Chapter 21: Wild Maoshan, Jiang Huai

Inside the ambulance, the doctor said it was fortunate we found out early—if we’d been any later, Sun Tianyu would have been beyond saving.

If Sun Tianyu had died while I was in the shower, I would have blamed myself for the rest of my life.

I’d been careless, overestimated myself, and underestimated the gravity of this situation.

I should have listened to my grandfather and disposed of that filth immediately.

Never stake someone else’s life as a wager—my grandfather had drilled that into me every day, yet when it mattered, I had completely forgotten his words.

Under the doctor’s puzzled gaze, I slapped myself hard across the face.

Ignoring his protests, I pried open Sun Tianyu’s eyelids.

The murderous aura in his eyes was even denser than it had been at first glance.

After a moment’s thought, I bit my finger, letting fresh blood drip into his eyes.

“What… what are you doing?” the doctor asked, looking at me as if I were some kind of monster.

I forced a sheepish smile. “There’s something dirty in his eyes. I’m cleaning them for him.”

As I spoke, I watched the baleful energy slowly evaporate into black smoke under the effect of my yang blood.

At the same time, I understood: I had broken the spell, so the caster must know already. And I was certain—since he wanted Sun Tianyu’s life so badly—he would come in person now that his remote sorcery had failed.

Sun Tianyu was in surgery for about an hour before being wheeled out and taken to his room, where he remained asleep.

He was utterly exhausted; under the anesthetic’s effect, he wouldn’t wake for some time.

I watched the tear slip from the corner of his eye, wondering if, in his dreams, he was seeing the one he missed most.

Knock, knock, knock.

After a series of knocks, the hospital room door was pushed open.

I thought it was a doctor coming to check on him, but when I turned, I saw a figure whose presence didn’t surprise me in the least.

Tang Buyu, with his close-cropped hair.

When he saw me, his eyes flicked with brief surprise, but quickly returned to calm.

As if to say, so—it’s you.

I stood up, glanced at the still-unconscious Sun Tianyu, then smiled at Tang Buyu. “Shall we step outside for a bit?”

Tang Buyu nodded. “Alright.”

I rolled my eyes upward and gestured above. “Let’s go to the rooftop. No one will find us there.”

He nodded again. “Fine.”

Side by side, we walked. Our conversation was light, both of us smiling as if we were old friends.

Anyone watching would have thought we were close.

“How much did Zhang Shancai offer you? To take on a life-and-death job like this?” As the elevator doors closed and I pressed for the top floor, I asked offhandedly.

Tang Buyu didn’t seem concerned that I’d know. “My life belongs to Uncle Zhang.”

“Oh.” His answer told me all I needed: like Chen Qingling, he’d grown up under Zhang Shancai’s patronage.

“Chen Qingling should have died in the street over twenty years ago. The life she’s lived was a gift from Uncle Zhang. Now, with Miss Zhang in trouble, it’s only right Chen Qingling repays that debt. It’s her duty.”

Hearing those words, I was deeply shaken.

I may only be eighteen, but I understand this: if you do good, seek no reward; if you expect repayment, it’s a transaction—a bargain Heaven does not condone.

But I kept my face unreadable, even looking indifferent.

“So, tell me, what happened to Zhang Zhiyuan? I’m curious—indulge me.”

Tang Buyu shot me a glance. “Fine. You’re as good as dead soon anyway; I’ll satisfy your curiosity.”

“Is that so? Then thank you.” I grinned at him. “Please, go on.”

Tang Buyu explained that Zhang Shancai was fated to have no heir; yet, thanks to ten years of good deeds, he was blessed with a daughter. But their bond was only meant to last twenty years.

Heaven had decreed she could not stay. Zhang Shancai knew this from the very day, thirty years ago, when he began his good works.

But the master who taught him to earn merit for borrowing a child also told him one more thing: if, in his later years, he could find someone to care for him, ensure he wanted for nothing, and he had grandchildren to serve him, then the master would help him keep the child forever.

For his daughter’s sake, Zhang Shancai agreed to anything.

The master kept his word. Before passing away, he picked one child from among those Zhang Shancai had sponsored, took him as a disciple, and taught him the method to keep Zhang Zhiyuan alive.

That child was Tang Buyu.

Ding—

The elevator doors slid open at the top floor. Tang Buyu and I stepped out onto the rooftop.

I hadn’t slept all night; as the chill wind swept over me, my mind grew a little clearer.

“By the way,” I said, “if Zhang Zhiyuan hadn’t died—if she was still alive, even just barely breathing—then your method of swapping life with a substitute would still work.”

Suddenly, I frowned at Tang Buyu. “But Zhang Zhiyuan is already dead. If you keep using that method, then though she’s still at Zhang Shancai’s side, she can’t be considered human anymore, can she?”

I shook my still-damp hair. “To put it plainly, Zhang Zhiyuan is now a living corpse.”

I shook my head. “Tang Buyu, does your Uncle Zhang know his daughter has been turned into a living corpse by you?”

Tang Buyu’s face flickered with uncertainty. I continued, “Was it on purpose, or did you miss your chance?”

“It doesn’t matter. Either way, I doubt Zhang Shancai will let you off once he learns the truth.”

As soon as the words left my lips, I saw a bead of sweat slide down Tang Buyu’s chin and drop to the ground.

He drew a deep breath and pointed at me. “Who are you, really?”

I rolled my neck, let my gaze drop, and tightly clenched my right thumb in my left fist, the other four fingers of my right hand wrapping over my left.

Facing Tang Buyu, I bowed with fists joined.

“Embracing yin and bearing yang, harmonizing the breath—Wild Maoshan, Jiang Huai.”