Lin Xirou pondered for a moment: "That Lao Qian mentioned you were unconscious from a car crash, something about a syringe... what exactly happened?"
Yan Tuo downplayed it, deliberately blurring the timeline: "That was before the incident. I'd been exhausted for several days, fell asleep at the wheel, and crashed off the road. I must have slept so soundly that the person thought I was unconscious. The syringe was meant for Sun Zhou—the one I told you about, who got scratched by Gou Ya. Didn't you say that if Gou Ya harms someone, even just a scratch, they must be brought back?"
She had indeed instructed so. Her exact words were: "Such injuries can't be treated by outside doctors. Bring them back—we have our own methods."
"Banya and the others wouldn't have attacked you without reason. Did you do something without realizing it?"
Yan Tuo shook his head. "No. During the interrogation, I vaguely heard them mention something about my car... having a 'stench.'"
As he spoke, he carefully observed Lin Xirou's expression. Sure enough, by the end, her face betrayed unease.
Yan Tuo continued, "Aunt Lin, you know my car is always clean. How could there be a stench? I certainly didn’t smell anything."
Lin Xirou maintained her smile, brushing it off lightly: "Nonsense. They just have foul mouths."
Yan Tuo pretended to consider it. "Not exactly. From what I gathered, not everyone could smell it—only that guy called Da Tou had a keen nose."
Lin Xirou's hand clenched abruptly at her side. "A keen nose?"
The moment she spoke, she caught herself and quickly changed the subject: "How many of them are there? Do you remember the faces of those you saw?"
"I only saw the ones who attacked me. Since we'd already met, they didn’t hide their faces: Da Tou, Shan Qiang, Hua Saozi, a lame old man, and a woman called Que Cha—probably not her real name. The others were all covered up, so I could only tell their builds."
"As for their looks... Aunt Lin, I’m not great at descriptions or drawing. I can only give rough details like 'big eyes' or 'short,' which probably won’t help much."
A flicker of disappointment crossed Lin Xirou’s eyes before she said, "It’s fine. Later, describe their builds, features, and anything notable to Xiong Hei. Every bit helps—he’ll figure out the rest."
Yan Tuo nodded. "Aunt Lin, is something wrong? You seem unusually concerned about this."
Lin Xirou paused, then laughed. "Of course I’m concerned! You were hurt for no reason—I can’t just let it go. Rest now, Xiao Tuo. Focus on recovering. If you remember anything else, tell me."
She stood up to leave.
With Lin Xirou dismissing him, the others had no reason to stay. Lin Ling rose again, and Xiong Hei opened the door.
Yan Tuo exhaled inwardly, only now noticing his palms were damp with sweat.
He could only hope Gou Ya would stay unconscious—the longer, the better.Lin Xirou was almost at the door when she suddenly thought of something and turned back with a smile. "By the way, you mentioned running into an old friend and wanting to catch up. That friend was Miss Nie, wasn't it?"
Yan Tuo's heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained unreadable. He even managed an awkward chuckle. "Yeah, actually, she's not really an old friend. Just someone I met on the road. There was a bit of a spark, you know how it is, Aunt Lin."
Lin Xirou's smile grew even gentler. "I thought so. You young people have your ways. You've grown up so much, and that Miss Nie is quite beautiful."
Lin Ling, standing nearby, quickly glanced at Yan Tuo before lowering her eyes to her hands.
"But why did you leave her stranded on a mountain road?"
Yan Tuo scoffed. "Some people seem nice at first, but once you spend time with them, it's a whole different story. Calling her 'all that glitters is not gold' would be too generous. I couldn't stand her for another second. Leaving her on the mountain road was already being polite. Let's not talk about her, Aunt Lin. It's a mood killer."
In Lin Xirou's memory, she had never heard Yan Tuo speak so disparagingly of anyone. After a brief pause, she couldn't help but laugh softly. "That Miss Nie must have been truly awful."
After her phone call with Jiang Baichuan, Nie Jiuluo remained on high alert for several days. But as half a month passed—the osmanthus trees blooming and shedding their flowers, Sister Lu's osmanthus jam already bottled and stored in the fridge—nothing happened.
There are those who spend a lifetime scheming, but none who spend a lifetime guarding against schemes. If Yan Tuo took a year or two to seek revenge, was she supposed to put her life on hold for that long?
Once she realized this, Nie Jiuluo let go of her worries. Still, she retrieved a dagger from one of the clay sculptures in her studio, keeping it by her side during the day and under her pillow at night.
Both the sculpture and the dagger were worth mentioning.
The sculpture depicted a flying apsara playing a pipa behind her back, graceful and ethereal, though not life-sized—standing just about a meter tall. The dagger was hidden inside the pipa she held. From the outside, it was impossible to detect; it employed ancient mechanical craftsmanship. By plucking specific strings on the pipa in a particular sequence, a slender hidden compartment would open.
The dagger itself was unassuming at first glance—small, under twenty centimeters long and less than an inch wide, with a moderate thickness for easy concealment. It was a "sword within a sword," housing an even smaller blade inside. Neither bore any decorative patterns, only small seal-script characters on the hilts: the outer one read "Life," the inner one "Death."
...
The day was crisp and clear, an auspicious date for starting new projects. After numerous revisions, Nie Jiuluo's "Witch" sketch was nearly finalized, and it was time to begin.
After breakfast, she lit incense and paid respects to Nuwa, the mythological ancestor of clay sculpting, before picking up her hammer and nails to construct the armature for her new piece.
Most people misunderstood clay sculpting, thinking it was as simple as grabbing some mud, adding water, and kneading it into shape. In reality, clay lacked the adhesive strength to support its own weight. Even miniatures like the "Clay Figurine Zhang" required repeated kneading and the addition of cotton fibers to turn the clay into "ripe mud." Large-scale sculptures were even more complex. First, a wire, nail, and wooden frame—called "setting the dragon bones"—had to be constructed. Then, straw was bound to it, and chaff paste applied. After the rough clay layer came the fine clay, followed by glue sealing, paper mounting, and decorative detailing. Layer upon layer, a tedious process, just to achieve a human form.But upon closer thought, a person stripped of makeup and clothing, peeled of skin and flesh, reduced to a mere skeleton, is in some ways no different from a clay sculpture.
No wonder the patron deity of this craft is Nuwa.
Nie Jiuluo reminded herself that sculpting must be approached with the same reverence as creating a human being—every limb, every bone must be meticulously crafted.
Thus, for the "dragon bone" section alone, she built and dismantled, dismantled and built, the clinking and clanging never ceasing.
At noon, Sister Lu brought up her meal and, seeing Nie Jiuluo perched high on her workbench, hammer in one hand and nails in the other, couldn't help but sigh. "If you didn't know better, passersby would think a carpenter lived here."
In a way, Sister Lu wasn't wrong. Most in the fine arts exude an ethereal aura, but sculptors, with their hammering and chiseling, are often jokingly called the "civil engineers" of the art world. So despite Nie Jiuluo's slender frame, the strength in her arms and hands far surpassed that of most women. There had been times when even Sister Lu couldn't pry open a jar lid, only for Nie Jiuluo to manage it effortlessly.
After a day of playing carpenter, dismantling and rebuilding, she finally had a satisfactory armature by evening. Of course, in Sister Lu's eyes, a skeleton had no claim to beauty—it was still, in three words, utterly hideous.
Exhausted from the day's physical labor, Nie Jiuluo turned off the lights and went to bed before eleven. In the past, such fatigue would have guaranteed a deep, dreamless sleep until dawn. But tonight, for some inexplicable reason, she woke abruptly a little past two in the morning.
The room was pitch-black, but not so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Nie Jiuluo's bed was draped with semi-transparent curtains, filtering the night into an even thicker gloom.
An eerie sense of danger pulsed in the silence.
Nie Jiuluo sat up soundlessly, reaching under her pillow for a dagger and a leg strap. She quietly secured the blade against her thigh, then pulled her nightgown over it and got out of bed.
Barefoot, she padded to the door and opened it gently.
Beyond the bedroom was her workspace, a place that felt unsettling in the dead of night. Her many sculptures, so vivid and distinct by day, now loomed as crouching or sprawling shadows—indistinguishable from actual people, clay figures, or something else entirely.
Holding her breath, Nie Jiuluo took two steps into the workspace.
A light flickered on.
Not the main light, but a floor lamp in the far corner, casting a dim, yellowish glow. There, against a wall of bookshelves, stood two armchairs facing each other, separated by a small round coffee table. On leisurely days, she would brew tea and curl up in one of those chairs with a book.
In the chair nearest the lamp sat Yan Tuo, hands resting on the armrests, his right hand tapping a rhythmic pattern with a gun—its barrel pointed directly at her.
So he had finally come.
Nie Jiuluo relaxed slightly, exhaling softly as she stood her ground. The skin where the blade pressed against her thigh, which should have felt cold, now burned faintly.
Yan Tuo spoke first. "Miss Nie, I never thought we'd meet again."
Neither had she. This meeting shouldn't have happened—if only Jiang Baichuan hadn't been so incompetent.
He gestured to the opposite chair. "Don't just stand there. Have a seat."Chat away then. In those TV dramas, before a fierce battle, there's always a war of words—verbal sparring is crucial. Whoever gets flustered or furious first has a higher chance of losing.
Nie Jiuluo walked over as usual, placed both hands on the armrests, and leisurely took her seat. Just as she was about to adjust into a more comfortable position, she heard a faint click beneath her.
Her scalp tingled, and her gaze involuntarily dropped. She often sat on this sofa, and this had never happened before.
Yan Tuo spoke again: "Miss Nie, once you’re seated, don’t move around. It’d be a shame to be blown to pieces. Especially since..."
He leaned back against the couch. "...I specifically changed into new clothes to meet you. I’d hate for them to get stained with blood and flesh on the very first day—hard to wash."
The numbness on Nie Jiuluo’s scalp spread to her neck. From the sound of it, he’d planted something under the cushion. But now that she was already sitting, what could she do?
She let out an "Oh" and continued adjusting her posture. "Went through the trouble of changing into new clothes, huh? Then I guess my outfit is a bit too casual."
Yan Tuo glanced at her.
She was wearing a heavy silk satin robe with a pearlescent silver sheen, cinched at the waist with a buckle. The robe was long—probably reaching her ankles when standing—so even while seated, not much was exposed. Only a stretch of fair calf was visible, along with her feet, which were delicate and shapely, the skin on their backs gleaming like polished pearls. They said women with pretty feet were far rarer than those with pretty faces.
The heavens had truly been meticulous with her.
Yan Tuo’s gaze finally settled on Nie Jiuluo’s face. "Miss Nie, you’ve played me for a fool."
Nie Jiuluo smiled. "The word ‘played’ isn’t quite right. When a hunter sets a trap to catch prey, that’s called hunting. What beast, once caught, would accuse the hunter of ‘playing’ with it?"
Yan Tuo didn’t engage in verbal sparring. "I have some questions for you."
Nie Jiuluo gave a noncommittal nod. "Ask away."
"What exactly is Gou Ya? What’s his origin? What does Sun Zhou’s ‘taking root and sprouting’ mean, and how did you treat it? And what are chang ghosts ?"
Nie Jiuluo feigned surprise. "You don’t know?"
Then she smiled. "I do."
But then her tone shifted. "However, I won’t tell you."
Yan Tuo had expected her lack of cooperation. "So, Miss Nie, you’ve had enough of living and want to die?"
Nie Jiuluo replied coolly, "What guarantee do I have for my safety? If I don’t talk, I’ll be blown up. If I do talk, there’s an eighty percent chance I’ll still die. Either way, I’m dead, so I might as well not say anything—at least it’ll piss you off."
Yan Tuo didn’t press further. "Then farewell, Miss Nie."
He pushed off the armrests and stood, walking around the coffee table toward the exit. This was now a psychological battle. Some people strode bravely to the guillotine but faltered when the blade actually fell. Nie Jiuluo might talk tough, but he bet she still valued her life—she’d call out to him within three steps.
Sure enough, as he passed by her, she spoke.
"Yan Tuo."
He stopped.
Nie Jiuluo’s tone remained as enigmatic as ever. "When I was a kid watching TV, I always thought it was such a waste when the good guys got killed by the bad guys—just like that."
"I tend to put myself in their shoes. If it were me, I wouldn’t let myself be killed for nothing. If I’m really unlucky and have to die, then I’d at least drag down the person who caused it with me."Before she could finish speaking, she tensed her body, pushed off with both hands, and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Yan Tuo. With a twist of her body, she spun him around so his back faced the sofa where she had been sitting.
She was taking a gamble: there was no bomb under the sofa cushion. If there really was one, Yan Tuo would be her human shield—and in the worst-case scenario, even if the explosion was powerful enough to kill them both, at least she’d be dragging him down with her.
An agonizingly long second passed.
No explosion.
The prelude was over. Now it was time for the real fight.
They moved almost simultaneously.
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