Chapter Seventy-Five: He Shengyu

For appearances like Chu Zhuang’s, which were nothing more than passing interludes, Gu Zhiheng had never paid them any mind. After all, garbage belongs in the trash can, not parading itself around to disgust people.

He drove back to the hotel where he was staying, parked the car, and carried his things inside. Jia City had grown dull for him; he planned to set out for Liujian County early the next morning—that was where the Red-tailed Fox truly made its lair.

As for the old acquaintance A-Li spoke of, he had no idea who it might be. He would simply take things as they came. First, he would travel to Liujian County, scout out the terrain, and get a sense of the Red-tailed Fox’s living environment.

The various spirits and monsters of Jia City were none of his concern—a tangled mess he had no patience for. Judging by the current situation, nothing major would likely happen in Jia City. Liu Qi’s matter would not cause trouble either, and if it did, Liu Wen would step in. These issues no longer required his attention; all that mattered was his journey to Liujian County.

He wasn’t even sure if he might encounter the so-called old acquaintance there. He didn’t even know who he was looking for, so searching would be futile. It was best to leave such things to chance.

Driving away from Jia City toward Liujian County, he felt only relief to be leaving behind a place that had long since bored him.

Gu Zhiheng messaged: “We agreed on three days. Which day do you all plan to arrive?”

Chu Xingran replied: “Something unexpected came up. We might be a bit late. Go explore and enjoy yourself for now!”

Chu Xingran sent another message: “Once we finish handling things here, we’ll probably drive over. There’s still plenty of time.”

After these two messages, there was silence from Chu Xingran’s end. Gu Zhiheng didn’t press for details; he trusted the three of them could handle whatever came their way.

At that very moment in Song City, the trio faced the wanton destruction of a female ghost. Her rampage was like that of a mad dog, charging and crashing about ceaselessly.

“Damn it, is this thing really an evil spirit?” Chen Yuan spat with disdain, staring at the ghost as if she were nothing but refuse.

What a piece of work! To put it nicely, she was a centurial ghost; to be frank, she was a hundred-year-old mad dog. And yet, this was the creature that had plunged Song City into chaos and gloom.

“It’s not that I want to criticize, but next time you go out, you really ought to cover that face of yours.” Chu Xingran glanced at Mo Han’s striking features, uncertain whether they were a blessing or a curse.

Being too handsome can truly be a crime.

“This has nothing to do with my looks. The real issue is that lunatic over there.” Mo Han felt wronged—how could he have known the mad dog would declare she’d fallen for his type?

“Are you three blind to my presence? Have you decided whether to stay or go? I’m running out of patience!” the ghostly woman snarled, her voice filled with menace.

She wanted only that man; the fate of the other two was of no concern to her. If they refused, she would kill them all—none would escape.

“Well, after some discussion, we decided that rather than let Han go with you, it’s more straightforward for us to kill you ourselves,” Chen Yuan said brazenly, though there was no falsehood in his words.

The three of them together truly could destroy this mad-dog of a ghost. The risk, however, was that she played by no rules and always acted unpredictably. Because of this, they had been stalled here for days.

It was all Mo Han’s fault for being so alluring. One look and the female ghost was obsessed, chasing after him relentlessly, determined to keep him by her side.

Mo Han himself was amusing—neither refusing nor agreeing, he kept her hanging every day. After four or five days of this, the ghost could stand it no longer. And so, in broad daylight, she confronted them once more.

“To be honest, you’re really quite ugly. Compared to my wife, you fall far short. I simply can’t bring myself to touch you!” Mo Han’s words were infuriating, and he shamelessly flaunted his affection for another.

At this, the ghost’s rage boiled over, a black mist surging around her as she lunged at Chu Xingran.

In life, she had been named He Shengyu—a delicate beauty with vermilion lips and gentle grace, skilled in all the refined arts. At that time, she was the most sought-after courtesan at Cuiyan Pavilion, the famed Jade Belle. If only love had not failed her, if only the promised marriage had not become a cruel joke, if only not for that fateful fire…

She would never have lost her beauty, never have fallen so low, never become what she was now. If not for that heartless man who deceived her, she would not have grown ever more deranged.

It was all his fault—why should she be punished while he went on to a blissful marriage? Heaven was unjust. She lost her looks and died miserably in the street, while the faithless man won happiness with his new love.

In the end, they lived happily ever after, while she perished in disgrace in a dark alley.

Once, she had been adored by thousands, but at the end of her life, she was humiliated by a gang of filthy beggars before ending it all against a cold wall.

“He Shengyu, the past has long since vanished, and your vengeance has been fulfilled. Why torment yourself further?” Mo Han could not understand—her revenge was complete, so why did such bitterness still consume her?

“I am not reconciled! I cannot accept this shameful end!” At his words, He Shengyu broke down, clutching her head and weeping in anguish.

Two streams of blood-red tears traced down her face, carrying with them all the grievances of her life and afterlife. She broke down at Mo Han’s words because, in truth, she was exhausted—she wanted to let go. But the memories imprisoned her, tormenting her day and night until madness overtook her. As the years dragged on, she grew ever more unhinged, lashing out at those around her—human, ghost, or monster—letting loose the full force of her resentment.

“He Shengyu, guilt is never imposed by others. Let go and spare yourself,” Chu Xingran sighed, unable to bear the sight.

For women of her time, autonomy and chastity were everything—such humiliation would leave anyone bitter and vengeful. Yet, the past was the past, and the present was the present. Right is right, and wrong is wrong. Their sympathy could not blind them to her crimes. Pity for her suffering could not excuse the sins she had committed, and so they could not show mercy.

“My apologies, Miss He,” Chu Xingran said quietly, plunging his sword into He Shengyu’s heart. She collapsed like a discarded rag, her spirit draining away.

In her final moments, her gaze met Chu Xingran’s—there was relief and release in her eyes, and gratitude as well.

Chu Xingran closed his eyes, retrieved his sword, and walked away without looking back.

Mo Han and Chen Yuan stood in silence, watching as He Shengyu’s soul shattered into fragments and slowly faded into the sky.