Back on the street, Zhou Jiayu finally realized the entire street was completely empty, and the sky had taken on a dim, ashen gray. Snowflakes were still drifting down, some landing on his hair, others on the back of his hand. The snow felt strange. Zhou Jiayu raised his hand to take a look and noticed that the snowflakes were mixed with some kind of dust. The texture of this dust reminded him of the fine ash left behind after they had burned paper offerings during their ancestor worship a few days ago.

Standing alone on the street, it was hard not to feel a trace of fear. Ji Ba told Zhou Jiayu to stay calm, assuring him that Lin Zhushui and the others would definitely find a way to bring him back, and to be extra vigilant about his surroundings.

Zhou Jiayu found a more concealed stall and sat down. These stalls looked exactly like those at temple fairs, with some small machines for making trinkets still left running.

He noticed a cotton candy machine hadn’t been turned off. Deciding to find some amusement amidst the dread, he grabbed a stick, poured in some sugar, and began spinning cotton candy.

Ji Ba was dumbfounded. “You’ve got the leisure to do this?”

Zhou Jiayu replied, “…What else am I supposed to do?”

Ji Ba: “…” That… did kind of make sense.

Having something to do with his hands seemed to help him stay calm. Zhou Jiayu then questioned Ji Ba in detail about their current situation. According to Ji Ba, this was the borderland between the world of the living and the dead, a place often traversed by souls being escorted by ghost messengers to reincarnation. Zhou Jiayu, being a living soul, still carried the breath of the living, making him an easy target for detection. That was why Ji Ba had him smear ashes on his forehead—to mask his presence.

“That thing I saw earlier—was that a ghost messenger?” Zhou Jiayu recalled the strange black shadows he’d seen and thought they looked odd.

“No,” said Ji Ba. “This place is essentially a wild zone. Not only are there ghost messengers, but also other vile entities that prey on souls. Some of them are ferocious enough to attack the ghost messengers in packs, trying to snatch away the souls they’re escorting… Frankly, it’s even more dangerous than the underworld. If a soul is eaten here, there’s not even a chance for reincarnation.”

Zhou Jiayu felt like he should be afraid after hearing that, but he didn’t feel much at all. He even took a bite of the pink cotton candy in his hand. “So where should we hide?”

“Stay close by,” Ji Ba advised. “Don’t wander far—otherwise Lin Zhushui might not be able to find you.” Judging by Ji Ba’s tone, he had immense confidence in Lin Zhushui’s ability to come find Zhou Jiayu.

As they were talking, the distant sound of a night watchman’s gong echoed through the air—long and rhythmic, inducing an eerie drowsiness.

Hearing it, Zhou Jiayu quickly ducked behind a table.

Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound continued without pause as Zhou Jiayu crouched in a corner, watching the group grow closer.

There were around a dozen of them. Though they stood right before him, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t make out their faces. Their movements were stiff and mechanical, as if they had no consciousness. Only the leader, the one beating the gong, moved with a bit more agility. The street wasn’t long, so in no time, the group made their way from one end to the other and was about to disappear from Zhou Jiayu’s view.

Just as he was about to let out a sigh of relief, the group suddenly stopped. The leader slowly turned his head and stared directly toward Zhou Jiayu’s hiding spot.

Zhou Jiayu froze.

That thing clearly noticed something. It first twisted its head awkwardly, then slowly turned its whole body and began moving toward him. Unlike what Zhou Jiayu had imagined a ghost messenger to be, this one looked more like a mindless specter. Now that it was closer, Zhou Jiayu could barely make out its face. Or rather—what should have been a face looked more like a mask of skin. Its facial features—eyes, nose, and mouth—were roughly in place, but the whole thing gave off a grotesque, plastic-like appearance, full of disturbing distortion.

Goosebumps rose along Zhou Jiayu’s arms. He swallowed hard and whispered to Ji Ba, “Is it coming for me?”

“Seems like it…” Ji Ba replied.

“Should I run? Can I even outrun it?”

“In this place, you definitely can’t. Wait—Zhou Jiayu…”

Zhou Jiayu picked up the fear in Ji Ba’s suddenly trembling voice. “What is it?”

Ji Ba said with a quiver, “Don’t—don’t look up.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” He hadn’t planned to look up. But after Ji Ba said that, he instantly felt something was wrong. His neck felt icy cold, as if… something was resting on his shoulders.

“What is it?” Zhou Jiayu felt like he was turning into stone.

Ji Ba answered, “…It’s hard to describe.”

Feeling extremely uneasy, Zhou Jiayu took a deep breath and slowly lifted his head. What he saw made him internally thankful that he was in soul form—had he still been alive, he was sure his soul would’ve fled from fright.

Hovering above his head was a large black dog—with a face disturbingly similar to a human’s. But in its eye sockets, there were only whites, no pupils. It was panting, drooling, and staring down at him with those ghastly eyes. Its front paws had somehow come to rest on Zhou Jiayu’s shoulders.

Zhou Jiayu nearly choked on his own breath. Clutching his wildly thumping heart, he thought: This world is fucking insane—

Ghost messenger in front, human-faced dog behind—Zhou Jiayu truly thought this might be where his story ended. But just then, he felt a warm sensation in his chest. Looking down, he saw the fish-shaped jade pendant that Lin Zhushui had given him was glowing faintly with heat.

Clutching the pendant like a lifeline, he pulled it from beneath his shirt. As soon as it was revealed, the dog showed signs of disgust. It stopped approaching him and instead retreated a few steps. And the ghost messenger that had been closing in on him turned upon seeing the dog flee and began chasing it instead. Though it still moved stiffly, its speed was astonishing—it reached the dog in an instant.

“Awooo!!” The dog turned and howled fiercely. Its face, though mostly human, contorted grotesquely as it opened its mouth wide—so wide it nearly split its whole face in half.

Seeing the dog’s wild display, the ghost messenger hesitated. It seemed to be evaluating whether it could handle the confrontation.

Zhou Jiayu had thought a fight would break out, but to his surprise, after a moment’s pause, the ghost messenger turned and left, leading the dozen souls away with it.

“Wh-why didn’t they fight?” Zhou Jiayu couldn’t comprehend what just happened.

Ji Ba said, “That dog is probably an extremely powerful malevolent spirit. The ghost messenger wasn’t confident. And since the spirit didn’t seem too interested in the souls, it decided to just let it be.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” That’s… an option?

The ghost messenger left quickly with its group of souls, clearly wary of the human-faced dog. This thing was obviously not to be trifled with.

But the dog didn’t leave. Instead, it began circling around Zhou Jiayu’s hiding spot. Its jagged teeth were exposed in a grin, and thick saliva hung from the corners of its mouth.

Zhou Jiayu noticed the greedy gleam in its eyes—but something was holding it back from approaching. He licked his lips, gripped the jade pendant tighter, and tried taking a cautious step forward.

Sure enough, as he moved forward, the human-faced dog backed away, visibly tense.

“It’s afraid of me,” Zhou Jiayu said with relief, “or rather… of this pendant.”

Within just a few minutes, the already-dim sky turned even darker, and the surrounding scenery became harder to distinguish. Only the human-faced dog remained clearly visible, still watching him intently.

“This isn’t good…” Ji Ba said. “Why did it get dark so fast? You need to find shelter.”

“What about the temple we came from earlier?” Zhou Jiayu asked.

Ji Ba started to object but then realized there weren’t many better options. He agreed—just warned Zhou Jiayu to ask the deities inside for permission first. If they refused, he’d have to find another place to stay.

As Zhou Jiayu made his way to the temple, the human-faced dog followed him closely. And perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt like there were more foul things lurking around him than just that one. The snow was falling harder now, and with the deepening gloom, he couldn’t see clearly—he could only guess based on the unsettling feeling in his gut.

Knock knock knock. He politely knocked on the temple door, then pushed it open slightly and spoke in a low voice, “Sorry to disturb you again, everyone…” He paused, unsure of how to address the deities inside. After some hesitation, he settled on a more general term. “Honored elders, I mean no offense. I just wish to spend one night here. Once I return to the world of the living, I promise to offer plenty of incense and paper money.”

No response. No rejection either. The temple remained eerily silent.

Ji Ba let out a breath. “Go on in.”

Only then did Zhou Jiayu carefully step inside. As soon as he did, the red door slammed shut behind him with a loud bang. He jumped, looked around to confirm there was nothing else there, then exhaled the breath he’d been holding.

Howl, howl—! The human-faced dog couldn’t follow him in and let out a series of frustrated wails from outside.

Zhou Jiayu felt a little nervous. He clutched the jade pendant and walked deeper into the temple. The red door didn’t look particularly sturdy—on the contrary, it seemed rather flimsy. Zhou Jiayu figured he could probably knock it down himself with a good push. If that huge dog really wanted to charge in, it would only be a matter of time.

Luckily, it didn’t seem inclined to do so. After a few howls, it went quiet.

Still uneasy, Zhou Jiayu glanced around and noticed a window on the temple’s side wall. It wasn’t covered with paper—just a few wooden bars across the frame.

“I’ll go see if that dog’s left…” Zhou Jiayu tiptoed over to the window and peeked outside. To his shock, in the short time he had been inside the temple, the street outside had gone almost completely dark. A moon had risen in the sky, but it looked different from the one Zhou Jiayu was used to—its light carried a faint reddish hue, casting a dim red glow over the entire street.

Thinking he was lucky to have come in early, Zhou Jiayu felt a surge of gratitude. He turned toward the fierce-looking statues behind him, put his palms together, and bowed sincerely.

From the window, he could just make out the area near the entrance. Zhou Jiayu looked carefully and confirmed that the human-faced dog was gone.

“It’s gone,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Thank God… Otherwise, if it kept blocking the door—wait…” Just as he was beginning to relax, he sensed something was off. Rubbing his eyes hard, he muttered, “W-what’s that on the ground?”

Ji Ba replied, “…Don’t know.”

Right on the street they had just been on, the black stone pavement had begun to bulge upward. At first, Zhou Jiayu thought it was a trick of the eye, but the change was too obvious. He watched in disbelief as human-shaped figures began struggling out from within the stone blocks.

They were “human-shaped” only in the loosest sense—just vague outlines, with no visible faces or bodies. After crawling out of the stones, they all began moving in the same direction, converging and merging until they formed a complete person.

Zhou Jiayu felt his scalp tingle like he’d been electrocuted. He didn’t even dare to look closely at the finished figure. Quickly, he squatted in the corner and rubbed his face hard.

“I swear I’m never looking outside again,” Zhou Jiayu said to Ji Ba.

Ji Ba replied, “It’s not that bad if you just take a look—”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when an indescribably seductive woman’s voice floated in through the window. It was sweet and breathy, moaning lightly, sometimes gasping, and utterly enchanting—more than enough to arouse certain desires in men. Honestly, if it were someone with less self-control, they probably would’ve looked out the window already.

But Zhou Jiayu remained completely unmoved. His face was ice-cold. “Stop moaning. I don’t even like women. Try using a man’s voice instead—maybe then you’d have a shot.”

He was just talking to himself, but to his horror, the voice outside actually went silent.

Zhou Jiayu cursed internally: They can understand human language?!

Ji Ba said, “…They were all human once. Language barrier’s not really a thing.”

Zhou Jiayu had no response to that.

Things quieted down again outside. Zhou Jiayu thought that was the end of it. But clearly, he had underestimated the determination of whatever was out there—or perhaps, the allure his body held for them.

When the voice started again, Zhou Jiayu was at first full of disdain. But when it began to sound eerily familiar, he knew something was very wrong.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?!” Zhou Jiayu was panicking. “Do you hear that?”

Ji Ba said, “…I hear it.”

“Am I hearing things??” Zhou Jiayu, who had endured so much without breaking, was finally beginning to crack.

“No,” Ji Ba said, his voice a bit heavy. “That’s Mister’s voice.”

Zhou Jiayu groaned and covered his face in anguish.

“Zhou Jiayu.” That voice, unmistakably Lin Zhushui’s—cool and familiar—called his name, faintly breathless: “Zhou Jiayu…”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

The voice was so much like Lin Zhushui’s that Zhou Jiayu couldn’t help but picture his face.

“Zhou Jiayu,” it said, “Don’t you want to see me?”

Zhou Jiayu told himself it was fake.

“I came to save you,” the voice said. “I tried so hard to get here, and you won’t even look at me?”

Through gritted teeth, Zhou Jiayu spat out a curse. “Go to hell.”

“You said you liked me, didn’t you?” When that sentence came out, Zhou Jiayu completely lost it.

“I don’t like Mister! I don’t have those kinds of feelings for him—I just—I just—” He wanted to say he merely admired Lin Zhushui, but when the words reached his lips, he couldn’t say them.

He could no longer deceive himself. Covering his ears, he crouched beneath the window, silent.

“Stop lying to yourself,” the voice said. “You clearly like me so much. So why won’t you even look at me? I’m leaving soon. If you don’t come now, you’ll be left here all alone.”

Zhou Jiayu stayed silent, biting his lip so hard it almost bled, shrinking into himself like a turtle into its shell.

When the voice saw he wasn’t responding, it snapped: “Zhou Jiayu? Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re such a coward. Did you really think someone would like you?”

Oddly, that made Zhou Jiayu feel a bit better. Because he knew Lin Zhushui would never say something like that. Even if he knew Zhou Jiayu harbored dirty little thoughts, he’d probably just quietly cut off contact—not humiliate him like this.

Anger flared in Zhou Jiayu’s heart. “Will you shut the hell up already? That voice imitation is terrible. Who the hell do you think you’re fooling? If I were you, I’d sign up for a damn voice acting class. At this rate, your crap skills are gonna starve you to death.”

Outside: “…”

Zhou Jiayu wanted to keep ranting, but suddenly felt something cold and damp on his neck. Reaching up, he found several strands of hair wrapped tightly around his throat. He instinctively looked up—and got the fright of his life.

Just outside the window, a pale face was pressed right up against the bars, staring down at him with hollow black eyes. From the back of its head, long strands of hair had somehow slipped through the bars and wrapped around his neck.

Zhou Jiayu scrambled backward in terror, yanking the hair away from his throat. If he’d reacted even a second slower, he might’ve been strangled.

The thing was massive, with a human face. It crouched outside the window, twisting and wriggling, trying to squeeze through the bars.

Zhou Jiayu watched in horror, praying the thin wooden slats wouldn’t snap.

But the temple grounds seemed to have some kind of protective power. No matter how hard it pushed, the bars didn’t budge. The creature grew agitated and began letting out sharp, duck-like screams.

Zhou Jiayu had heard from old legends that ghost cries sounded like ducks. Now, he finally had the chance to hear it for himself.

Seeing it couldn’t get in, Zhou Jiayu breathed a sigh of relief. He returned to the prayer cushion in front of the statues and collapsed into a sitting position, drained.

The creature, frustrated, finally turned and left. Watching its retreating back, Zhou Jiayu couldn’t help but feel it looked… a little dejected.

Zhou Jiayu: “…” What the hell are you feeling dejected for?

But that thing was only the prelude. A strong wind began to blow outside, thick with the stench of blood—it was nauseating.

Far from quieting down, the night street came alive with strange sounds. Zhou Jiayu could even hear the squelch of blades slicing into flesh. As for the cries of women and infants? He’d gone numb to them. Even though he couldn’t see anything from inside the temple, Zhou Jiayu could feel the carnage outside.

Anyone else would’ve been cowering in fear by now. But Zhou Jiayu’s mind was elsewhere. He said to Ji Ba, “Hey, did you hear all that just now?”

Ji Ba, who had been perched on a turtle shell, stood up warily. “What? You gonna kill me to keep quiet?”

Zhou Jiayu: “…How would I even do that, scoop out your brain?”

Ji Ba considered. “Good point.” Scratching his beak with one foot, he added, “Fine, what do you want to say?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “Well… what do you think would happen if Mister found out how I feel?”

Ji Ba replied mercilessly, “Did you hear that voice outside?”

“…Yeah.”

“I’m guessing that would be your fate.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

He clutched his chest and sighed. No cigarettes. Again. God, I could really use a smoke.

To be fair, Ji Ba did understand Zhou Jiayu’s feelings. After all, what teenager doesn’t harbor a few romantic fantasies? The problem was… this really wasn’t the time or place. The man was dead, and Zhou Jiayu was still worrying about his secret crush being discovered? Talk about missing the point.

Night deepened, but the street seemed to just be waking up. Wailing and howling filled Zhou Jiayu’s ears. He even noticed blood seeping under the door. But after hours of heightened tension, his nerves had stretched so tight they finally snapped—like a rubber band losing its elasticity. He started out terrified, but by midnight, his face was expressionless. Near dawn, he even managed to doze off, leaning against the base of the statue.

When dawn broke, the chaos faded. Zhou Jiayu was woken by Ji Ba, yawned, and climbed off the prayer cushion, bowing again to the statues that had protected him through the night.

“No more things out there, right?” Zhou Jiayu hesitated by the door.

“No idea,” Ji Ba replied. “Just open it slowly.”

Zhou Jiayu nodded and carefully opened the door, just as Ji Ba suggested. Sure enough, something flopped through the entrance.

It was a shapeless lump of rotting meat.

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

Pretending he hadn’t seen it, he silently went to fetch a broom and swept it back outside.

Though the street had returned to normal, signs of last night’s demonic frenzy remained. But as the sky grew brighter, even those remnants gradually faded away.

Zhou Jiayu sat at the entrance of the temple, not daring to wander around. He was racking his brain for what to do next when a familiar scent reached his nose. It was a faint sandalwood fragrance—fresh and clean—completely out of place with the eerie atmosphere around him. As soon as Zhou Jiayu caught a whiff, he shot to his feet and exclaimed, “I smell it!!”

Ji Ba, startled by his excitement, asked, “What did you smell?”

“Mister’s scent!” Zhou Jiayu said.

Ji Ba blinked. “Mister’s scent??”

Only then did Zhou Jiayu realize how his words could be misunderstood. He quickly clarified, “Doesn’t Mister always carry a hint of sandalwood on him? I smelled it before.”

Ji Ba let out a meaningful “Ohhh.”

As they spoke, the scent grew stronger. Zhou Jiayu stood up and followed the source of the aroma. He walked a short distance toward the end of the street and scanned the surroundings. Just then, he heard the sound of water trickling above his head. Like a flowing stream. Zhou Jiayu looked up—and was stunned. Somehow, a small stream had appeared above him.

It flowed down from the sky, and from his angle, he could even see lively fish swimming in it and green duckweed floating on the surface.

Zhou Jiayu stared in disbelief. “What is this…” The sandalwood scent was coming from the stream. He stopped walking, no longer daring to go forward.

“Don’t move. Just wait here,” Ji Ba said. “Looks like Lin Zhushui has come to get you.”

Zhou Jiayu finally smiled.

Just as Ji Ba had said, the stream did seem to be coming for Zhou Jiayu. It soon flowed right up to him. As Zhou Jiayu was wondering how he was supposed to leave through a stream, a thumb-sized fish swam to him—and suddenly grew to the size of a calf—splashing him with a huge wave of water.

“Is it telling me to get on?” Zhou Jiayu was confused.

“Probably…” Ji Ba mused. “Try sitting on its back?”

Zhou Jiayu had no choice but to carefully climb onto the fish. Its back was a bit slippery, so he had to lie flat to avoid falling. Once he was settled, the giant fish leapt forward and swam upstream.

“Don’t look back.” Lin Zhushui’s voice drifted from nowhere, but Zhou Jiayu heard it loud and clear.

At first, the fish swam swiftly, but after reaching a certain height, it noticeably slowed down. Zhou Jiayu thought it was getting tired—but soon realized something was wrong. His foot had been grabbed by a hand.

Something behind him was clearly trying to stop his escape, but remembering Lin Zhushui’s warning, Zhou Jiayu didn’t dare to look back. The stream beneath him turned murky, as if sand and gravel were being stirred up. Zhou Jiayu touched the fish under him, held onto the jade pendant in his hand, and began chanting the Diamond Sutra he had memorized. A faint golden glow appeared around both him and the fish. The fish seemed reinvigorated, whipped its tail powerfully—and Zhou Jiayu heard a heavy splash behind him.

Freed from whatever had been holding him, the fish surged forward at even greater speed.

In the reflection on the water’s surface, Zhou Jiayu could vaguely make out the thing behind him—not even a monster, just a cluster of disembodied hands reaching forward, trying to pull them back. But each time, the glowing fish tail would knock them back into the water. Again and again.

As the fish drew closer to the “sun,” Zhou Jiayu felt an overwhelming drowsiness. At first, he managed to stay awake, but his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he couldn’t keep them open anymore. Just before he passed out, he noticed that the glowing circular object above him wasn’t the sun—it was a tiny exit. This world was like a well: once you fell in, you couldn’t get out. On normal days, you could only look up through the little opening at the light outside.

Zhou Jiayu finally succumbed and lost consciousness. The fish beneath him leapt upward, bursting through the narrow passage.

---

“Zhou Jiayu.” Someone was calling his name in a very strange tone.

“Zhou Jiayu—” More than one voice now.

Zhou Jiayu felt as if his body no longer belonged to him. He could hear the voices, but couldn’t move. After what felt like an eternity, he finally managed to twitch a finger.

“He moved! He moved!” someone exclaimed joyfully. “He’s finally back! Thank goodness!”

“Ugh…” After some unknown amount of time, Zhou Jiayu finally managed to open his eyes, though his pupils took a while to focus. He could just barely make out what was in front of him.

Shen Yiqiong sat beside his bed, grinning. “Zhou Jiayu, you’re finally awake. I thought I wouldn’t see you again until our next lives!”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

Seeing Zhou Jiayu’s blank expression, Shen Yiqiong got nervous. “What’s with that face? Don’t tell me you’ve gone stupid?” He waved his hand in front of Zhou Jiayu’s face and held up a few fingers. “How many fingers am I holding?”

Zhou Jiayu weakly replied, “Seven.”

Shen Yiqiong said, “It’s clearly eight… Seven is the vertical one.”

Zhou Jiayu was on the verge of collapse. He really wanted to smack Shen Yiqiong a couple of times and tell him to stop messing around.

Luckily, Shen Yiqiong was just joking. “Don’t look like that—I’m afraid you’ll pass out again. Hold on, I’ll go tell Mister you’re awake.” With that, he dashed out and quickly returned with Lin Zhushui.

Before Lin Zhushui even entered the room, the intense sandalwood scent on him filled the air. Zhou Jiayu smelled it and immediately felt at peace. He finally felt like he was back in the real world.

Lin Zhushui didn’t speak when he arrived. He simply reached out to touch Zhou Jiayu’s forehead. “Did you smear anything on yourself while you were down there?”

Zhou Jiayu listlessly replied, “Ashes…”

“Smart.” Lin Zhushui nodded, indirectly praising Ji Ba. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it through the night.”

Looking at Lin Zhushui’s calm face, Zhou Jiayu recalled that seductive voice. He muttered internally, Wasn’t it true that I almost didn’t make it…?

“Yiqiong, did you finish brewing the medicine?” Lin Zhushui asked.

Shen Yiqiong nodded and soon returned with a bowl of black liquid. He handed it to Zhou Jiayu. Zhou Jiayu swore he had never smelled anything so disgusting in his life.

“What’s in this?” he asked weakly.

“Don’t ask. Just drink.” Shen Yiqiong gave him a fatherly look full of sympathy. “If I told you, you definitely wouldn’t be able to drink it.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…” The words had already gone that far. He wasn’t some fragile little girl. He braced himself, pinched his nose, and gulped the whole bowl down. After finishing it, he felt nauseated and almost threw it all back up.

Shen Yiqiong quickly popped a candy into his mouth. “Don’t throw up! This stuff wasn’t easy to find!”

Zhou Jiayu forced a smile. With the candy in his mouth, he felt like a terminally ill patient.

“What actually happened to me?” But the medicine worked. After drinking it, the loss of control over his body subsided noticeably. Remembering the temple fair and that strange moment of clarity, Zhou Jiayu asked nervously, “Who was that old lady?”

Lin Zhushui didn’t reply. He gestured to Shen Yiqiong.

Understanding, Shen Yiqiong left the room and returned moments later carrying a large cage. Inside was a massive weasel. Compared to the small, plump white one they had at home, this one had white fur too, but was much bigger, with long whiskers—clearly older.

When it saw Zhou Jiayu awake, it chirped and clacked, then brought its front paws together and gave him several bows.

Zhou Jiayu: “…A weasel??”

“Yes,” Lin Zhushui said. “She only meant to scare you by knocking away one of your souls. She didn’t expect your entire spirit to leave your body.”

Zhou Jiayu: “…”

The big weasel curled into a ball at Lin Zhushui’s words, its beady black eyes full of guilt.

It would’ve looked cute under different circumstances, but Zhou Jiayu could only picture that creepy old woman in his head. It killed any chance of finding this thing adorable. “Thank you for helping me recover my soul, Mister…”

Lin Zhushui merely said, “No need to thank me, Zhou Jiayu.”

He put slight emphasis on “Zhou Jiayu,” as if to underline something.

Zhou Jiayu, after a moment’s rest, realized the tone Lin Zhushui had used to call his name was the same as the way his friend used to call him before his reincarnation… So, was Lin Zhushui hinting that his cover was blown down to his underwear? Zhou Jiayu’s feelings instantly grew complicated…

__

Author’s Note:

Zhou Jiayu: I don’t want to die. I just want to quietly eat strawberries with Mister.

Lin Zhushui: I don’t want to eat strawberries.

Zhou Jiayu: Huh?

Lin Zhushui: I only want to grow them.

Zhou Jiayu blushed.