When I came to again, I was tied to a chair—hands bound so tight I couldn’t move them at all.
My mouth was gagged. I strained my neck to look around; the room was well-appointed, the sort of sterile luxury you’d find in a five-star hotel.
“You’re awake.” The voice was impossibly familiar—Su Xiaoxiao.
I tried to cry out but only muffled noises escaped. She motioned for one of her men to rip the tape from my mouth. The moment it came off my tears sprang out; my lips were numb, my face a raw, aching ache. I wasn’t crying from fear—just from pain.
“Su Xiaoxiao, do you understand what you’re doing? This is kidnapping.” I shouted.
She tilted her head, wearing a wounded expression like I’d betrayed her. “I had no choice. You wouldn’t help, so I had to force you. This is the only way to get a spirit to come help.”
“You do realize my sister is your classmate, right? You watched her suffer like this and did nothing.” Her voice betrayed panic beneath the pleading.
She opened the bedroom door. I felt ice crawl up my spine and half-screamed.
This wasn’t the Su Qiaoqiao I knew.
Twenty-two years old, and she looked like a withered ancient woman. Her hair was streaked with silver, her skin sagged and hollowed into ravines, her eyes clouded with a tired dirtiness. Even the most beautiful things about her—her mouth, the curve of her lips—had collapsed into something dry and spent, like a toothless crone.
“This…is Su Qiaoqiao?” I whispered, disbelief sticking to my throat.
“She’s my sister, Jojo,” Su Xiaoxiao said, collapsing into a chair. “She turned into this overnight. She’s only twenty-two. She nearly—last night she nearly took her life.”
“So you kidnap me?” I felt bile rise. Her selfishness had no bounds. “This is beyond the pale.”
“Lan Chiyu, she’s your classmate. Do you want to watch her die like this? Do you have the heart to let her rot away?” She grabbed at me, suddenly frantic. “If she dies, the next one will be me. I’m a public figure—if the paparazzi catch me like this, it’s over!”
People were always selfish; even sisters could think only of themselves. But Su Xiaoxiao had tipped into a kind of mad, hysterical selfishness. I kept quiet; I couldn’t risk enraging her further.
“You want my help? Fine. But you need to untie me first so I can call a spirit to possess me and do the work.” I said carefully.
She hesitated for half a second—probably afraid I’d summon a spirit and run—then clamped a heavy chain around my ankle. She unbound only my right hand, her precautions meticulous to the point of paranoia.
I regretted asking Bai Qi to look into that painting. With him doing the legwork, at least I’d have had some protection; without him, I felt naked.
I wrenched my right hand free of the rope’s bite, fished three incense sticks from my bag and handed them to Su Xiaoxiao. She lit them for me while I began to murmur the chant—nothing theatrical, just the old helper’s invocation.
“Three incense, drifting—call the spirit from the four corners,” I muttered, syllables falling into the old rhythm of the ritual. Halfway through the line, the three sticks snapped in midair.
My heart lurched. Before I could examine what had happened, my whole body shuddered—the possession hit.
“Jiangtou.” The word slid out of my mouth in someone else’s voice.
Not Gu Yuan. Not Bai Qi. A man’s voice, sharp and edged—Longlin.
His control pulsed through my arm and the ropes around me loosened. I hadn’t expected him; once a spirit took hold, it wouldn’t leave unless it wanted to. Su Xiaoxiao heard the stranger and dropped to her knees, begging for salvation.
I wanted to speak, to explain, but with Longlin’s control on my limbs I had no choice. Better he handled it than Gu Yuan take a risk. I held my silence and watched.
Longlin strolled the room with an air of languid disgust, fanning himself as if the place offended his nose. He looked like a dandy who’d been dragged into a slaughterhouse.
“This rancid corpse-oil stench—you actually endured this?” he sniffed. “I’m only here because you begged to be famous again. You wanted a comeback so badly you turned to this rotten shortcut.”
“It did work—for a while.” Su Xiaoxiao’s voice trembled. “The curse-master kept the vengeful spirit under control for two years. He bound Long Li to obey me—my career took off. But two days ago, before a press conference, I drank too much. I slept with Long Li…my finger pricked. One drop of blood fell into the wine jar and the spirit broke loose. It possessed me. Long Li ended up dead.”
“So the wine jar went missing?” Longlin asked.
“Yes. When I woke, it was gone. Later I learned Jojo had stuck talismans on it and sent it to Lan Chiyu’s family—my sister found it at your house.” Su Xiaoxiao’s voice rattled. “It had soaked my blood. That night I started convulsing, spitting froth, screaming for Jojo to fetch the jar back. If she didn’t, I said I’d bite my tongue and die.”
“Jojo brought it back,” Su Xiaoxiao said. “But when she got home, she was like this. The curse-master tried a ritual in my house, but he couldn’t restrain it—the spirit killed him instead. Now it’s given me an ultimatum: if I don’t hand over a heart by midnight, it’ll kill my entire family.”
Longlin smirked and shook his head. “Pity. But all of this is a transaction. It helped you have your two years of glory, and now you’re trying to dodge the bill. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
“I’m begging you—for help. I don’t want to die yet.” Su Xiaoxiao sobbed.
“And your sister?” Longlin’s voice sharpened. “She’s already been eaten alive for you. You’re telling me you will watch her die so you can keep your life and your fame? How is that different from murder?”
Su Xiaoxiao slumped to the floor, sobbing so violently she shook. “So you won’t help me.”
Longlin flicked his fan, amused and scornful. “Poetic justice, then.”
“In that case, none of us will live.” Su Xiaoxiao’s voice dropped to a flat, deranged whisper. She lunged up and snatched the wine jar, smashing it onto the floor.
A thick white smoke erupted, swallowing the room in seconds. Longlin had expected theatrics, but not poison. He opened his mouth to avoid the fumes and only then realized my ankle was still chained. He moved to slash the metal but froze—Su Xiaoxiao had stepped in front of me.
She’d transformed herself: a gauze-thin red dress clung to her, the textile floating like insect wings, her makeup heavy and operatic. She was a seductress and a spirit both—an erotic revenant. Her lipstick shone wetly; she licked her finger, then dug a blood-stained fingernail into my neck, the pressure sharp and intimate.
Her face was almost on mine, her breath hot. Around us, the room hummed with menace.