Chapter 35
Chapter 35: Hanging by a Thread
Osmanthus incense smoldered in the censer by the window as Song Wei Chen slowly opened her eyes.
“You’re finally awake! You scared me to death.”
It took her a moment to realize she was lying in a bed at Venerable Manor. Gu Yu sat close by, her face caught between anxious worry and fragile relief.
But Song Wei Chen clearly remembered leaving the Dust Warden Office. Had it all been another dream?
She tried to move. Pain tore through her so sharply she couldn’t stop the groan that escaped. When she lifted her arm, she saw several places beneath her White Robe wrapped in fine gauze, and understanding settled in her chest like a stone.
“How did I get back?”
Her forehead throbbed too. She touched it—more gauze, neatly bandaged.
“A Dust Warden official carried you back,” Gu Yu said, tucking the blanket around her with careful hands. “You were burning hot and unconscious, covered in injuries. You’ve been out for three full days. These past three days, he came to see you every day. He sat by your bed for a long time. He was so—”
“Don’t mention him in front of me again.”
“Ah… all right.”
Gu Yu looked utterly lost, but she swallowed whatever else she wanted to say.
A knock came at the door. Little Han, an attendant from Venerable Manor, arrived with a bowl of freshly boiled medicine. Gu Yu accepted it and turned back.
“Eat something, then drink this. Recovery is like pulling silk from a cocoon—you have to mend slowly.”
Song Wei Chen shook her head. “Help me sit up. Give me the medicine.”
Taking medicine on an empty stomach wasn’t wise, but Gu Yu didn’t dare argue. She supported Song Wei Chen upright and placed the bowl in her hands.
The moment she sat up, the ache in her chest surged until it was nearly blinding. She pressed a palm to her ribs and waited for it to ease, then forced herself to lift the bowl. With Gu Yu steadying her, she drank it all.
Not long ago, she would’ve gagged at the bitterness and spat it back up. Today she swallowed without blinking and almost laughed at herself. When your heart was bitter enough, when your body hurt enough, even the harshest medicine went down like water.
Gu Yu watched her finish and couldn’t help blurting, “It’s wonderful you can drink it yourself. The last two days, I couldn’t get a sip into you. I was terrified… Later, the one you told me not to mention thought of a way—”
“I said don’t mention him.”
Song Wei Chen didn’t want to hear a single word.
“Gu Yu,” she said, her voice hoarse, “did a little girl come back with me?”
“A little girl?” Gu Yu echoed, blinking in confusion.
Song Wei Chen’s gaze slid to the window. “What time is it?”
“It’s the Chen hour. He’s in the Council Hall.”
Song Wei Chen knew her body. In this state, she couldn’t take ten steps, much less walk across a compound.
“Do we have a wheelchair? If we do, push me there. If we don’t, carry me.”
“Venerable—” Gu Yu’s voice went tight with panic. “You…”
“Do it.”
Gu Yu pushed her through the Dust Warden compound in a wooden wheelchair. A thin quilt was draped over Song Wei Chen’s lap. Her eyes were half-lidded, her breathing shallow.
A dull, brutal pain gnawed at her back and chest. Every inhale felt like a spike driven into her lungs; her ribs ached as if they might split.
If it weren’t to confirm that child’s fate, she would’ve knocked herself unconscious and called it mercy.
“Am I… going to die?” she asked quietly.
Gu Yu’s eyes reddened. Song Wei Chen looked so terrible—like she was clinging to life by sheer stubbornness—but Gu Yu forced brightness into her voice.
“Don’t say that. You’ll recover soon.”
By the time she finished speaking, they’d reached the Council Hall doors. Gu Yu withdrew and waited outside.
Mo Ting Feng saw Song Wei Chen from afar. With a raised hand, he cut off the conversation around him and strode toward her.
She was curled into the wheelchair like a wisp of snow, her face pale to the point of translucence, her expression distant and cold. His throat tightened. In the end, he had hurt her.
He crouched in front of her, one hand braced on the armrest, eyes searching her face. “Do you feel any better?”
“This subordinate is ill and cannot rise,” Song Wei Chen said, formal to the bone. “Please forgive the discourtesy.”
She was drawing a line. Making distance on purpose.
“Song Wei Chen… I’m sorry. I—”
She shook her head, stopping him. She didn’t want to hear it. Not now.
There was only one thing that mattered.
“May I ask where my lord found me?” she forced out, each word tugged through pain and breathlessness. “Was there a child with me?”
“I found you halfway up the back mountain,” Mo Ting Feng said slowly. “As for the child you mentioned…?” His brows knit in confusion.
“A girl. Five or six. Thin. Big eyes. Her name is Bao Er.”
She coughed mid-sentence, her voice breaking. For a moment she could barely draw air.
Mo Ting Feng’s expression sharpened. “Why are you looking for this child?”
“If my lord hasn’t seen her…” Song Wei Chen swallowed the metallic taste rising in her throat. “Then this subordinate takes her leave.”
What did the White Robe disappearance case have to do with her? What did the Nian Niang case have to do with her? What did any of the Dust Warden Office’s earth-shaking business have to do with her?
She only wanted to keep her promise. She only wanted to know that child was safe.
Even if she never made it home. Even if all she had left was one stubborn wish to carry into the dark.
She lifted a hand slightly, signaling for someone to wheel her away.
Mo Ting Feng stopped her.
“Three days ago, a nearby village reported a missing child,” he said, voice tight. “She’s very likely the girl you described. We’re discussing it now. Do you want to hear?”
Song Wei Chen’s eyes widened. She nodded once, hard.
Mo Ting Feng moved her wheelchair to the edge of the council table. Those present bowed, and Song Wei Chen could see it plainly—Ding He Ran and Ye Wu Jiu looked sick with worry over her condition.
Mo Ting Feng’s gaze swept the room. “She can’t sit here for long. We’ll speak to the point. Wu Jiu—report the missing child. Key details.”
“Yes.” Ye Wu Jiu stepped forward. “Three days ago, a six-year-old girl went missing from Green Mountain Village. The child often slipped out at night after her family fell asleep to sit for a few hours by her birth mother’s grave. That place has always been safe, so her family didn’t worry at first.
“When she still hadn’t returned by noon the next day, the child’s grandmother sensed something was wrong and came to report it.
“The child’s name is Chen Treasure. Green Mountain Village lies at the foot of the back mountain, directly behind the Dust Warden Office.”
“That’s Bao Er.” Song Wei Chen’s voice trembled. “I ran into her by chance. I should have taken her home—”
Guilt struck like a whip. Her chest seized, and she broke into a harsh cough.
Mo Ting Feng lifted his teacup toward her lips. “Drink. Wet your throat.”
Song Wei Chen turned her face away.
When the coughing eased enough for her to speak, she looked at Ye Wu Jiu. “Around the Chou hour that night, she was still with me. After that… fog rolled in. I couldn’t see her. What happened next, I don’t know.”
“Fog?” Ye Wu Jiu frowned. “In this season, the back mountain rarely has fog. Do you remember what it looked like?”
Song Wei Chen’s mind started to blur at the edges. She needed something—anything—to keep herself from slipping under.
She pinched the bandaged wound on her arm, hard. Pain flared bright, and with it, clarity.
“It appeared all at once,” she said through shallow breaths. “Like a curtain dropped over a specific area. But where I stood, there was no fog.”
Mo Ting Feng’s face turned grave. “A barrier technique.”
“And the caster had a purpose,” Song Wei Chen forced out. “They were targeting the child.”
Mo Ting Feng’s jaw tightened. “That child also has no mother. It’s very likely this was the chaos wraith—Nian Niang.”
Ding He Ran spoke, voice low and controlled. “Whatever method this chaos wraith is using, it leaves no trace. The five children from before are still missing as well. The entire pattern is too abnormal. This isn’t the mind of a chaos wraith… I fear there’s something behind it we haven’t seen.”
Song Wei Chen lifted her chin. “Take me to investigate.”
She was visibly at the end of her strength, but the stubbornness in her eyes didn’t bend.
Ding He Ran and Ye Wu Jiu answered at the same time. “Yes.”
Then they realized their mistake. Their gazes flicked toward Mo Ting Feng, and both lowered their heads.
Mo Ting Feng’s voice was clipped. “I was the one who stopped them. You have no cultivation—it isn’t safe. Staying close to me is better.
“And now you’re injured and fevered. You absolutely can’t go. When your body recovers, we’ll talk.”
Song Wei Chen stared at him, dazed, and gave a bleak little smile.
Blood seeped through the edge of her bandage and slid down her fingers, dripping soundlessly to the floor. From where Mo Ting Feng knelt, he didn’t see it.
“But if I don’t recover?” she asked softly. “If bringing Bao Er back is my last wish… will you let me go?”
“Song Wei Chen.” Mo Ting Feng’s brows drew together. “Be reasonable.”
He thought it was only anger speaking. But Song Wei Chen’s emotions surged, her breathing cracked—and pain ripped through her chest, brutal and sudden.
She coughed, and a mouthful of blood spilled out.
“Wei Wei!” Mo Ting Feng’s voice broke.
The moment he saw the blood, his he dong flared. His own heart seized as if a blade had been driven through it. He grabbed Song Wei Chen’s wrist and took her pulse—
It was faint. Terrifyingly faint.
The gauze around her wrist had loosened. Dark purple finger marks stood out starkly against her skin.
And then he saw the blood on the floor.
Guilt and dread slammed into him.
Song Wei Chen sagged in the wheelchair, her eyes dim, her breath as thin as thread.
“I’ll call a physician!” Ding He Ran turned to go.
“It’s useless,” Mo Ting Feng cut in. “I’ll take her to Zhuang Yu Heng. You all continue the search. If anything turns up, He Ran—report to me at the Minister of Works Residence.”
He had tried to avoid exposing Song Wei Chen’s identity by bringing her to Zhuang Yu Heng. But there was no choice now.
The room scattered at once.
Mo Ting Feng lifted Song Wei Chen into his arms.
She was even lighter than the last time he’d held her.
“Wei Wei,” he murmured, voice raw, “hold on. I won’t let anything happen to you. Believe me.”
Song Wei Chen’s consciousness had already begun to drift. She vomited another mouthful of blood and slipped into deep, heavy darkness.