Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 17

“Reporting to you, my lord, the mountain deity of Qishan has perished, both body and soul. Yet, the barrier within the burial mound remains intact.”

A vividly colored blue-green viper reared up, its forked tongue flickering rapidly, its vertical pupils greedily fixed on a crimson mole at the base of the young man’s thumb.

How it longed to take a bite.

How it yearned to drown his human scent in venom.

The young man, unfazed, pinched the snake just behind its head and flung it aside.

“Fool. Don’t entertain thoughts beyond your station.”

Hiss, hiss… the venomous serpent, now cast away, flicked its tongue even more eagerly.

His fingers brushed against a fleeting chill, carrying the faint scent of cold incense from his sleeves, leaving behind a momentary warmth upon its scales.

All of it set her blood aflame.

The young man spared no further glance for the snake, instead gazing thoughtfully at the freshly moistened earthen mound before him.

No tombstone, no name.

Just like the thirty-odd spirit swords buried within, their brilliance long faded.

Years had passed. No matter how much passion, how many legends they once held, all would be forgotten.

“Aren’t you going to retrieve that thing?” The viper coiled around the young man’s arm, finally licking the vermilion mole as it desired.

“Fool.” The young man pinched the snake in his palm, rolling it like a bead between his fingers. “The barrier won’t stop her.”

The burial mound was useless. He needed to reach the capital as soon as possible.

…

Ying Qujie stared at the small wooden puppet in his arms. Its cracks had multiplied, the outermost layer of wood already peeling away, while other splinters and flakes fell like rain.

A dark barrier sealed them off from the outside world.

Only after the voices of conversation had faded for some time did he cautiously inspect the puppet’s condition.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Detour south. Head for the capital, the sooner, the better.” He Qingsheng’s voice was weak, and after giving the order, she fell completely silent.

Confused but compliant, Ying Qujie turned and sprinted back the way he had come.

He hadn’t expected He Qingsheng to save him. He had resigned himself to death. Yet, upon waking, the first thing he saw was a freshly dug grave and a wooden puppet seething with such sinister energy it seemed ready to burst.

Old Madam Wu was clearly no ordinary being, and the grave likely belonged to Wu San.

Who would have thought the female ghost had such a kind and considerate heart?

Before he could ask any questions, the barrier enveloped him once more.

Thus began his eavesdropping on the earlier conversation.

He noticed the female ghost’s expression was especially grim.

The malevolent aura around her, perhaps due to sustaining the barrier, had grown much calmer.

Yet, wood shavings continued to fall from her body in droves. By the time he ran back into the mountains, half of the puppet had already crumbled away.

Ying Qujie clutched the remaining fragments tightly, trying to slow the shedding of wood.

He frowned. Based on past experience, the female ghost’s condition was undoubtedly caused by devouring something sinister.

What should he do?

…

After Old Madam Wu’s death, He Qingsheng released a fragment of Wu San’s lingering soul.

Staring at his own grotesque corpse, Wu San stood frozen. Moments later, as if realizing something, he turned to He Qingsheng with a look of anguish, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

He Qingsheng asked, “Remember now?”

“Yes.” Wu San shut his eyes in agony, as though recalling those scenes was unbearable.

Days earlier, Old Madam Wu had performed her usual ritual to extend Wu San’s life. Unbeknownst to her, Wu San had regained consciousness midway.

He discovered his mother’s murders, each life taken to prolong his own. He learned of her former identity as a deity.

Horrified by the piles of bones, Wu San couldn’t accept that his mother had committed such atrocities for his sake. Even worse, he couldn’t bear that she had forsaken righteousness and strayed onto this dark path, all for him.

He knew that if Old Madam Wu continued down this path, she would incur the wrath of heaven. Yet he could neither stop her nor bring himself to end his own life to atone for their sins.

After all, his mother had embarked on this dark road to prolong his life.

Wu San had lived over thirty years in vain, and the only solution he could think of was escape.

Escape to a temple, a monastery, anywhere. He would spend the rest of his days praying for the dead, confessing to the gods, and atoning for his mother’s sins.

By chance, he discovered that Old Madam Wu could not leave the village.

So, he kept pretending to be a fool, seized the moment when she wasn’t paying attention, and fled.

Alas, Wu San’s plan never came to fruition. He lost his way in the mountains, on the brink of death, when he encountered Ying Qujie.

Having spent years in a daze, his soul adrift, Wu San forgot his original purpose for leaving the village. Mistaking his escape for a foolish child’s reckless wandering, he simply led Ying Qujie back home.

But this ordeal seemed to awaken a premonition in Wu San, his time was running out. So, after returning, he threw himself into chores and repairing the courtyard without pause.

His only wish was to fulfill his final filial duty for his aging mother before death took him.

Yet Wu San was no ordinary fool, and his mother was no ordinary peasant woman.

A child forcibly kept in this world, a fallen deity steeped in slaughter, their souls scattering to the winds was but the last, pitiful act of repentance.

He and his mother, through twists of fate, had ended up on the same dark path.

But the sins of their past still lingered in that small, square courtyard.

“Lead the way.”

“Alright.”

Guided by Wu San, He Qingsheng found beneath the courtyard a lavish, hidden tomb.

Over thirty mutilated remains of cultivators were neatly arranged, their souls trapped within their bones by silken threads, ceaselessly funneling the “Vital Breath of Heaven” into the burial chamber.

Following the threads, He Qingsheng stepped inside, the agonized wails outside instantly silenced and was met with a tomb chamber adorned with warmth.

A bloodstained spear lay draped in colorful silk, and in the meticulous paintings, the general and his beloved made a perfect pair.

One glance was enough to recognize the age-old tale of lovers torn apart by death.

Such stories were far too common, and He Qingsheng cared little for the reason behind Old Madam Wu’s fall from grace as an earthbound immortal.

What intrigued her more was how a corrupted god had managed to wreak havoc in the mortal realm for decades without drawing heaven’s wrath.

Perhaps heaven had noticed, hence Wu San’s half-life of idiocy and his eventual, soul-shattering end.

But He Qingsheng wasn’t concerned with shattered souls. What mattered now was avoiding divine retribution.

She had just devoured Old Madam Wu. If not for darting to Ying Qujie’s side in time, the violet lightning would have struck her instead.

Now, with Wu San in tow, she had entered this tomb and all disturbances from the outside world were completely cut off.

Gods truly had their ways of deceiving heaven.

Approaching the coffin in the chamber, she saw the undecayed corpse of a man clad in armor, his once-mighty presence still faintly discernible.

Resting atop his folded hands was a letter.

A wisp of baleful energy lifted the letter and handed it to Wu San.

“Esteemed One, I… cannot read.”

He Qingsheng fell silent. Wu San had spent his life in stupor, with only three days of clarity, hardly enough time to learn letters.

So, she opened the letter herself.

…

To my child, Sansheng:

“San’er,” this name must feel strange to you. Your father and I chose “Sansheng” from the phrase “Three births give rise to all things.” Who would’ve thought you’d turn out to be a little fool, only responding when others called you “San’er.”

And to think your father was so brilliant, a statesman who commanded the reverence of the entire court yet his son ended up a simpleton.

Fortunately, by the time you read this letter, my plan should have already succeeded.

Now, remember, your name is Sansheng.

The past is too painful to revisit. The sins and their consequences have been borne entirely by me and your father.

Also, if you encounter anyone wearing gold-embroidered diagonal-patterned clothing, avoid them if you can. If you can’t, keep pretending to be a fool.

Live well, my Sansheng.

Left by Wu Qilu in the first year of Yuanchu.

…

Gold-embroidered diagonal patterns, the first year of Yuanchu.

Twenty-five years ago, Junior Brother had already appeared in the mortal realm and struck some kind of deal with the mountain god Wu Qilu.

This meant that the young monk who appeared in the illusion of the wood demon Ming Shu in Jimo Town was not conjured from her memories.

It was the real Junior Brother in his childhood.

And those disgusting insects she encountered while treating the strange illness of the sacrificial girl, they weren’t remnants of the wood demon’s influence, but something Junior Brother had orchestrated.

First, he tested whether Ying Qujie had been possessed using the rare poison Faru Xue. Then, he infected his mind with parasitic insects.

If Ying Qujie had been the one treating the girls, he would have either been driven to madness or outright killed.

The rare poison and parasitic insects in Jimo, the maze outside the village, not set up by the mountain god Wu Qilu, all these events strung together pointed to Junior Brother, lurking in the shadows like a coiled serpent.

He Qingsheng had always wondered: if Junior Brother suspected Ying Qujie had been possessed by her, why go through such convoluted schemes instead of just killing him outright?

Unless the mastermind behind it all had a greater scheme.

What exactly was Junior Brother planning?

And was their master… still alive?

A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind, and He Qingsheng found herself too afraid to dwell on them any longer.

Wu San’s soul was already fading.

Before it dissipated entirely, He Qingsheng had to retrieve what Wu Qilu had truly been nourishing.

The Heart of the Evil God bore no trace of evil energy.

But the thirty-odd bizarre corpses outside the tomb couldn’t have been sustaining just Wu San’s lifespan.

He Qingsheng quickly searched the entire burial chamber but found nothing unusual.

It was as ordinary as the village outside.

Yet, you never knew where a beast might lie in wait, watching from the shadows, ready to strike a fatal blow.

Too many mysteries remained unsolved.

She hated this feeling of losing control.

“Wu Sansheng,” she called out.

Now, his soul was clear and pure, so pure that she could plainly see the complex emotions in his eyes: regret, sorrow, and finally, acceptance.

He gave her a faint smile. “If fate and karma permit, I beg the Venerable One to bury the cultivators outside.”

“Very well.”

Drawing on the bond between Wu San and Wu Qilu, He Qingsheng flooded the burial chamber with red and black energy, barely managing to absorb half of the tomb.

Whether she could refine it or not didn’t matter, securing it first was what counted.

This was why the Heart of the Evil God and the Water-Nourished Wood were now locked in battle within her soul.

The puppet body couldn’t withstand such power and quickly began to crumble.

After burying the remains of the cultivators, He Qingsheng intended to wake Ying Qujie and have him recite the Rebirth Mantra.

But then she sensed a familiar presence approaching and instinctively concealed herself.

That was when she saw Junior Brother’s unmistakable face and the blue-green venomous serpent coiled around him, Lanshan Qing.

In the southwest, in Chuanyuan, Lanshan Qing wreaks havoc.

Junior Brother’s entire family had died beneath the fangs of that serpent.

Their master had brought Junior Brother back from Chuanyuan.

Hadn’t he always loathed insects and snakes?

Then why was he traveling with Lanshan Qing?

The doubts she had suppressed earlier surged back to the surface.

He Qingsheng gritted her teeth as her soul flickered, solidifying one moment, scattering the next.

Heart-wrenching pain and overwhelming emotions collided within her consciousness, tearing and merging incessantly.

Her head throbbed as if splitting apart.

Reason urged her not to indulge in malicious speculation, yet her emotions involuntarily listed every possible scenario.

She doubted everything, the heavens, the earth.

She hated Zhenyuan Sect, and she hated Liang Qiuji even more.

Her hatred burned so fiercely it consumed her reason, leaving her heart parched and barren.

“Miss He, He Qingsheng, He Qingsheng…”

With each call, a cooling liquid seemed to pour over her soul, soothing yet firm, pressing down the boundless, scorching heat.

Gradually, her rationality returned. The evening mountain breeze stirred the loose strands of hair at Ying Qujie’s temples.

He Qingsheng saw his slender fingers and a single drop of crimson blood that fell from them.

She reached out and caught it, the wood beneath staining with a blotch of blood.

Cold.

“You’re finally awake. I’ve been calling you for ages with no response.” Ying Qujie sat against a tree trunk, resting the small wooden figurine on his bent knee, and exhaled in relief. “Did you eat Granny Wu?”

He Qingsheng suddenly felt like a child being questioned by a parent about some mischief.

“What was she? And why are you reacting like this after eating her?” Ying Qujie didn’t wait for her answer, pressing further.

“Granny Wu killed countless passing cultivators to prolong Wu San’s life. She was no longer human. I might’ve just overeaten and had a bit of indigestion.”

He Qingsheng stretched out her hand, and wood shavings scattered to the ground.

He Qingsheng: “…”

Ying Qujie stared at her, his face practically spelling out, “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

A standoff ensued.

Ying Qujie thought the half-destroyed wooden figurine looked rather pitiful.

Adhering to the principle that knowing too much leads to an early demise, he conceded a step. “Don’t go eating random things next time.”

“Mm.” How could this count as eating randomly?

“What did you mean earlier about detouring south to the capital? Were those people we spoke with your enemies?”

Ying Qujie stood up, tying a marker onto the tree.

Such a familiar scene.

“Don’t waste your effort. I’ll lead the way.” He Qingsheng tugged at Ying Qujie’s sleeve with her remaining half-hand. “If you go alone, you’ll only run into some supreme-level demons. With me guiding, we’ll at most encounter minor nuisances, ones I can handle.”

Ying Qujie gave her a long, silent look before muttering in protest, “What do you mean only?”

Well, it was just this once… Fine, he chose to shut up. There was no arguing with her.

“Go this way. What are you heading over there for?” He Qingsheng thought Ying Qujie was being stubborn and nearly lost her temper too.

Ying Qujie looked innocent. “I saw a piece of peachwood over there. Peachwood has fine grain, a fragrant scent, and is just the right hardness for carving.”

“What? You have a sweetheart in the capital waiting for a peachwood hairpin? Come on, stop dawdling.”

He Qingsheng huffed and hopped off, bouncing toward the other direction.

Before she could get far, she was scooped up and placed in his palm as he strode purposefully in the direction she’d pointed.

She looked up and saw Ying Qujie’s sharp jawline and tightly pressed lips.

Oh? Throwing a tantrum now, are we?

“Surely you’re not short on money. Wouldn’t it be more practical to buy the girl some gold, silver, or jade hairpins when you return to the capital?”

Forgive He Qingsheng, she had transmigrated during her most financially strapped years and hadn’t yet learned to appreciate the effort and sentiment poured into handmade crafts.

Ying Qujie: “…”

Should’ve kept his mouth shut.

Years later, when reminiscing about the past, He Qingsheng would cry foul over this experience, peach wood is yang in nature, what ghost would ever think peach wood was meant for them?