Lan Wangji stood before Wei Wuxian, his presence radiating an aura of frost and unyielding determination. In a flash, Xue Yang hurled Shuanghua, the gleaming sword intercepting a potentially fatal blow meant for Lan Wangji. The two legendary blades clashed with a resounding ring before flying back to their respective wielders' hands.

Wei Wuxian, his heart still racing from the near-miss, couldn't help but quip, "Isn't this what they call 'better late than never'?"

Lan Wangji, ever a man of few words, simply responded with a curt, "Mm."

Without further ado, he engaged Xue Yang in fierce combat. The tables had turned dramatically; where moments ago Wei Wuxian had been desperately evading Xue Yang's onslaught, now it was Xue Yang who found himself relentlessly pushed back by Lan Wangji's formidable swordsmanship.

Realizing his disadvantage, a sly glint appeared in Xue Yang's eyes. With a devious smile playing on his lips, he suddenly tossed Shuanghua from his right hand to his left. Wei Wuxian tensed, anticipating some sort of poisonous powder or hidden weapon to emerge from Xue Yang's sleeve. Instead, to everyone's surprise, another long sword materialized in Xue Yang's right hand.

This new blade exuded an ominous aura, its edge gleaming with a sinister darkness that starkly contrasted with Shuanghua's bright, silvery radiance. Wielding both swords with remarkable dexterity, Xue Yang's assault intensified, his movements fluid and unpredictable.

Lan Wangji's eyes narrowed slightly as he recognized the second weapon. "Jiangzai?"

Xue Yang's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Oh? The esteemed Hanguang-Jun recognizes this sword? I'm truly honored."

"Jiangzai" was indeed Xue Yang's personal sword. True to its name, which meant "bringing calamity," it was a blade infamous for the bloodshed and carnage it had wrought, much like its wielder.

Wei Wuxian, unable to resist commenting, interjected, "That name suits you perfectly."

Lan Wangji, his focus unwavering from the dual-wielding opponent before him, spoke to Wei Wuxian without turning, "Step back. You're not needed here."

For once, Wei Wuxian heeded the advice without argument, retreating towards the doorway. From his new vantage point, he could see outside where an unusual spectacle was unfolding.

Wen Ning, his face an expressionless mask, had Song Lan by the throat, lifting him effortlessly before slamming him into a wall with such force that it left a human-shaped indentation in the stone. Song Lan, equally impassive, grabbed Wen Ning's wrist and, with a sudden twist, hurled the other fierce corpse into the ground, cratering the earth.

The two undead warriors continued their brutal exchange, their blows resonating with thunderous impacts. Neither showed any sign of pain or fatigue; lacking the ability to feel hurt or fear injury, they could continue fighting indefinitely unless reduced to scattered pieces.

Wei Wuxian muttered to himself, "Looks like they don't need me here either."

Suddenly, movement caught his eye. Across the way, in a dimly lit shop, he spotted Lan Jingyi frantically waving at him. A wry smile crossed Wei Wuxian's face as he thought, "Ah, now there's someone who definitely needs me."

As Wei Wuxian stepped away, the battle between Lan Wangji and Xue Yang reached a crescendo. Bichen's radiance flared brilliantly, and in that blinding moment, Xue Yang's grip on Shuanghua faltered. The sword spun out of his grasp, and Lan Wangji, with lightning-fast reflexes, snatched it from the air.

Seeing his prized weapon in enemy hands, Xue Yang's eyes flashed with cold fury. He brought Jiangzai down in a vicious arc aimed at Lan Wangji's left arm, but the strike was deftly parried. Frustration evident in his voice, Xue Yang snarled, "Give me back my sword."

Lan Wangji's reply was as cold and unyielding as steel, "You are unworthy of this blade."

A mirthless laugh escaped Xue Yang's lips, his eyes promising retribution.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian had made his way to where the young disciples from various sects had gathered. As he approached, they swarmed around him, their faces a mixture of relief and anxiety.

"Is everyone alright?" Wei Wuxian asked, his eyes quickly scanning the group for any signs of injury.

A chorus of affirmatives greeted him. "We're fine!" "We did as you said and held our breath!"

Wei Wuxian nodded approvingly. "Good. If anyone had disobeyed, I'd have made them drink more of that glutinous rice porridge."

Several of the youths who had experienced the concoction's vile taste visibly gagged at the mere mention of it. Just then, the sound of numerous footsteps began to echo from all directions. At the far end of the long street, indistinct figures started to appear through the mist.

Lan Wangji, ever alert, also caught the sound. With a sweep of his sleeve, he produced the guqin Wangji. In one fluid motion, he tossed Bichen to his left hand, never breaking stride in his duel with Xue Yang. Simultaneously, without even a glance behind him, he raised his right hand and swept it across the guqin's strings.

The clear, resonant notes of the instrument rang out, carrying far down the street. In response came the now-familiar sound of walking corpses' heads exploding. Lan Wangji continued his performance, one hand engaged in fierce swordplay with Xue Yang, the other playing the guqin with casual grace. His eyes flicked briefly towards the approaching threat, then back to his opponent, his fingers plucking the strings with practiced ease. He maintained perfect composure, attacking and defending on two fronts simultaneously.

Jin Ling, unable to contain his admiration, blurted out, "Amazing!"

The young Jin heir had witnessed his uncle Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao on night hunts before, slaying monsters with impressive skill. He had always thought them to be the two most formidable cultivators in the world, his feelings towards Lan Wangji colored more by fear of his silence spells and cold demeanor than respect. But now, he couldn't help but be in awe of Lan Wangji's prowess.

Lan Jingyi, pride evident in his voice, chimed in, "Of course! Hanguang-Jun is incredible. He's just never been one to show off, always so low-key. Right?"

The "right?" was directed at Wei Wuxian, who looked bemused at being suddenly addressed. "Are you asking me? Why?"

Lan Jingyi, growing flustered, pressed on, "Don't you think Hanguang-Jun is amazing?!"

Wei Wuxian stroked his chin thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Hmm, yes, amazing. Of course. He's the most amazing." As he spoke, he couldn't help but break into a fond smile.

The heart-stopping, perilous night was drawing to a close, with dawn fast approaching. However, this was not necessarily good news. Daybreak meant the demonic fog would thicken, making movement even more treacherous.

If it were just Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, escape wouldn't be too challenging. But with so many living people to protect, being surrounded by a horde of walking corpses could spell disaster. As Wei Wuxian's mind raced through possible strategies, a familiar sound reached his ears – the crisp, rhythmic tapping of a bamboo cane on the ground.

The soulless, tongueless young girl's ghost had returned!

Making a split-second decision, Wei Wuxian commanded, "Let's go!"

Lan Jingyi, confusion evident in his voice, asked, "Go where?"

"Follow the sound of the bamboo cane," Wei Wuxian replied without hesitation.

Jin Ling's eyes widened in disbelief. "You want us to follow a ghost? Who knows where it might lead us!"

Wei Wuxian, his tone brooking no argument, explained, "Yes, we're following her. This sound has been with you since you entered the city, right? It was leading you towards the city gates, away from the center. That's how you ran into us. She was trying to guide you out, to save you!"

He went on to theorize that the eerie, unpredictable tapping was the ghost's method of scaring living people away from danger. Even the paper doll head of the yin iron soldier that Wei Wuxian had kicked earlier might have been placed there by her as a warning.

"Besides," Wei Wuxian added, "last night she clearly wanted to tell us something urgent but couldn't express it. As soon as Xue Yang appeared, she vanished. She's probably hiding from him, which means she's definitely not on his side."

"Xue Yang?!" The young disciples exclaimed in unison. "What about Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan?"

"Ah, I'll explain that later," Wei Wuxian said, waving off their confusion. "The main thing is, the one fighting Hanguang-Jun in there isn't Xiao Xingchen – it's Xue Yang impersonating him."

The bamboo cane continued its steady tapping, seeming both patient and urgent. Following the ghost could lead them into a trap, but staying to face the corpses that could spew deadly poison wasn't any safer. The young disciples made their choice, falling in line behind Wei Wuxian as they pursued the spectral sound.

As they moved, the tapping moved with them. Sometimes they could make out a small, hazy figure in the thinning mist ahead, while at other times, they saw nothing at all.

After running for a while, Lan Jingyi spoke up, slightly out of breath, "So we're just leaving like this?"

Wei Wuxian called back over his shoulder, "Hanguang-Jun, we're counting on you! We'll go on ahead!"

A single, sharp twang of a guqin string echoed back, sounding remarkably like someone saying "Mm." Wei Wuxian couldn't help but laugh.

Lan Jingyi persisted, "Is that all? Aren't you going to say anything else?"

Wei Wuxian looked perplexed. "What else should I say?"

"Why not something like 'I'm worried about you, I want to stay!' or 'You go!' and then 'No! I won't go! If we go, we go together!' Isn't that how it should be?" Lan Jingyi suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of romanticism.

Wei Wuxian nearly choked on his laughter. "Who taught you that? Who told you there should be that kind of dialogue? I might be capable of it, but can you imagine your Hanguang-Jun saying such things?"

The young Lan disciples unanimously shook their heads. "No... we can't..."

"Exactly," Wei Wuxian agreed. "It would be a waste of time. Your Hanguang-Jun is incredibly reliable. I trust he can handle the situation. I'll do my part, and then either he'll come find me, or I'll go find him. Simple as that."

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They followed the sound of the bamboo cane for what felt like half an incense stick's burning time, making several turns along the way. Suddenly, the tapping ceased. Wei Wuxian held out an arm to stop the group behind him and cautiously took a few steps forward.

Through the increasingly thick demonic fog, a solitary building loomed before them.

With an ominous creak, the door of the house swung open, as if inviting the strangers to enter. Wei Wuxian had a strong intuition that something awaited them inside. Not something dangerous or life-threatening, but something that would provide answers, unraveling some of the mysteries they faced.

Wei Wuxian, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation and curiosity, said, "Well, we've come this far. Let's go in."

He lifted his foot and stepped into the house, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Without turning back, he reminded the others, "Watch out for the threshold. Don't trip."

As if on cue, one of the young disciples nearly stumbled over the unusually high doorstep. Grumbling, he asked, "Why is this threshold so high? It's not like we're entering a temple."

Wei Wuxian, his voice carrying a note of knowing amusement, replied, "It's not a temple, but it is a place that needs a high threshold."

Several of the disciples lit fire talismans, their flickering orange light casting dancing shadows across the room and revealing its contents.

Straw was scattered across the floor, and at the far end stood an altar. Below it were a few small stools of varying heights. To the right, there was a small, pitch-black room. But what caught everyone's attention were the seven or eight dark wooden coffins arranged around the space.

Jin Ling, his voice a mix of realization and apprehension, asked, "Is this one of those public morgues? A place to keep the dead?"

Wei Wuxian nodded. "Yes. It's where they keep unclaimed bodies, corpses that families consider unlucky to keep at home, and the deceased waiting for burial. You could call it a way station for the dead." He gestured towards the small room on the right. "That's probably where the caretaker rests."

Lan Sizhui, ever curious, inquired, "Senior Wei, why is the threshold of a public morgue made so high?"

"To prevent the walking dead," Wei Wuxian replied matter-of-factly.

Lan Jingyi, his eyes wide with disbelief, stammered, "A high threshold can stop corpses from turning?"

Wei Wuxian shook his head. "It can't prevent corpses from turning, but it can sometimes stop lower-level walking corpses from getting out." He turned and stood in front of the threshold. "Let's say I've died and just turned into a walking corpse."

The young disciples nodded, hanging on his every word.

"Having just turned, wouldn't my limbs be stiff? Unable to perform many movements?" Wei Wuxian continued.

Jin Ling, impatient, interjected, "Isn't that obvious? They can't even walk properly, can't move their legs, they can only hop..." His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him.

"Exactly," Wei Wuxian confirmed. "They can only hop." He demonstrated by pressing his legs together and hopping towards the door. Each time, the high threshold prevented him from crossing. The young cultivators, initially amused by the sight of Wei Wuxian hopping about, began to imagine a freshly turned corpse desperately trying to hop out, only to be thwarted by the threshold. They burst into laughter.

Wei Wuxian, a hint of pride in his voice, explained, "You see? Don't laugh. This is folk wisdom. It might seem simple, even childish, but it's quite effective against low-level walking corpses. If a corpse trips over the threshold, it falls to the ground. With stiff limbs, it can't get up quickly. By the time it manages to rise, either dawn is breaking and the rooster is about to crow, or the caretaker has discovered it. It's quite impressive that ordinary people, not from cultivator families, came up with such a method."

Jin Ling, who had been laughing earlier, quickly sobered. "Why did she bring us to a public morgue? Won't this place be surrounded by walking corpses too? And where did she go?"

Wei Wuxian, his voice calm and assured, replied, "I don't think it will be. We've been standing here for a while now. Has anyone heard any sign of walking corpses?"

As if summoned by his words, the ghost of the young girl suddenly appeared, perched atop one of the coffins.

Having been prepared by Wei Wuxian's earlier descriptions, the disciples weren't startled by her appearance, even with her bleeding eyes and missing tongue. It was a testament to Wei Wuxian's words - exposure breeds courage.

The girl's ghostly form emitted a faint glow. She was small in stature, with a delicate face that, cleaned up, would have belonged to a pitiful girl-next-door. However, her posture - legs crossed as she sat on the coffin - was far from ladylike. The bamboo cane she used as a walking stick leaned against the coffin, and her thin legs swung impatiently.

She began tapping lightly on the coffin lid, then jumped down and circled the coffin, gesturing to them. This time, her gestures were easy to understand - she wanted them to open it.

Jin Ling hesitantly asked, "She wants us to open this coffin?"

Lan Sizhui, ever thoughtful, suggested, "Could her body be inside? Perhaps she wants us to help her find peace through proper burial." It was a reasonable guess; many ghosts lingered due to improper burial of their remains.

Wei Wuxian positioned himself at one side of the coffin. Several of the young disciples moved to help, but he waved them away. "Stay back. If it's not a body in there, we don't want you getting a face full of corpse powder or worse."

With a grunt of effort, Wei Wuxian lifted the coffin lid and set it aside. Peering inside, he saw a body - but not the one they expected.

Instead of the young girl's remains, the coffin contained the body of a young man. He had been arranged in a peaceful pose, hands folded in prayer over a horsetail whisk. Dressed in snow-white Taoist robes, the lower half of his face was refined and elegant, though pale and bloodless. The upper half of his face was wrapped in layers of bandages four fingers wide. Beneath the bandages, where eyes should have been, there were only sunken hollows.

Hearing the coffin open, the ghost girl approached, her hands groping blindly until they found the face of the corpse. She stamped her foot in frustration, blood tears streaming from her sightless eyes.

No words or gestures were needed. Everyone understood. This lone body in this isolated morgue was the real Xiao Xingchen.

Ghost tears cannot fall, but the girl wept silently for a moment before suddenly clenching her teeth in rage. She turned to them, making urgent "Ah! Ah!" sounds, clearly desperate to communicate.

Lan Sizhui asked, "Should we try to question her spirit again?"

Wei Wuxian shook his head. "No need. We might not ask the right questions, and I suspect her answers would be too complex for us to understand easily."

Though Wei Wuxian hadn't explicitly said "I'm afraid you can't handle it," Lan Sizhui felt a twinge of shame. He silently vowed to practice the Spirit Questioning technique more diligently upon their return. He aspired to reach Lan Wangji's level of mastery, able to play and interpret responses simultaneously.

Lan Jingyi, puzzled, asked, "Then what should we do?"

Wei Wuxian's reply was simple yet ominous: "We empathize."

Each major cultivation sect had its own methods for extracting information from vengeful spirits. Empathy was Wei Wuxian's specialty. It wasn't as sophisticated as some other techniques, but anyone could use it. The method involved allowing the spirit to possess the practitioner, using their body as a medium to access the spirit's soul and memories. The practitioner would see, hear, and feel what the spirit had experienced. If the spirit's emotions were particularly strong, the practitioner might be overwhelmed by its grief, anger, or joy - hence the term "empathy."

This method was the most direct, efficient, and effective of all techniques. It was also the most dangerous. While most people avoided spirit possession at all costs, empathy was like playing with fire. One moment of carelessness could lead to disaster. If the spirit changed its mind and seized the opportunity to fight back, the best-case scenario was mere possession.

Jin Ling protested vehemently, "It's too dangerous! This kind of dark magic-"

Wei Wuxian cut him off. "We don't have time for this. Everyone, get ready. We need to finish this and get back to Hanguang-Jun. Jin Ling, you'll be the observer."

The observer played a crucial role in the empathy ritual. To prevent the empath from becoming lost in the spirit's emotions, a signal was agreed upon - usually a phrase or a familiar voice. The observer would watch closely and use this signal to pull the empath back if things went awry.

Jin Ling pointed at himself, incredulous. "Me? You want me to oversee this... this thing?"

Lan Sizhui quickly offered, "If Young Master Jin doesn't want to, I can do it."

Wei Wuxian turned to Jin Ling. "Jin Ling, did you bring a Jiang Clan silver bell?"

The silver bell was a trademark accessory of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. Having been raised by both the Jin and Jiang clans, Jin Ling likely carried items from both families. Sure enough, with a complex expression, he produced a small, ancient-looking bell. Its silver body was engraved with the Jiang Clan's nine-petaled lotus emblem.

Wei Wuxian stared at the bell for a moment, his expression unreadable. Jin Ling, noticing his reaction, asked, "What is it?"

"Nothing," Wei Wuxian said, handing the bell to Lan Sizhui. "The Jiang Clan's silver bells have a calming effect. We'll use this as our signal."

Jin Ling snatched the bell back. "I'll do it after all!"

Lan Jingyi muttered, "First you don't want to, then you do. So fickle, like a pampered young miss."

Ignoring the bickering, Wei Wuxian turned to the ghost girl. "You can come in now," he said, opening himself to possession.

The young ghost girl wiped her eyes and face before plunging into Wei Wuxian's body, her ethereal form merging completely with his physical one. Wei Wuxian slid down slowly against the coffin. The young disciples scrambled to gather straw, creating a makeshift cushion for him to sit on. Jin Ling clutched the silver bell tightly, his thoughts unreadable.

As the ghost entered him, a sudden concern flashed through Wei Wuxian's mind: "This girl is blind. If I empathize with her, won't I become blind too? That would greatly reduce the effectiveness. Well, I suppose hearing will have to suffice."

After a moment of disorientation, Wei Wuxian's consciousness settled. The girl opened her eyes, and to his surprise, instead of darkness, he saw a clear, vibrant landscape of mountains and rivers.

He could see!

It dawned on him that in this memory, the girl had not yet lost her sight.

In the empathy process, Wei Wuxian would experience the girl's most emotionally charged memories - the ones she most desperately wanted to share. His senses were now hers; her eyes were his eyes, her mouth his mouth.

The scene unfolded: the young girl sat by a small stream, using its reflection to groom herself. Despite her tattered clothes, she maintained a basic level of cleanliness. She hummed a little tune, tapping her foot to the rhythm as she tried to arrange her hair, seemingly dissatisfied with every attempt. Wei Wuxian could feel a thin wooden hairpin being poked around in her hair.

Suddenly, she looked down, catching her reflection in the water. Wei Wuxian's gaze followed, and he saw a young girl with a delicate, oval face and a pointed chin.

But her eyes were startling - completely white, with no pupils.

Wei Wuxian thought to himself, "This is clearly the appearance of a blind person, yet I can see through her eyes?"

The girl finished arranging her hair, stood up with a little hop, and grabbed a bamboo cane lying nearby. She began to skip along the path, swinging the cane playfully, hitting overhanging branches, kicking stones, and startling grasshoppers in the grass.

As people approached in the distance, her demeanor changed instantly. She stopped skipping and began to tap the ground carefully with her cane, moving slowly and cautiously. A group of village women passed by, giving her a wide berth and whispering among themselves. The girl bowed her head repeatedly, saying, "Thank you, thank you."

One of the women, seemingly moved by pity, lifted the white cloth covering her basket and took out a steaming bun. "Little sister, be careful. Are you hungry? Take this," she said, offering the bun.

The girl hesitated, "Oh, I couldn't possibly... I..."

The woman pressed the bun into her hand. "Take it!"

Accepting the gift gratefully, the girl said, "A-Qing thanks you, sister!"

So, Wei Wuxian thought, her name is A-Qing.

After bidding farewell to the women and quickly devouring the bun, A-Qing resumed her energetic skipping. Wei Wuxian, experiencing her movements, felt dizzy from the constant bouncing. He realized, "This girl is quite the wild one. I understand now - she's pretending to be blind. Those white eyes must be a congenital condition. While she appears blind, she can actually see. She's using this to trick people and gain sympathy."

He admired her resourcefulness. For a lone, wandering girl, pretending to be blind was a clever way to lower people's guards while allowing her to observe everything clearly. It was a smart survival tactic.

But A-Qing's ghost was truly blind, indicating she had lost her sight before death. How had she gone from feigning blindness to actually being blind?

Perhaps she had seen something she shouldn't have?

A-Qing continued her journey, skipping when alone and reverting to her cautious, blind act when others were around. Eventually, she reached a bustling marketplace.

In the crowded area, she put on a grand performance, tapping her cane skillfully as she navigated through the throng. Suddenly, she deliberately collided with a well-dressed middle-aged man, feigning distress, "I'm so sorry! I can't see, I'm so sorry!"

The man, initially furious at being bumped, checked his anger upon seeing it was a pretty, seemingly blind girl. Publicly berating her would only invite criticism. He settled for a gruff, "Watch where you're going!"

A-Qing apologized profusely. As the man walked away, he couldn't resist giving her bottom a hard pinch. Wei Wuxian, feeling everything A-Qing felt, was repulsed, wanting nothing more than to send the man flying with a powerful palm strike.

A-Qing remained still, appearing frightened. But once the man was out of sight, she ducked into a hidden alley. "Pah!" she spat, pulling out a stolen money pouch. After counting the meager contents, she spat again, "Disgusting man, all the same. Dresses like a gentleman but barely has two coins to rub together."

Wei Wuxian was torn between amusement and disbelief. A-Qing, not even fifteen, cursed like a seasoned street urchin and picked pockets with practiced ease. He mused, "If you'd picked my pocket, you wouldn't be complaining. I used to be quite wealthy, you know." He found himself wondering exactly when he had become so poor.

Before he could ponder further, A-Qing had already spotted her next target. Resuming her blind act, she left the alley and after a short walk, employed the same tactic, bumping into a Taoist priest in white robes. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I can't see, please forgive me!"

Wei Wuxian inwardly shook his head: At least vary your lines a bit, little beauty!

The priest, momentarily thrown off balance, turned and steadied her. "It's alright. Are you unable to see as well, young lady?"

This man was quite young, wearing simple but clean Taoist robes. A sword wrapped in white cloth was strapped to his back. The lower half of his face was handsome, if a bit gaunt. The upper half was covered by a bandage about four fingers wide, with hints of blood seeping through.