Love Beyond the Grave

Throughout the ages, each Ghost King possessed their own unique abilities and temperaments, yet there was one remarkably consistent trait among them—they were all masters of spectacle. Or rather, specters of spectacle.

Whenever they manifested their true forms in the mortal realm, they would orchestrate grand displays, setting the stage with earth-shaking grandeur before making their entrance to strike terror into the hearts of the living—much like a wolf baring its fangs before lambs.

He Simu's appearance, accompanied by a hundred descending crows and ghost fires that burned people, was already eerie and vicious enough to leave a deep impression.

Yet the lamb before her clearly suffered from an extraordinary affliction—not only was he unafraid, he even seemed somewhat excited. Not just excited, but he also had the audacity to lie through his teeth: "What is the Ghost King saying? I am Duan Xu, styled Shunxi—surname Duan, given name Xu, courtesy name Shunxi. My name was given by my maternal grandfather, my courtesy name by my father. I am the genuine article."

He Simu smiled faintly, lifting him by the collar with one hand as she said amiably, "You're lying to a ghost."

And indeed, he was lying to a ghost.

Duan Xu allowed himself to be held aloft by He Simu, not struggling in the slightest. He blinked calmly and countered, "This isn't the place for lingering. Why don't we return to Shuozhou's prefectural city first, Ghost King, and discuss this at length?"

"Are you trying to lead me in circles?"

"How do you know I'm not begging you?"

Duan Xu grinned brightly, his round, luminous eyes carrying a hint of innocence. He Simu narrowed her eyes and studied him for a moment, thinking to herself that she had never seen someone beg with such brazen confidence.

When Han Lingqiu jolted awake, he found himself leading a grain cart along a mountain path back to camp. He stood dazed for a long while, staring at the reins in his hand, then at the grain cart beside him, and finally at the soldiers marching ahead and behind him. His mind was a complete muddle.

Earlier... they had seized the grain carts, only to realize they had walked into an ambush. Then... for some inexplicable reason, the Huqi People who had ambushed them abandoned their prize and suddenly withdrew. So they had taken the grain carts and were now making their way back along the mountain path.

That seemed to be what had happened, but the abrupt turn of events was so bizarre it felt as if a crucial piece were missing.

As Han Lingqiu struggled to recall, the image of Duan Xu shooting an enemy through the eye resurfaced in his mind, sending a chill down his spine. Vague, indistinct scenes flickered through his thoughts, unsettling him. Just then, someone tapped his shoulder. Instinctively, he drew his sword and pressed it against the other's throat—but the man reacted even faster, spinning away and stopping three paces distant.

Duan Xu rubbed his neck with a cheerful smile. "That was close. What's wrong, Han Xiaowei?"

Han Lingqiu's eyes widened as he stared at Duan Xu, his breath ragged, as if trying to bore holes through him with his gaze. Only when he noticed the soldiers on the mountain path had halted, watching the tense standoff between their general and lieutenant with unease and confusion, did he stiffly reply, "The earlier danger... left me too tense. Forgive me, General."

Duan Xu shook his head, seemingly unbothered by Han Lingqiu's odd behavior, and said magnanimously, "No matter. I only wanted to tell you—once we exit the mountain path, we'll detonate the rocks on both sides to block the road. There's a traitor in our ranks. If they knew we were coming to raid the grain, they must already know about this route. Leaving it open would be disastrous."

Han Lingqiu saluted. "Understood."Duan Xu walked past him with an air of composure, moving to the front of the formation. Though his smile appeared warm, his hand gripped the Illusion-Breaking Sword tightly.

Amidst the chaotic memories and sense of familiarity, Han Lingqiu suddenly had an intuition—if he had truly known Duan Xu in the past, their relationship should have been exactly as it was just now.

They were the kind of relationship where swords were drawn and tensions ran high.

Duan Xu reached the front of the formation without sparing a glance for Han Lingqiu behind him, muttering under his breath, "Look at you, scaring people into seeing shadows of bows in every cup."

Walking beside him, visible only to him, the pale beauty turned her head. The silver hairpin tassels in her hair trembled as she tilted her head slightly with a faint smile, clearly disagreeing but too lazy to voice it.

The mission to seize the enemy's provisions had been perilous, but the captured supplies would sustain the city for over twenty more days. At least the people would make it through the end of the year. When Duan Xu and his group descended the mountain path and returned to Shuozhou City, Wu Lang Jiang was uncharacteristically enthusiastic, sending many men to assist them. Seeing Duan Xu injured, he even showed a hint of guilt—something that left the other captains utterly stunned. Yet Duan Xu accepted Wu Lang Jiang’s warmth as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He Simu observed this rare moment of harmony and thought to herself, That little fox’s words before the raid were clearly meant to win hearts. Commander Qin had repeatedly placed him in danger—perhaps genuinely intending to kill him—but Duan Xu likely hadn’t anticipated such peril before setting out. Still, he had put on a sorrowful act, as if ready to die for the Snow-Treading Army, making Wu Lang Jiang feel guilty.

Duan Xu—truly a thousand layers of paper, a thousand layers of pretense, with no sincerity in sight.

By nightfall, after arranging all matters concerning the Snow-Treading Army, Duan Xu finally returned to his room to rest. The moment he sat on the bed, Meng Wan entered carrying medicine and bandages, intending to dress the wound on his arm. Duan Xu declined, saying he could manage on his own, but Meng Wan grew anxious. Setting the medicine on the table, she said, "Shunxi, your arm is injured—it’s inconvenient for you to bandage it yourself. Even if you don’t want my help, you should at least let someone else tend to you."

Duan Xu seemed amused. He picked up the bandages and medicine from the table, partially removing his robe to reveal the wound on his left arm—a gash stretching from his upper arm to his forearm, half a finger’s width deep and still oozing blood, previously only hastily wrapped. With his right hand, he swiftly undid the old bandage. Just as Meng Wan moved to assist, he uncorked the medicine bottle with two fingers, poured it over the wound, then took a fresh bandage. Holding one end in his teeth, he wrapped it deftly around his arm with his right hand before securing it with a neat knot and releasing the cloth from his mouth.

The entire process was swift and seamless, executed with practiced ease.

Meng Wan’s hand froze midair. Duan Xu chuckled, even waving his freshly bandaged arm as he said, "I don’t find it inconvenient at all. Such a minor injury doesn’t require anyone’s care. You should rest early, A-Wan."

In all the years I’ve known him, Meng Wan thought, Duan Xu has never needed anyone’s care. It wasn’t that he was stubbornly competitive or unwilling to show weakness—he wasn’t that kind of person. If anything, he was somewhat lazy.

Yet beneath that laziness lurked a faint, unshakable resolve.

As Meng Wan left speechlessly and closed the door, a mischievous laugh echoed from inside the room.Duan Xu looked over to see a pale-skinned beauty in rust-red robes sitting on the sandalwood chair in his room, resting her head on one hand while twirling a jade pendant with the other, her smile enchanting and coy.

He showed no surprise, simply fastening his clothes as he said, "Ghost King, you seem quite familiar with the way—apparently not your first visit. Last night..."

"Last night I was already here, watching you strip off your upper garments. Putting them back on now won't restore your innocence." He Simu's tone was indifferent, even consoling: "It's just a shell; no need to mind."

After a pause, she pointed outside: "When did you meet Meng Wan?"

"After I returned to the Southern Capital from Dài Province, we studied together under Scholar Yang."

"Oh? Scholar Yang doesn't sound like your Hú Qì teacher—the one who had his eyes pecked out by geese."

"As the saying goes, 'When three walk together, one must be my teacher.' Surely I wouldn't have only one."

He Simu gazed into Duan Xu's earnest eyes and smiled faintly. "How pitiful you are—all the friends and teachers you can name were met after you turned fourteen. What were you doing before that?"

She stood up, stepping forward in her light crimson upturned-toe brocade boots until she stood before Duan Xu. Looking down at this perpetually smiling youth whose gaze was always sincere and open, she asked softly, "Was that blind teacher of yours from before you turned fourteen? And that amnesiac Han Xiaowei—was he your friend from back then?"

Duan Xu tilted his head up, meeting He Simu's eyes without flinching.

"The teacher was from before fourteen, but the friend wasn't. Before fourteen, I had no friends."

A flicker passed through He Simu's gaze, her expression shifting from casual to grave. "Who exactly are you?"

Duan Xu studied her silently for a moment before breaking into a bright smile, enunciating each word clearly: "Duan Xu. Duan Shunxi."

The air seemed to freeze for an instant as their gazes locked, candlelight dancing across their faces, the silence thickening with a subtle yet dangerous tension. In a flash, He Simu moved—the next moment, Duan Xu was pinned to the bed with her hand around his throat.

Perched atop him, she leaned down, her grip tightening steadily.

Duan Xu's fingers clutched the bedding as he blinked, struggling to speak: "Ghost... King... mercy... please."

Even now, he was still smiling.

He Simu bent closer, her hair brushing his face, making him frown slightly at the ticklish sensation.

"Your martial arts are supposed to be exceptional. Why aren't you resisting?" she asked coolly.

"Against absolute strength, all skill is futile." As her grip loosened slightly, he managed to speak smoothly, even adding an explanation: "I can't defeat you. Begging for mercy is my only option."

At least he knew his limits.

He Simu chuckled softly. "And if I don't spare you?"

Her fingers began tightening again.

After a moment's thought, Duan Xu raised a hand to point at his head, grinning. "Does Your Highness wish to collect my skull?"

This wildly off-topic remark made He Simu raise an eyebrow.

"An excellent suggestion.""I think my skull will look much better when I'm fifty. Your Highness, why not bear with it and wait until I'm fifty before you eat me?"

He Simu narrowed her eyes and studied Duan Xu for a long moment, as if she could see a string of idioms written across his face—"audacious to the extreme," "utterly fearless," "quick-witted and eloquent," "hypocritical and evasive."

To which she could add one more: "stubbornly refuses to confess."

After a brief standoff with Duan Xu, she gave a light laugh and withdrew her hand. Looking down at him imperiously, she said slowly, "I'm not here to eat you. I'm here to make a deal with you."