SES Chapter 39 V1

Chapter 39

The memory of the fishing-line puppet loomed like a dark cloud, slowly gathering overhead again. Mu Dai’s heart pounded violently. She instinctively took two steps back and suddenly bumped into someone behind her.

She turned around as if jolted by electricity.

It was Luo Ren. He wasn’t looking at her—his gaze was fixed somewhere above, expression calm.
“You saw it too?”

So Luo Ren already knew. Mu Dai felt slightly relieved, but suddenly thought of something. “What about Uncle Zheng…?”

“I sent him away. The house is empty.”

Luo Ren had known since the beginning that Ping Ting had been inside the room. There was no way he would trust a padlock alone to secure it, not even with the elemental seals of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth put together.

So he had installed a basic infrared thermal imaging system inside the room. Out of caution, he hadn’t told anyone—not even Mu Dai. Checking it daily had become a routine.

The human body gives off more heat than its surroundings. So when a familiar yet hazy heat signature appeared on the screen—when he saw that figure slowly open the lid of the box—his pupils contracted sharply.

What he feared most had still happened.

Did this mean that unless death truly occurred, the Xiong Jian (Cursed Bamboo Slip) could never be separated from its host? That once it sensed Ping Ting’s presence, it would return to her again?

If that was the case… was there any hope left for Ping Ting to escape this curse?

The thought alone was suffocating.

Luo Ren was a Taoist mystic. His voice was strained, unable to stay calm:
“I opened the box myself. That piece of human skin—it was still there.”

The mystic’s reply hit him like a bucket of cold water:
“Little Radish, I think you misunderstood something. The Xiong Jian isn’t the same thing as human skin.”

That’s right. The mystic had explained before—it was merely an ominous force.

Ping Ting, sensing a whisper from the void, had unknowingly drawn the devil back to herself.

Just like the old saying: If the mountain doesn’t come to you, you go to the mountain.
Even if they kept Ping Ting under strict watch, the Xiong Jian would still find a way—on some unnoticed night, while everyone was fast asleep—to reach her again.

The only thing that could truly trap Xiong Jian was the Phoenix Lock.

Luo Ren picked up the piece of human skin and flung it to the floor. Wet, pale from soaking, and utterly lifeless—it was nothing more than a rotting patch of flesh.

But in the air, it felt as if some invisible, savage face was grinning at him, whispering:
What now? Did you think you could fool me? I’m back.

Mu Dai’s voice, worried, pulled him back: “Luo Ren?”

His thoughts returned to the present. “Go back. I’ll take care of it.”

He paused, then added, “It won’t be like last time. Don’t worry.”

Mu Dai returned to the bar in a daze.

Uncle Zheng was there, sitting at a corner table, quietly placing pieces on a boxwood chessboard. He looked lonely. Uncle Zhang watched on with interest. Uncle Zheng invited him, “Want a round? That rascal Luo kicked me out. Said the latter I come back, the better.”

Uncle Zhang was about to decline when he saw Mu Dai approaching out of the corner of his eye. She looked distraught. He figured it was best not to talk to her tonight and quickly nodded, “Sure. I’m not very good—teach me?”

But Mu Dai wasn’t there for him. She looked at Uncle Zheng and asked,
“Has Ping Ting always liked making friendship bracelets?”

Still focused on his board, Uncle Zheng didn’t even glance up:
“Not really. She only brought it up today. Her mind’s a bit foggy lately—comes up with whatever on a whim. I bought the yarn for her just this afternoon.”

Then, remembering something, he asked, “Why? Is something wrong?”

But by the time he looked up, Mu Dai was already gone.

Behind the bar, Yi Wansan was nowhere to be seen. In his place was the clueless Cao Yanhua. Yi Wansan was always slipping off whenever he had the chance, grabbing whoever was nearby to cover for him.

Mu Dai didn’t care where he’d gone. She leaned wearily against the bar, resting her forehead against the cool countertop.

Cao Yanhua asked kindly, “Little Master, want me to make you a drink?”

He didn’t know how to make one—he’d just seen Yi Wansan do it a few times. In his mind, it didn’t look that hard. Just mix some stuff. As long as it doesn’t kill anyone, right?

Mu Dai shook her head and muttered,
“I think Ping Ting’s gotten worse again.”

Cao Yanhua’s first reaction was that her skin graft had failed. A second later, he understood what she really meant—and recoiled in shock.

“The… the skin went back?!”

“Yeah.”

Cao Yanhua shuddered. For a moment, even the tall bottles and glasses around him seemed to glint with icy light.

“Do you think… she’ll kill someone?”

Probably. Mu Dai nodded slightly, her forehead still pressed to the bar.

Cao Yanhua immediately shouted over his shoulder,
“Brother San! Did you hear that?! Ping Ting’s infected again—don’t you dare go see her! If she decides to string you up like a bracelet, you’re screwed!”

Good. At least Yi Wansan heard it—saved Mu Dai the trouble of repeating herself.

She turned her head and looked at him.

He was standing at the edge of the hallway near the bar, half-shrouded in shadow. His face was pale.
“What should we do?” he asked.

Mu Dai gave a bitter smile. “Maybe that Five Elements formation Luo Ren set up isn’t working. Or maybe it was never supposed to work. If it did, the ancients would’ve used it long ago. No one would’ve waited all those years just to get to Laozi.”

Cao Yanhua nodded. “Exactly. The only thing that can seal the Xiong Jian is probably the Phoenix Lock. But even that thing’s kind of useless—no clear instructions, just a bunch of weird symbols. Who knows what the diagram even means? Poor Ping Ting…”

The more he talked, the more he felt her misfortune.
“Poor girl. Really.”