Chapter 22

Jiang Yu wasn’t surprised when he let the conversation die there. She was used to his half-finished sentences; anyone trying to pry answers out of him was in for a miserable time.
But she wasn’t just anyone. She had plenty of “energy” and more than enough “methods.”
She thought back to the momentary storm she’d seen in his eyes earlier, so dense and complex it had nearly spilled over. Only then did she fully realize that Shen Anzhi wasn’t some invulnerable “jade-faced Yama.”
He simply didn’t count his own pain as anything worth noting. He was cold enough to the world, and even colder to himself.
And yet he was no immortal blade, no unfeeling statue…
Shen Anzhi, what in the world did you go through to become like this?
Holding the fire-stick up, Jiang Yu couldn’t help stealing a glance at him. The wavering light painted strange, beautiful shadows across his face.
The underground air was damp and frigid; moisture seeped from the stone walls, bringing a chill that sank straight into the bones, and he was still wounded on top of it. Without a word, Jiang Yu untied the black cloak and draped it over him.
Her fingers brushed lightly along the side of his neck as she drew back, and she snatched her hand away, realizing the cold clinging to his skin.
His temperature’s low…
She wanted to test it again, fingertips just about to touch his collar when her wrist was suddenly caught in a firm, bony grip.
Shen Anzhi encircled her slender wrist with ease, his little finger idly rubbing over the beat of her pulse. “Senior Sister’s shivering and still has the energy to worry about me,” he remarked. Pushing off from the wall, he stood and plucked the cloak off his own shoulders.
His handsome face was a shade too pale; his lashes cast deep shadows over his eyes, hiding whatever lay there.
He should have thrown the cloak right back at her, and yet… after one look at her, his hand moved of its own accord. He settled the cloak around her shoulders instead, long fingers deftly looping the ties and fastening them into a neat, graceful bow at her collarbone.
His gaze dropped to meet the bright, dark eyes that seemed always to hold three parts laughter. Her lips curved into a light smile.
“Don’t take it off,” he said, his voice low and rough.
She recognized the knot at a glance, it was the butterfly knot she had taught him. She hadn’t thought he’d learn it in one go.
Her smile deepened, brows arching like a new moon in clear water. “All right.”
A rush of hurried footsteps echoed toward them.
Ning Hechi appeared with sword in hand, only to see the two of them framed together, forms close enough to be mistaken for an embrace. He coughed lightly, then slowed his pace so as not to make it obvious, only speaking when he was nearer. “Young Master Shen, you’re awake.”
“Mm.” Shen Anzhi answered casually, arms folded as he leaned back against the stone and looked at him.
Under that gaze, Ning Hechi felt a surprising twinge of awkwardness. He quickly glanced at Jiang Yu; seeing both of them apparently unharmed, he silently exhaled in relief. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ve found a hidden chamber. It seems to hold the Zhuge family’s collection.”
A pale blue spiritual flame sprang to life on his fingertip, barely bright enough to push back the cold and damp. Leading the way, Ning Hechi took them down the slick passage.
Jiang Yu walked in the middle. Behind her, Shen Anzhi was like a pool of ink that refused to disperse, his presence muted, his steps so light they barely made a sound. It made her think of a stalking cat.
She slowed just a little so they could walk side by side.
“We’re here,” Ning Hechi said, stopping in front of a stone wall. The spirit fire in his hand flared, revealing a dense web of talismanic script carved into the rock.
Jiang Yu nearly walked right into his back; Shen Anzhi caught her by the back of her robe, tugging her to a stop.
She opened her mouth to speak, but Shen Anzhi’s hand flicked past her ear. A purple-black spider shot out from her hairline, only to be deftly caught and flung to the ground between two fingers.
Ning Hechi immediately turned his flame on it, burning it to ash. “Careful,” he murmured, then began chanting under his breath. The door to the secret chamber slowly ground open.
A heavy, musty smell rushed out to meet them. Jiang Yu clapped a hand over her nose and mouth, coughing twice, her eyes squeezed shut.
After three breaths, the air settled a little, and the three of them were finally able to make out the chamber within.
Three long rows of sandalwood shelves stretched out before them, thick with cobwebs, every object on them buried under dust.
Jiang Yu ran her fingertips over the cracked surface of a spiritual artifact. Wherever she touched, the outer shell flaked away in a soft rustle. Power that should have flowed within these tools like living rivers now lay utterly still, dry, dead riverbeds of spiritual force.
“Any point in hauling all this out?” she asked absently, eyes roaming along the shelves.
“Most of it is useless now,” Ning Hechi replied, picking up a demon-revealing mirror forged from dark iron. In its surface, a flash of scarlet fluttered by, Jiang Yu’s reflection, warped for an instant.
When he looked up, she was standing behind him, turning a clear crystal over in her hand. The small fire-stick she held cast its glow through the gem, scattering fractured light across her cheeks.
Ning Hechi decided he must’ve just been seeing things.
Shen Anzhi’s fingers traced a lazy arc across the tabletop, rubbing at the dust until it crumbled beneath his thumb. “Whoever’s pulling the strings probably has no idea there’s a secret room hidden beneath the Zhuge family’s memorial tombs.”
“Lucky for us, then.” Jiang Yu set the crystal down with a grin, then her eyes suddenly lit up.
So it was the treasure vault from the original story.
Swallowing her excitement, she gathered up her skirts and started systematically combing the room, using her left eye’s ability to sift through every faint clue. Heaven doesn’t fail the persistent: in an unremarkable corner buried beneath miscellaneous junk, she finally sniffed out a redwood medicine chest.
Dust streaked her cheeks, cobwebs clung to her clothes, but she didn’t spare them a thought. Bracing hands and feet against the floor, she dragged the chest out, nearly pitching forward onto her face.
The racket drew both men over at once.
“Miss Jiang.”
“Senior Sister, what are you doing now?”
Their voices overlapped behind her.
“I found this.”
With a creaking groan, the lid lifted. A musty smell mingled with a fresh herbal fragrance spilled out, instantly clearing all three minds.
Inside, they saw rows of bottles and jars of various sizes. Ning Hechi randomly opened two, both filled with top-grade spiritual replenishing pills and blood-stopping pellets.
“Come over here,” Jiang Yu beckoned Shen Anzhi and Ning Hechi closer. “Finders keepers, but everyone who saw it gets a share. You two can have the pills; I just want these little cases at the bottom.”
“Miss Jiang, medicinal herbs lose their spiritual power quickly. Since you were the one who found all this, you should at least take more for yourself,” Ning Hechi said, rubbing his chin. For any cultivator, top-grade pills were nearly impossible to refuse. In his eyes, her terms were downright unfair to herself.
“No need, Young Master Ning. This is enough for me.” Jiang Yu smiled up at him, thumb gently caressing the lotus motif carved into one of the boxes.
Shen Anzhi stepped between them without a word, bending to pick up one of the wooden cases. He gave it a slight shake, listening to the faint rustle of herbs within, then handed it to her. “If Senior Sister wants it, then take it.”
Seeing that she meant what she said, Ning Hechi stopped arguing.
In the wavering firelight, her fingers trembled as she stroked the lids of the five medicine boxes.
The first held nothing but withered grass.
The second, also withered grass.
Her stomach clenched.
Something’s wrong.
No matter which one she opened, all she saw was dead, dried stems.
“Miss Jiang, perhaps… just let it go,” Ning Hechi said. He was the sort who panicked at the sight of a young girl on the verge of tears. Beads of sweat had broken out along Jiang Yu’s hairline, a clear sign of just how tense and disappointed she was.
Jiang Yu took a deep breath. “There are still three left.”
“Open them,” Shen Anzhi said. Leaning against the wall, his face was half-lost in shadow, only the outline of his features faintly visible, but his gaze never strayed from that scarlet figure.
Jiang Yu gritted her teeth and kept going.
The third box: dragon-scale cypress.
The fourth: blood jade marrow.
When she finally lifted the lid of the fifth lotus-engraved case, a clean, icy fragrance of Snow-Soul Blossoms spilled out, one of the rare herbs needed for Shen Anzhi’s Yihui Pill .
She’d only found a single ingredient, but it was already an excellent start.
Jiang Yu’s eyes lit up, a smile blooming across her face as she looked over at Shen Anzhi in the darkness. “Not bad, right, Junior Brother?”
“Mm.” His gaze deepened, a flicker of genuine surprise passing through his eyes.
“To think they’ve kept so well,” Ning Hechi murmured, stunned for a heartbeat before regaining his composure.
These three herbs were priceless outside, almost impossible to find, let alone in such good condition.
Ning Hechi smiled at Jiang Yu. “Your luck is truly remarkable, Miss Jiang.”
“You flatter me, Young Master Ning.” Jiang Yu closed the lid with a soft click, then walked over and unceremoniously took Shen Anzhi’s storage pouch from his belt, tucking each medicine box neatly inside.
He didn’t lift a finger to stop her from making decisions on his behalf.
“Senior Sister grows bolder by the day…” Shen Anzhi murmured, lowering his eyes, watching the curve of her smile, warm with a softness that brushed faintly against his heart.
“Just average,” she replied, mouth quirking.
Once they’d stripped the vault of anything useful, the three of them turned their attention to how to get out.
Jiang Yu twisted her fingers in her sleeve beside Shen Anzhi.
Having read the story, she knew there was a damaged teleportation array in this chamber, but had no idea how to steer the other two toward it without raising questions. So she made up an excuse about needing to search for hidden levers and sent them to check other corners.
Holding the fire-stick high, skirts lifted just enough to move, she walked briskly past the third row of shelves. Suddenly, a breath of cold air brushed past her ear, as if someone leaned in close and blew softly. The chill seeped straight into her bones, making her shiver.
Jiang Yu clapped a hand over her ear and sidestepped, smacking her back against a shelf with a loud clang. Pain shot up her spine and she bit back a curse, instinctively pulling out the short knife hidden in her sleeve as she spun around.
Nothing. Empty space.
She clenched her teeth against the lingering fright and tilted her head, straining to hear.
From somewhere in the darkness came the faint sound of something heavy collapsing, followed by a barely audible groan.
Holding her breath, she tightened her grip on the knife and crept toward the source of the noise.
“Jiang Yu.” A familiar voice called softly from behind her.
She turned, only to find empty air again. Her brows pinched together. “Junior Brother, don’t scare me…”
Shen Anzhi would never call her “Jiang Yu” like that.
“Over here.” The same familiar voice drifted from behind her again.
Irritation flared. She whipped around, only to lock eyes with a pair of blank, white pupils.
Rotten flesh sloughed off exposed bone with every twitch. Two blood-slicked hands clamped around her throat, and that half-decomposed face, bearing just enough resemblance to Shen Anzhi to be unbearable, moved its decayed lips.
“Die.”
Jiang Yu clawed at the death grip on her neck, her fingers digging into cold, reeking flesh. The thing’s features were twisted beyond recognition, with only half its face still clinging to the skull, faint traces of Shen Anzhi’s features barely visible.
There was no time to think. The pressure on her throat carved angry welts into her skin; her vision blurred at the edges. She swung her blade hard at the “Shen Anzhi’s” forearm. The cold flash of steel bit into the limb, but only left a shallow line of blood.
He didn’t even blink. His pale knuckles only tightened, forcing ragged words from her strangled throat. “Let… go…”
In that instant, the wooden talisman hanging at her neck flared with blinding golden light. The radiance seared into the ghost’s form, and it shrieked, a thin, piercing sound. Its sticky, distorted body spasmed violently, shrinking and twisting until it collapsed into a huge venomous spider, its legs snapping one by one, charring to blackened fragments before melting into a puddle of stinking blood.
Jiang Yu clutched her throat and quickly sucked in air, stumbling back along the shelf to get away from the mess. The talisman at her neck was searing hot; she pulled it out to check and saw a hairline crack now marring its surface.
She tucked it carefully back under her collar.
There was no telling when she might need it again.
She thought back to the smaller spider they’d encountered outside the vault. Compared to what had just tried to strangle her, that one had been child’s play.
What about Shen Anzhi and Ning Hechi?
With how much noise she’d made, in a room this small, they should’ve been here already.
Jiang Yu bent to retrieve the guttering fire-stick. Her breath still came fast and shallow; she swallowed hard, forcing herself to turn back.
Before she could take a step, a low, muffled groan ripped the silence behind her, echoing at the far end of the darkness.
As she neared the back of the chamber, a shadow curled up at the base of the wall flinched visibly.
Jiang Yu stopped, every muscle tight. Her mind ran through possibilities at lightning speed.
Ghost? Demon? Or some fresh nightmare entirely?
She braced herself, knife in hand, ready to strike at any sudden movement.
The trembling firelight peeled away the darkness layer by layer, revealing disheveled strands of black hair, pale fingers dug so hard into the stone floor they’d wedged into the cracks.
Sweat slicked the face half-hidden in the shadows. Under the flickering light, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw seemed to appear and disappear.
Shen Anzhi.
Jiang Yu’s pupils contracted. Before she could move, a Copper Coin Sword swung up between them, its edge glinting dangerously close to her eyes. Shen Anzhi used the wall to push himself upright, both hands on the hilt. His eyes were bloodshot, veins threaded red through the whites. When he finally focused and saw it was her, and took in the angry red marks around her throat, he went still, hand clutching at his chest.
His voice came out hoarse and shredded. “You… I’m telling you to get away from me…”
The sword clanged as it dropped to the ground.
Shen Anzhi doubled over, hand clamped over his chest as if someone had rammed a hammer into it. Blood surged up in his throat, but he clenched his jaw so hard it creaked, refusing to cough it out. Crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth anyway, trailing down along his chin. Frost crept across his collar, climbing thread by thread up into his hair.
Jiang Yu felt the blood drain from her lips. She hurried forward to support him, only for her hand to be slapped aside. “Shen, Junior Brother, I’ll get you out of here, ”