Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 15

The oddity in Old Lady Wu passed in a flash as she leaned against Wu San, appearing frail and gravely ill.

He Qingsheng released a surge of baleful energy, probing once more. Indeed, Old Lady Wu was just a mortal, not a trace of demonic aura clung to her. Instead, faint threads of golden merit faintly shimmered around her.

She looked every bit the ordinary, kind-hearted village elder.

As if that fleeting sense of danger had been nothing but He Qingsheng’s imagination.

Ying Qujie, responding to Wu San’s plea, stepped forward to check his mother’s pulse. A strand of silk, so fine it was nearly invisible to the naked eye, slipped into his sleeve unnoticed.

He Qingsheng narrowed her eyes, quietly wrapping a wisp of baleful energy around the silk thread.

“Grandma, your condition isn’t serious, it’s just worry-induced illness. Now that your son is back, rest well for a few days, and you’ll recover,” Ying Qujie said gently, his tone soothing. He then handed Wu San some nourishing herbs he had gathered in the mountains, instructing him on how to prepare them before being called out by Sister Zhang to join them for dinner.

Without hesitation, he took a seat at the square table in the main room.

On the wooden table lay several simple yet enticing home-cooked dishes: a plate of evenly sliced stir-fried winter melon, a dish of tender stewed green beans, and a few steamed, puffy cornbread buns. Though not a drop of oil was visible, it was clear Sister Zhang had done her best, even the most skilled housewife couldn’t cook without ingredients.

Ying Qujie wasn’t picky. He sat down comfortably, picking up a cornbread bun and chewing slowly.

As Sister Zhang chatted away, he responded earnestly, keeping the conversation lively.

Before long, Sister Zhang was showering him with praise, even vowing to introduce this “banished immortal” to a fairy maiden for a wife someday.

Ying Qujie listened to her rambling about “banished immortals” and “fairy maidens,” feeling somewhat helpless.

He Qingsheng blew a chilling breath into his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Ask her how she plans to introduce you to a fairy maiden.”

Ying Qujie gave her a strange look but, under her silent threat, obediently relayed the question to Sister Zhang.

Sister Zhang burst into laughter. “See? I knew it! No young man your age doesn’t like fairy maidens. And if not fairies, then surely pretty girls!”

Under her teasing gaze, Ying Qujie found himself uncharacteristically flustered.

“I won’t lie to you, young man. Though our village is small, we often have disciples from immortal sects passing through. Those young ladies from the sects are all radiant beauties. In my opinion, Physician Ying, you shouldn’t rush into marriage. Where’s your hometown? In a few years, if any fairy maidens visit, I’ll introduce them to you. I guarantee you’ve never seen anyone so…”

Sister Zhang glanced at Ying Qujie, whose mere presence seemed like a scene from a painting, and swallowed her exaggerated words, rephrasing: “I guarantee they’ll only be slightly less beautiful than you, Physician Ying.”

He Qingsheng couldn’t help but snicker.

Ying Qujie shot her a resigned look. When the female ghost laughed naturally, it was as if the aura of bloodshed had been stripped away. She resembled melting spring snow, cold yet tinged with warmth, breathtaking in an entirely different way.

Ying Qujie rubbed his temples. “No need, Sister. I have no plans to marry yet.”

“Tsk, you youngsters always say that now, but in a few years, you’ll change your tune. Best to plan ahead!” Sister Zhang shook her head disapprovingly before suddenly slapping the table in amusement. “Back in the day, my husband was even younger than you are now when he started running to my house, helping with this and that. So diligent!”

She opened the floodgates of conversation, pouring out like beans from a bamboo tube, recounting every major and minor event from her over ten years of marriage since she came here. As for the matter of arranging a marriage for Ying Qujie, it had long been forgotten in some dusty corner.

Ying Qujie listened patiently, while Sister Zhang spoke with enthusiasm.

Not a single trivial or outdated matter was left out, like the time Old Lady Wu thought Wu San was missing and mobilized the whole village to search, only to find out he had been tricked by a village kid into hiding in a haystack for a day.

Or the time the big yellow dog raised by the Huang family had a patch of black fur on its right front leg, exactly where Old Huang’s prematurely deceased eldest daughter had her birthmark.

And most recently, Wu San, who had previously suffered from congenital soul-loss syndrome, unexpectedly turned misfortune into blessing after truly losing himself once, now he was no longer dull-witted.

At the emotional parts, this kind-hearted and righteous woman wiped the corners of her eyes with her sleeve, let out a long sigh, and lamented, “Heaven truly takes pity.”

By the end of the meal, He Qingsheng felt that she and Ying Qujie, one human, one ghost, could probably take on the task of compiling the village’s history with perfect competence.

Wu San was still tending to Old Lady Wu, so he asked Sister Zhang to prepare a side room for Ying Qujie.

Perhaps from too many nights of roughing it in the mountains, Ying Qujie fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow after washing up.

He Qingsheng poked at him a few times, but he didn’t wake. Finding herself bored, she took a stroll around the village.

The village was a typical small plains settlement, with about twenty households clustered together, surrounded by flat, fertile farmland.

Wu San’s family didn’t keep a dog, but other households had small yellow mutts that barked incessantly at He Qingsheng from afar. After she pinched their ears and scolded them, they still didn’t behave, only baring their teeth at her with a mix of fear and aggression.

“Da Huang’s barking, get up and check!” A woman’s urgent voice came from inside the house, followed by the dim glow of a candle casting blurred shadows on the window screen.

“Hurry up! Be careful the eggs don’t get eaten by ‘Miss Huang’.”

In rural households that raised chickens, if the dogs barked too fiercely at night, people would often get up to check, lest their poultry or eggs be ruined by weasels or foxes.

Under the bright moon and sparse stars, in this utterly mundane night untouched by any supernatural arts, He Qingsheng was reminded of her long-lost childhood.

“Da Huang, what are you barking for in the middle of the night?!” The master of the house, roused from sleep, shouted outside before being urged by his wife a few more times. Reluctantly, he threw on his clothes and got up.

With a creak, the wooden door opened. The bleary-eyed man, holding a small oil lamp, went straight to the chicken coop behind the house. Finding nothing amiss, he cursed and smacked Da Huang on the head before returning inside.

He Qingsheng crouched on the wall. The little wooden puppet provocatively flipped the bird at Da Huang, then remembered dogs probably wouldn’t understand. Slightly disappointed, she hopped off the eaves and moved to another household.

She circled the entire village, some families chatting late into the night, others already with lights out, but nothing stood out. The whole village was peaceful and harmonious, without a trace of anything unusual.

Perhaps she was overthinking things.

…

Breakfast the next morning was prepared by Wu San. He had risen early, before the roosters crowed, and rushed out in a hurry.

At the time, He Qingsheng was lying on the roof, lost in thought, believing that after a quiet night, something different might finally unfold.

But Wu San had only gotten up to light the fire and cook porridge, then quietly swept the kitchen while the porridge simmered.

So diligent.

He Qingsheng flipped into Ying Qujie’s house, failing to notice a pair of withered yet gleaming eyes by the main room’s window.

By the time Ying Qujie woke up and stepped outside, the previously somewhat dilapidated courtyard had quietly undergone a transformation.

Wu San greeted him cheerfully, “Good morning, Physician Ying. Breakfast is ready, shall I serve it for you?”

“No need for the trouble, I can manage myself,” Ying Qujie replied naturally.

Wu San didn’t press further and went back to stacking firewood.

“Aiya, Wu San, you’ve already gathered so much firewood this early in the morning! You’re really capable!” Sister Zhang’s voice approached from a distance.

On Wu San’s first day back, she still wasn’t entirely at ease. After finishing her own chores, she came over early to see if she could lend a hand.

The moment she stepped inside, she was stunned by the neatly stacked firewood covering half the wall. She pulled Wu San aside and gave his shoulder a hearty pat. “Good lad! You’ve really recovered. Your mother has suffered so much raising you alone all these years, now she can finally enjoy some peace.”

He Qingsheng poked Ying Qujie. “Your medicine has this kind of effect too?”

Ying Qujie shook his head, then nodded slightly.

The Juyuan Pills, refined from rare herbs, weren’t as potent as the Soul-Returning Elixir, but they were more than enough to cure Wu San.

Just to be safe, while Wu San took a break from stacking firewood to repair the roof tiles, Ying Qujie pulled him aside and checked his pulse again. Aside from some weakness from hunger, there was nothing unusual.

Ying Qujie had packed his belongings early. After breakfast, he bid farewell to Wu San and Old Lady Wu.

As Ying Qujie passed by Da Huang’s house with the little wooden puppet in tow, Da Huang, unleashed, let out a loud bark and chased after them.

He Qingsheng was about to burst into triumphant laughter when she realized Ying Qujie wasn’t reacting as she’d hoped, there was no frantic fleeing from the dog. Instead, he fixed her with a stern gaze, making her feel a bit awkward.

In He Qingsheng’s eyes, Ying Qujie usually carried himself with gentle composure, only occasionally revealing traces of youthful naivety. Along their journey, her favorite pastime had been teasing him, claiming it was to “help him regain some liveliness.”

Da Huang rubbed affectionately against Ying Qujie’s leg, docile as could be.

Ying Qujie crouched down and patted its head.

The dog bared its teeth at the wooden puppet that had edged closer, clearly emboldened by its master’s presence.

Ying Qujie remarked dryly, “You didn’t steal someone’s chicken in the middle of the night, did you?”

He Qingsheng shot back, “Maybe you should treat your own brain first?”

Ying Qujie chuckled. He’d discovered that throwing He Qingsheng’s own mix of half-malicious, half-nonsensical remarks back at her was enough to make her unravel on her own.

Teasing her was quite amusing.

“Go on back, we’re leaving now.”

Ying Qujie waved the wooden puppet’s arm at Da Huang, earning a round of mockery from He Qingsheng.

“Who said I wanted to say goodbye to that mutt? Don’t make decisions for me!”

Ying Qujie ignored her and strode onto the path alone.

He planned to look for suitable wood along the way to practice his carving, three fingers on the puppet weren’t as dexterous as five.

But ideals are plump, while reality is bony.

Ying Qujie’s search for wood came to an abrupt end when he found himself back at the village entrance for the third time.

How bizarre. Was this some sort of ritual he had to endure in every new place?

Man and ghost stood side by side at the village entrance, bathed in the morning sun, enveloped in prolonged silence.

He Qingsheng sighed. “It’s been almost three days, brother. Stop being stubborn and just go inside to rest.”

Ying Qujie suffered a major setback and obediently entered the village.

He Qingsheng sensed the fine silk thread wrapped around the inner side of Ying Qujie’s wrist and curled his lips with interest.

As expected, things weren’t that simple.

The village still looked ordinary and unremarkable, young men tilling the fields, women weaving cloth and sewing shoes, children playing… and the tall white poplar trees that could be seen at a glance, guiding the way.

Ying Qujie carefully examined every detail in the village, convinced that even with his poor sense of direction, he shouldn’t have gotten lost three times on a plain where he could observe the celestial phenomena.

Rather than doubting himself, he doubted the village.

So, when He Qingsheng told him to enter, he didn’t hesitate. But as he scrutinized every detail in the village, nothing seemed out of place.

As he passed by the yellow dog, it barked at him twice and wagged its tail excitedly. A few children were climbing a tree, laughing as they picked persimmons. Ying Qujie reached out and asked for two. When Aunt Zhang saw him return, she was surprised at first, then naturally called him over for a cup of tea.

There was nothing strange about this village.

The only anomaly stood out all the more starkly.

He Qingsheng watched as Ying Qujie knocked on Wu San’s wooden door.

Wu San opened the door and was overjoyed to see Ying Qujie. “Physician Ying! You didn’t leave?”

Ying Qujie nodded. “Got lost. My apologies for troubling you again.”

“Don’t mention it, Physician Ying. No trouble at all. Please, come in.” Wu San warmly ushered him inside.

In the courtyard, freshly washed and sun-dried bedsheets and quilts were spread out. A large basin of everyday clothes soaked in a wooden tub, suggesting Wu San had been about to start scrubbing them.

Old Lady Wu lay on a rocking chair nearby, a plate of roasted peanuts Wu San had prepared beside her, lazily basking in the sun.

When she saw Ying Qujie enter, she barely lifted her eyelids before closing them again, feigning sleep.

“Grandma Wu looks much better than before,” Ying Qujie said as he sat on a wooden chair nearby.

Old Lady Wu gave a noncommittal “Hmm,” showing no interest in conversation.

Wu San brought out a freshly brewed pot of tea from the main room and handed it to Ying Qujie, chatting enthusiastically about all the chores he’d done at home these past few days.

The small courtyard had been paved with neat bricks. A patch of scallions and garlic had been planted at the front, and a grape trellis stood in the corner.

Wu San said that once the grapevines were planted next year and climbed up the trellis to the corner of the wall, several households nearby would be able to enjoy the grapes.

He Qingsheng had already inspected Wu San’s home thoroughly. Indeed, it was much cleaner and tidier now, the freshly laundered clothes, the scrubbed-away grime, the repaired roof tiles, the neatly stacked firewood, even the sharp edges in the house had been smoothed over.

Each household chore, taken individually, was unremarkable. But combined, they seemed like… a final bequest.

Wu San knew he was going to die!