I held the battered umbrella over us, steering two female ghosts in my wake. No one else could see them—only Feng Qianqian glanced once, then fell into step ahead, wordlessly leading the way.
Out in the countryside the sky opened wide, unblocked by towers. The sunset bled across the heavens, a streak of fire that made the whole world glow. The little black canopy around me carved out its own private dusk, a shadowed bubble that shut the rest of existence out.
Suddenly a large hand closed over mine and lifted it up.
Si Jiangchen slipped inside my umbrella.
“What are you doing?!” I snapped, half-angry, half-panicked. He'd already done too many outrageous things to risk another.
“From now on, you’re not to meddle in Wei Yuan’s business.” He draped an arm across my shoulders and narrowed his eyes. There was something predatory in his expression, like a wolf that had finally trapped a rabbit. “You’ll stick by me. Understand?”
I went silent. This man was a living chemical hazard—volatile, dangerous. I hadn’t finished living my own life; why on earth would I sign up to be tangled with him?
When I didn’t answer, he only smiled, a small, satisfied curl at his mouth, and watched me closely. The air inside the umbrella shifted; a tangible, dangerous pressure climbed my spine. I tried to step away. His hand slid from my shoulder to my waist.
My T‑shirt was torn; his fingers found skin beneath the fabric.
“I…I—” the sensation of skin against skin made my words falter.
“Believe me, I could take you with me right now,” he said, calm and flat. What he left unsaid carried a command.
“I’m only helping him this once.” It was the truth. If Wei Yuan kept causing trouble after I sorted this out, then let fate decide—I'd wash my hands of him.
He hummed approval, then kissed me once on the lips before gathering me close and walking on.
Feng’s yard wasn’t large. We rounded the back wall and came face to face with the old willow. In the dying light its drooping branches hung like a shroud; it looked for all the world like a disheveled woman, head bowed and listless, her long hair stirring with the field breeze.
“Under that tree…” Feng Qianqian pointed, but didn’t step any closer.
I knew too well the curse of being born with an eye for the other side. I pressed a pre-made talisman—a little yellow triangle—into her hand. “Hold this. If something lunges at you, swallow it.”
Feng looked stunned. She’d been dead for more than a decade; nobody had ever offered her any kindness. She clutched the paper like it was a treasure and, after a long hesitation, mouthed a soft “Thank you.”
I smiled and turned, offering the other talisman to Bai Wei.
She was in heels, sinking and shuffling through the loosened earth. Her breath came in quick little pants; the exertion flushed her delicate face and, despite herself, made her look more alive than usual.
“What’s this?” she huffed.
“It’s a protection charm. It’ll keep ghosts away.” I couldn’t leave her undefended. Even if she disliked me, she was still with us.
“Thanks, but I don’t need it.” Bai Wei tossed her chin up and unfastened a rose‑gold chain. Dangling at the end was a finely carved jade Maitreya—bright, glassy, the color of a clear green pool. “I had this blessed by a master at the Xiangjiang Jade Buddha Temple. It’s been consecrated—no spirits can get near me.”
I bit back a retort. The jade pendant was exquisite—high quality stone, impeccable carving—but I didn’t feel any aura of consecration. Either the blessing was a show, or someone had sold her a convincing piece of theater. As she swept past me, smug, I sighed and flicked at her collar.
“What are you doing?!” she snapped.
“Spider,” I said, and my palm came down. A tiny black spider smushed under my hand—already flattened.
Si, watching from very close, found my little performance entertaining; his grin widened.
It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. While pretending to swat the spider, I’d slipped the folded talisman into the collar seam of her blouse. She didn’t notice.
The willow had become something else entirely. From a distance I could see the branches were ringed with shadowy shapes—dark, curving blurs that swayed in time with the leaves. The old superstition—“Never plant mulberries in front, willows behind”—was meant to keep trouble at bay, but Feng’s family had kept this ancient tree for generations, and it looked as if the tree itself had slowly fed on the grudges and grief that gathered around it.
At the base of the trunk was a depression, a pit two or three meters across, crammed with rotting household trash. At the bottom, tied by hands and gagged, lay Wei Yuan.
He’d already come to and was clawing his way up the refuse heap, panic in his voice, tears threatening to spill. As soon as he saw Si Jiangchen and me at the rim, he began to whimper like a child.
My instinct was to jump in and haul him out. Si caught my arm and hauled me back.
“A woman, getting herself dirty like that?” he said, brow furrowing. True to local gossip, cleanliness bordered on obsession for him.
I wanted to scream. If he wouldn't lower himself to help, that was one thing—he could watch me do the dirty work. But stop me? Letting Wei Yuan roast in filth until he choked didn’t sit right.
Bai Wei had already stepped back, pinching her nose. “This is disgusting. We should get someone else to do it.”
“No.” I said it so sharply there was no room for argument. This willow had teeth—if we didn’t act before the police arrived, whatever fed on the tree would only grow hungrier. Thankfully the place was isolated; the villagers were afraid of the Feng family and kept their distance. That was the only reason the willow hadn’t eaten the whole neighborhood yet.
If Feng Zhenzhen’s spirit hadn’t been obsessively clinging to the living and lured us here, Wei Yuan might already have become nourishment hung in the branches.
Before I could force my way past Si’s grasp, Feng Qianqian—quiet until now—took a breath and leapt into the pit. She moved with a swiftness that belied her years among the dead and began cutting the ropes binding Wei Yuan.
He tore the rag from his mouth and immediately began to vomit and gag. He was the sort of pampered second-generation scion who’d never imagined himself dug into a garbage hole. The shock of smell and reality hit him like a physical blow.