Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Prime Suspect (Part 2)

The alleys tangled into a maze—branching, twisting, swallowing sound. Song Wei Chen sprinted through them, searching for somewhere to disappear.

Compared to hiding at Mo Ting Feng’s place, she had more nerve now. This town was full of ordinary people. No monsters. No strange beasts. She refused to believe she couldn’t find a corner to survive in.

“She is my woman.”

Gu Cang Yue’s words still rang in her ears.

Mo Ting Feng didn’t understand why that single sentence made something inside him shift. At the River of Oblivion, she had sworn she didn’t know Gu Cang Yue. Now Gu Cang Yue spoke as if she belonged to him.

A pretty face really could topple a man’s judgment.

She was trouble. She was not to be trusted.

And now the little liar dared to run.

Mo Ting Feng stood on an empty stretch of street and let out a cold laugh. Since he had taken command as Dust Warden of the Dream Realm, no suspect had ever slipped from his grasp. Not one. Not even in the making.

Song Wei Chen knew she couldn’t outrun him. He had spells—he could cross a hundred miles in a blink. Running was for desperation, not victory.

So she hid.

Deep in the alleyway, behind a haystack in a household’s cow shed, she curled into the dark. The light was so thin you could stare straight at that corner and still miss the shape of a person.

She was smart. If he could move like the wind, then the only thing she had was stillness.

Buried in the hay, she almost laughed at herself. In dramas, the protagonist got reborn, transmigrated, dream-returned—whatever. The moment they entered a new map, they always got a cheat. A halo. A golden finger. Everything became a glorious, satisfying power fantasy.

But her version?

She bugged into a new map and immediately became the prime suspect in some ridiculous case.

No halo. No golden finger. Nothing.

At best, she could brag about one thing: her life was as pathetic as a level-one newbie, yet she was hard to kill like an NPC—whether that was luck or misfortune, she couldn’t tell.

If this were a show, she’d probably be some low-tier supporting girl, the kind who vanished halfway through the season. She complained bitterly in her head.

Fear and exhaustion had been gnawing at her for days. In the dim hush of the shed, her eyelids finally drooped.

She fell asleep.

A creak.

The household door opened a sliver. A little boy’s round head peeked out into the street. Earlier, the main road had been in an uproar—people shouting about immortals fighting. His father had shoved him back inside in a panic. Now, hearing the noise fade into the distance, the boy slipped out again.

He wanted to find his mother.

Yesterday, he and his childhood friend had been playing at a ruined temple not far from home. The other child had leaned close, voice secretive, and told him that if you stayed in the ruined temple until dusk, you could see your mother.

A mother who was real. A mother who could play with you, bring you snacks, laugh at your silly stories—not a drifting ghost you could never touch.

The boy understood. Three years ago, his mother had died of an infectious illness. The two children of Nian Niang, hearts aching in the same place, often gathered to talk about things like this—half hope, half hunger.

So the boy went to the ruined temple as promised.

But the other child didn’t come.

They had agreed they would go together. Had the other child gotten impatient and stayed until dusk yesterday, after he left?

The temple was a wreck. The statue had toppled; cobwebs hung thick in the corners; dust lay heavy on everything. It used to be the perfect place for children to play hide-and-seek. Alone, it was frightening.

But the thought of seeing his mother filled him with a courage that felt endless.

Dusk thickened.

Footsteps sounded outside the temple.

A pair of cloth shoes with soft soles moved beneath a coarse linen skirt. The ground inside was layered with grime, shoeprints crossing in every direction. Yet where those soft soles stepped, no new prints appeared. Only a faint black-purple aura seeped outward, subtle as smoke.

The boy heard the sound and turned, eyes bright with sudden tears. “Mom!”

The ruined temple swallowed his cry and sent it back in long, hollow echoes.

In her sleep, Song Wei Chen thought she heard someone calling for their mother. She startled awake.

Still curled in the hay, she slowly unfolded herself, muscles aching from being cramped too long. The shed was quiet. No one. No footsteps. No voices.

A hollow weight settled in her chest.

So this was it. She really wasn’t going back to the real world. Even sleep couldn’t save her. Waking up didn’t change anything.

Outside, the light had already shifted toward evening. She told herself that thousand-year Ice Block had probably given up and left. She stepped out of the shadows, planning to find a tavern in town and ask for work. Food first. Shelter first. Survival first.

She’d taken only a few steps when a rustle sounded behind her.

She spun.

A large wolfdog padded after her, eyes fixed and unfriendly. It looked like the guard dog from the household she’d been hiding in. At some point, their gate must have cracked open, and the dog had slipped out.

Song Wei Chen loved animals—cats, dogs, anything fluffy and small. She did not love a big, sharp-toothed guard dog that clearly wanted to make her regret breathing.

The dog bared its teeth and rumbled low in its throat, advancing step by step.

It had probably seen her crawl out of the household head’s cow shed. The guard instinct in its blood had lit up.

Song Wei Chen silently cursed her luck.

She wanted to run.

But elders always said you must never run, or the dog would chase and bite.

The right thing, they claimed, was to squat slowly and pretend you were picking up a rock. The dog would get scared and back off.

Her throat went dry. She swallowed hard and began to crouch, hands trembling—

The dog barked and lunged.

In that instant, she wanted to greet every elder she’d ever met with heartfelt curses. What kind of cosmic joke was this? Squatting only made it easier to bite her throat!

Run!

If she didn’t run, she’d be bitten for sure!

Song Wei Chen twisted and bolted—

Only to slam straight into a broad chest.

Mo Ting Feng caught her reflexively with one arm, steadying the small body that had crashed into him. His other hand snapped out, palm flashing with spellwork.

The dog froze mid-charge, locked in place as if time itself had clamped down on its spine.

“Still running?” he asked, voice like ice.

The echo of fear throbbed through him. If he’d been a moment later, she would have paid for it. And yet this little liar—this stubborn little liar—had thought of nothing but escaping.

Song Wei Chen clutched her stinging nose and shook her head.

Out of the dog’s mouth and into the wolf’s den. Her new map was hell mode. In her mind, she cursed the creator with a fury that could have split stone.

They were back in that familiar room. The wind chime beneath the window swayed gently, its sound soft and pleasant.

Song Wei Chen’s mood was anything but pleasant. She stood with her head lowered, shoulders slumped, looking like someone who had fully accepted fate’s boot on her neck.

Mo Ting Feng sat upright, expression stern. “Do you have anything you want to add?”

She shook her head.

“Still resisting.” His voice sharpened. “You’ve been declared the prime suspect in White Robe’s disappearance. You truly have nothing to say?”

She shook her head again.

“Think carefully. Once this is finalized, the consequences will be severe. Even the Lord of the River of Oblivion won’t be able to save you.”

She shook her head again.

Silence filled the room, dense enough to choke on.

Mo Ting Feng’s brows knotted. He let out a hard breath through his nose. “You ran around for an hour and now you’re mute?”

“Speak.”

Song Wei Chen finally lifted her gaze, stubbornly meeting his eyes. “Say what? Whatever I say, you won’t believe it.”

“Little liar.” His temper rose despite himself. “From the moment I met you, you haven’t said a single true word. How am I supposed to believe you?”

“I’m a liar?” Her voice snapped like a whip. “What did I lie to you about—money? Sex?”

“How do you decide I’m not telling the truth?”

“If you want a scapegoat to close your case, just say so. Stop playing these mind games.”

“And of course, a man like you—misogynistic and scheming—would be miserable if you weren’t manipulating someone!”

“You—”

Anger surged through him. He stood and strode toward her.

This time, Song Wei Chen didn’t retreat.