Chapter 71: The Ninth Strand of Sacred Soul

I officially joined the White Lotus Sect, and when I learned about its structure, I was secretly startled.

The White Lotus Sect had a history of five or six hundred years, and the more chaotic the times, the more active the sect became.

By now, it boasted a million followers, most of whom were scattered in remote regions, while Beichuan, the branch I’d been assigned, was actually one of its weakest areas.

This large-scale operation by the White Lotus Sect was triggered by the emergence of the legendary Saintess—the Mountain God Jade was meant to guide her arrival.

“Little Jade, I’m basically a general without an army in this branch—there’s not a single soul under my command,” I complained to Hu Xiaoyu as we went down the mountain.

She giggled. “You’re in Xiliang now. Once you return to Beichuan, you’ll have your followers. There may only be a few hundred, but each one is the most senior and loyal, passed down through generations.”

I recalled the family of Huang Boru in Huangjia Village, Snake Old Town. Indeed, as Hu Xiaoyu said, they hid their allegiance deeply—if not for finding the White Lotus Sect’s token, no one would have suspected them.

“By the way, when exactly will the Saintess appear? And where? Don’t tell me she'll come from the Matron's womb,” I asked in a low voice.

Hu Xiaoyu pinched my arm and chided playfully, “Are you courting death, saying such things? The Matron may be gentle, but when she’s furious, she’s terrifying.”

“Then tell me,” I pressed.

“I really don’t know,” she replied. “When the time comes, the Matron will inform us.”

It seemed she truly knew nothing. I could get no more out of her, so all I could do was wait.

And so I waited a whole month. My days fell into a regular pattern—wandering the mountain villages, treating the sick if there were any, and if not, flirting with the girls.

Sometimes, when the mood struck, I’d spend a wild night with Mingxue, and occasionally take advantage of Hu Xiaoyu.

In this month, I went down the mountain twice to meet Zhang Ruyue, who guarded the town. I gave her some instructions.

One evening, as the sky blazed with sunset, I left Mingxue’s place whistling, feeling completely at ease.

When I reached our stilt house base, I saw a group from the medical team gathered outside, their faces troubled.

“Deathly aura?”

I walked over and looked inside—there lay Ai Jun from the medical team, mouth agape, tongue protruding, eyes wide open and ashen.

“What happened?” I asked the team leader, Lin Hai.

“Ai Jun went out last night and never returned. This morning, someone found his body on the western cliff and brought him back,” Lin Hai replied.

I raised an eyebrow. Other than having some of his vital energy sapped by that child ghost on arrival, Ai Jun hadn’t had any other problems.

I stepped forward and pulled down his collar—a set of five black fingerprints marked his neck.

Judging by the size, they belonged to a child. It immediately made me think of that little ghost in the red dress.

Just then, I noticed Hu Xiaoyu nearby. I pulled her aside and asked quietly, “Was this the work of that little ghost?”

“Don’t ask me—I really don’t know. After I came back, I reported to the Matron,” she said.

“You mentioned before that the ghost was the Saintess’s soul. What did you mean?” I pressed.

“That’s what the Matron said. For the Saintess to appear, nine scattered holy souls must serve as guides. I don’t know the details,” Hu Xiaoyu replied.

Nine souls! So besides that one ghost, there should be eight more.

If the little ghost had killed Ai Jun, why? She’d only clung to him before, but now she’d murdered him.

I couldn’t shake a growing unease, as if it was a warning.

That night, I found Nightingale and asked her to investigate all accidents on the roads to Xiliang over the past few months.

The next day, Nightingale brought me a stack of files, all accidents that had occurred en route to Xiliang from various places.

I combed through them, searching for the faintest clue.

Suddenly, my hand paused and my gaze froze.

The date was last month, three days before we encountered that car crash. On another provincial road, a little girl in a red dress was struck while crossing and killed.

“Nightingale, help me find all the accident cases where the deceased was a little girl,” I instructed.

We sifted through the files and sorted out more than a dozen.

“Now only keep those where the victim wore red at the time of death,” I said.

In the end, eight files were left—one was the accident we’d witnessed.

These eight deaths differed in manner, but shared two things in common: all happened on the way to or from Xiliang, and all the victims were little girls in red dresses.

“There are only eight, but according to Hu Xiaoyu there should be nine holy souls,” I said.

“These are just the reported cases—perhaps one hasn’t been reported or discovered yet,” Nightingale suggested.

I nodded. Perhaps.

I went through the eight files again, but found no further leads.

All day, the matter preoccupied me. I felt as if I were missing something crucial.

Sitting on a large rock, I reached into my pocket for a cigarette—none left.

Just then, a hand appeared, offering a new pack.

It was Hu Xiaoyu.

“I just went down the mountain for supplies. Here, have this pack first. I’ll split some more with you later,” she said.

We both lit up. Hu Xiaoyu asked, “What’s wrong? You look troubled.”

“Nothing, just mulling over a problem with an arcane formula,” I replied.

She didn’t press. In our circles, such matters were taboo.

After finishing a cigarette together, she rose. “Ai Jun’s body is being sent down the mountain. Care to make an appearance?”

“Alright.” I stood, tossing the butt away. Since I couldn’t figure anything out, I might as well go.

A simple mourning tent had been set up outside.

Lin Hai was reciting a eulogy. As team leader, he had to handle everything when one of his people died.

“Ai Jun, born on such-and-such date, a kind soul who devoted his medical skills to the masses…”

Lin Hai must have copied the eulogy from somewhere—it was rather excessive. The dead must be honored, but Ai Jun hardly merited such praise.

Suddenly, my eyes flashed. Ai Jun’s birth date…

I quickly calculated with my fingers, then considered the little ghost’s Eight Characters of Birth.

“Both have the same Yin Metal Ox fate,” I realized, sensing I’d found the key.

I mentally ran through the eight case files, arranging the birth dates and times.

“It follows the pattern of nine Yin and nine Yang in fate, and the deaths also follow a sequence,” I thought.

I closed my eyes, calculating again and again.

After several attempts, I opened my eyes.

The birth dates and times of the eight victims all matched the pattern, but when I tried to deduce the ninth, I realized the next little girl—if the pattern held—was supposed to die today.

Today?

A chill ran through me. There was no time—I didn’t know who it would be, nor where it would happen.

Just then, Lin Hai finished reading the eulogy, and some people lifted Ai Jun’s coffin to carry it down the mountain.

I followed the medical team down. At the foot of the mountain, Hu Xiaoyu suddenly said, “Li Yan, the Matron wants to see me—I’ll go on ahead.”

With that, she slipped away from the group quietly.

I reached the small town at the base of the mountain. A funeral car was already waiting.

Soon, the coffin was loaded, and the car set off.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a flash of red disappearing around the corner. I turned, catching only the edge of a red skirt vanishing.

I immediately gave chase, but when I rounded the corner, no one was there.

I pressed on, searching the surroundings. The person in the red dress seemed to be a little girl.

At that moment, from a small shop behind me, a little girl in a red dress emerged, sucking on a lollipop.

As she stepped out, a cement pole beside her suddenly toppled, crashing down on her head.

She didn’t even have time to scream, falling into a pool of blood, wide-eyed, the lollipop still in her mouth.

I turned and witnessed the scene, my heart struck as if by a hammer.

I rushed to her side, staring at her unseeing eyes, my lips twitching, fists clenched tight.

And then, her ghost floated up, drifting toward a fat man in the crowd, climbing onto his neck like riding a horse. The resentment around her grew thick in an instant.

My gaze swept the onlookers like a hawk. I knew someone must be watching, just as Hu Xiaoyu once had.

Suddenly, I locked onto a tall, thin, bearded middle-aged man. He wasn’t looking at the dead girl, but at the fat man.

I walked past him, brushing by casually, and unobtrusively attached a tracking charm to him.

Later, in an old apartment block in town, I sat in a creaky rocking chair, gazing into the distance.

“Are you blaming yourself?” Zhang Ruyue was making tea beside me. She had suppressed all traces of death about her, and dressed in a vintage cross-collared blouse, she looked every bit the classical lady.

“No,” I muttered.

“You clearly are. Why lie to yourself?” she said.

I exhaled slowly. “Alright, maybe a little.”

I stood, my face twisting with rage, and growled, “I figured it out in time—the little girl was right behind me. But I still just watched her die before my eyes.”

“So what good does self-reproach do?” Zhang Ruyue said.

“Sometimes, the deeper I get in this line of work, the more powerless I feel. I can see disaster coming, yet I can’t stop it—just watch as life after life slips away,” I said, dejected.

“It’s already happened. If you want to wallow in guilt, go ahead. But at least come up with a way to fix things,” Zhang Ruyue replied.

I looked up at her. “Go kill that watcher and capture the little girl’s ghost. Hide it away. Missing one of the nine souls—I want to see how the White Lotus Sect plans to have their Saintess appear.”