SES Chapter 32 V2

Luo Ren smiled at Mu Dai. “See? It’s not all doom and gloom. Everything balances—light and dark, yin and yang.”

Cao Yanhua chimed in. “Right, seven cursed slips, seven Phoenix Locks.”

Yi Wansan suddenly remembered. “That painting I drew from the water shadow…”

The mystic nodded again. “That vision was probably from the Phoenix Lock’s power. The cursed slips only hide. They’d never help you. That must’ve been the Phoenix Lock trying to re-seal them.”

Mu Dai couldn’t help asking, “So… where’s the Phoenix Lock now?”

The mystic laughed. “Who knows? Same as the six other slips—somewhere out there.”

Then he lowered his voice: “But maybe, just like the slips, it’s watching you too. You found that hidden vision in the water, didn’t you? You even painted it.”

Everyone’s eyes instantly shot to Yi Wansan.

He gave a nervous chuckle. Then another. It looked more painful than crying.

After the call ended, Mu Dai realized how quickly time had passed. The sunlight on the wall had shrunk to a narrow sliver.

She turned to look at Luo Ren. He sensed her gaze and smiled.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering… what was the real origin of this murder case?”

Cao Yanhua muttered, “Whatever it was, I don’t believe it involved threading people like puppets. Ancient folks were simple…”

Under the weight of everyone’s judgmental stares, he backpedaled: “I mean, primitive people expressed emotion directly. You wanted someone dead, you grabbed a rock and smashed their head in. Who had the time for puppetry? You’d be better off hunting a boar.”

Hunting? That triggered something for Luo Ren. “Mu Dai—remember the song Ping Ting sang?”

“Cut bamboo, join bamboo, shoot clay pellets, chase the wild game.”

It was a hunting song.

Maybe it described what was about to happen—or what had already happened.

Cut bamboo to make a bow. Shoot clay. Chase the prey.

Then… conflict? In times of scarcity, food meant survival. Maybe someone didn’t want to share. Maybe two hunters hit the same animal. Maybe an argument turned violent.

In the crime scene with the fishing-line puppets, one figure held a blade, another flinched, while others tried to intervene, just like a moment frozen in time.

One man always had his knife raised. The cursed slip even showed the oracle bone character for “knife.”

Whether the cause was anger, greed, or possessiveness, the result was the same: that first tool, created to survive, to gather food and protect the tribe, turned against its kind.

And centuries later, when humanity no longer had to fight nature, in quiet afternoons or deserted nights, those fishing lines pulled taut again, recreating the past.

The past never dies. It hasn’t even passed.

Can a basin of water truly contain a cursed slip? For now, maybe. But it will find a way out, just like it did after the fire. As soon as the flame died, it reawakened.

It had lain dormant beneath the river outside Datong for fifteen years. But that was a mighty river—nothing like this tiny basin.

So, per the mystic’s “brilliant” idea, Cao Yanhua went to the yard and dug up some dirt to dump into the basin. Luo Ren placed the basin in a wooden box, sealed it with heavy chains. Yi Wansan said, “I’ll draw a phoenix on top—symbolizing fire.”

Iron chains, wooden box, water, drawn phoenix, and soil. A makeshift Gold-Wood-Water-Fire-Earth seal.

Enough to hold it—for now.

Finally, Luo Ren was free to visit Ping Ting in the hospital. He’d barely started the engine when he stopped again.

Mu Dai looked over, puzzled. Luo Ren rolled down the window and waved.

She walked over warily.

“Mu Dai, want to come along?”

“Come along? No need,” she replied, a little embarrassed. “We’re not that close. Just send her my regards.”

Luo Ren smiled. “Ping Ting’s barely conscious. Won’t take long. We can go for a drive afterward.”

Another night drive? Mu Dai winced. “No thanks. I appreciate it, but I’m never getting in your car again.”

He seemed to have expected that answer. He leaned close and whispered something in her ear.

The warmth of his breath tickled her skin. Her eyes lit up. “Really? Even at night?”

Luo Ren nodded. “Even at night.”

This time, when the car drove away, it took Mu Dai with it.

Cao Yanhua watched with envy and grumbled to Yi Wansan, “Bro Sansan, let me tell you the first time I met my little sister Mu Dai. It was at the ropeway in Chongqing…”

Yeah right. Like he’s changed. Who still carries a full set of lockpicking tools? Yi Wansan ignored him and kept painting the box.

Cao Yanhua rambled on, gesturing dramatically. “I tried to steal from her, but she caught me like lightning! Bam! Grabbed me cold. I played it cool, but inside I was thinking, ‘Damn, that was badass…’”

He sighed. “She’s so smart and capable… So why is it, every time Luo Ren shows up, she turns into someone who’d fall for a piece of candy?”

Yi Wansan nudged him. “Cao.”

“Yeah?”

Yi Wansan held up a worn-out marker. “This pen sucks. Go buy some colored markers—gold, if you can.”

He pointed at the box. “I’m painting a golden phoenix. A fire phoenix. It’s gonna be epic. Hurry up.”

With no one else around to boss, Cao Yanhua stood up. “Fine, fine. Be right back.”

His footsteps echoed as he shuffled toward the door.

The moment his back disappeared, Yi Wansan’s expression fell. He sat there for a while, then slowly pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and carefully smoothed it open.

That night, in the dark, he’d quietly torn a finished drawing off the pad. The rip had startled Luo Ren.

“What was that?”

In the darkness, Yi Wansan’s hand trembled slightly. But his voice was calm.

“Ruined it.”

[End of the “Fishing Line Puppet” Arc]