SES Chapter 129 Part 1

Chapter 129 – Extra Story

After some discussion, the group decided to stay in Nantian a few more days—partly to wait for Xiang Silan to fully recover, and partly to deal with the aftermath.

Ma Chao still hadn’t woken up, but Song Tie had been taken to the police station again.

Luo Ren contacted Chen Xiangrong, the officer he’d spoken with before, to ask about the situation. Once Chen confirmed that nothing counted as a “leak,” he told Luo Ren excitedly, “The cops are furious. They slammed the table, yelling at Song Tie, ‘Didn’t you say you saw that woman? So why are you saying now you didn’t? You think we’re idiots?”

Things were looking good. Taking advantage of that, Luo Ren had Yan Hongsha send another letter—this time with a note from Dr. He Ruihua, a well-known psychologist, attached.

The letter described a patient named Mu Dai: “She has years of martial arts experience, but lacks aggressive tendencies. When severely stressed, she tends to flee rather than fight.”

It ended with a casual line: “If you want the truth, maybe you should ask Ma Chao.”

Signed simply: A concerned informant.

As for Xiang Silan, they took turns visiting her every day—half to keep watch, half to take care of her. She never really recovered; she needed a stool to lean on when she walked, her back hunched, breath shallow after only a few steps. Most of the time, she just sat there, clearing her throat and mumbling incoherently.

Only Mu Dai refused to visit. When asked, she said curtly, “I’ll go when she can talk.”

To Luo Ren, the whole thing felt like a chicken-and-egg riddle that would never make sense.

Sometimes he thought—maybe Xiang Silan sending Mu Dai away had actually been an act of kindness, sparing her from worse harm.

But then again, what kind of mother abandons her daughter to strangers just to keep her clients happy and her income steady? Even if the outcome had turned out better, what did that change?

He asked, “When she’s able to talk again, what do you want to say to her?”

“Nothing much. Just closure.”

Closure. A goodbye. That was just like Mu Dai—she couldn’t stand unfinished stories. Even if she left quietly, she’d still leave a note behind: Don’t look for me. You won’t find me.

“Do you want to ask her about your father?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

Everyone has parents. Parents have their own pasts. People split up for money, for love, for pressure, for fate—it’s all been done before.

She didn’t have the time or desire to dig through someone else’s old wounds.

Luo Ren studied her face. “Really don’t want to?”

Mu Dai countered, “What difference would it make if I did?”

She barely remembered her father’s face. Even if he appeared before her one day, would that suddenly make them family?

Luo Ren smiled softly. “Then that’s good.”

He thought Mu Dai had changed a little lately. Maybe Xiang Silan’s return had stirred something deep inside her.

About three days later, Xiang Silan finally began to speak.

Her voice was coarse and raspy, but at least she could communicate again.

Luo Ren happened to be there when it happened.

He asked, “How many people have you hurt?”

She hunched forward and said, “I don’t remember.”

Luo Ren didn’t believe her.

“I really don’t,” she said. “I made a lot of people talk. I didn’t always stay around to see what happened afterward.”

He understood. All these years, she’d manipulated specific people into spreading poisonous words—not always fatal ones, but enough to sow discord, provoke conflict, destroy trust.

Whether those little sparks fizzled out or exploded into disaster—well, that depended on fate.

“Why Tengma Altar?”

“I didn’t choose it. It did.”

It?

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It likes that place.”

Why? Maybe because it was deserted and open. At night, no lights—only wind and the rustle of rice stalks bowing under it. The half-headed horse statue hidden in the night looked almost sacred.

Wan San had said it himself—it looked like an ancient altar.

“Why did you hurt those people?”

“It did.”

It acted. She only watched, nudged, and enjoyed the twisted thrill of it.

“Do you know what it is?”

“I don’t.”

Then she lowered her gaze to her chest. “But I know there’s something inside me. It hums… and it tells me what to do.”

“Can it make people do anything?”

She slowly shook her head, the corners of her lips curving into a sly smile. “I only ever made people say things. But sometimes,” she said softly, “words alone can do wonders.”

Because so many tragedies that spiral out of control often start with something small—a single disdainful look, or a careless word.

Luo Ren found it absurd.

Unlike those who’d been possessed by the cursed bamboo slips and turned into murderers, Xiang Silan, in these past twenty years, had perhaps never actually killed anyone.

She simply walked through life indifferently, rarely speaking. If any of this were to be brought before a court of law, would the law find her guilty?

Luo Ren asked his final question.

“Why did you abandon your daughter back then?”

Xiang Silan gave a low laugh. The force of it made her chest seize in pain, and her frail body curled inward, folding like a coil.

In the past, her heart had been strong—so strong that all her organs and bones seemed to make way for it. But now, it was the opposite. Her whole upper body bent and hunched forward, curling protectively around that failing heart.

She said, “So… that girl, huh?”