The Maggot at the Ankle
Shen Cuiyu finished reading the mission brief. The room fell into a hushed gravity; faces around the Hall of Inquiry tightened.
“This…there’s nothing to go on,” someone muttered.
The case had come during the Zhongyuan period — the Ghost Festival, called Zhongyuan in Taoism and Ullambana in Buddhism. Dreams of deceased acquaintances were hardly uncommon then; the river between worlds was said to run thin, spirits more brazen. Still, it was one thing to be visited in dreams and another for a ghost to straight-up instruct the living to prepare ritual items. The mission note went beyond the usual strangeness.
“Hair, red paper, the birth hour and date…” Dongfang Xiao whispered, incredulous. “Sounds like they’re asking for a scapegoat.”
Zhong Shengwan nodded, expression grave. “Those are intimate things. Easily turned into tools for spellcraft.”
Hair, she explained, wasn’t mere keratin — it carried a residue of life, a fragment where a person’s essence gathered. Burn it, and a person’s luck might wither; their vigor could fail. The birth hour and date — the bazi — were gravenive details of one’s fate, a map of life’s blueprint. For a spirit to demand such items from the living was almost certainly malicious.
Around them, onlookers exchanged worried whispers.
“Did you see the note? ‘Several masters took this case; none could dispel the evil.’ What kind of demon is this…?”
“Maybe it’s a violent death…no wonder it’s so fierce.”
“Why isn’t Shen Cuiyu saying anything? Has she frozen up?”
“She took on an A-grade task as her first mission — so reckless. They’re in a tight spot now. How will their team get out of this?”
Shen Cuiyu knew guesses were useless. She spoke quietly with her three companions, packed a few things, and they set off for Linyu City immediately.
Not long after they left the Hall, Liu Ruyan strode past the crowd and stood before Master Yan, voice oily with concern. “Master Yan, the matter in Linyu sounds dangerous and odd. Shen Cuiyu’s team is taking an A-grade case on their first go. I beg you — allow my team to go along, to assist. It would be good to have each other’s backs.”
Master Yan’s brow twitched. “Didn’t your group just finish a D-grade task?”
“Just because that’s done doesn’t mean we abandon our classmates.” Liu Ruyan’s smile was all mild worry. “More hands, fewer chances for mistakes.” She glanced back at her teammates and gave them a soft, coaxing look. “Cuiyu is one of us. We should help. Will you allow it?”
Her teammates nodded eagerly, praising Liu Ruyan for her beauty and kindness. Master Yan studied the little tableau, then the young faces behind her who hung on her every word. On the rankings, Liu Ruyan’s group stood higher than Shen’s; mutual aid had always been the academy’s custom.
Finally, he allowed it. “Very well. If you insist on going, you may accompany them. But remember: act with caution. No rashness.”
“We understand,” Liu Ruyan bowed, hiding the brief, bright flare of triumph that crossed her eyes.
Her group went off to pack too, pleased. They had already secured their D-grade points; this trip to Linyu could be a pleasant diversion — and perhaps an opportunity to bask in the reflected glory of a rising ‘oracle-turned-prodigy’. Some of them, who’d barely seen Liu Ruyan lift a finger on their last mission, secretly looked forward to witnessing her true power.
Myriad Academy provided a carriage for the journey. Dongfang Xiao leapt aboard first, practically vibrating with excitement. He had hardly traveled beyond the capital since enrolling; the only other trip had been a hurried mission to Xunyang that left no time for sightseeing. Everything now seemed new and delicious — every roadside snack a must-try.
Zhong Shengwan kept pulling half of Dongfang back into the carriage with a scolding smile, while paying the stall vendors for four portions every time. Their chatter and tasting kept the road lively.
Dongfang’s good mood lasted until another carriage drew alongside theirs. He stiffened and pointed, voice wobbling. “S-she…she followed us?”
They looked and saw it — Liu Ruyan sitting inside that other vehicle. Her gaze swept over them with a thin, unmistakable sneer. The corner of her mouth tilted in a smile that was mockery and amusement, then her eyes settled on Shen Cuiyu with the kind of slow, feline entertainment one reserves for a trapped mouse.
Shen Cuiyu met that stare and held it. Calm on the surface, her eyes were clear as still water: no flicker of avoidance, no attempt to look away.
It was the same as before.
In her past life, Liu Ruyan had been like a maggot at the ankle — constantly there, gnawing at her heels. No matter what Shen did or where she went, Liu Ruyan seemed to materialize, always one step ahead in seizing praise and taking credit. Shen had once suspected some sordid craft—an art that could pluck thoughts from the air. She’d spent a small fortune on talismans meant to shield the mind and block such prying, only to find them useless. Liu Ruyan still solved cases with solutions that matched Shen’s own thinking down to the last idiosyncrasy — the same angle, the same neat little tricks. Too many details lined up for it to be coincidence.
Back then, as a member of the Liu household, Shen had worn the burden of being the “elder sister” who somehow drew enmity without cause. This life she bore the name Shen Cuiyu and had no official ties to Liu Ruyan — yet the harassment continued. It felt as if an invisible thread tied them together across lives.
A thought flickered then died: perhaps Liu Ruyan knew she’d been reborn. It was tempting — but Shen dismissed it almost as quickly. If Liu Ruyan held proof of such a thing, she wouldn’t trail Shen silently. She would shout it from the rafters, smear Shen as a demon-possessed usurper, and inflate her own mystic prestige with the accusation. Not this coy, irritating shadow-play.
So why keep at it? Why the endless, intimate mimicry and the restless pursuit? Shen Cuiyu did not yet have the answer. She kept her face composed, while inside the tide of memories and suspicion rolled on.