Chapter 20

They walked on, one ahead, one behind. Jiang Yu didn’t know how long they’d been moving. Fatigue crept up in waves until, at last, her footing slipped.
Shen Anzhi caught her arm in a swift, steady grip.
“Tired?”
“Mm… a little, Junior Brother.” She wiped the fine sheen of sweat from her forehead and caught her breath, using her free hand to brace lightly against his arm, her cheeks flushed a soft pink.
He gave her a brief, assessing look, then crouched down in front of her.
Shen Anzhi turned his head slightly toward her, knuckles tapping once against his knee as he jerked his chin. “Get on.”
His voice was low, threaded with the cadence of an order, yet the words themselves sounded offhand, almost casual.
Today, apparently, the sun had chosen to rise in the west.
Jiang Yu just stared at him, momentarily unable to process it. The thin wings of her butterfly hairpin trembled with her reflexive step backward.
When she retreated, his brows tightened ever so slightly in the gloom. Lowering his lashes, he smothered whatever shadowed light flickered in his eyes. “Swordflight won’t work inside this formation,” he said calmly. “If Senior Sister plans to walk until dawn to find the core, I can always go alone.”
For all that he said it, he didn’t move away.
Jiang Yu’s mouth curled up. “Aren’t you worried I’ll be too heavy and crush you?”
She set her hands on his shoulders and bent forward, easing herself onto his back.
“You said you’d carry me, no take-backs,” she reminded him, smiling.
His fingers sank into the folds of her scarlet skirt as he slid his hands under her knees and straightened.
He could feel, with startling clarity, the heat slowly seeping through the fabric where she touched him. His spine went ramrod straight, his Adam’s apple bobbing once in a soundless swallow.
He forced his voice low and rough. “Then Senior Sister had better hold on. Otherwise, if my hands slip…”
Jiang Yu wrapped her arms around his neck, lips curving. “I’m not letting go that easily.”
Something in his expression flickered, an odd ripple of emotion he didn’t care to examine.
A heartbeat later, it was gone, his face returning to its usual lazy composure. Only his steps gave him away, lengthening and quickening, betraying the unrest beneath.
Jiang Yu didn’t notice. She just leaned forward a little more for balance.
A faint fragrance lingered between them, brushing across his nose. She made a deliberate effort not to press fully against his back. Catching the intention, he snorted softly and tightened his grip around the backs of her knees, slowing down just a fraction.
“Junior Brother,” Jiang Yu said, tilting forward with the fire-stick held out to light his way, her voice light and a little breathless, “are you sure you won’t get tired carrying me?”
“No.”
His steps grew steadily stronger, each one sure and grounded. Even along the jarring mountain path, she felt as steady as if she were being carried over level ground. The tension that had been coiled tight in her chest eased, just a little.
She took the chance to comb through the original story in her mind. The male and female leads had found the formation core inside a cave set in a burial ground, the fake tomb of the former city lord’s household, the Zhuge family. The text had only mentioned in passing that, in that cave, the “blackened” Shen Anzhi had found several of the rare herbs he needed.
Jiang Yu was just about to mention it aloud when hurried footsteps echoed from ahead.
“Move! Quickly!” someone shouted, voice sharp with panic.
Jiang Yu patted Shen Anzhi’s shoulder, signaling for him to put her down. “Careful,” she whispered.
“Mm.” He arched a brow, utterly unconcerned, and turned toward the sound.
They approached quietly. Only when they were close did he let Jiang Yu slide off his back, taking a step away without drawing attention to himself.
The snap of a broken twig underfoot was swallowed by the shrill cries of frightened birds overhead. Jiang Yu blew out the fire-stick, held her breath, and parted the low branches in front of her, just in time to see several men in matching blue robes being forced back by half-human, half-ghost creatures.
She recognized them at once: disciples of Penglai Pavilion. Among them were Ning Hechi and Lu Bin.
Ning Hechi’s sword arc cut through the fouled air, but the silver light of his strike collapsed before it fully formed, shredded by three grasping ghost claws.
Jiang Yu remembered how recklessly they’d come into the mountains. If she was right, these were the very same Penglai disciples who, in the original timeline, were refined into puppets before the protagonists arrived.
The novel had said their party was wiped out to the last man.
The timing fit. So did their identities.
“Junior Brother,” Jiang Yu whispered, keeping her voice low, “ghosts are usually most afraid of fire.”
She had barely finished speaking when one of the Penglai disciples let out a terrible scream and was flung through the air. A deep, bone-baring gash scored his chest, blood soaking his upper robe. His face turned paper white in an instant.
Her own cheeks went pale; her nails bit into her palms.
Shen Anzhi rolled the coin between his fingers, a shiver of excitement in his eyes that betrayed how his killing intent surged beneath the surface. Catching her expression, he couldn’t quite suppress the thrill in his voice. “If Senior Sister is afraid,” he said softly, “go stand farther away.”
The others managed to work together and severed one ghost’s head, sending blood spraying three feet. The head flew straight toward Shen Anzhi’s face.
It halted for a fraction of a heartbeat.
His blade flashed. The copper coin sword split the head neatly in two.
He narrowed his phoenix eyes, the faintest sneer hidden in their depths, and spared a sidelong glance for Ning Hechi, who was already looking toward Jiang Yu.
Shen Anzhi stepped forward, languid and unhurried, subtly blocking Ning Hechi’s line of sight. His lips curved as he looked at the Penglai disciple, the polite smile never reaching his eyes.
Ning Hechi’s brows drew tight as he dodged another strike.
Fingers stroking the hilt, Shen Anzhi moved as though strolling through his own back garden, unruffled, indifferent.
“Those things are nasty to deal with,” Lu Bin called out, spotting him. “Be careful, Brother Shen!”
Shen Anzhi’s cold gaze slid across him, the corner of his eye glinting like a knife-edge. His brows twitched in languid amusement, but the smile on his face was mild and proper. The contrast made Lu Bin’s skin crawl.
In an unnoticed corner, Jiang Yu crept in a wide circle, slipping through the underbrush. Thorns tore at her sleeves and scratched her skin; her arms trembled with the effort as she dragged a man nearly twice her size out of danger, inch by inch.
If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, she wouldn’t have dared touch him.
“Miss Jiang, ” Ning Hechi tossed her a porcelain bottle in the briefest pause between strikes. “I’ll leave my senior brother to you!”
She caught the bottle, pulled out a pill, and slipped it between the unconscious man’s lips. When his complexion finally warmed a shade, she let out a long breath.
She was not, in fact, useless.
After bandaging the wound as best she could, Jiang Yu peeked out from behind the tree. The fight wasn’t over.
Even with Shen Anzhi there, those last two ghost creatures weren’t going down easily.
Maybe it was her imagination, but she could’ve sworn the front of his dark robe was dampening with some kind of stain.
He lifted his sword and, without hesitation, cut his own palm. Blood spilled over his fingers and smeared down the blade; each drop that struck the copper coins seemed to sear the air.
His sword cut faster than lightning.
Only after everyone had paid a price, each man wearing a new wound, did the last of the ghost creatures fall. Their bodies hit the ground and flattened into two pitch-black paper figures shaped like human silhouettes.
Ning Hechi picked one up and slipped it into a carved brown wooden box, his expression turning even darker. “These talisman papers… As expected, they’re linked to the Zhuge clan.”
Shen Anzhi stood with a perfectly harmless smile on his face, shifting his weight with idle ease. Blood trickled from between his fingers, dripping slowly down his pale wrist. When he looked up, his gaze collided with Jiang Yu’s anxious one, and his breath caught for a heartbeat.
She’s worried about me?
Jiang Yu’s face had gone a shade too pale. Lifting her skirt, she hurried over to him.
Did he really not feel pain?
How did he manage to act like nothing was wrong every time he was hurt?
“Treat your hand,” she scolded softly, lowering her lashes as she bandaged his palm, only to glance up and get caught in those unfathomable phoenix eyes.
His lips curved just a little. She pressed a pill against his lips, and as he swallowed, the edge of his mouth brushed her fingertips. The faint warmth of that touch sent a strange heat up through her hand.
Shen Anzhi gave a low, amused hum, an odd look flickering across his face. His tone hovered somewhere between teasing and something darker. “Senior Sister is that concerned about me?”
Jiang Yu snatched her hand back, heart jolting at the way he stared at her, then forced herself to smile. “Of course. Junior Brother has saved me several times now.” She drew a steadying breath and met his eyes again. “Worrying about you only makes sense.”
“Does it?” Shen Anzhi replied. “From what I’ve seen, Senior Sister is equally kind to everyone. Truly… a good person.”
His gaze slid toward the tree where the injured Penglai disciple lay, with Ning Hechi and Lu Bin checking his wounds. None of them were paying attention to the quiet exchange between Shen Anzhi and Jiang Yu.
He straightened his sleeves and cast her an idle glance. “Senior Sister is timid, yet right now, you don’t seem afraid at all.”
“I am afraid,” Jiang Yu said. “But I can’t exorcise demons and slay monsters like you do. So I’ll do what I can within my limits, as long as I can still protect myself.”
Shen Anzhi snorted faintly, neither agreeing nor mocking her. For once, he said nothing sharp.
She was about to go check on the others when he caught her sleeve and immediately let go again. “Find the core of this formation first,” he said. “They can manage.”
Jiang Yu nodded and hurried to match his stride, only to hear footsteps behind them.
“Miss Jiang, Young Master Shen, I’ll come as well. I believe I know where the core lies.” Ning Hechi lengthened his stride to catch up, then slowed once he was walking at her side.
“Oh?” Shen Anzhi turned his head, his smile gentle, but a shadow flickering deep in his eyes.
Knowing how unwelcome he was, Ning Hechi spoke carefully. “The last of the Zhuge line, Zhuge Jin. The world believes he is dead, but no one knows where he was buried. When I saw the talisman papers just now, I realized the Zhuge clan must have left some descendants behind. I once paid a nighttime visit to the old Zhuge residence and saw a topographical map of Tianji City. My brothers and I deduced that the core of the formation is likely hidden in the Zhuge family’s cenotaph.”
Jiang Yu listened to Ning Hechi’s explanation, every point precise and methodical, exactly matching what she remembered from the original text.
No wonder the little villain had intended for them never to leave these mountains alive… If the formation core was here, it was bound to be a death trap.
She forced down the unease in her chest and nodded in agreement.
Shen Anzhi folded his arms, fingers tapping lightly against his sleeve. “Young Master Ning’s analysis is not without merit. In that case, I’ll trouble Young Master Ning to lead the way.”
With Ning Hechi guiding them, the three of them trekked for about half a stick of incense. After hacking through one last wall of thorny undergrowth, their view suddenly opened up onto a sea of waist-high wild grass, swaying like waves in the wind. Half the moss-streaked gravestones were swallowed by the overgrowth.
Tree branches like withered claws held scraps of faded red ribbon; only a few strips still kept a trace of color. A few crows cut across the sky, making the place seem all the more desolate.
“This is the Zhuge family’s cenotaph,” Ning Hechi said, scanning the surroundings and lowering his voice. “Be careful.”
Shen Anzhi walked up to one of the bare trees and brushed a fingertip over a strip of red cloth, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “Hung here less than half a month ago.”
Jiang Yu’s instincts told her the cave with the tomb had to be somewhere around here.
“We’ll split up,” Shen Anzhi said to Ning Hechi.
He took three steps forward and then suddenly turned. The familiar footsteps he was used to hearing behind him didn’t follow.
Dry branches crackled under his boots. His voice carried a faint, indescribable note as it rang across the graveyard. “Is Senior Sister coming with me, or would you prefer to partner with Young Master Ning?”
Jiang Yu hesitated for a moment, then walked to his side. “We don’t know what’s hidden here,” she suggested. “We should stick together with Young Master Ning; we can watch each other’s backs.”
Shen Anzhi lowered his gaze to her, easily catching the way she’d just flicked a worried glance toward the other man.
The copper coin sword in his hand gave a soft, metallic hum in answer to its master’s obscure mood. As something hot and restless rippled through his eyes, his little finger hooked Jiang Yu’s sleeve and tugged her lightly forward to stand in front of him.
His gaze dropped briefly to her scarlet robes. Jiang Yu, meanwhile, had been staring at the front of his chest. Seeing no trace of dampness there, she finally raised her eyes to meet his.
“If you absolutely had to choose just one person,” he asked, tone offhand, gaze drifting between her and Ning Hechi, “who would you pick?”
“Me? I’d pick you, of course,” Jiang Yu said without even a pause.
She had long since realized that whenever he suddenly went philosophical like this, it was usually a trap question, but thankfully she was quick on her feet.
“Is that so?” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a quiet huff of satisfaction.
He stared at the crown of her head, a fleeting thought sliding through his mind, tight and hot, both irritable and oddly pleased. His lips drew into a thin, secretive curve.
Then, as if none of it mattered, he let go of her sleeve and rubbed his fingers together, tilting his head to send Ning Hechi a sidelong glance, hidden malice flashing under his lashes. “Who cares about the answer, anyway?”
With that, he turned and led the way, sword in hand, heading toward the western edge of the graveyard beneath the sinking moon.
The full moon hung bright above; the overgrown grave mounds at their feet were exposed in stark detail.