Chapter 30: Wraith’s Breath

Xiulan shifted her weight from foot to foot at the city manor’s main gate. Workers bustled past with carts piled high with lacquered furniture and ornate vases. The newly repaired postern gate gleamed with fresh paint and polished metal fixtures.

A twinge of satisfaction eased through her chest at the sight of the manor’s luxuries being carted away. Collecting the three-hundred seventy-five thousand taels to pay the prorated refund for the return of the Lin guard from the city garrison had not been simple.

But selling off excess furnishings—particularly from the now-empty family chambers—had covered the cost. Let the gossips wag their tongues. Dead people had no use for silk cushions and jade screens.

The morning sun climbed higher as she scanned the street for Master Qingfeng’s approach.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Xiulan spun around. Master Qingfeng stood behind her, immaculate in his dark blue robes despite having apparently scaled the manor wall. Not a single footstep had betrayed his approach.

“Master Qingfeng.” Xiulan dropped into a formal bow. “Welcome to the Lin city manor.”

“Miss Lin.” Master Qingfeng inclined his head. “How fares your young friend?”

Xiulan let out a tense breath. “Mei Chen remains stable. The qi transfers seem to sustain her, though she hasn’t shown signs of waking.”

“Very well. I am ready to see the patient.” Master Qingfeng’s words carried a clinical precision.

Xiulan nodded. “Please follow me.” She led him across the sun-warmed courtyard stones and through the main residence. Servants paused in their duties to bow as they passed. The wooden stairs creaked under their feet as they climbed to the second floor.

Two guards flanked Mei Chen’s door, stepping aside with crisp bows.

“There’s a slight chill,” Xiulan warned.

A wave of cold air rushed out as she slid the door open. Xiulan stepped inside and turned—Master Qingfeng remained frozen at the threshold, staring at Mei Chen’s still form on the bed.

“Master Qingfeng?”

He stepped into the room. “Everything is exactly as you described.”

The implied doubt in his tone pricked at Xiulan’s pride. She closed the door with a soft click.

Master Qingfeng approached the bed and wrapped his fingers around Mei Chen’s wrist. The steady focus of his examination made Xiulan’s hands clench and unclench at her sides.

He lifted his palm to hover before Mei Chen’s face, keeping it steady as seconds stretched into a full minute.

Master Qingfeng straightened from his examination. “Have you kept records of your qi transfer timing?”

Heat rushed to Xiulan’s face. “I—no.” The admission stung. How could I be so careless? Back in Phoenix Kingdom Chronicles, she’d filled notebooks analyzing combat patterns and quest triggers. “I should have documented everything.”

“Miss Lin.” Master Qingfeng stepped back from the bed. “Your friend’s condition is grave.” He shook his head. “I am not sure she can be saved.”

The room spun. Xiulan gripped the bedpost as memories crashed through her—Mei Chen’s broken body, the meridian pill, that first spark of hope after everything had turned to ash. Air refused to fill her lungs.

“Please.” The word scratched past her throat. “Tell me what you know.”

“Mei Chen is dead.”

Xiulan’s fingernails bit into her palms. “But—”

“Let me finish.” Master Qingfeng raised a hand. “Though her physical form has expired, her spirit remains tethered to her corpse.”

“In cultivation circles, we call these wrathful spirits.” Master Qingfeng’s voice hardened. “They must be eliminated. Left unchecked, they prey upon both mortals and cultivators alike.”

“Wait—” Xiulan’s voice cracked with desperation.

Master Qingfeng shook his head and gestured to Mei Chen. “Was this her state when she died?”

Xiulan blinked, confusion mixing with fear. “Do you mean wounds? Those healed along with the rejection of impurities.”

Qingfeng nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought. “That is not normal. Wrathful spirits often form from tragic and gruesome deaths. They maintain that visage. Yet, Mei Chen’s body is restored to a perfect state. Her qi is very active.”

Xiulan’s gaze drifted to Mei Chen’s serene face. Worry gnawed at her insides. What does this mean for her?

Qingfeng stroked his beard, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “The golden meridian opening pill is truly remarkable. It works even if a person passes away during its activation.”

Xiulan moved closer to the bed and took Mei Chen’s cold hand. The chill seeped into her skin, a stark reminder of the unnatural state her friend was in.

“Normally,” Qingfeng continued, “the yin surrounding her corpse would become so concentrated that she would evolve into a wrathful spirit, wreaking havoc and devouring everything she touched. However, there is only a slight imbalance in the room and around her.”

Frost forming on the walls when unattended to for more than a day was only slight? She didn’t want to consider what facing an actual wrathful spirit would be like, then.

Qingfeng’s gaze met Xiulan’s. “Your qi transfers have been crucial. By feeding her yang energy, you’ve countered the yin that would otherwise transform her.”

Xiulan’s heart pounded. “So, I have to keep donating my qi, or she’ll turn into a monster? Is there no way to reverse this?”

Qingfeng considered her question. His expression turned grave. “Reversing death is beyond mortal means. Only a spiritual deity could easily reverse such a state. But they dwell so high in the heavens that meeting one is nearly impossible. Just the encounter would likely strip you bare of your bark.”

Xiulan clenched her fists, frustration boiling inside her. “But there’s hope, right?”

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Qingfeng nodded slowly. “Indeed. The type of qi transfer you are performing requires consent. She must trust you deeply to allow your qi to flow through her spirit freely. This is a natural defense that all cultivators possess. It is not easy to press one’s qi through another’s soul forcibly.”

Xiulan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Watch,” Qingfeng said, taking Mei Chen’s hand. He closed his eyes, and Xiulan felt a faint pulse of energy.

Instead of Qingfeng’s qi merging with Mei Chen, the energy floated around her like oil on water. A few sparkles of it mixed in regardless, but they were devoured quickly by Mei Chen’s aura.

Qingfeng opened his eyes. “See? It might be subconscious, but she must trust you a great deal to accept your qi. This cannot be accidental; it requires purposeful acceptance. Thus, she retains her mind to some unknown degree.”

Xiulan’s eyes widened. “So she’s not just a wrathful spirit?”

“No,” Qingfeng said, shaking his head. “I’ve never encountered a state like hers. It makes her condition exceedingly rare.”

Xiulan’s stomach twisted. Rare conditions meant scarce solutions and even scarcer knowledge. The weight of Mei Chen’s fate pressed down on her shoulders like a mountain of stone.

“I will begin researching immediately,” Master Qingfeng said. “Though I must be discrete in consulting other masters. This room...” He gestured at the stark walls and furnishings. “The environment is inadequate for her current state.”

“What do you suggest?” Xiulan squeezed Mei Chen’s hand gently.

“The Treasure Pavilion contains specially crafted chambers resonating with pure Yang energy—the item forge comes to mind.” Master Qingfeng traced a finger along the bedpost, frost melting beneath his touch. “Such an environment would significantly slow the accumulation of Yin energy. The time between qi transfers would extend significantly without risk.”

The thought of moving Mei Chen sparked anxiety in Xiulan’s chest. “And if something goes wrong? If I can’t continue the qi transfers for some reason?”

“The Pavilion maintains powerful protective arrays.” Master Qingfeng’s steady gaze met hers. “Should the worst occur, no innocent lives would be endangered.”

A sharp pain stabbed through Xiulan’s chest. She released a shaky breath and nodded, acknowledging the brutal practicality of his suggestion.

Xiulan brushed a strand of hair from Mei Chen’s cold forehead. “She would not want to hurt anyone. Even now—” She swallowed hard. “Even like this.”

“No doubt that’s part of her current state.” Master Qingfeng stepped closer to the bed. “Her kind nature wages war against the pain and suffering of those final moments.”

The memory slammed into Xiulan with brutal force. Blood had soaked through Mei Chen’s robes as she struggled for breath. Each desperate gurgle echoed in Xiulan’s mind—the way she’d tried to keep her breathing...

Xiulan blinked back tears and bowed deeply to Master Qingfeng. “Thank you for your guidance and help with this.”

“I will handle preserving her state.” Master Qingfeng’s stern expression softened. “But you must maintain focus if you hope to create another golden meridian opening pill.”

“You’re right.” Xiulan stared at her hands. “I’ve been... off-balance. Wavering since—” The words stuck in her throat. Since the night she’d killed her family.

“Deep scars leave permanent marks as evidence.” Master Qingfeng stated. “But picking at the scab only makes it worse. Maintain your flow rather than beating yourself on the rocks.”

“I think I understand.” Xiulan squared her shoulders and met his steady gaze.

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Xiulan adjusted the leather straps on her horse’s pack, double-checking the distribution of travel rations. The bag needed to remain spacious enough to transport the blood lotus without crushing them. She patted the horse’s flank, earning a soft snort.

“Halt! State your name!” A guard’s sharp command echoed from the gate.

“How could you not recognize the famous Ren Chun?” The booming response made Xiulan roll her eyes. “I’m a guest of the lady of the manor. Let me through!”

Famous? Guest? Heat crept up Xiulan’s neck. Such proclamations would spark rumors throughout the entire county by nightfall.

She grabbed the reins of her two prepared horses and strode toward the gate. “Leave the guard alone. We’re departing immediately.”

Ren Chun’s mouth dropped open. “Without sharing tea first? Surely we should discuss—”

“No time.” Xiulan thrust the spare reins of the second horse into his hands. “Try to keep up.”

“But...” Ren Chun stumbled back a step. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Blackmere swamp.”

The crowd parted before them as Xiulan led her horse through the city streets. Morning merchants pulled their carts aside, and children scampered between stalls to clear the path.

“Surely you mean the villages near the swamp?” Ren Chun’s boots scuffed against the cobblestones. “Not the actual swamp itself? That place crawls with all manner of beasts!”

Xiulan glanced sideways at him. “Don’t tell me the ‘great’ Ren Chun fears a few creatures? This mission will repay one of your favors, after all.”

“Ha! Fear? I am Ren Chun!” He puffed out his chest.

Xiulan bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from rolling her eyes again. The market square opened up, the sun glinting off the central fountain’s spray.

Ren Chun darted forward, leaving her to catch the rein of his horse. In three bounds, he scaled the fountain’s edge and thrust his fist skyward. “Listen, good people! I, the heroic Ren Chun, embark on a perilous mission to aid fairy Lin Xiu—”

Xiulan yanked his ankle hard. Ren Chun tumbled backward with a spectacular splash into the fountain basin. She glared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh!” Water dripped from his hair as he stumbled to his feet. “Was this meant to be a secret mission?” His eyes widened. “But... the fame...”

“Idiot!” Xiulan grabbed his collar. “The mission isn’t secret, but I’m not advertising my movements or status as a cultivator. There are already too many rumors circulating!”

She shoved the reins back into Ren Chun’s hands. “And don’t abandon your horse! You need to care for her properly.”

What have I gotten myself into? A knot formed in her stomach. Are all cultivators this... theatrical?

Qingfeng fit her idea of a wise cultivator, but this guy… he reminded her of a monkey!

“Why do we even need horses?” Ren Chun bounced on his heels. “If we sprint, we could reach the swamp much faster!”

“Some of us lack the endurance for such feats.” Xiulan adjusted her pack. “We’ll ride to the edge village first, then continue on foot. Two days should suffice.” Better to rush than endure three days of this nonsense.

“I could carry you in my arms for half the journey!” Ren Chun stretched out his arms demonstratively.

Xiulan gripped her spear tighter, fighting the urge to whack him. One day of training with Master Qingfeng couldn’t match years of whatever instruction this fool had received.

He’ll probably challenge me to—

“Do you want to spar? We could compete on the way!”

“We haven’t even left the city gates.” Xiulan pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Ah, true.” Ren Chun scratched his head. “It might disturb the people. Later perhaps?”

The immediate ‘no’ died on Xiulan’s tongue. When will I get another chance to safely train with a more experienced cultivator? Her current skills wouldn’t suffice for what lay ahead.

“Sure.” Xiulan mounted her horse. “After we make camp for the night.”