Chapter 39

On the way back, my mind kept replaying Wanying’s words. My heartbeat felt like it was going to fly straight out of my chest. Every time my eyes accidentally met Shen Jianqing’s, I forced myself to act normal.

Do you want to leave this place?

Wanying’s whisper lingered in my ears, soft but dangerously tempting.

Did I want to leave?
There wasn’t even a question.

There wasn’t a single moment I didn’t want to escape this place.

Sure, the scenery was beautiful, mountains picturesque, air fresh—
but the right to enjoy any of that depended on freedom. Without freedom, who has the heart to admire anything?

As for Shen Jianqing… he had never been part of the future I planned for myself. He deserved someone better suited to him. Whoever that person was—it wouldn’t be me.

But how could I leave?

No one had ever offered help before.
Until now.

Should I trust her?

Honestly, everything that led me to this point—all the suffering, the danger—it all came from being too naïve, too willing to trust others.

But Wanying had no reason to deceive me. There was nothing she could gain from tricking me. And besides… I had no other options left.

I could only believe her. Believe she could help me get out.

Once that thought took root, I already had my answer.

Whether she was lying or not, I had to gamble.

“What are you thinking about? Your eyes are drifting.”
Shen Jianqing’s voice suddenly cut in.

My heart lurched. My thoughts snapped back.

“Nothing.” I forced myself to meet his gaze, to keep my eyes steady.

He raised a brow, and what he said next sent a chill straight through me:

“You’re not… thinking about how to escape from me, are you?”

He—

The words hit me like lightning. Cold spread down my spine.

Had I slipped somehow?
Was this a joke—or had he sensed something?

Before I could form an answer, Shen Jianqing suddenly laughed. His stormy expression cleared instantly.

“Just scaring you.”

I let out a breath, but I still couldn’t smile. At this point, anything I said would be wrong, so I simply stayed quiet.

The mountains in the distance stretched like a stroke of indigo. I found myself wondering what lay beyond them.

We reached the field ridges soon after.

The sun hung high, its blazing light driving away the stagnant heaviness that had been pressing over the village for days. A few villagers in traditional Miao clothing were working in the fields. Their backs were bent as they harvested the crops, and small mounds of their harvest were already piled along the ridges.

Then I spotted two familiar figures.

Lu Qi and A Song.

Lu Qi was already past fifty, his face deeply lined and his skin darkened by years under the sun—traces of a lifetime etched into him. At his age, most people outside would be preparing for retirement or already enjoying an easier life, yet he was still toiling tirelessly. A Song followed behind him—a tall, broad man with an almost childlike cluelessness.

His eyes were clear and pure, utterly free of the stern, resolute expression he had back in the tribunal. He looked like a completely different person.

Lu Qi picked up a piece of fruit from the field, wiped it clean on his clothes, and handed it to A Song. A Song grinned foolishly, took a bite, and followed after him without a word.

Lu Qi reached out and gently ruffled A Song’s head, the emotion in his eyes impossible to tell—whether joy or sorrow.

“So this is what happens after the gu poison takes effect?” I asked quietly, staring at A Song’s vacant gaze.

Shen Jianqing said, “The insects ate into his brain. But I’m guessing Lu Qi found a way to suppress them so A Song didn’t completely turn into an empty shell for the gu.”

But seeing him like this—reduced to a child who could barely take care of himself, surviving only on basic instincts—was this really better?

I’d never been a father, so I couldn’t fully grasp the depth of a parent’s love. But watching Lu Qi’s worn, satisfied expression, I understood at least this: he would rather shoulder this burden for the rest of his life than watch his son die.

Still… an old man, already well into his twilight years, forced to start over as a caretaker to his grown child—it was heartbreaking.

Lu Qi seemed tired. He straightened slowly, resting a hand on his back, and met my gaze from afar. He didn’t look embarrassed or uncomfortable. Instead, he smiled with quiet contentment.

Beside him, A Song looked around in confusion before copying his father’s smile, jumping in excitement—so big that he stepped on the crops, sending everything into chaos.

I couldn’t watch anymore. I walked on with Shen Jianqing. After a long silence, I finally asked, “Are Qiu Lu and Xu Zirong going to end up like this too?”

Shen Jianqing didn’t even pause. “If nothing unexpected happens, they’ll turn into complete host bodies for the gu. Worse than A Song.”

My breath caught, and a dull ache spread in my chest. After everything we’d been through, I had come to consider them close friends. Back when we insisted on coming to the village, we were blinded by profit and never considered the danger hiding beneath it all.

If only we’d never come.

“I know you’ve been blaming me,” Shen Jianqing suddenly said. His tone gave nothing away. “But Li Yuze, the rules of this village have never been something anyone could defy—not even the chief. Keeping you alive already took everything I had.”

I felt exhausted. I no longer wanted to argue about the past. Blame or no blame—none of it changed anything. “Let’s go back,” I said.

We walked the rest of the way in silence.

By evening, a sudden gust of wind swept through the forest.

The stilt house stood surrounded by trees, and the rustling of wind and falling leaves echoed clearly inside. With my eyes closed, I could almost picture the wind brushing over the endless canopy before finally arriving here.

I had been ready to rest when Shen Jianqing suddenly burst into my room.

He looked completely different from usual—caked in dirt and covered in leaves. His pants were still rolled up, and his long, pale legs were splattered with mud. His clothes were filthy too, but oddly enough, he didn’t look the least bit disheveled. His half-long hair was tied back, probably for convenience.

“You were doing farm work?” I asked, stunned.

“I helped Uncle Lu Qi harvest his crops. He even gave me a basket!” Shen Jianqing was clearly out of breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. He must’ve run back.

This was the first time I’d ever seen him do farm work. Judging by his messy appearance, he definitely wasn’t used to it. He added, “You looked sad seeing him earlier. I figured… if I helped him, maybe it’d make you feel a little better?”

I froze. “You did it for me?”

A strange, familiar feeling welled up in my chest again.

“Forget that,” he said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the door. “There’s a strong wind outside!”

He seemed to have completely forgotten about the splint on my foot, dragging me along at a pace that felt almost urgent. I forgot about it too and instinctively tried to keep up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

His grip tightened—so hard I couldn’t pull away.

Shen Jianqing’s eyes sparkled like obsidian. “There’s a strong wind outside!”

I failed to see the connection between that and us going out. Wind usually meant rain was coming—wouldn’t it make more sense to stay inside?

He led me through the corridor and stopped at the stairs. But instead of going down, he started climbing up.

The stilt house had three floors. The first was Shen Jianqing’s living space. The second was where we had stayed earlier. As for the third… we had never gone up there. When we first arrived, Shen Jianqing had specifically told us not to go to the third floor.

I’d always found that mysterious, but respecting that it was his private space, I never snooped. I never expected I’d get a chance to see it openly now.

Following the stairs up, there was only a small room, its door facing the steps.

“When my mom was dying, she said she’d pick a windy day she liked, ride the wind, and come see me and my dad. Ever since she passed, today has always been bright and sunny every year—but tonight, the wind’s finally here.” As Shen Jianqing spoke, he pushed open the small room’s door. His voice couldn’t hide the excitement bubbling beneath. “Li Yuze, my mom must’ve heard what I said earlier. She really likes you, so of course she’d choose today to come back.”

I fell silent. I didn’t know how to respond.

Those words were just a mother trying to comfort her child as she was slipping away; how could they be taken literally?

But then again, Jianqing lost both his parents when he was only fourteen or fifteen. A kid that young, all alone—he has to hold on to something. If I were to shatter that little bit of comfort he clings to, it would be too cruel.

We stepped inside. The small room had windows on both sides to let the air flow through. Because it followed the shape of the stilted house’s roof, the ceiling rose into a triangle. When I looked up, I could faintly see the tiles laid above.

Jianqing quickly pushed both windows open. The wind rushing through the trees outside poured straight in. It swept past us, cool and clean, the “whoosh” ringing in my ears. The stale, stuffy air inside scattered at once.

The furnishings were simple. Against the front wall stood a table like an ancestral altar, and on it rested a square wooden box. Beside the box sat the same gu jar of Jianqing’s I’d seen before.

The setup felt eerie. I had no idea why Jianqing had brought me here. I couldn’t help asking, “What is this place for?”

He leaned against the window and looked back at me. The wind lifted his hair again and again, fluttering like a light butterfly. Despite the dirt smudging his face, his expression was bright, almost radiant. The sight made my heart tremble.

Whatever else could be said, this scene—if painted—would be timeless.

In that breathtaking moment, Jianqing said, “My dad is in that box.”