Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 9

In the side courtyard of the magistrate’s residence.

The little wooden puppet’s head thudded loudly against the ground as it kowtowed.

Yet the young man seated loftily above paid it no mind, lost in thought as he examined a life-sized wooden effigy beside him.

“A pity. It has the spirit, but nothing more.”

“Very well, I’ll give you one more chance.”

The little puppet raised its head in delight. In an instant, the dim room shimmered with radiant light as spiritual energy intertwined.

Gurgle, gurgle.

Deprived of support, the little puppet tumbled to the ground. Its once-smooth forehead, now roughened from kowtowing, grew even duller as dust settled upon it.

But no one noticed.

The dazzling rainbow-hued light fractured, and the life-sized wooden effigy slowly blinked its eyes, its expression gradually coming to life. Yet the fixed curve of its smile remained eerily unsettling.

“Thank you, my lord, for saving me.” The wooden demon bowed deeply, kowtowing with reverence. The wooden joints creaked unnervingly as it moved. “This humble demon, Ming Shu, will not fail in my mission.”

The young man propped his chin on his hand and said nothing, casting a strange glance at the fallen puppet.

Not once did the wooden demon spare a thought for the round-headed little puppet in the corner, the one it deemed a failure, before turning and leaving without hesitation.

A white jade piece settled on the board, sealing the game’s fate.

The young man gently crushed the black pieces into dust. As the last speck fell, his figure vanished from sight.

…

Gamble, gamble, and you’ll have it all.

Screw it, let the heavens strike her down if they dare.

Amidst the roaring thunder, He Qingsheng drifted unabashedly into the magistrate’s residence, then openly unleashed her baleful aura.

Soon, the tendril-like miasma returned, coiling around a pile of gold, silver, jewels, and property deeds, piling them obsequiously before He Qingsheng.

He Qingsheng: “…”

Frustratingly useless, she couldn’t even spend money right now!

After scolding the baleful energy, it returned with a heap of wooden puppets of varying shapes and sizes, fawningly winding around He Qingsheng’s fingers.

He Qingsheng: “…”

This wooden demon had quite the artistic taste.

Luckily, her sharp eyes caught sight of the round-headed, dull-witted little puppet.

Amidst the exquisitely crafted figures, it looked like a crude stump its maker had lost patience carving.

Sensing the last wisp of energy fade from its body, He Qingsheng tucked the puppet away with disinterest. Though cruder than the others, it had once housed a spirit, good enough to serve as a vessel.

She focused on the trace of baleful energy she had left on the wooden effigy’s ankle, easily locating the demon’s hiding place this time.

Beneath the magistrate’s lotus pond.

In the hollowed-out secret chamber, the wooden effigy’s eyes shimmered with an eerie, dark emerald glow. Now that this beautiful shell housed a soul, the malice within grew vividly alive.

“A-Qing, my A-Qing… shall I make them all keep you company?”

The wooden demon laughed maniacally, yet her hands moved with tender care. She meticulously wiped down the monstrous figure before her, combing through its wild, straw-like hair with her fingers, tying it to the side and braiding it into a messy plait.

Then, using the marrow from the heart of the Ming Shu spirit tree, she dabbed it onto the cracks around the creature’s eyes and brows, before carefully moistening its parched lips.

After repeating this process several times, the monster’s face finally stopped splitting further. Ming Shu gazed contentedly at her restored friend, oblivious to the charred black patches now spreading across her own wooden body.

She gently bumped her forehead against the other’s: “A-Qing, let’s go kill them!” Her tone was so light it sounded like she was suggesting they go out for fun today.

“Oh? Who are we killing?”

He Qingsheng burst into the dim chamber amidst the rumble of crumbling rocks and saw two identical, beautiful faces.

One was the wooden figurine she had discovered earlier, while the other was a drought demon that had already turned malevolent. He Qingsheng immediately locked onto the wooden figurine, its faint smile betraying it as Ming Shu’s true form.

“Carving a mortal’s likeness from your own essence, you wood demons are quite amusing. Pity, though, that this mortal you’ve tampered with can neither reincarnate nor become a malevolent spirit.”

“Impossible!” Stung by the remark, Ming Shu snarled and commanded the drought demon to attack. “A living soul, perfect for a sacrifice!”

The moment before the drought demon could touch her, He Qingsheng sidestepped the attack, barely suppressing a laugh. “Who told you I was a living soul?”

“How can that be?” The wood demon was incredulous.

Her shock was understandable. Ordinary wandering souls were weak, delayed guidance could even damage them. Though a cultivator’s soul was sturdier than a mortal’s, none should have the strength to withstand her attacks, let alone kill her.

So, when she fought He Qingsheng, she had always assumed the other was a living soul temporarily separated from her body, still wielding her cultivation.

He Qingsheng laughed freely. “Afraid I can’t grant your wish.”

She didn’t rush to attack the drought demon. As a malevolent entity, any strike from it could harm her soul.

A cultivator’s body served as the first line of defense, while the soul was the second. With her body already dead, her soul was essentially exposed.

Most Twelve Wall cultivators hurried into the underworld after death, either to reincarnate or become ghost cultivators, rarely lingering in the mortal realm. Souls were fragile yet contained a lifetime of a cultivator’s essence, making them prime targets for vengeance or treasure theft, often ending in utter annihilation.

The wood demon couldn’t harm her, but the drought demon, a malevolent entity, was another matter.

He Qingsheng wasn’t afraid of death or even soul-shattering, but she refused to fall carelessly in the mortal realm.

At the very least, she’d wait until every last elder of the Zhenyuan Sect had died before even considering other options.

Ming Shu had already been killed by her once and was now at her limit. Using the momentum of evasion, He Qingsheng struck directly at Ming Shu’s true form.

“Roar!”

The clumsy body of the drought demon threw itself forward, taking He Qingsheng’s fatal blow.

“A-Qing, run!” Ming Shu roared, blasting open the stone wall and charging out of the chamber first.

“Eh? Running already?” He Qingsheng gave chase.

Ming Shu had a clear target. Amid the panicked crowd fleeing in chaos, she seized Gu Liangbi by his fleshy chin and hauled him before the drought demon, signaling it to drink his blood.

The moment he saw Ming Shu, Gu Liangbi was utterly consumed by terror. The second her fingers closed around his neck, he pissed himself.

Disgusted, Ming Shu tightened her grip until his eyes bulged with blood and veins protruded.

Impressive, given how fat he was, that veins were even visible.

Driven by survival instinct, Gu Liangbi managed to stammer out pleas: “Spare me, Young Miss! The incident back then, it was all Lord Yun’s orders! I was just following commands! I never meant to harm you!”

Though He Qingsheng had no desire to save this fat oaf, if he died by Ming Shu’s hand, it would only complicate things for her.

Better he die by hers.

A surge of crimson-black malevolent energy shot toward Gu Liangbi, cleanly severing Ming Shu’s arm before engulfing the bloated man’s body.

“Exorcise, break!”

Ying Qujie’s sharp shout echoed as golden light poured from his fingertips, dispersing the evil aura and saving Gu Liangbi, who was on the verge of having his soul scattered.

For a moment, He Qingsheng wanted to strangle Ying Qujie.

But the current situation didn’t allow her to settle the score. The wood demon and the drought fiend, having regained their senses, launched a joint attack against her.

Qi Wan took advantage of the chaos to drag Gu Liangbi, who was as terrified as a dead pig into their protective circle.

Ying Qujie flung the talismans he had confiscated from Qi Wan at the wood demon, but nearly all the talismans Qi Wan carried were area-of-effect exorcism charms.

In short, using them would mean attacking He Qingsheng as well.

Ying Qujie caught a glare from He Qingsheng mid-battle and sheepishly lowered the talismans in his hand.

Ming Shu and the drought fiend, bearing identical faces, moved in perfect sync like twins.

But He Qingsheng knew, the drought fiend obeyed Ming Shu’s every command.

Killing the wood demon a second time? The difficulty had just doubled.

The battle reached a stalemate. He Qingsheng couldn’t immediately kill the wood demon or the drought fiend, and neither could they overpower her.

Above, silver lightning danced wildly amid rolling thunder; below, three troublesome figures clashed.

He Qingsheng thought it might be better if a bolt of lightning just struck them all and ended this mess.

Ying Qujie watched the three locked in combat, anxiety gnawing at him. He rummaged through the talismans and magical tools Qi Wan had brought, hoping to find something useful.

First, a horn tied with a red tassel.

Qi Wan said the Imperial Preceptor had given it to her after taking her to a banquet. It’s supposed effect was to disrupt people’s minds. Ever since that banquet, the families of officials hosting weddings or funerals had become the Imperial Preceptor’s fiercest critics.

Second, a pink talisman inscribed with “peach blossoms bloom.”

Allegedly, the Imperial Preceptor had written it to help his only disciple attract suitors, fearing she’d never marry. But to this day, apart from Shangguan Ding’an, no other eligible men had appeared around Qi Wan.

Third, a string of golden bells.

Reportedly, they could trap people in nostalgic illusions of happier times. The Imperial Preceptor’s exact words were: “Use them to move the hearts of evildoers when in danger, begging them to spare your life.”

Ying Qujie held Qi Wan’s storage pouch, speechless. “So, the only thing with any real offensive power you had was that exorcism talisman?” Which had just been used up.

Under Ying Qujie’s still-hopeful gaze, Qi Wan nodded awkwardly.

Great. Now Ying Qujie wanted to strangle himself too.

Why had he bothered saving Gu Liangbi? If the lightning tribulation struck the wood demon and the drought fiend along with He Qingsheng, then it just proved the female ghost deserved it.

What was he even worrying about?

Amid the howling wind, the golden bells chimed.

He Qingsheng felt a wave of dizziness and narrowly avoided having her arm bitten by the drought fiend.

He Qingsheng: ?

What sin had she committed?

Since when was she hallucinating her junior brother?

The solemn chimes of an ancient temple rang out. He Qingsheng saw her shaven-headed junior brother as a child and the childhood form of the drought fiend.

“Childhood drought fiend” wasn’t quite accurate. It would be better to say, the young Yun Shuiqing.

…

Yun Shuiqing’s mother had died early, and her stepmother was cruel. As a child, she was sent to a temple under the pretense of recuperating from illness, with only an evergreen tree in the courtyard and the devout chanting of a young monk for company.

Amid the austere solitude of the ancient temple, Yun Shuiqing’s childhood was not lonely. In spring, she climbed the mountain to smell wildflowers; in summer, she caught fish and shrimp in the streams; in autumn, she secretly picked sour fruits from roadside trees… With her invisible friend, she spent many carefree seasons.

No one at the temple had ever seen Yun Shuiqing’s friend. Everyone called her a freak and avoided her.

Only Yun Shuiqing knew that the evergreen tree in the courtyard was a lovely little girl whose braids would bloom with tiny flowers.

Accompanied by her friend, Yun Shuiqing happily stretched her branches, grew taller, and became a young woman.

In the year she turned fifteen, the age of her coming-of-age ceremony, Yun Shuiqing’s father, a county magistrate, finally remembered this daughter of his. Stirred by a rare pang of conscience, he sent a carriage to bring her home.

She was overjoyed, but her friend was deeply worried.

Yun Shuiqing smiled and reassured her friend, saying she would only return home for the ceremony and then come back, her eyes filled with filial devotion for her father.

Yet once she left, she never returned.

Yun Shuiqing lost her chastity on the journey. Using this as an excuse, her magistrate father locked her in the ancestral hall, forbidding anyone to bring her food or water, leaving her to die of thirst.

By the time Ming Shu descended the mountain to search for her, all that remained was a desiccated corpse, its skin rough, eyes sunken, hastily buried in an unmarked grave.

The ancient spirit tree, nourished by the sacred chants of a thousand-year-old temple, brimming with Zen wisdom, was powerless to save her dearest friend from such a fate.

From that moment on, karma took root in her heart.

Endless and unrelenting.

The young bald monk sighed at the numb wooden demon, his expression sorrowful and compassionate. “You were born in Minguang Temple, blessed with innate wisdom. The Buddha, in his mercy, revealed that you must cultivate in silence and never leave the temple. Yet now, this has become the seed of your inner demons.”

“Ming Shu, turn back. A-Qing wouldn’t want this for you.”

“Little Master, do you know how A-Qing died?” The wooden demon set down the small wooden figurine she had been carving, her delicate brows and eyes softening with a smile. “The townsfolk all say she was shameless, that she took her own life out of shame for losing her chastity, turning her into a laughingstock for their idle gossip.”

“But the truth is, the relentless floods had ravaged the land. That old wretch Yun Taihe, believing in some sacrificial ritual, offered his late wife’s only child to dark arts just to secure his political achievements and a smooth official career. Little Master, the half-year-long rain of the fifth year of Yuanchu finally stopped on the third day of the eighth month. The third day of the eighth month! The very day after A-Qing died!”

Because of an absurd reason, her A-Qing had died. And those who benefited, officials rose in rank, the greedy amassed wealth, the wretched survived, all agreed in one voice: It was all her fault for being shameless.

“Little Master, how can I not hate? How can I turn back?”

I can’t turn back.

He Qingsheng silently added these words in her heart.

Then, before the young monk could finish his chant of “Amitabha,” she snapped his neck with a flick of her fingers.