Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 6

The bright moon hung high in the sky.

Taking advantage of Ying Qujie’s slumber, He Qingsheng drifted before his bed.

The man on the bed slept restlessly, his delicate brows furrowed as if tormented by nightmares.

A wisp of frost-like moonlight fell upon Ying Qujie’s long lashes, accentuating his exquisitely refined features. In the depths of sleep, the usual composed and distant aura about him had completely vanished, leaving only a soft and harmless presence.

He Qingsheng gazed at him for a moment, silently admitting that a handsome man like him did have the privilege of earning some leniency from her.

For instance, at this moment, much of her lingering displeasure toward Ying Qujie’s stubbornness had dissipated.

Her attitude had shifted from wanting to strangle him to frequently pinching his nose, further worsening his already poor sleep.

Bathed in the moonlight, the white-clad female ghost, her blood-stained skirt fluttering, displayed undisguised malice. Yet the man on the bed remained oblivious, with only the faint furrow between his brows betraying a trace of discomfort.

In the room, an oppressive mix of red and black miasma dominated every inch of space, making it impossible for He Qingsheng to miss the small hole that had appeared in the window paper.

Through the hole, a round wooden tube extended inward, followed by thin, curling wisps of green smoke that twisted and coiled in the air, filling the entire room.

Watching this classic trope straight out of a period drama, He Qingsheng felt an odd sense of familiarity.

Ever since transmigrating to the Twelve Regions of cultivation five hundred years ago, she had encountered people who defied all logic, body cultivators who enjoyed smashing boulders on their chests, sword cultivators who forced their spiritual swords into marriage, talisman cultivators who were absurdly lazy yet insisted on stacking defensive spells daily. As for underhanded assassination methods, she had witnessed no fewer than a thousand, each more ruthless and cunning than the last.

Compared to those, this simple, curling smoke seemed almost endearing in its simplicity.

She wasn’t worried about the smoke being poisonous. Ying Qujie had studied medicine for years, if he died from something this trivial, there’d be no need for her to intervene.

He Qingsheng suppressed her aura, retreating into the jade pendant to observe the situation outside.

The smoke tube was withdrawn from the window, and a stubby wooden cylinder awkwardly wriggled through the hole. The moment it touched the ground, it swiftly transformed into a short, rotund wooden puppet, tiptoeing toward the bed.

The bed wasn’t particularly high, but the little puppet struggled to climb up, falling short several times. In the end, it only managed to reach the edge with He Qingsheng’s invisible assistance.

He Qingsheng: What an adorable little fool.

The next second, the “adorable little fool” she had just praised drew a coiled, flexible blade from its round wooden body and, without hesitation, stabbed straight toward Ying Qujie’s heart.

He Qingsheng had initially watched with amusement, curious to see if the puppet would be repelled like she had been.

But as the blade tip pierced flesh and Ying Qujie teetered on the brink of death, the protective barrier she expected showed no sign of activating.

With a flick of her hand, He Qingsheng sent the puppet flying. The flexible blade twisted mid-air, slicing another wound into Ying Qujie’s chest as it fell, staining his white robes with blood.

He Qingsheng was speechless: So it only blocks me, huh?

The wooden puppet tumbled to the ground, rolled once, then shot Ying Qujie a venomous glare with its beady black eyes before immediately turning to flee.

That single glance told He Qingsheng the puppet had no idea she existed.

In a flash, she gave chase, following the puppet’s escape route.

The palm-sized wooden figure moved surprisingly fast, like one of those small mechanical toys commonly seen in modern shopping malls. Perhaps it was because her life hadn’t fully flashed before her eyes before death, but lately, she often found herself reminiscing about those twenty years before her transmigration.

Nostalgia was rare for her, so she didn’t immediately burn the wooden puppet.

That was, until the little puppet stopped in front of a lavish mansion.

The County Magistrate’s residence.

Ordinary homes often pasted door god images for protection, preventing ghosts and spirits from entering. Especially the residences of human officials and imperial palaces, which were usually shielded by the auspicious purple aura of the nation’s fortune, making it even harder for malevolent entities to trespass.

Yet, this mansion, enveloped in a majestic purple aura, was effortlessly scaled by the stubby little wooden puppet, which swaggered over the red wall as if returning home, showing not the slightest hint of obstruction.

He Qingsheng also drifted in quite openly through the main gate.

Yesterday, she had come and gone from the homes of Madam Wang and Old Lady Sun without any hindrance either.

At first, He Qingsheng had assumed it was simply because ordinary people, in their desperate moments, lost faith when prayers went unanswered. But now, it seemed there might be more to it.

The little puppet headed straight for the main hall, and He Qingsheng silently attached herself to it.

“Xiao Yao is back?”

The puppet was suddenly scooped up from the ground, stumbling before settling into the palm of the other’s hand.

Then, it affectionately nuzzled against the palm.

The other’s eyes curved slightly, her lips forming a smile so perfect it seemed almost rigid. Every strand of hair and eyelash was exquisitely fixed.

Because she was a life-sized wooden figurine. The joints of her fingers, exposed beyond her wide sleeves, were numerous and remarkably flexible. It wasn’t hard to imagine that her entire body consisted of thousands, if not tens of thousands, of joints, operating with precision at every moment to support her fluid and graceful movements.

He Qingsheng noticed that even the fingerprints on the wooden figurine’s ten fingers were distinct, a testament to the astonishing patience and craftsmanship invested in her creation.

Were it not for the faint yellow hue of the wood, she could easily pass for a noble, elegant, and carefree young lady from an official’s household.

In comparison, the round-headed, simply structured little puppet seemed like a crude “failed product” hastily carved from leftover scraps, devoid of any real effort.

Thin red and black threads silently coiled around the wooden figurine’s ankles.

He Qingsheng detected no trace of life or malevolence from the wooden figurine.

It was hard to believe that mortals could create something so intricate.

Yet, even the dim-witted little puppet seemed to have developed a faint glimmer of awareness.

The exquisite wooden beauty, however, possessed only the semblance of spirit.

But clearly, she was far more convenient for He Qingsheng to possess.

Without hesitation, He Qingsheng shifted from the little puppet into the wooden figurine, observing the world through her eyes.

The delicate wooden figurine gracefully took a seat by the window. On the jade Go board before her, black and white stones stood in a deadlock, not a hopeless stalemate, yet neither side could break through.

Her slender jade fingers remained poised in the act of holding a stone.

He Qingsheng waited for a long while, but there was no movement. Only then did it dawn on her, how could a spiritless beauty solve a Go puzzle?

Dappled bamboo shadows stretched as the moon slowly sank westward.

The little puppet stirred, climbing onto the Go board. It had no fingers, only three simple wooden sticks serving as makeshift claws, fumbling for a white stone but failing to grasp one.

Finally, it pushed a white stone from the corner in circles, seemingly about to place it in a game-changing position, only to be abruptly plucked from the board by the wooden figurine, who pinched its head between her fingers.

“Don’t meddle, Xiao Yao.”

The wooden figurine’s voice remained calm, but the little puppet suddenly drooped its head.

He Qingsheng could actually detect a sense of dejection in its single black bean eye, what the hell.

Wait, she was a ghost herself.

Seeing the wooden figurine about to return to its original position and resume its role as a beautiful painting, He Qingsheng didn’t want to startle it and decisively commandeered the little puppet’s body instead.

Fine, so it was a bit ugly, at least it didn’t have any fixed programming.

Using the puppet, He Qingsheng scurried around the mansion and actually made a discovery that magistrate Gu Liangbi had returned.

Had the corrupt official grown a conscience?

No ghost would believe he’d had a change of heart.

No, not even ghosts would buy that.

He Qingsheng swiftly moved to a corner of the wall, crouching furtively to eavesdrop.

Unfortunately, their conversation was mostly over. She only faintly caught the words “that black-hearted physician surnamed Ying” and a wailing plea of “Mr. Ming, save me!”

He Qingsheng pondered silently. So, Gu Liangbi actually had the gall to blame Ying Qujie for something, and now he was asking this so-called Mr. Ming for advice.

That meant the one who had sent the puppet to assassinate Ying Qujie tonight was either Gu Liangbi or this Mr. Ming.

She had seen Gu Liangbi before, he was just an ordinary mortal.

But this Mr. Ming definitely had something shady about him.

If she devoured these two, she might be able to recover some of her strength.

After all, swallowing the Feiyi and the Tuan fish had only given her a slight boost in malice, and it dissipated too quickly, she hadn’t even had time to do much else.

At this rate, forget revenge, she wouldn’t even make it past the spiritual realm of the cultivation world.

He Qingsheng was itching to try. She had never devoured a living person before.

She was a little curious.

Controlling the puppet, she leaped onto the roof tiles and pulled out the coiled soft blade hidden in the puppet’s belly.

Just as she lifted a tile, preparing to drop down and slash Gu Liangbi in one swift motion before efficiently dealing with Mr. Ming.

A slender hand suddenly grabbed her smooth wooden skull.

“What are you doing?” Ying Qujie pressed her down into a concealed corner where two eaves met, eyeing the soft blade in her grip with suspicion.

He Qingsheng noticed his bloodstained robes hadn’t even been changed, clearly, he had chased after them in a hurry.

And now she was holding an unwashed blade, looking every bit like a guilty murderer fleeing the scene.

She couldn’t stand being misunderstood like this and said earnestly, “I didn’t do it. If I were going to act, I wouldn’t wait for you to fall asleep.”

Ying Qujie’s temple twitched. “Am I supposed to thank you for that?”

“Exactly.” He Qingsheng nodded in agreement. “If it weren’t for my kindness and helpfulness, you’d be dead by now.”

“Fine, thank you. Then what are you doing here?” Ying Qujie managed to both thank and interrogate her in one breath, his tone making it clear he wouldn’t let her leave without a proper explanation.

“Killing people, obviously.” He Qingsheng found this line of questioning baffling. Since when did Ying Qujie have the right to police her actions?

“If Gu Liangbi is corrupt, the higher authorities will punish him. Why are you meddling?” Ying Qujie held the puppet firmly, making He Qingsheng feel as though it wasn’t the puppet but her being restrained.

“What’s it to you?”

Ying Qujie tapped her head. “No matter how wicked Gu Liangbi is, that accountant Mr. Ming is just an ordinary mortal. You’re already steeped in malice, do you really want to add more bloodshed and forfeit any chance of reincarnation?”

He Qingsheng fell silent. If Ying Qujie had been harsher, if he had scolded her for being irredeemably evil, she might have been able to handle it better.

But the other’s tone was like that of a nagging elder relative, and she wasn’t in the mood to argue back.

The sound of a door opening and closing was startlingly abrupt in the dead of night, it was Gu Liangbi and Mr. Ming stepping out.

Mr. Ming was a delicate, frail young man with a refined appearance. From behind, he resembled a slender green bamboo stalk, yet devoid of the vitality one would expect, instead, he exuded an air of lifelessness.

Sensing something, he turned sharply to glance at the rooftop, his inorganic eyes glinting with an eerie silver glow in the darkness.

Ying Qujie, clutching the small wooden puppet, ducked down and hid, only relaxing once the man had left the courtyard.

He Qingsheng scoffed, “That accountant, Mr. Ming, reeks of sinister energy and you call him the most ordinary mortal?”