Even though the blood had been violently mixed, when it hit the water, you could still distinguish five distinct streams. They spread out like clouds, curling and weaving, each a different shape—but somehow, they remained connected.
Mu Dai held her breath and stared closely…
The patch of skin twitched, as if something had left it. At the same time, something invisible shot up from the urn.
Cao Yanhua’s scalp tingled. “L-Look…”
He didn’t need to say it—everyone was already watching.
In the water, two faint red outlines appeared around the bamboo slips.
Each slip had a single red character written in ancient oracle bone script:
One said “Blade.”
The other said “Water.”
Yi Wan San shifted his angle to double-check. No matter where he looked, the words weren’t reversed. The slips had no clear shape—flat and dimensional all at once—standing side by side, vertical in the water.
And circling them was…
Yi Wan San whispered, “It looks like… a phoenix.”
Yes—it did look like a phoenix. Even though it was just blood drifting through water, it formed a complete shape: beak like a rooster, chin like a swallow, neck like a snake, body like a qilin, shell like a turtle’s back, with a peacock-like tail. Its eyes looked almost real—narrow, gently closed, full of peace.
Cao Yanhua held his breath and used a hook to lift out the bucket with the ashes. The water rippled gently, but the phoenix and bamboo slips stayed intact, dancing slightly with the motion.
He stared at the urn. There was no more grotesque face, no sudden, terrifying bulges. It was just a plain ceramic urn—except now, its surface was covered in a smooth, pearl-like finish.
Yi Wan San finally let out a sigh of relief.
Mu Dai turned to Luo Ren.
“Is that it? Is it safe now?”
Safe? No one could say for sure. But at least it felt more reliable than the haphazard rituals they’d come up with before.
Luo Ren pulled out his phone, opened the camera, focused, and snapped a photo.
With a click, the phoenix appeared on the screen—peaceful, eyes gently closed, as if smiling.
Pingting was finally free from the bamboo slip. Yi Wan San had also recovered his father’s ashes intact.
It felt like a perfect ending.
There was no reason to keep tempting fate. Besides, no one had received any more signals from the Phoenix Pendant.
In the silence, they all came to an unspoken agreement:
Let’s leave it at that.
The next morning, Mu Dai woke up early for once and opened the window to get some fresh air…
Someone was already up before her.
Cao Yanhua.
He was huffing and puffing as he jogged around the perimeter of the bar, practically dragging himself along the wall by the end.
What was that saying again? “Miss a day, your body forgets. Miss two, half your skill is gone.”
Yeah, Cao Yanhua hadn’t trained in a while.
Yi Wan San was there too, sitting on a stool by the door, sharpening something on a whetstone.
Mu Dai squinted, trying to see what it was. Suddenly remembering, she grabbed the small telescope from her jacket and peered through it.
It was that phoenix rider figurine. Since Yi Wan San had knocked it loose, the base was uneven, and he was using water to smooth it out on the stone.
Why was he bothering?
Cao Yanhua staggered over like an old, broken-down truck and asked the question for her:
“Brother San San, why’re you polishing that thing?”
Yi Wan San ignored him, still focused on his work. The whetstone was streaked with grooves that disappeared under a splash of water.
Why was he polishing it?
Because part of him wanted to display it.
But another part said no—it should be wrapped in cloth and hidden away in the deepest, darkest corner.
Whatever. First, finish polishing.
Mu Dai slowly turned the telescope in another direction.
What about Luo Ren? What was he up to?
He lived close by, but his room faced the opposite direction. She could only see the closed window.
Was he up yet?
Mu Dai leaned forward on the windowsill, something warm pressing against her chest.
Feeling playful, she pulled out a whistle, brought it to her lips, and blew one long, shrill note.
The sound startled everyone.
Uncle Zhang ran out of the bar, scanning the street before spotting her.
“Little boss lady! Are you trying to get us killed? People are still sleeping! We’ll get complaints!”
Of course, people were still sleeping. This was a tourist area—most folks slept in.
Mu Dai grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something and tucked the whistle back into her shirt. Just then, she happened to glance over—and froze.
Then smiled.
Luo Ren had opened his window.
He looked like he had just woken up—sleepy-eyed, robe hanging loose to reveal his strong, bronze chest.
Mu Dai quickly raised her telescope, focusing with laser precision.
After a moment, the telescope tilted upward.
Luo Ren had spotted her. He looked helpless, gave her a “wait a minute” gesture, and disappeared.
What now?
He returned with a sketchbook, held it up for her to see.
Seven words on the page:
“Good morning, girlfriend.”
She wanted to respond, but couldn’t find a pen and paper…
Yeah, she needed to buy a new phone.
Luo Ren flipped to the next page.
“If you want to look, come over!”
Then, without hesitation, he shut the window, leaving only the carved glass panes between them.
Mu Dai chuckled, but muttered under her breath:
“Pfft. Who wants to anyway?”
She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and typed “new smartphone” into the search bar. Just as she was about to click search, something made her pause.
After a moment, she dragged her chair closer, sat down, and deleted the words—one character at a time.
The blinking cursor urged her to type again.
She entered four new characters:
“Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
She stared at them for a long time.
Then hit enter.
Meow meow On TPH Chapter 26.1