Chapter 25: Zhai Hongyi

Wei Li had never seen Si Beixu so fragile before. He gazed at her, barely clinging to life, his eyes sunken and hollow—who could possibly connect this broken man with the battle-hardened General Si Beixu of legend? At last, Wei Li spoke: “Why didn’t you try to hold on just a little longer?”

“You’re right... I’m already dead. What’s the point of holding on, when I’m nothing but a corpse?”

Wei Li’s lips curled slightly. Her hand slid to the pistol at Si Beixu’s waist; in one fluid motion she raised it and aimed it at his temple. Her deep, ink-black eyes betrayed not a trace of hesitation. The gunshot rang out, startling the birds in the forest.

Guangzong rushed over at the sound, only to find Si Beixu already lifeless at Wei Li’s feet. Wei Li, however, was calmly toying with the gun in her hand, smiling as she said to Guangzong, “This thing isn’t bad at all.”

Si Beixu’s death was now an unalterable fact, and blaming Wei Li was pointless. Yet the only clue to the Soul Shackles was now severed. That night, Guangzong arranged a grand cremation for Si Beixu. His body was consumed by roaring flames, reduced to ashes that scattered into the vast world—such was the sum of a man’s life. Wei Li found herself pondering quietly: What, truly, does death feel like?

The next morning, as Wei Li rinsed her mouth, she caught a strong scent of perfume—a fragrance she knew well but couldn’t quite place. Tilting her head toward the monastery gate, she spotted Zhai Hongyi, dressed as flamboyantly as ever, though today she wore a cheongsam that could not conceal her alluring figure. She carried a tray of fruit. The moment their eyes met, the annoyance in Zhai Hongyi’s eyes vanished, replaced by delight. She approached, set the fruit on a wooden rack, and clasped Wei Li’s small hands warmly. “I came today to thank you.”

Zhai Hongyi’s sudden attentiveness left Wei Li somewhat at a loss. She extricated her hands, spat out her mouthful of water into the mud, and wiped her face with a damp towel before replying, “Really? Is the fox wishing the hen a happy New Year?”

“Why do you call yourself the hen? If anything, I should be the hen!” Zhai Hongyi perched beside Wei Li on a stone bench in the yard, pulled a jar of snow cream from her satchel, and pressed it into Wei Li’s hands. “I got this snow cream from the foreigners—had someone bring it for me. It’s wonderful. Sister, it’s for you.”

Wei Li examined the delicate jar in her hand, curious what mischief Zhai Hongyi was up to.

“It was wrong of me to tie you up last time,” Zhai Hongyi continued, her tone sincere as she cradled Wei Li's hand in hers. “I’ve come to apologize in person, little sister. If you ever need anything, come to Yishui Pavilion—your sister will help with all her might.”

Just then, Changshu emerged from the main hall. Seeing Wei Li and Zhai Hongyi sitting so cozily, she remarked with biting sarcasm, “Well, if it isn’t Zhai Hongyi, the star of Yishui Pavilion. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Though both had once been tied up by Zhai Hongyi, her attitude toward Changshu was strikingly different. She shot Changshu a glare. “I’m here to see my sister Wei Li, not you.”

“Oh? Since when did a Buddhist become so close with a woman of the brothels? Aren’t you worried about your reputation?” Changshu retorted, relentless.

“And isn’t it laughable for an untonsured woman of marriageable age to sleep in a Buddhist monastery day after day?” Zhai Hongyi fired back, unwilling to yield.

The tension between the two women was palpable, the air thick with hostility as they argued, neither backing down. Wei Li, unused to such fierce verbal sparring, simply let them be. She unscrewed the snow cream, letting its delicate scent waft over her—it was pleasing, but she didn’t try it, merely closed the jar and set it on the stone table. When Changshu finally bellowed, “Wei Li, you be the judge!” the courtyard fell silent. Both women stared at her, eyes wide and expectant. Wei Li was good at appeasing men, but how to pacify two living, breathing women?

“How about... a cup of tea first?” Wei Li suggested, tapping the teapot on the table.

“No!” they replied in unison.

“Breakfast, then? The fox steamed vegetarian buns this morning!” Wei Li tried again, cautiously.

“Not hungry!” Again, they spoke as one.

Changshu lost patience and shoved Zhai Hongyi toward the door. “You’re not welcome here!”

With that, she slammed the door, sat down on the stone bench, grabbed the water bottle, and took a long swig, panting. “If the tiger doesn’t show its fangs, you’ll think it’s a sick cat!”

In Wei Li’s eyes, Changshu had always been gentle and obedient—why did she bristle so fiercely at Zhai Hongyi? Wei Li cautiously handed her a cup, but noticed something different: Changshu, who usually smelled faintly of jasmine, now carried a heavy scent much like Zhai Hongyi’s.

Changshu spotted the snow cream on the table, arched a brow, and took it from Wei Li. “Stay away from Zhai Hongyi—she’s no good.” With that, she tossed the snow cream over the courtyard wall.

“Alright,” Wei Li replied absentmindedly.

“I’m heading back to White Horse Monastery. Take care of Senior Brother for me,” Changshu said with forced gravity. “Don’t get any ideas about him. The abbot always says he’s destined for the Buddha’s path—a rare soul in a hundred years. You’ve probably noticed I’ve always admired him. But the abbot’s words made me afraid to cross that line, lest I ruin him. But then you appeared, and I realized—even if I did, he’d never choose me...”

“Uh...” Wei Li noticed the tears glinting in Changshu’s eyes.

“What am I saying? I’m such a fool.” Changshu quickly wiped her tears. “I’m going now.”

“You’re not going to say goodbye to the monk?”

“Forget it.” Changshu picked up her sword to leave, but looked back with a wry smile. “The sword you mended for me—it’s really ugly.”

Wei Li watched her slender figure disappear into the distance, a strange feeling stirring in her heart. Shrugging and turning to go back inside, she suddenly collided with a chest—Fox, lost in thought, was standing right there. Rubbing her forehead, Wei Li muttered, “What are you doing?”

“When rivals meet, shouldn’t sparks fly? Why did the ice suddenly thaw between you two?” Fox stroked his chin and shook his head.

“That’s just my personal charm!” Wei Li retorted, but in that moment, a rare look of terror crossed her face. Beads of sweat slid down her cheek. “Soul Shackles!” she blurted, and dashed off. Though anxious, her bound feet made running slow and painful. The path seemed unfamiliar, overgrown with weeds, impossible to navigate. Panicked, Wei Li shouted, “Changshu! Changshu!”

No answer—only the echo of her own voice. At last she stopped, glanced around, and spoke aloud. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but know this: if you harm anyone close to me, I will make you beg for life and death, and find neither!”

Changshu’s figure appeared before her, tears in her eyes. Wei Li reached out to embrace her, but grasped only air. She turned; Changshu still stood there, her dark eyes brimming with tears, wild with terror. At last, her lips moved, but no sound emerged. Wei Li knew what she was saying: “Save me.” And then she vanished.

“I’d like to know—which is more important to you, the fox who’s always been by your side, or this rival in love?” A voice echoed through the world. Only then did Wei Li realize Fox had vanished. She couldn’t tell the voice’s gender, nor sense its location.

“What do you want?” Wei Li shouted at the sky.

“The fox is beneath the eastern mountain outside the city. Changshu is in the public bathhouse at the foot of the hill. Now—choose. And hurry, I’m not a patient person...”

Wei Li’s mind was thrown into chaos. She tried to return to find Guangzong, but the way back was lost to her. She pressed the talisman at her brow, calling for Guangzong, but there was no reply. At last, with desperate resolve, she clenched her fists, nails digging into the talisman, and tore it from her skin. Agony exploded in her skull, pain radiating across her face as if her body were being wrung dry. With a strangled cry, blood spattered the grass around her as she collapsed, barely clinging to life, the talisman clenched tightly in her hand. She whispered, “Monk, please come quickly...”

A strong figure lifted her. He traced symbols in the air and pressed a charm to her brow. Wei Li gripped Guangzong’s robe with all her strength. “Monk, go to the public bathhouse at the foot of the hill—save Changshu. I’ll go to the mountain top for Fox. Go, quickly!” Pushing him away, she could not spare time for explanation, dragging her dazed body up the mountain, step by agonizing step.

Every nerve in Wei Li’s body screamed with pain, every cell felt as though it were being torn apart. At last, she reached the summit—only to find Fox’s entire pelt, perfectly intact, lying there. Dreadful suspicions flared in Wei Li’s mind, each one a burning lash against her heart. She walked as if on thin ice, every step threatening to shatter her soul.

Kneeling behind Fox’s pelt, she pressed her lips together, refusing to weep. And yet, tears spilled like broken pearls onto the fur. The veins on her hands stood out, taut as a wounded beast in its death throes. She screamed, voice hoarse and desperate: “Who are you? I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Her whole body tensed, fists clenched so tightly her nails pierced flesh, as she stared in despair at the pelt.