After Swapping Identities With My Archenemy - Chapter 50

Chapter 50: The End of a Good Person

As the City God pulled out the white funeral banner again, the group charged forward and dragged Song Rong back just in time. The banner followed them like a shadow, looming over everyone, but Song Rong, though pale, appeared largely unharmed.

Jiang Huaiyi patted her cheek, and the girl opened her eyes groggily. Seeing Jiang Huaiyi, she burst into tears. “Where did you go? I blinked and you were all gone…”

“We just got separated. It’s okay, we’ll get you out of here, don’t be afraid,” Jiang Huaiyi comforted her. Though her words lacked strong conviction, they managed to calm Song Rong down. Hope, even a sliver of it, was better than total despair.

Before they could exchange more words, their surroundings began to shift and warp.

Jiang Huaiyi felt herself floating, her feet lifting a few feet off the ground. Her body, and the bodies of the others, began to turn transparent. They realized instantly—this was an out-of-body experience.

As the mist cleared, they found they could no longer hear one another. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. Curiously, Chu Lianxue and Mu Ze seemed to be bickering despite the silence, apparently so familiar with each other that they could read each other’s lips perfectly.

Their spirits drifted toward a structure that looked exactly like the City God’s yamen they had seen earlier. Below, the streets were bustling with the sounds and sights of human life. It was a scene of vibrant, ancient “fireworks of the world.”

The yamen was dim but thick with the scent of incense. Although few people stood at the gates, the offering incense inside never ceased. Jiang Huaiyi and Shen Wensi exchanged a confused glance.

They drifted past the yamen, through a long alley, and stopped before a peaceful, elegant courtyard. It was morning. People were hawking breakfast on the streets. This was an era where everyone wore long-sleeved robes, perhaps of the Song Dynasty style, though Jiang Huaiyi wasn’t sure.

Inside the house, the furniture was sparse, but the quality suggested the family had once been quite wealthy—it simply looked as though they had been forced to sell off their assets. A woman was carefully hanging a jade pendant on her husband’s belt, smoothing his clothes.

They were a middle-aged couple. Floating above, the group could hear their conversation clearly.

“Husband, you’ve worked so hard. I’ve asked Nanny Wu to stew some soup; come back at noon to drink it.”

The husband squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about our daughter. I’m here. Just take care of her at home. I’ll be back early today.”

The woman looked uneasy. “Perhaps I should go to that temple and pray? I hear it’s very efficacious…”

The man’s face darkened immediately. He pulled her close, his voice stern. “No. That temple has only been up for a few years, yet it’s grown to such a size. I saw the Zhang family from across the street go there to pray; their son was dead within six months. I forbid you to go. Stay home. We can cure this illness; the doctor said she just needs careful nursing. Don’t be foolish. We’ve spent so much silver already, we aren’t going to give up now!”

The woman nodded, and after a few more instructions, the man put on his hat and departed.

The spirits were pulled in the opposite direction, following the woman into a bedroom. Unlike the empty outer rooms, this one was filled with calligraphy, paintings, and fine collectibles. Behind a curtain lay a sickly young woman.

Jiang Huaiyi looked at the girl, then at the pale Song Rong beside her. They were identical—carved from the same mold.

Song Rong looked terrified, waving her hands in protest, but no one could hear her. The girl on the bed opened her eyes. Unlike the modern Song Rong, her movements were graceful and refined. She took her mother’s hand. “Mother, you’re here.”

She began to cough. The mother handed her a bowl of medicine. Once the coughing subsided, the mother wiped her lips with a handkerchief. “Rong’er, do you feel better? Your father is finding a way. Our family will cure you.”

The girl smiled sweetly. “I believe in Father and Mother. Please, don’t overwork yourselves.”

Once her mother left, the girl’s smile vanished. She wept as her maid wiped cold sweat from her brow. “I’d rather be dead,” the girl sobbed. “This illness can’t be cured. I wish my parents would just have another child instead of suffering like this to save me. There’s no silver left. If this continues, I’ll die and the family will be ruined. My parents are the best in the world; it is my unfilial burden that drags them down.”

The group drifted away, following the mother. The woman hurried back to her own room, locked the door, and panted heavily against the wood. She pulled a box from under the bed, unlocked it, and withdrew a long wooden case.

Jiang Huaiyi had a sinking feeling. The woman opened the case and unfurled a scroll.

It was the Chaoyuan Xianzhang Tu (Procession of the Immortals).

This was clearly a flashback to the origin of the demonic scroll. The woman wrapped the scroll in cloth, put on a cloak, and slipped out the back door. She navigated the alleys until she reached the City God Temple.

Inside the dim, incense-heavy temple, she handed the case to a man who emerged from the shadows. The woman’s hands were shaking. “I heard… one can make ‘hidden’ requests here. I’ve brought the ‘offering.’ Please check it.”

The man led her to a back room where a portrait of an official in red robes was enshrined. The woman offered three sticks of incense. The man placed her scroll on the altar, took a needle, and signaled for her to drop her blood onto the scroll.

The moment the blood touched the paper, the woman collapsed.

Fifteen minutes later, she woke up with an expression of ecstatic madness. She kowtowed to the portrait. “Thank you, Lord, for saving my daughter! I will keep my promise! If she recovers, my soul shall belong to the Underworld after my death! Thank you, Lord!”

The group felt a chill. She had traded her soul for her daughter’s life. She had no idea that this “Underworld” was a predatory trap. As far as Jiang Huaiyi could see, this woman wasn’t evil; she was a mother driven by love.

The woman gave the man a large bag of silver and walked home, oblivious to the black shroud of death settled upon her face.

As they followed her, Jiang Huaiyi learned more about the family from the neighbors’ greetings. They were the town’s wealthy benefactors. The husband was famously kind, always helping the poor. Even those who had received small favors bowed deeply when they saw her.

Jiang Huaiyi frowned. According to the City God’s earlier logic that only the greedy and malicious enter how could he justify taking a family like this?

The scene shifted again.

They saw the husband at a food stall, but he wasn’t eating. Despite his own daughter being ill and his wealth dwindling, he was distributing congee to famine victims. Next door was his pharmacy, which sold medicine at tiny margins to help the poor. Neighbors wept when they spoke of the “Boss’s daughter,” praying for her recovery.

The husband worked day and night, contacting physicians across the country, yet he couldn’t save her.

Jiang Huaiyi felt a heavy weight in her chest. How could the City God dare to collect the souls of people this good?

The spirits were pulled back to the woman. She reached her front door, which was slightly ajar. She pushed it open. The house was unnervingly silent. No one answered her calls.

Panic seized her. She ran toward the backyard. As she turned the corner into the corridor, the sound of a servant’s shrill wail pierced the air.

The woman froze. Following her gaze, Jiang Huaiyi saw a pair of pale, limp feet dangling behind a door.

A servant’s voice screamed: “The young lady is gone!”

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