Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 51

For seven days, the Ying residence remained draped in mourning white.

The majority of those who came to pay their respects had gathered in the first three days. By now, the estate was nearly deserted, enveloped in an unusual silence.

With upheaval in the capital and three members of the Ying family dead at such a critical juncture, the emperor had immediately dispatched officials to investigate the circumstances.

Though the two Ying generals, father and son, were not among the most distinguished military leaders of Great Su, they had still earned their share of battle merits and were considered pillars of the court.

The truth behind their deaths was far from honorable. The emperor decreed that the official account would state the two generals had succumbed to recurring illnesses, while Lady Su, unable to bear the shock, had passed away alongside them, thus sealing the narrative of their demise.

Just as the court assumed the Ying family’s decline was inevitable, the emperor personally bestowed a flood of compensatory gifts upon the estate, even granting the elderly Lady Ying an honorary title.

Those with sharp eyes recognized this as a gesture of goodwill toward Ying Qujie, the eldest son of the Ying family. Yet, to everyone’s surprise, the recently returned heir did not seize the opportunity to enter court service, instead turning his back on a meteoric rise to power.

Court officials privy to the details sighed in regret but also felt a measure of relief. Without disturbing the political landscape or stirring conflicts of interest, everyone was happy to befriend a renowned physician.

After all, in this life, who could claim they would never fall ill or meet with misfortune?

The capital was a storm of shifting tides.

Yet Ying Qujie, at the eye of the storm, found himself enjoying an unexpected stretch of tranquility.

Sunlight filtered through the carved hanging window, its harsh edges softened as it fell upon the young man seated before it, casting a serene glow.

A north wind plucked the last leaf from a branch and carried it to the window, as if trying to catch the beauty’s attention.

But his focus remained unbroken, as though nothing in the world could divert him from the delicate wooden puppet in his hands.

The sharp carving knife in his grasp transformed into a gentle brush, each stroke breathing more life into the puppet.

For as long as Ying Qujie carved, He Qingsheng remained perched on the eaves of the Ying residence.

An hour, two hours, or perhaps even longer.

Outside, Su Lan knocked lightly on the door.

After whispering a few words to Ying Qujie, he set the puppet aside.

He Qingsheng quietly shifted to a closer hiding spot on the eaves.

Su Lan pleaded earnestly, “The daughter of the estate’s accountant has a young son who fell ill five days ago with a strange affliction. Many physicians have been consulted, but none could cure him. In desperation, she came to me, begging for your mercy, to see if there might be a remedy.”

Five days ago. Both the man inside and the one outside seized upon the key detail.

Ying Qujie asked, “Where does the accountant’s daughter live?”

Su Lan was puzzled but answered truthfully, “East Market, An… Anle Alley.”

Ying Qujie fell into silent contemplation.

Su Lan grew anxious. “Forgive me, young master. This old servant presumed your intentions and took it upon herself to bring the woman and her child to the estate. They are now resting in the servants’ quarters.”

“No matter. Take me to them.”

Ying Hongfeng’s family lived in Ankang Alley, adjacent to Anle Alley. Considering the recent incident of malevolent spirits descending upon the capital five days prior…

Children were sensitive, perhaps the boy had been affected by the lingering resentment of vengeful ghosts.

He Qingsheng had her suspicions.

Inside the room, Ying Qujie retrieved his medicine chest and followed Su Lan out of the courtyard.

Just before stepping beyond the gate, he suddenly turned back. On the eaves, only a turtledove remained, noisily pecking at the cracks between the tiles.

“Is something wrong, young master?”

Ying Qujie’s gaze swept from the eaves down to the walls, circling back to the window. The puppet remained where he had left it, nearly complete, yet as lifeless as ever.

He pressed his lips together. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

After He Qingsheng and the others had walked far enough, she finally let out a sigh of relief and released the turtledove’s head. The poor little bird, innocent yet caught in the crossfire, let out a pitiful cry before stumbling and fluttering its way out of the estate.

He Qingsheng nimbly flipped into the house, emerging from the old puppet and curiously slipping into the new skeletal puppet.

This new skeletal puppet had joints that, just by appearance, were many times more intricate than the one damaged in the previous illusion, allowing for much more agile movements. She swung her arms, moved her legs, and darted around the room, thoroughly satisfied after a bit of activity.

This satisfaction reached its peak when she looked in the mirror.

For no other reason than Ying Qujie’s craftsmanship had improved by leaps and bounds. He Qingsheng floated beside it, comparing the puppet’s face to her own, finding them nearly identical.

Since it was made for her, why not just take it away?

He Qingsheng couldn’t put the new puppet down, but after a brief struggle with her limited conscience, she placed it back in its original position, even smoothing out the wrinkles in its clothes to their previous state.

Mortals without immortal bones couldn’t benefit anyone, so it was better to continue living a peaceful life.

Just as she was about to leave the Ying estate, a strange ring of light caught her eye.

It was the spot where half of Ying Wen’s spine had been dug out.

The location was already remote, and with winter’s silence, it appeared even more desolate.

He Qingsheng didn’t even need to avoid people when she entered.

From a distance, the ring of light was only about the size of two hands clasped together, expanding outward at an almost stagnant pace.

Compared to the mortal realm, the area was brimming with spiritual energy that spilled out from the ring, attracting passing sparrows to perch there.

These wild sparrows, highly sensitive to their surroundings, circled the courtyard, chirping as usual, but their beady eyes were locked onto the ring of light.

They looked greedy, yearning for opportunity yet fearful of danger.

He Qingsheng drew a boundary to ward off the birds and animals, cautiously approaching the ring of light.

Up close, she could see a thick, bloody hue within it.

A murderous aura churned inside.

He Qingsheng tentatively summoned a vengeful ghost from the tomb. The moment the ghost appeared,

the ring of light seemed to come alive, visibly extending tendrils that attempted to devour the ghost right before her eyes.

He Qingsheng swiftly shoved the ghost back, but the ring still managed to absorb some of its energy, now too large to be measured by clasped hands.

Suddenly, the bloody mass began to churn violently, as if something was about to break through.

He Qingsheng instinctively dodged backward as a tiger’s sharp claw burst through the opening.

She didn’t see how the creature emerged, but as she stood up, a fierce gust of wind rushed toward her, and the sharp claws aimed for her head once more.

This time, He Qingsheng didn’t dodge. She condensed her malevolent energy into a blade and slashed directly at the claws.

The monstrous bird sensed the danger and twisted away swiftly. The blade only grazed its skin, failing to sever its feet before the two sides distanced themselves.

Only then did He Qingsheng get a clear view of the creature.

White hands, tiger claws, a chicken’s body, and rat feet.

A Qi Que!

A vicious bird from the Northeast Guguang Wall.

This was yet another breach in the spiritual realm.

With the Qi Que before her, watching like a tiger eyeing its prey, He Qingsheng had no time to seal the breach.

She summoned aquatic wood and engaged the Qi Que in battle.

The Qi Que was fierce, man-eating, and highly aggressive. Even within the Twelve Walls, cultivators feared and hunted them, often assigning them as training missions for inner disciples.

Within three moves, He Qingsheng noticed this Qi Que had injuries on its wings. Upon closer inspection, its sharp beak still had bits of flesh stuck to it, likely remnants from eating a human before being hunted and fleeing here.

He Qingsheng’s heart tightened. Dealing with an injured Qi Que wasn’t particularly difficult.

The real challenge lay with the Twelve-Wall cultivators pursuing it.

Instead of immediately killing the Qi Que, He Qingsheng silently wrapped it in a shroud of baleful energy.

She idly toyed with the beast, her main focus fixed on the glowing rift.

One moment, two moments… movement!

A surge of bloody energy erupted once more.

He Qingsheng held her breath, gathering baleful energy in her palm.

The corpses covering the rift were abruptly swept aside, and the bloody aura shattered completely.

A flash of cold light shot toward the Qi Que with thunderous force, piercing its heart in a fraction of a second. The monstrous bird was instantly pinned to the ground.

It let out a shrill cry, its neck arching, but before it could make another sound, its head slumped lifelessly.

With the Qi Que dead, the thick killing intent dissipated like smoke.

Yet He Qingsheng remained on guard.

The newcomer seemed to notice her only then, turning his head slightly to look at her, his voice icy. “A cultivator’s ghost?”

Her spirit was solid, her mind clear.

“How interesting.”

His sword returned to his hand in a swift, practiced motion.

Had it not been pointed rudely at her, He Qingsheng might have given him higher praise.

The man’s cultivation was formidable, if he truly struck, it wouldn’t bode well for her.

But He Qingsheng remained unfazed, ignoring the blade before her as she flashed him a bright smile. “Want to know how to condense a soul and gather a spirit?”

“Dear grand-disciple.”

The man’s brow furrowed deeply, the master-disciple inheritance mark between his eyebrows burning crimson.

He Qingsheng didn’t recognize the black-robed youth, but she recognized that mark.

Ming Zhi’s youngest disciple, Li Fu’an.

The infamous traitor of the Twelve Walls, who had stabbed Ming Zhi through the heart during He Qingsheng’s seclusion, been exiled from the Wenxin Sect, vanished for a time, and then resurfaced as the newly appointed overseer of the immortal path.

After emerging from seclusion, He Qingsheng had been too preoccupied to mourn her old friend.

The rumors she’d pieced together during her wandering days painted a fragmented picture.

The master-disciple scandal of the Wenxin Sect had spawned countless versions, conspiracy theories, tales of fate, even melodramatic romance stories. But no matter how one peeled back the layers, the undeniable truth was that Ming Zhi had died by Li Fu’an’s hand in front of witnesses.

Whether there had been hidden circumstances or misunderstandings, He Qingsheng didn’t know.

But judging by the raw emotion that flickered in the youth’s eyes the moment he saw her ghostly form, she was certain he wouldn’t strike.

Sure enough, though the black-robed youth didn’t lower his sword, the tension around him eased slightly. “Who are you?”

“My name is He Qingsheng, an old friend of your master’s.”

Li Fu’an had been taken in by Ming Zhi later, by the time He Qingsheng and Ming Zhi were causing mischief together, he hadn’t even entered the sect yet.

Though they’d never met, she could still call him her grand-disciple.

“Hah.” Li Fu’an let out a low, self-mocking laugh. “Haven’t you heard the Twelve-Walls rumors about me, the disciple who betrayed and killed his master?”

“I have.” He Qingsheng answered frankly, watching the faint loneliness in his expression. She softened slightly. “Enough of that. Seal that spiritual rift, and I’ll tell you how to find your master.”

Talisman arrays were perfect for sealing.

And among the Twelve Walls, Ming Zhi had been a prodigy of talisman cultivation, a young genius who had become a revered elder of the Wenxin Sect, with his own peak and disciples to pass down his teachings.

Now, with Ming Zhi’s youngest disciple before her, He Qingsheng couldn’t help but feel fate had delivered her a gift in the midst of a snowstorm.

As for the apparent cause-and-effect relationship where Li Fu’an killed Ming Zhi, after meeting Li Fu’an, He Qingsheng firmly refused to believe there were no hidden circumstances behind it.

Looking at that lonely widower in his dark robes, his eyes lighting up at the mention of soul condensation, those who knew him understood he had lost his master, while those who didn’t might think he had lost his wife.

The dark-robed youth gave He Qingsheng a deep look. “It’s a deal.”

As soon as the words left his lips, talismans immediately encircled He Qingsheng, forming a containment formation.

Li Fu’an redirected his longsword, flicked the corpse of the Qi Que demon back into the glowing circle, and then, with a flourish of his wrist, intricate and complex runes poured from the tip of his blade, carrying a certain unrestrained elegance reminiscent of freehand landscape painting.

He Qingsheng noticed that the runes Li Fu’an layered over the circle weren’t just one but multiple, sealing it layer by layer. The man was indeed meticulous.

Now that Li Fu’an had come to the mortal realm, if he could be persuaded to help seal the spiritual rift between the Twelve Walls and the mortal world, Emperor Zhao Wu and the golden-robed man’s schemes would be half-ruined.

The aura of vengeful ghosts seemed to accelerate the collapse of the spiritual boundary, so her previous efforts to gather vengeful spirits in the mortal realm had, by sheer coincidence, disrupted the other half of their plans.

Though she still didn’t know what roles Zhenyuan and Fuliu played in this scheme, opposing them had proven quite effective.

Li Fu’an sheathed his sword. “Done. Now, what’s this soul condensation method you mentioned?”

He Qingsheng: “…”