Although Jiang Yan and He Qingyuan had parted on bad terms, Jiang Yan had no thought of quitting the show.
She would still fulfill what she had promised.
The time and location for the sixth episode had yet to be announced, so Jiang Yan stayed in her new home. Jiangcheng’s summer was unbearably hot; the air was utterly stagnant, and stepping outside meant breaking into a sweat instantly. As a result, all shopping tasks fell to Mu Wang.
Mu Wang relished it.
Every day, he busied himself up and down—going to the market for vegetables and fruit, to the flower market for flowers, to the furniture store to pick out new pieces. Then he would run home with armfuls of things, arranging this or that right in front of Jiang Yan, and once he was done, he’d happily go to the kitchen to cook.
Jiang Yan simply couldn’t understand how he could be so happy.
She rolled over on the sofa, lowered the air conditioner by two degrees, and continued browsing the forum.
Currently, most of the energy fields in Huaguo have been dealt with. Except for Cangnan Funeral Home, which remained shrouded in silence, several newly emerged fields were destroyed by psychics before anyone could even be sent in.
This wasn’t to say that the psychics had made miraculous progress, but rather that these new fields weren’t the kind of airborne energy fields Jiang Yan had entered before. They had concrete locations in the real world, allowing psychics to quickly identify the ghosts behind them and resolve them much faster.
In short, to date, there had only been four incidents nationwide in Huaguo where energy fields had resulted in the death of five or more ordinary people.
The Cangnan Funeral Home case, the Jiangcheng suburb case, the Anping City residential disappearance case, and the Changxia City Garden floating corpse case.
The situation in Cangnan was rather unstable, with disappearances happening from time to time over the years, so from the public’s perspective, few suspected a supernatural disaster there.
In the Jiangcheng suburb case, the victims’ remains had been found and, combined with Granny Zhuang’s statements, most people regarded it as a large-scale serial murder. Accusations were levelled directly at the Jiangcheng police, with victims’ families pressuring them to solve the case quickly.
The Anping City residential disappearance was more complicated.
—All seven residents in the building disappeared; doors and windows showed no signs of forced entry. Some were even eating before vanishing, half a bun dropped to the floor.
This building was an unfinished shell. Both developer and contractor had fled long ago, and the place was unfit for habitation, but some elderly people had insisted on moving in and could never be dislodged. In time, as new buildings rose, this one stood out, odd and neglected; no one paid attention to its residents.
As a result, it was days before anyone noticed the elderly had vanished.
When news broke, a few reporters rushed over, but after surveying the place, they found nothing suspicious. Online, theories abounded. A rare few, in jest, even guessed the truth.
“A mass disappearance like this, what if they were whisked off to some alternate dimension?”
“I thought the same thing! Or maybe it was the ultimate locked-room murder. But which of those old folks could have such enemies?”
“Doesn’t have to be an alternate dimension; maybe they were herded onto the rooftop for some brutal death game, not a soul left alive.”
“If it were a murder, then where’s the blood? There’s not a single drop in the whole building.”
“Clearly you don’t read novels—of course supernatural entities can erase evidence like that, that’s nothing for them~”
“Please, once you bring in ghosts, it stops being fun. Don’t try to scare us—probably a locked-room mystery, we’re just not privy to the grisly details, and the police keep the M.O. secret to prevent copycats.”
“Still feels wrong to me. Who could have such a vendetta to make an entire building disappear? I have a friend at Anping City Police—they haven’t found any fingerprints, and security didn’t pick up any suspicious people…”
“Okay, so what do you think happened?”
“Just like those infinite-stream novels—suddenly swept away to face challenges somewhere else, or maybe right at home. Fail a task, you die. Maybe the bodies never surface, or they’ll show up out of nowhere one day.”
“Emmm, maybe you should cut back on the fiction.”
“Actually, now that you mention it, that Changxia City Garden floating corpse case is weird too. Three days in a row—children’s bodies floating in the pond, all their faces swollen beyond recognition.”
When Jiang Yan reached this last comment, she meant to look into the netizens’ thoughts about the floating corpse case. But just then, a new comment popped up in the thread.
—“The Garden Floating Corpse case is solved, headlines everywhere. The culprit has been caught. Everyone, best stop reading all that mystical stuff.”
Jiang Yan raised an eyebrow.
At that moment, her phone chimed—it was a message from Shen Huanhuan.
“Jiang Yan-jie, did you see the trending news?”
Jiang Yan replied: “I saw it.”
Shen Huanhuan’s tone was helpless: “I just asked Abbot He what happened. Turns out the Garden in Changxia City wasn’t tested as an energy field at all. The Bureau thought it was a concealed field and wanted us to go in, but the forensic doctor discovered the children had all been tortured recently. The wounds were horrendous. One child even had male tissue in their mouth, like they’d bitten their kidnapper during the struggle.”
Jiang Yan’s gaze lowered for a moment. She quickly understood.
Some murderers were trying to muddy the waters, disguising serial killings as supernatural cases.
This was probably what He Qingyuan kept emphasizing: once the truth comes out, many people will face consequences far worse than dying in an energy field.
—Those who suppress their vile instincts will take up the knife; those already burdened by guilt will kill without restraint. They can break into others’ homes and attack defenseless civilians with impunity, since law and prison are all but defunct.
Shen Huanhuan began talking about what she’d heard abroad: “Huaguo still has excellent public security, but in some countries, it’s chaotic. I have a medium friend—her country just had an energy field. Officially, only three civilians died, but after the field spat out the bodies, seven more corpses appeared the very next day.”
“Sometimes, humans are scarier than the field itself,” Shen Huanhuan said.
To this, Jiang Yan made no comment.
After putting down her phone, Jiang Yan leisurely rolled over, sinking deep into the soft couch.
She could basically understand the Bureau’s position.
There are only two ways to resolve an energy field for now: one is to enter and answer questions, breaking through; the second is for her to obliterate the field herself.
If the number of fields in Huaguo had been low, she wouldn’t have minded stepping in a few times—ask for some compensation, help destroy a few, no real problem. But this phenomenon was endless. Every time she destroyed a field, she needed half a month to recover her demonic power. She wasn’t so generous as to sacrifice her whole life for this.
Thus, the Bureau was left with only one method.
As far as she knew, the Bureau leadership had begun reaching out to outstanding, high-IQ individuals among ordinary people, gradually updating them on the truth and seeking their intellect. After all, psychics had the innate gift, but their intelligence rarely exceeded the average; combining strengths, the difficulty of breaking through fields could be reduced.
Given the general public’s impotence in these matters, the Bureau’s desire to buy more time and preserve a veneer of peace made sense.
But they should never have pinned everything on her.
Jiang Yan understood very well—the Bureau’s decision not to disclose the truth wasn’t just about fearing mass panic. It was because they assumed she’d be willing to die.
And the moment she transformed into a talisman, the global supernatural resurgence would halt, and all energy fields would instantly vanish. Humanity could go back to their peaceful lives.
But if that day ever really came—if the Bureau publicized the terror resurgence too early—they would become the universal scapegoat. All those who killed themselves out of fear, all those murdered by killers—these deaths would be blamed on the Bureau. If they had lied, if they withheld the truth, the law wouldn’t have collapsed, and these people wouldn’t have died.
The Bureau was afraid of being made the villains of history.
So they had to stall, waiting for the day she agreed.
Mu Wang had finished cooking. He asked Jiang Yan if she wanted to eat; Jiang Yan said yes and got up.
During the meal, Mu Wang kept glancing at her.
Jiang Yan swallowed a piece of rib and finally frowned.
“If you need something else to go with your food, stop looking at me.”
Mu Wang said quietly, “Sister, didn’t you say you wouldn’t abandon me?”
Jiang Yan was caught off guard for a moment.
Back when the Heavenly Dao Rules changed, she’d decided not to leave the imperial mausoleum, so Mu Wang had refused to take human form, insisting he’d wait to the end of time. Jiang Yan understood why, but she wasn’t willing to incur such karmic debt. She’d cajoled him with countless words. This promise was among them.
“I did say that.”
She asked, “What are you worried about?”
Mu Wang obediently shook his head. “Not worried anymore.”
“In He Qingyuan’s eyes, I’m just a set of clothing,” Jiang Yan said calmly, serving herself another bowl of rice. “And to me, he’s not much different—a dying weed.”
“All right, let’s eat.”
*
At the end of June, Jiang Yan received notice from the Bureau.
According to the briefing, a new energy field had appeared in Yanzhou City. The local police had received two consecutive reports last week from parents whose children disappeared near an abandoned amusement park. Three days ago, a group of university students disappeared there while out sketching. Since the park backed onto a mountain, the general opinion was that the students got lost in the hills.
But according to the Bureau’s measurements, all these people had been sucked into the field under coincidental circumstances.
Located at the far south of Huaguo, Yanzhou required Jiang Yan and her team, led by Jiang Yuqing, to fly for over two hours to reach. As soon as they disembarked, the sweltering heat hit immediately, the crazed cicadas deafening, the sunlight so harsh it was impossible to open one’s eyes. Jiang Yan grew dizzy with sunstroke; the twins put on sunglasses after just a few steps.
The twins’ medical condition made them sensitive to light, and although their bodies were improved by spiritual energy, this level of sun was still hard for them.
Jiang Yuqing herself found the heat unbearable. She hustled out of the airport, quickly located the pre-arranged van, and shooed everyone inside.
“Hurry up, don’t get heatstroke,” she urged.
“Over forty degrees… what the hell kind of weather is this?” muttered the driver. “Can’t set the AC too cold either. You’re all covered in sweat; the temperature swings will give you a cold.”
The streets were deserted. The group recovered a bit in the car before the driver finally started the engine.
Jiang Yan, despite two incarnations, had never experienced such extreme weather. Not adapting well, she leaned back in her seat without a word.
Jiang Yuqing scanned the group, noticing Jiang Yan’s state. Shen Huanhuan, too, caught on, and immediately produced a bottle of herbal cooling liquid from her backpack. Jiang Yan thanked her but didn’t drink it.
There was no way someone like her could get heatstroke; it was just routine dizziness.
Rubbing her brow, Jiang Yan found her thoughts sluggish, as if something crucial was slipping her mind.
Seeing that everyone was all right, Jiang Yuqing said a few words, then started the livestream, briefing the camera on their situation.
“After the missing children and university students, a married couple disappeared yesterday afternoon.”
“According to their son, the parents liked to take walks in the hills every afternoon. There’ve long been rumors of brown bears in that area, but the parents dismissed them. The son suspects his parents were attacked by a bear.”
“The Bureau believes the couple must have passed through the abandoned amusement park on their way to the hills and were sucked into the energy field.”
“So in total, three cases are linked to this field, involving at least nine individuals.”
At their next stop, the driver picked up a young man before setting off again.
Jiang Yuqing explained, “Originally, this episode was to be a team-based competition, but judging from the current data, there’s a cap on the number of people the field can absorb. At exactly three p.m., if there are five or fewer people inside the park, the ghost will strike. Before the university student case, a group of six tourists entered at three; nothing happened, and they emerged safe.”
“So, it’ll be five people going in this time. Let’s introduce ourselves.”
The newcomer, clearly dazed by the heat and on the heavy side, mopped sweat from his brow, mumbled his name, and slumped down in his seat.
Jiang Yuqing smiled, then grew serious.
Everyone settled into silence, listening as Jiang Yuqing continued.
“This energy field has a confirmed form,” she said, “so the team investigated local records and has essentially identified the ghost of the abandoned amusement park.”
“It’s a seven-year-old boy.”
The group all turned toward Jiang Yuqing.
She handed out folders. “Yanzhou Amusement Park was once thriving, thanks not just to the many attractions, but also to its weekly free admission on Wednesdays. Lots of kids from less well-off homes could come and enjoy themselves to their hearts’ content.”
“Two years ago in July, on a Wednesday, the roller coaster malfunctioned. Staff called in technicians. A young boy slipped underneath the ride during the noon chaos to stash his backpack while no one was watching. The staff—careless—glanced at the empty seats and started a test run anyway. When the coaster hit the top, the boy was thrown to his death.”
“The park quickly declined after that fatality. The boy had lived with his aunt after his mother’s death. That day, the aunt claimed his body and, after settling with the park, took a substantial sum and left Yanzhou for good.”
“This was the only fatal incident at the park.”
Shen Huanhuan added, “Makes sense that the boy would haunt the amusement park after death, like a child clinging to his favorite place. Maybe it was his first visit there…”
Jiang Yuqing sighed. “Perhaps so.”
About ten minutes later, the bus stopped at the entrance to the abandoned park.
The time was nearly three. Only five minutes left.
Jiang Yan looked out the window. The amusement park’s metal sign was nearly liquid under the sun, like a melting lump of butter.
Weeds choked the grounds. A filthy stray dog lay motionless on the grass. In the distance, a dried-up fountain, the beheaded carousel, a faded wolf-grandma statue, the roller coaster stalled at its highest point, and a half-collapsed Ferris wheel sunk in clay—all in utter ruin, not a trace of former glory anywhere in sight.
The doors opened, and Jiang Yan followed the group out.
With two minutes to go until three, the group entered the derelict park. Up close, the name on the sign could be read clearly.
[Children’s Wish Amusement Park]
Jiang Yuqing waved goodbye to the group from the bus, then got back onboard.
Thirty seconds to entry. That familiar pressure descended once again.
Because everyone had experienced this before, there was no visible change in anyone’s expression. Jiang Yan’s face also remained blank—yet her pocket suddenly grew faintly warm.
Jiang Yan’s face hardened.
Slowly, she lowered her head, suddenly aware of what was wrong.
She’d spent each day recently together with Mu Wang, and her clothes were steeped in his yao aura, but on this journey… the aura was stronger than usual.
Jiang Yan closed her eyes for a moment, then reached into her pocket.
Under her fingertips, something very soft.
Her face cold, Jiang Yan pulled out a small peach blossom, fast asleep and completely oblivious.
“Mu Wang,” said Jiang Yan.
“This field only allows five to enter. If you go in, there’ll be six, and the viewers will get suspicious.”
The little peach blossom, still lost in dreamless slumber, stirred and wiped its mouth with sleepy confusion.
“Wh…what five nuts?”