WBICDPH Chapter 73

Chapter 73: Following the Trail

When the memory reached this point, Lin Jin realized things were not quite as he had imagined.

Zhu Eryao’s suffering had been tragic. The resentment she carried before death had been intense—by all accounts, enough to turn her into a ghost. And yet Lin Jin could feel it clearly: she herself did not harbor deep obsession or hatred. She hadn’t wanted to become a ghost. Compared to transforming into a vengeful spirit, what she had truly wanted was death—release.

Under those circumstances, her soul should not have been tainted by resentment, much less transformed into the red-clad wraith she was now.

Who had appeared beside her at the brink of death? What was that force that had forcibly torn her soul from her body and refined it into a ghost?

Lin Jin couldn’t make sense of it. And Zhu Eryao’s memories continued.

After a soul becomes a ghost, it is usually driven by obsession and emotion, compelled into action. Zhu Eryao’s memories after her transformation were hazy. Judging from her muddled state, Lin Jin guessed she hadn’t begun as a red-clad wraith. Her perspective back then—confused and blank—was more like that of a low-level spirit in white or green flames, one that had not yet awakened its intelligence.

She had been trapped at the place of her death: the small Mountain God temple.

When villagers came to offer incense, she would drift beside them. Occasionally, she would get the urge to frighten them, but they couldn’t see her, and she herself found it dull. So day after day, she crouched at the feet of the clay statue of the Mountain God.

Until one day, a strange man entered the temple.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, adorned with many glittering silver ornaments. Taller even than Fang Daming, Zhu Eryao thought, as she sat beneath the statue and stared at him wide-eyed. Only then did she notice he was carrying someone in one hand.

The moment she saw that person, her emotions surged. Even Lin Jin could feel the still, lifeless calm within her stir once more.

It was the filthy old Daoist in tattered robes.

He dangled like a chicken in the man’s grip, grinning obsequiously and begging for mercy.

“Sir, I’ve no grudge against you! Why trouble me? I’m just a swindler making a living off tricks and deception! Did I offend you? Steal your business? Please, show mercy! You’ve been carrying me all day—ah!”

Before he could finish, the man tossed him onto the altar.

The old Daoist scrambled up and knocked his head against the ground several times, but the man didn’t spare him a glance. Instead, he looked directly at Zhu Eryao beneath the statue.

“Woman,” he said calmly, “do you not hate him? This is the one who brought you pain. I hand him over to you. Do with him as you wish.”

Zhu Eryao was confused.

Was he speaking to her? Could he see her?

The Daoist, hearing the man speak to empty air, followed his gaze toward the altar. Recalling what he had done here, he began trembling violently.

“Have you forgotten?” the man continued coolly when Zhu Eryao did not move. “He tortured you to death here. He caused you to bear slander and malice. Do you not wish to repay him double for what you suffered? Do you not want his life in exchange?”

At those words, images flashed before her eyes—

Thunder. Torrential rain. Faces twisted like demons. Blood soaking into a red wedding dress.

A splitting headache overtook her. She stared at the old Daoist and slowly rose to her feet.

“No…” Lin Jin instinctively wanted to stop her.

You can’t, Zhu Eryao. Don’t let him deceive you. If you kill, there will be no turning back!

But Lin Jin was only an observer. He could do nothing but watch as she stepped closer.

“His life?” she tilted her head slightly. “You want me to take his life?”

“Yes.” A faint smile colored the man’s voice as he echoed her. “Take his life.”

His tone seemed to carry a strange, bewitching power. Zhu Eryao’s thoughts grew hazier.

“I’m not a witch…”

The images came faster and faster. Finally, she screamed:

“I want his life!!!”

Blood splattered. The metallic stench filled the air. Warmth pulsed in her palm, then cooled… and was consumed.

The red lacquer on her fingertips was completely swallowed by blood.

The last thing Lin Jin saw was the sky darkening, thick gray ghostly mist churning and spreading endlessly.

Hatred. Resentment. Pain—so much pain.

Zhu Eryao’s hatred was not only for that bloody night in the rain. She hated her own weakness. Hated her helplessness. Hated being manipulated. Hated waiting—always waiting.

She hated the villagers’ indifference. Their cruelty. The malice they had inflicted upon her.

Someone had used those emotions to control her, step by step, turning her into what the world called a red-clad wraith.

And yet even after she grew powerful—after she became “useful”—she still could not leave that small courtyard. Every day, she could only sit atop the temple wall, gazing down at the village below.

She watched as gray mist encircled it. Watched golden wheat fields sprout beautiful white flowers. She inhaled the resentment drifting upward—anger, sorrow, agony. She devoured it.

She liked the taste.

But aside from that, only the aging statue in the courtyard kept her company. Over the long stretch of time, she often felt lonely.

As a girl, she had sat on the stone at the village entrance, waiting and watching.

After death, she had passed her days numbly at the statue’s feet.

Later, she sat upon the temple wall.

What was she waiting for?

Not any specific person.

She was waiting for someone—anyone—to pull her out of that endless, hopeless anticipation.

She was waiting for someone to save her.

—

Lin Jin’s consciousness was violently ejected from the soul-blood by the overwhelming surge of emotion. The shock left him reeling, as though he had been stuffed into a barrel and rolled downhill dozens of times.

He lost his balance and collapsed.

His head throbbed. Shadows flickered before his eyes. The sky above remained dark and overcast.

“Lin Jin!!!”

Seeing something was wrong, Hua Nanzhi rushed toward the altar.

Someone moved faster.

Xiao Lanqi leapt off Xiao Yunkong’s head and onto the altar, landing squarely on Lin Jin. He pressed a paw against Lin Jin’s cheek. No response.

He narrowed his eyes and looked toward Zhu Eryao.

What had this red-clad ghost done? Crushed his soul-blood?

Unlikely. If she had, he’d already be dead.

Still, Lin Jin was fragile. Easy to kill.

But he was Xiao Lanqi’s food source. Not something a mere red wraith could touch.

Standing on Lin Jin’s face, Xiao Lanqi bared his teeth at Zhu Eryao in warning.

She startled, but before he could escalate, Lin Jin grabbed him by the scruff.

“Ball, easy. Don’t step on my face…”

Lin Jin sat up slowly, setting the small dog on his right shoulder. He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing until the dizziness subsided.

“I’ve got the gist of it,” he said at last. “But some things aren’t what I expected.”

“What?” Hua Nanzhi asked.

“Zhu Eryao didn’t become a ghost of her own will. External force intervened.”

Hua Nanzhi blinked. “So?”

Xiao Yunkong frowned. “If a soul becomes a ghost through obsession, then once that obsession is resolved, it can reenter the cycle of reincarnation. But if an outside force forcibly refines the soul into a ghost, bypassing obsession… then it’s much harder to redeem.”

Hua Nanzhi’s eyes widened. “So if there’s no obsession to dissolve… then she can’t be saved? Then the only option is—”

Kill her.

No one said it aloud, but all three understood.

“We’ve come this far. Let me try first.”

As Lin Jin stepped off the altar, he paused and glanced back at Zhu Eryao, who sat quietly nearby.

Memories of her helplessness weighed on him.

He softened his voice. “Do you want to come with me?”

She tilted her pale face. “I can’t leave.”

“You can now,” Lin Jin said with a small smile. “We’ve formed a contract. You’re not bound here anymore.”

She hesitated—then nodded.

She drifted over and looked at the small dog on his right shoulder, then at his empty left.

Apparently concluding she was meant to perch there too, she awkwardly placed both hands on his left shoulder instead.

Lin Jin laughed helplessly—but let her be.

As they left the temple, dawn was breaking.

Hua Nanzhi asked curiously, “So what did you see in her soul-blood? Was that Zhou scholar really a heartless man?”

Lin Jin started to answer—

Then stopped.

From the temple’s vantage point, he saw a lone figure moving in the flower fields below.

It was too early. No one else was awake.

Who was that?

A strange unease crept into him. He took out a farsight talisman from his storage ring. As it burned, his vision sharpened.

The face came into focus.

It was someone who had appeared countless times in Zhu Eryao’s memories.

Zhou’s mother.