Jiang Yan’s words, Xiao Wa flapped its wings and lay pitifully in her palm.
But Jiang Yan wasn’t moved by its pity. Flipping her palm, she said, “Don’t look at me.”
“You’ll have to deal with this yourselves.”
She turned her hand so fast that Xiao Wa hadn’t even reacted before falling straight to the ground, landing flat on its back.
Standing a little distance away, Yu Renwan had no idea what they’d been discussing. Seeing Xiao Wa fall, she hurried over, bent down, and scooped him up.
Xiao Wa rubbed against Yu Renwan’s hand in grievance.
“Why are you trying to scam Jiang Jiang?” Yu Renwan asked him quietly.
Xiao Wa froze.
It blinked. “Caw?”
“You’re a little crow, so how could you be dropped like that? Why didn’t you just fly?” Yu Renwan smoothed his wings. “You seem fine to me.”
Xiao Wa slowly blinked.
When it realized what had happened, fury overtook it. Flapping its wings, it began furiously attacking Yu Renwan.
It had her well-being at heart!
And she accused it of faking injury! Faked injury, my foot!
And what was with all this “Jiang Jiang!” Every day her diary was “Jiang Jiang” this and “Jiang Jiang” that—when it used to be all about Xiao Wa!
Xiao Wa kicked Yu Renwan’s hair into a tangled bird’s nest, and Yu Renwan, embarrassed, quickly grabbed his wings.
She turned to Jiang Yan. “Thank you, Jiang Jiang.”
“I’ll go home and study how to use this talisman…”
Jiang Yan nodded, stretched lazily, then headed home.
Mu Wang had messaged that morning, saying he’d completed a hundred work hours this week and could return from the next city soon.
Jiang Yan felt genuine sympathy for that kind of corporate grind, but, watching the steady stream of money into her account, thought Mu Wang could stand to work even harder.
At his age, he ought to spend all his time making money.
It was now June, and the city streets were lined with white and blue hydrangeas. Jiang Yan, struck by their beauty, bought a bouquet before heading to the supermarket.
Jiang Yan liked trying new things. The other day, she’d seen a video about picking durian and since then, her feed was flooded with durian content. Watching so many clips, she got the itch to try for herself.
Watching videos for guidance, she spent half an hour picking out what looked to be a good durian.
When she checked out, she ran into Lin Xinjiu, also at the register.
Lin Xinjiu was pushing a cartful of household goods. His height and good looks drew the eyes of several girls.
“Look, look! Isn’t that just your type of handsome bad boy?”
“No, no, no, that face is too stern—he looks fierce. I’ll stick to my anime husband~”
“Whatever—seeing a handsome guy brightens my morning. I’ll buy you all milk tea after this!”
The girls chattered off, laughing. Jiang Yan finished paying and called out to Lin Xinjiu as he was about to leave.
“Did you see the group message?”
Yesterday, the Bureau had notified everyone that the current participants would be grouped together for the next phase, which would move to team-based missions.
That included Lin Xinjiu, so she’d tagged him in the group chat last night. She felt they should meet and clarify their team roles, but until now, he hadn’t responded with approval or refusal.
Lin Xinjiu was startled, not expecting to see Jiang Yan here.
But upon hearing her words, he frowned, pulled out his phone, and checked the group messages.
That gesture told Jiang Yan that he hadn’t seen the messages, so she didn’t push further.
After a moment, Lin Xinjiu looked up. “I took a job these past few days—if all goes well, I’ll be back in five days.”
There were still two weeks before the next mission. Enough time.
Jiang Yan nodded. “Alright. We’ll talk then.”
Lin Xinjiu nodded, carrying his two heavy bags past her and hanging them on his bike’s handlebars.
A little slower, Jiang Yan passed by him, flowers in one arm, the durian in another. At that moment, Lin Xinjiu suddenly braced his bike with one leg.
He turned to her:
“Where’d you get the flowers?”
Jiang Yan pointed to the corner shop, but for some reason, after following her gaze, Lin Xinjiu’s expression darkened.
He said nothing, just gave a mocking laugh before riding off in the opposite direction.
Jiang Yan watched him go, thinking of the woman’s face that had appeared above his head. She had a suspicion.
—Lin Xinjiu’s mother probably used to buy hydrangeas from that shop often.
As for Lin Xinjiu’s experiences, Jiang Yan felt no particular sympathy. When he’d fled with his mother’s spirit in tow, he should have foreseen the cost.
The fact that he’d survived was luck enough.
Bus 437 arrived, and Jiang Yan boarded and paid her fare.
The screen at the front of the bus was playing the morning news.
“Several disappearances have been reported in Jiangcheng lately, the missing ranging in age from twelve to seventy-six, all last seen at the outskirts of the city after 8 p.m…”
“…Citizens are urged to take care and keep an eye on the elderly and children around them. Avoid going out unless necessary.”
Jiang Yan listened to the news intently.
Disappearances couldn’t be covered up just because the Bureau wanted them to be. Even if they suppressed online rumors, they couldn’t silence the pleas and appeals of the missing persons’ families.
The other passengers frowned, most turning instinctively to the windows, looking towards the city outskirts.
Jiang Yan looked too.
But what she saw was different from everyone else. To her, the sky above the outskirts glowed blood-red, as if arteries had spurted open. The thick desires in the air nearly took solid form; red rain seeped drop by drop from the sky.
Even more terrifying was the city floating mid-air.
A blurry city hovered above the outskirts, shrouded in red mist. It looked like a mirage, but Jiang Yan knew it wasn’t. It was an energy field, one yet unresolved in Jiangcheng.
The fundamental makeup of an energy field was miasma—malignant desires. Jiang Yan could see it with the naked eye.
Since returning from Baishan Sanatorium, Jiang Yan had researched energy fields.
These places were utterly unlike usual mission sites. They were self-contained spaces and could appear anywhere—a river, a hospital, or even suspended in mid-air, their contents unknown.
Time inside an energy field was warped; it could be any season, or display sights unique to a given era, or even inventions of the future.
Most strangely, anyone who enters automatically takes part in the field’s “game.” To adapt, even your role, your clothing, or your very appearance might change.
In short, energy fields were wildly unpredictable. You never knew what you’d face until you entered.
It was utterly unlike the metaphysical livestreams she’d done before, and much more like the “infinite flow” worlds of fiction. She had a feeling: with so many energy fields sprouting in China, sooner or later, the showrunners would send them in to do missions inside one.
Jiang Yan did not fear this.
The unknown was always the most terrifying.
Yet also the most interesting.
Just as she was about to look away, a small child in the seat ahead suddenly burst into tears.
She was a two- or three-year-old girl, barely able to speak. Shaking with fear, she buried her face weakly in her mother’s chest.
Kids that age are hard to console, and her wailing was sharp and desperate, almost as if she couldn’t catch her breath.
Jiang Yan frowned reflexively, but the girl’s mumbled words made her abruptly freeze.
“Mommy… mommy, red rain… wuuu…”
“The floating buildings… scared, mommy, scared…”
The girl’s mother glanced outside. “Hm? Scared of what? There’s no red rain.”
The woman looked from side to side, seeing only mild sunlight and clear skies. She patted her daughter’s back, amused: “Did you have a bad dream, baby? It’s okay, it’s okay…”
“Bad dreams fly away, bad dreams fly away.”
As the bus left that area, the outskirts vanished from sight, and the child’s frantic crying turned to gasping sobs. Before long, she’d fallen asleep, sucking her thumb in her mother’s lap.
The bus returned to its normal atmosphere.
Jiang Yan lowered her eyelashes.
Small children often see things adults cannot—ghosts, spirits—but desire didn’t fall into that category.
The powers of ancient yao were always unique. By rights, there should be no other yao able to see desires—and certainly not an ordinary person.
That left only one explanation—
The energy field in the void was becoming material.
For now, perhaps only the youngest children saw them; with time, maybe all would.
Then the skies of China would be filled with floating cities shrouded in red mist.
People would look up and see them everywhere, powerless to prevent a single city’s spread, resigned to wait and be swallowed whole—then die.
*
Twenty minutes later, Bus 437 reached its stop.
Jiang Yan stepped off and entered her neighborhood. June heat pressed down; in Jiangcheng, it was nearly thirty-five degrees. It was almost ten o’clock. The sun was blinding, shimmering waves rising from the streets. Nearly no one was in sight.
Even those nosy aunties, always asking whether Jiang Yan had fallen down the drain, were nowhere to be seen.
Relaxed, Jiang Yan strolled along the path. As she passed the central pond, she spotted a tiger-striped budgie drinking from the water.
Jiang Yan blinked in surprise.
Drawing closer, she confirmed she hadn’t made a mistake.
This tiger-striped budgie was the silver-spotted black pigeon she’d last seen imprisoned in the Yao Management Department. Last time, when Cheng Guang had snuck her in, this black pigeon had fainted at the mere sight of her.
Apparently, it’d not only escaped but disguised itself as a budgie—truly a disgrace to the yao race.
“How did you get out of the Bureau?”
The pigeon had been happily drinking, but jumped in fright at her voice and tumbled into the pond, most of its garishly painted feathers washing off.
Shaking its feathers, it stuck its head out, eyeing Jiang Yan warily.
“I warn you, coo—if a powerful yao like you bullies me, what a disgrace that would be!”
“You’d best stop right here, coo, or I’ll tell every animal in the forest how you treated me!!”
Jiang Yan’s overflowing yao aura while resisting Bai Ze’s presence had revealed her true form to the pigeon. Otherwise, a little yao like it would never have known.
Jiang Yan tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“I could go for braised pigeon today.”
Black Pigeon: “?!”
Jiang Yan took two steps closer in mock threat. The black pigeon’s eyes rolled up in fear; it was about to faint again when Jiang Yan paused.
“Such a coward.”
She asked, “The Bureau let you go?”
The pigeon blushed in embarrassment. The hierarchy among yao was strict—it shivered before Jiang Yan; those earlier threats were pure nonsense born of panic.
It rallied itself and gave a small nod.
“They said I was too noisy, asked me a few questions, then let me go.”
Jiang Yan: “What did they ask?”
Puffing up, the pigeon tried to seem proud: “How could someone as weak as me radiate such strong yao energy!”
Jiang Yan: “Oh? And why is that?”
Black Pigeon: “Natural talent, coo! I can fake it for five minutes a day! Once I pretended to be a two-thousand-year-old tiger yao and all the psychics were terrified!” Its tone changed to aggrieved, “But after one little hit, they saw right through me…”
A real expert at self-deprecation.
Jiang Yan’s lips curled. She took a hydrangea bloom and stuck it in the pigeon’s feathers: “Alright, go play.”
With that, she turned to leave.
She actually liked these cute, silly little yao—bully them for a minute, enjoy good mood all day.
Behind her, the black pigeon looked as if it’d had its pause button hit.
It stared blankly at its reflection in the pond.
Did it just get a flower?
Did it just get a flower??
A flower sprite had once told it that giving a flower to a flower sprite was a marriage proposal—by extension, it meant a proposal to all yao. Oh, crap—had it just gotten a marriage proposal from a big yao?!
Should it accept?
The pigeon’s beak dropped open in shock. Before it could process the situation, a peach blossom darted into its mouth.
The pigeon gagged violently. As soon as it spat out the blossom, two more slammed into its cheeks from either side.
Feathers flew everywhere as the black pigeon was thrashed.
Secretly hiding behind a tree, Mu Wang muttered, “What’s gotten into you?”
“Too much for a little bird to handle.”
“No one proposed to you.”
“Don’t get cocky. Big sis doesn’t like you—don’t dream.”
The last peach blossom hit its target. The black pigeon tumbled into the pond with a splash.