Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 16

He Qingsheng tried to drift out of the wooden puppet but was abruptly met with resistance, an unseen force pressed down on her spirit, keeping her firmly in place.

Her scalp tingled with alarm. Since becoming a ghost, she had never felt such an intense threat. This mysterious power had appeared out of nowhere, instantly provoking her with an overwhelming sense of challenge.

Instinctively, she gathered her strength to counterattack.

Only to be effortlessly pushed back again.

He Qingsheng warily stared at Old Lady Wu in the rocking chair, half-expecting the septuagenarian to mutate in the blink of an eye.

But the old woman remained calm and composed, her gaze fixed solely on Wu San, not sparing He Qingsheng a single glance.

Ying Qujie was still chatting with Wu San. Noticing the little wooden puppet on his head had grown unusually quiet, he assumed she felt uneasy under the watchful eyes of outsiders. Casually, he plucked the puppet from his head and tucked it into his sleeve.

The wide sleeve completely concealed the puppet. Ying Qujie slipped a squishy fruit she loved to play with into her grasp and tapped the puppet’s head, signaling her to behave.

He Qingsheng, now entirely cut off from the outside world: “…”

You’re really asking for it today.

She resentfully kneaded the fruit, rolling it between her fingers before maliciously squeezing its juices onto the inner lining of Ying Qujie’s sleeve, drawing a pig’s head.

Soon after, the rustling sounds of laundry resumed. Inside Ying Qujie’s sleeve, all that remained was a world of verdant green and the sporadic back-and-forth of idle conversation.

Wu San finished washing and hanging the clothes, then hurried into the kitchen to cook. After sharing a meal with Ying Qujie and turning the drying clothes once more, he restlessly grabbed a broom to sweep away the spiderwebs under the eaves.

He Qingsheng hadn’t felt a day drag on this long in ages.

She listened as Sister Zhang came by to thank Wu San for chopping firewood for her household. Then came the gruff voice of a man who gifted Wu San a plump field frog. A while later, the playful shouts of children echoed from the courtyard walls, followed by Ying Qujie slipping a small persimmon into his sleeve.

Sunlight filtered through Ying Qujie’s clothes, casting a warm golden glow.

Hugging the persimmon, He Qingsheng estimated that nightfall was near.

Old Lady Wu, who had been mostly silent, finally spoke: “San’er, leave it be. Come rest for a while.”

“How could I, Mother?” Wu San replied, though he obediently walked over to her side.

“Mother, what would you like for dinner-”

Wu San’s words cut off abruptly.

A black barrier erupted from Old Lady Wu, rapidly expanding to envelop the entire courtyard.

The lingering hues of twilight were completely shut out.

Ying Qujie tightened his grip on a fire talisman and pulled He Qingsheng out from his sleeve.

Her spirit remained firmly trapped within the wooden puppet.

Old Lady Wu cast a disdainful glance at her before coldly addressing Ying Qujie: “You don’t actually think a mere ghost can stand against me, do you?”

Ying Qujie was about to retort that she wasn’t just any ghost but a formidable wraith when he realized He Qingsheng’s form still hadn’t materialized.

Exchanging a glance with the puppet in his hand, he wordlessly decided to buy her more time.

“Grandma Wu, your son is already well. Why must you spill more blood? If you’re worried about his illness returning, I still have some medicine left. If that’s not enough, I can bring more every year.”

“With you here, who needs mortal remedies?” Old Lady Wu’s voice was hoarse and eerie, laced with something unearthly. “My son is pure and kind, heaven itself has granted him life.”

The delicate silk threads seemed to come alive in an instant, rapidly extending and spreading across Ying Qujie’s sleeves, binding him tightly. The small wooden puppet fell to the ground.

With enough loops wrapped around him, countless strands of silk shimmered like satin against his body.

“I advise you not to light that fire talisman,” Old Lady Wu said, pinching the end of the silk thread. “No need to suffer the agony of scorched flesh in your final moments.”

“Over the years, countless cultivators have tried to kill me, but which one succeeded? And now, you deliver yourself to me without even a shred of cultivation. Truly, the heavens grant me this without effort.”

“I’ve always known the heavens favor me.” She gently stroked Wu San’s face, her lips stretching almost to her ears, her expression a mix of delight and madness.

One end of the silver thread connected to Wu San’s meridians, while the other end transformed into a steel needle in her hand, piercing straight into the crown of Ying Qujie’s head.

Given its length, it could likely drive from the Baihui point at the top of his skull all the way down to his spine.

A cold sensation shot through Ying Qujie’s head, and his entire body convulsed violently.

His vision blurred as pain spread from a single point, invading every limb and pore. The silk threads seemed to drink their fill of blood within his veins, swelling to their limit.

For a fleeting moment, Ying Qujie’s thoughts wandered, wondering if the resentment he felt now would be enough for him to return as a vengeful ghost after death.

He clenched his teeth, swallowing his groans, his survival instinct driving him to desperately search for any possible chance of life in this brief encounter.

“Wu San wouldn’t want you to kill,” Ying Qujie forced out word by word with the last of his waning consciousness.

Yet Old Lady Wu didn’t pause for even a second. “Of course not. My San’er is kind by nature. I already let you go once, you chose to come back. If this isn’t the will of the heavens, what is?”

Ying Qujie could no longer make out her words, let alone ponder their deeper meaning.

Crimson blood dyed the silver-white silk inch by inch, transferring to Wu San’s body.

Old Lady Wu greedily inhaled the metallic sweetness in the air, restraining herself as she licked her lips, her burning gaze fixed on Wu San.

But the scene she had envisioned did not unfold.

Wu San’s once-rosy complexion vanished in the blink of an eye, his plump cheeks withering at a visible pace.

At the sight, Old Lady Wu let out a piercing shriek and lunged forward. Though the bloody liquid continued to flow through the silver threads, it brought no vitality to Wu San. Instead, it was as if an endless abyss had opened, ruthlessly devouring the borrowed fate she had forcibly extended for him.

“San’er!” Her eyes nearly split with fury as she frantically tore at the silk threads covering Wu San, trying to halt the process.

But the silver threads were intricately linked to his meridians and acupoints. No matter how she pulled or yanked, they remained entangled, impossible to sever completely.

Sitting amidst the tangled silk, she suddenly seemed forlorn. When her efforts proved futile, Old Lady Wu flung the threads aside and, without hesitation, plunged her hand into her own chest, wrenching out a blood-drenched heart. She pressed it into Wu San’s body, halting his rapid decline.

He Qingsheng recognized it, the Heart of a Fallen God.

No wonder she had been sealed inside that wooden puppet.

Old Lady Wu possessed a divine nature.

Even as a fallen deity, even with her divine power diminished, the chasm between her strength and that of mortals or cultivators remained insurmountable.

Had it not been for the baleful energy she had concealed within the silk threads, triggering Wu San’s sudden deterioration and throwing Old Lady Wu into disarray.

In this confrontation, He Qingsheng couldn’t guarantee whether Ying Qujie would live or die.

Without the suppression from Old Lady Wu, He Qingsheng’s spirit drifted out of the small puppet.

She quickly checked Ying Qujie, he had only fainted and was otherwise unharmed.

Then she turned her attention back to Old Lady Wu. Without the Evil God’s Heart, the old woman had lost her source of power. Though she was no longer a major threat, it was hard to say whether a fallen deity might have other tricks up her sleeve.

“I underestimated you,” Old Lady Wu said, raising a pair of blood-red eyes filled with overwhelming hatred.

He Qingsheng nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Unlike you, I never underestimate any opponent.”

“Ahhh! You wretch, I’ll kill you!” The old woman’s hawk-like talons slashed toward He Qingsheng.

Unlike ordinary monsters, a deity’s attacks could deal near-catastrophic damage to her soul.

He Qingsheng dodged carefully while still managing to taunt, “Hah! many have said that to me. None have succeeded.”

The miasma of evil beings was always thick and inky black. He Qingsheng mused to herself that if not for the reddish tint in her own miasma, she’d hardly be able to distinguish Old Lady Wu’s attacks.

As the battle dragged on, He Qingsheng noticed her own miasma was steadily growing stronger.

She could even devour the miasma of an evil god!

Realizing this, He Qingsheng grew exhilarated. She switched from defense to offense, actively tearing away chunks of Old Lady Wu’s miasma.

The old woman, of course, noticed this too. Driven by hatred, she hurled every possible attack at He Qingsheng.

Finally, in desperation, Old Lady Wu summoned over thirty spirit swords, their cold gleam piercing the air.

Unlike the chaotic spiritual energy of the Twelve Walls cultivators, these swords carried the pure aura of mortal cultivators, imbued with the principles of heavenly justice, their power rooted in righteousness and the punishment of evil.

Thirty spirit swords without masters meant at least thirty mortal cultivators had died.

Sister Zhang had mentioned that immortals often passed through the village. They must have been young mortal cultivators on their journeys.

Before they could uphold justice or fulfill their ambitions, they had met tragic, meaningless deaths in this nameless village.

He Qingsheng clicked her tongue. “As a deity, you’ve harmed so many mortal cultivators, yet you still dare hope for heaven’s mercy? The fact that the heavens didn’t scatter your precious son’s soul to the winds is already excessive kindness.”

“Excessive kindness? I painstakingly pieced my son’s life back together! If the heavens were kind, why would they take him from me?”

He Qingsheng recalled how Old Lady Wu had earlier boasted about heaven-granted vitality. The contrast was striking, deities’ attitudes toward heavenly justice were nothing if not flexible.

The spirit swords gleamed coldly, humming with power.

Controlling them rapidly drained Old Lady Wu’s remaining strength, a tactic that harmed the enemy at great cost to herself.

Yet He Qingsheng, the target of those deadly blades, merely curled her lips into a faint smile.

Though she had killed many in her lifetime, she had once been a disciple of an Fuliu sect.

Just as the swords were about to pierce her soul, they suddenly veered with lightning speed, like a dazzling rain of light and plunged straight into Old Lady Wu’s body, pinning her firmly in place.

As the talisman ashes scattered, the dark barrier shattered into pieces.

The golden bell and red-tasseled horn, their spiritual energy exhausted, dimmed in He Qingsheng’s hands.

She pinched a bit of the ashes and sniffed. No scent, not the familiar peach fragrance.

Suddenly, she realized she was in her spirit form, of course she couldn’t smell anything. A rare trace of melancholy flickered across her expression.

But it lasted only a moment.

Thank you, old friend.

He Qingsheng flicked her wrist, shaking off the ashes. A crimson aura of killing intent spilled from her hand, weaving into a net-like cage that trapped the fallen Old Madam Wu.

Gods truly were hard to kill, Old Madam Wu was still clinging to her last breath. She watched as He Qingsheng approached Wu San, who lay slumped in the rocking chair, and let out a hoarse, guttural noise.

“Please… don’t kill… him.”

He Qingsheng extracted the Evil God’s heart from Wu San’s body. The crimson heart shrank to the size of a bead, wrapped in golden threads. Logically, an Evil God nurtured by human lives should have been steeped in malevolent energy, yet not a trace of corruption could be found in this core.

It was as pure as a sacred Bodhi prayer bead from a temple.

“Ah! Hah! Why-”

“Stop wailing. Did you know Wu San has been dead for a long time?” He Qingsheng snapped at her.

Earlier, He Qingsheng hadn’t understood how Wu San, an ordinary mortal, could survive after taking the medicine meant to avert calamity, let alone see her. Now, it all made sense:

Wu San’s fate should have ended long ago. It was only through Old Madam Wu’s killings and stolen fortunes that he had lived into his thirties. How many lives had been sacrificed over the years? Perhaps even Old Madam Wu herself had lost count.

He Qingsheng examined the bead in her hand, holding it up to Old Madam Wu’s face. “Answer me a few questions. Who told you to nurture this? The barrier outside the village, wasn’t your doing?”

With no hope left to save her son, Old Madam Wu’s spirit withered.

She glared at He Qingsheng, each word dripping with venom. “I swear upon my divine nature, I curse you-”

He Qingsheng waved her hand, and the killing aura swallowed Old Madam Wu whole.

Who wanted to listen to a dying curse?

An Evil God, no less, swearing on her divine nature.

Useless, but still an ill omen.

She had originally planned to let the old woman see Wu San’s spirit one last time, if she had cooperated.

Yes, Wu San’s soul was still in He Qingsheng’s grasp.