As she thought, the sounds of voices grew more and more distant.
Shen Huanhuan bounced lightly a few times, doing her best to get her wrists moving again.
Her hands and feet were icy cold now, her heart racing, breath coming shallowly—but time waited for no one. After moving her body as best she could, she finally felt the flexibility return to her fingers. Without hesitation, she rose on tiptoe and ran in the direction the three men had left.
Luckily, she wasn’t too late.
Three minutes later, Shen Huanhuan caught sight of the men’s indistinct silhouettes. She slowed her steps, carefully keeping a safe distance of more than twenty meters behind.
They were still on the main road, where they could run into someone at any time, so the men were highly alert, glancing back every so often.
At this moment, the wooden pushcart was covered with a thick layer of straw, Liu Shaochun’s black cloth bag buried deep underneath. The bag didn’t move at all; there was no way of knowing Liu Shaochun’s condition.
She might already be dead, or perhaps only unconscious.
But since there was hope she might still be alive, Shen Huanhuan wouldn’t lose their trail. For now, though, all she could do was follow.
These men, after all, were simply too strong.
Especially the patrol captain—not only tall and thick-legged, but with arms thick with muscle that was clearly visible. Shen Huanhuan had once witnessed him, with her own eyes, grab a child by the neck and throw him out of the village gate.
She had only ever killed skinny, feeble refugees—nothing like these men. She could only wait for an opportunity.
Fang’s residence was not far from the rear mountain.
A dozen or so minutes later, the men entered the back hills. The cart creaked as the wooden wheels rolled over a pile of stones, the rubber soles of their shoes scraping noisily against the gravel, making drawn-out squeaks as if some small animal was baring its fangs and snarling.
Shen Huanhuan slowed her breathing and quietly slipped off her shoes.
It didn’t matter if the men made noise, but she could not afford to.
Wearing only the socks Liu Shaochun had sewn for her, she stepped onto the stony path, bearing the pain as she hid in the withered grass, inching forward step by step along the narrow trail. In the darkness of the mountain night, the wind moaned through the dead branches from time to time.
Feeling it was unlikely they’d meet anyone else, the men’s vigilance had significantly faded.
Shen Huanhuan kept her eyes on the three of them, hoping for a chance when they might split up.
But clearly, none of them showed any intention of relieving themselves—they talked and laughed, their voices loud and full.
“That Liu Shaochun, what rotten luck. The young master’s been pressing hard—he even made Master Fang swear not to kill anyone from the theater troupe. Master Fang agreed, too—who could’ve guessed that when the killing started, she’d happen to walk right in! Ha!”
“So that’s fate. When your luck turns sour, there’s no telling what might happen. Tsk tsk.”
From their conversation, Shen Huanhuan quickly grasped the cause.
Based on the speed of the foreign soldiers’ advance, it’d be at least another week before they reached Lingren Village. So Master Fang planned to wait two or three days before making his escape. Before leaving, he wanted to collect the pollen from the yingling flowers and process it into an addictive drug—a fortune waiting to be made.
But many of the yingling flowers in the back hills were no more than buds. Unwilling to let any go to waste, Master Fang was set on forcing all of them to bloom. Today, to prevent information leaks, the village had been sealed. With no more refugees’ lives to feed the flowers, he’d set his sights on his own servants.
His fiftieth birthday just ended, he gathered a few household servants in the backyard and had the patrol beat them, one by one, to death.
Right then, Liu Shaochun happened to come back for her handkerchief—and stumbled onto the gruesome scene. She grabbed a stick from the corner, tried to rush in and save someone, but she was only one against many. In a few short minutes, she was struck hard in the back of the head with an iron bar.
Her fate: unknown.
After talking about Liu Shaochun, the patrolmen laughed for a while, then started in on other topics.
They chatted about women: about how beautiful the seamstress shopkeeper’s wife was; about how the teahouse boy secretly married a pretty bride, who caught the eye of Lord Wang. Lord Wang snatched her right off the street, and the teahouse boy howled and kowtowed, begging for her back. Lord Wang was angered by his attitude—two swings of the stick, and the couple became a pair of doomed mandarin ducks.
“Why are they all so stubborn?”
Shen Huanhuan heard the patrol captain laugh. “Lowly lives can only ever be lowly. Paving the way for us and making money for us, that’s their highest value.”
“—And yet they’re always prattling about human rights and freedom. Pah! Can they even be called human?”
“Even beasts make more money than they do!”
Shen Huanhuan clenched her fists tight, staring from a distance at that jolting cart. It dawned on her: Liu Shaochun wasn’t alone on it. Clearly, there were several bodies stacked together—but it wasn’t even high.
They were all fragile, made weak by their own consciences.
A few more minutes passed. One of the men stopped and looked at his companions. “Drank too much tonight—you go ahead, I’ll catch up.”
The other two nodded indifferently. “Fine, but be quick.”
Hearing this, Shen Huanhuan’s fingers tightened. She drew a deep breath and edged toward the man lingering behind. He hadn’t gone far—yawning, he lazily found a tree stump, started untying his trousers, then leaned his head back and whistled.
The distant cicadas answered the whistle, both sounds shrill and grating.
Shen Huanhuan crept up, boning knife in hand, invisible as a shadow. The man whistled, all spirit, oblivious to the danger behind him. With just three meters between them, Shen Huanhuan braced with one hand and flipped from the grass. Quick as lightning, she leapt onto his back, left hand clamping down on his mouth, right hand raising the glistening boning knife.
It all happened in an instant.
It took a full two seconds for the man to realize what was happening—eyes wide with fury, grunting, struggling desperately to shake her off. But Shen Huanhuan gave him no chance. She drove the knife cleanly into his neck from the side.
Pft!
The blade sliced through flesh; blood spurted, splattering the stump.
So he couldn’t make a sound, Shen Huanhuan caught his falling body and silently hauled it into the grass.
Two left.
Crouching in the brush, Shen Huanhuan took a few ragged breaths. She looked down—her left hand was trembling ever so slightly.
She’d covered his mouth the moment she attacked, afraid he’d cry out, but in those short moments he’d burst forth with such strength that her hand felt numb—almost so strong she couldn’t hold him.
Almost, but not quite.
Shen Huanhuan shut her eyes for a moment, then stood up in the grass, moving toward the remaining two men.
The knee-high grass was her shield; half crouched, she advanced, parting the stalks quietly. The two patrolmen ahead, still oblivious, joked and laughed with a knowing vulgarity.
Five minutes later, one of the men glanced behind. “How come he’s not back yet? Don’t tell me he’s gotten lost in the dark.”
“Forget him. Deadweight. Let’s just get this done—I’m dying to go home and sleep!” the captain snapped.
Not daring to disobey, the man withdrew his gaze and pushed the cart on. For a long while, neither spoke, only moving faster and faster. The cart wobbled, and Shen Huanhuan, from a distance, saw the straw shift.
It was as if someone in the bag had lifted their head.
But when she looked again, the straw was flat, showing no sign of life—the boundary between straw and night as deathly still as standing water. Beyond that water, the night was dead; beneath it, a heap of silent corpses.
Ten minutes later, the cart turned onto a narrow path.
It was exceedingly tight—beside it, a sheer cliff plunged down into bottomless black.
The man with the cart walked in front, the patrol captain behind. With nowhere to hide, Shen Huanhuan could only follow from far back, until the path spiraled down and the view opened once again.
She glanced around and couldn’t help her eyes widening, body frozen, before she stepped forward involuntarily—then hurriedly shrank back.
What she saw was shockingly cruel and unspeakably beautiful.
Countless white bones, half-buried in earth. Their legs sunk deep into the ground, upper bodies exposed. In some pits a single skeleton sprawled; in others, a tangled mass of bones, intertwining as if in embrace, limbs grotesquely twisting like dead old trees.
Yingling flowers grew on the bones for nourishment.
Black liquid seeped from their hollow eye sockets. From those sockets, from open mouths and ears, black flowers sprouted—swaying and trembling in the wind.
All around, yingling flowers.
Shen Huanhuan stopped, ducking behind a rock, afraid to get closer.
Up close, the flowers were still only buds, but farther off they were already beginning to bloom; farther still, thick black mist coiled where the flowers had reached maturity. Once she stepped within five meters of that gloom, she would fall into an illusion, lose all clarity, and be unable to move.
Most crucially, there were others here.
Aside from the two she’d followed, five men in patrol uniforms were dealing with the bodies of refugees—standing just outside the mist, tossing bodies into its depths, then, after thirty or forty bodies, retreating a few paces and flinging corpses near the budding flowers.
Under Shen Huanhuan’s watch, fresh eyes bloomed on those petals; two yingling flowers opened their buds, slowly spreading their petals.
At the sight, the patrolmen quickly retreated. They were used to the sight—their movements neat and well-practiced.
Shen Huanhuan looked no more.
She crouched behind the great stone, hugging her knees, forcing herself not to move.
There were seven grown men here—she had no hope of winning, none at all.
She’d done as much as anyone could for an NPC trapped in an energy field.
Liu Shaochun was wonderful, but she wanted to survive, too.
If she tried to save her now, it would be as futile as striking a stone with an egg. Besides, Liu Shaochun could very well be dead already—a blow to the back of the head with an iron rod was hard to survive.
And Xiaoxiao was still waiting for her at the theater.
Xiaoxiao was her own sister; Liu Shaochun was only a master she’d known for three days. Nobody would risk their life for someone they’d known three days, even if she’d paid eighty taels for her, even if she’d bought her new clothes, and sewn her new socks.
Shen Huanhuan felt utterly wretched, but in the end, she could only half-kneel, hands pressed to the weeds as she crawled away. Using the boulder for cover, she soon left the sea of yingling flowers. She wiped her eyes then stood, ready to leave for good.
But just then, the sound of a cart scraping on stone echoed behind her.
She’d heard that sound for so long, she could picture the scene—the patrol captain pushing the cart up, pulling aside the straw to reveal the body bag beneath.
Shen Huanhuan hesitated a few seconds, then turned to hide behind the cliff wall, carefully peeking out with just one eye.
Soon, she heard the rip of a knife slashing cloth—and then an angry curse.
She saw Liu Shaochun at last.
She stood before them, hair wild, the back of her head badly swollen, blood streaking her face. She clutched a small knife, staggered from the cart, and spat blood from her mouth.
“You sons of bitches dare hit me?!”
She kicked aside a pile of bones at her feet; the nearby yingling flower, its petals just opened, withered instantly.
She swept the black flowers with her eyes and glared at the men. “What crooked evil thing is this?”
When no answer came, her eyes flashed with angry understanding, voice echoing in the valley: “So you killed all those people just for these damned flowers?!”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you—yes, every last one of you!”
The patrol captain advanced, iron rod in hand, but Liu Shaochun didn’t wait—she grabbed a femur and hurled it, then a skull, then a hand bone, flinging whatever she could find. A swathe of budded yingling flowers died on the spot.
Thinking of Master Fang’s fury, the patrolmen hesitated. For a moment, both sides were at a standstill.
But it only lasted a moment. Soon, the leading man gave a cold laugh. He barked to the others: “Kill her. If the flowers die, no problem—we’ll just kill some more tomorrow. Out with the old, in with the new!”
Liu Shaochun paused in her volley of white bones.
She raised her face, fiercely wiping the blood away.
Knife in hand, she charged at the men. Liu Shaochun was set on dying tonight; each move was reckless, desperate, but in half a minute she managed to kill one—dragged her knife free from his forehead, then snatched up a fallen iron bar and swung at the next.
She really was incredible.
How else could she, so badly wounded, still kill men so much bigger than herself?
After smashing in the back of the third man’s head, strength left her at last; the iron bar tumbled from her grip, and Liu Shaochun staggered back a few steps and slumped to the ground.
The patrol captain strode toward her.
Bang!!
He slammed the iron bar down on Liu Shaochun’s chest—careful not to make it fatal. He wanted her to die slowly, in pain.
Shen Huanhuan, who had watched all of this, covered her mouth in silent agony, desperately holding back her sobs. Her fingers clutched the rock so tightly they left bloody furrows.
She stepped forward before she knew it.
Just then, a faint “ding” sounded in her ear.
Shen Huanhuan’s mind rang with static; she didn’t even register the answer prompt at once. It wasn’t until blurry tears drifted before her eyes, glimmering with black words, that she dazedly looked up.
[All your life, you’ve never been given anything. The things you wanted, you never received—not your parents’ care, the chance to go to school, not even a single compliment.
You have no talent, no background, no love; all you have are fragments and mess. You always think you can succeed on your own, but life’s a series of stumbles, and the endings are never happy.
But this time, at last, someone offered you something. Isn’t this dark-blue robe and skirt beautiful?]
Shen Huanhuan glanced at the indigo robe and skirt she wore—Liu Shaochun had bought them for her, unasked.
Back then, Xiao Cong had bought new clothes for Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao; Xi Jueyun, for Yu Renwan. Shen Huanhuan had felt a faint, secret envy.
Then Liu Shaochun handed her the new clothes.
—“If they have it, you should have it too.”
She’d remembered that sentence so clearly.
Thinking of that, she took a deep breath and looked at the prompt.
[You watched Liu Shaochun being viciously beaten, hiding and weeping in agony behind the cliff wall. She’s about to die, wretched and alone.
At this moment, you choose—
1. Save her, because she’s a good person.
2. Save her, because you really like her.
3. Save her, because she once saved you.]
No matter her pain, Shen Huanhuan froze when she saw the three choices.
She wiped her blurry eyes and looked again, but no matter how many times she blinked, the choices never shifted—a single word unchanged.
Three choices, but only really one.
To do what cannot be done regardless.
In other words: a death sentence.
Anxiously, Shen Huanhuan looked around. She wanted to tell someone about these odd options, ask if maybe there was something wrong with the energy field—wanted Jiang Yan to advise her. But all around her was utter silence. Even the wind and the grass had stilled.
She was alone.
With no solution, Shen Huanhuan ceased to move.
She raised her face and studied the choices, and after two minutes, the corner of her eye suddenly twitched. As if inspired, she recalled things: the blank space at the beginning, the fact that choosing the “wrong” answer never killed her, and much more besides.
Suddenly, she thought she understood why no psychic who entered Cangnan Funeral Home ever returned.
Because they were psychics. They had to enter this trial.
And they all chose “Option 2.”
Tears spilled from Shen Huanhuan’s eyes before she realized. She thought of her friends—she really, truly liked them so much. She’d never had such close friends before; to have others depend on her felt so wonderful. But now, she’d have to part with them, without even a chance to say goodbye.
Finally, she thought of Xiaoxiao.
She truly loved her.
This time, there was no countdown. But unless she made a choice, time would stop; unless she chose, the world would not move forward. Who knew how long she waited, before she finally looked up at the brilliant stars above, turned once to look around at this world, then reached out and pressed “Option 3.”
Choice made.
Control of the body transferred to the guardian spirit.
She watched herself crouch low, charging into the valley. Saw herself drive the boning knife deep into the patrol captain’s eye, smash another’s skull until brain matter burst from the socket. Heard herself sobbing as she held Liu Shaochun, heard Liu Shaochun angrily demand why she’d come.
Shen Huanhuan tucked the carefully folded embroidered handkerchief into Liu Shaochun’s arms.
“To let your mother be with you.”
Her final moment was someone grabbing her by the collar, forcing her to her knees.
This time, the boning knife pointed at herself—the tip at her own throat, sliding in. Blood spurted out in a crimson arc.
She collapsed, folding into the heap of broken bones.
…
Late night, at the theater.
Jiang Yan was sitting with Xiao Congye in the main room. Yu Renwan paced anxiously, while Shen Xiaoxiao waited by the door, scanning the distant Fang residence, worry etched on her face.
No one had any heart for talking.
In the dead of night, all three heard a simultaneous dinging in their minds.
“Ding-dong!”
Jiang Yan felt her brow twitch; she instinctively reached into her pocket. The Torch Dragon’s derived rune slipped out and fell to the floor.
She bent at once to pick it up.
At that moment, a mechanical female voice sounded in her mind—
[Shen Huanhuan has died.
Congratulations on completing Dai Que’er’s character arc.
Simulation continues.]