Chapter 149: Sister Bilian and Brother Mao

A ravaged wilderness, untamed and desolate—when a stunning beauty suddenly emerged from such a place, most men would have found themselves bewitched. But Yin Mao was not so easily enticed; upon glimpsing the woman, a chill crept into his heart.

“I just escaped one disaster, and now another finds me. Oh, heavens, why is my fate so bitter?” he cursed silently, ignoring the woman in the woods and the wound on his wrist. He moved quietly, careful not to make a sound as he climbed up the grassy slope, fearing that even the faintest noise might alert the woman.

Soon, Yin Mao had crawled back onto the small path, glancing towards the woods. Seeing that the woman hadn’t followed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness I’m quick-witted—at a glance I could tell there's no real beauty in these wild mountains. If I’d rushed in to seize her, who knows what might have happened…” The thought sent a shudder through him, and regret gnawed at his heart. Why had he chased Zhou Qing here?

Had he not done so, he wouldn’t have encountered the dried corpse in the ruined temple, nor would he have stumbled into this forest and met the sinister enchantress.

He swallowed dryly and rose from the path, breaking into a run. As he ran, he silently rejoiced; though tonight he’d faced two uncanny events, he had managed to escape both.

Just as he was congratulating himself, an invisible force suddenly tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground. This time, he was certain there was no stone beneath his feet—he’d been watching the path ahead as he ran, and though the moonlight was dim, he could see the road clearly for several yards.

“Hehehe~ Sir, that fall was no small thing,” a woman’s teasing laughter drifted from ahead. Yin Mao looked up to see a woman perched on a branch not far in front of him, smiling down at him.

“It’s over, she’s found me,” he thought grimly, scrambling to his feet. To him, this woman was no ordinary person.

Fear gripped his heart, but he dared not show it. If he turned and fled now, she might kill him outright. If he played along, perhaps there was a slim chance to escape. Though faint, it was still a chance—he wanted to live, if only for another moment. He could only hope to please her enough to be spared.

“Yes, beauty, you see my arm is wounded from the fall,” he said, forcing a foolish smile and edging closer, showing her his injury.

“Oh, that’s quite a wound. Come here, let me take a look,” the woman beckoned him with a sultry gesture.

“Fine, I’ll play along. If I please her, maybe she’ll let me go,” Yin Mao thought, smiling as he approached.

He reached the low branch, and the woman pulled him beside her, inspecting his arm with delicate fingers.

“Sir, I have medicine at home. Come with me, I’ll treat your wound and bandage it,” she said.

“Thank you, beauty,” he replied. As a mere mortal, there was no way to escape this enchantress, so Yin Mao could only comply, following her down the slope into the woods.

The forest was silent. The woman led him by the hand along a narrow path, soon arriving at the small wooden hut he had glimpsed earlier.

“Sir, this is my home,” she said, pointing to the hut.

Yin Mao nodded quietly, cursing inwardly, and stepped inside under her guidance.

Within, she applied medicine to his wound, then wrapped it with a pink silk ribbon. As they spoke, Yin Mao learned her name was Qiao Bilian; her parents had died young, and she lived here alone.

Of course, he believed none of it, but outwardly he nodded along.

“Bilian, you’re all alone, and I too have no kin. Tonight, fate has brought us together—surely this is heaven’s arrangement. Perhaps we should…”

“You’re so naughty, Brother Mao,” Qiao Bilian replied, pushing him playfully and darting behind a screen, blushing.

“Don’t run, Bilian! Say yes to me,” Yin Mao called, rising to pursue her behind the screen.

Though he was deeply reluctant, he knew the enchantress had lured him here for a purpose. If he didn’t play his part, she might turn on him—perhaps even rip out his heart.

Despite his fear, he put on a rakish front, and when he caught up behind the screen, he drew Qiao Bilian into his embrace.

Soon, shy cries echoed from the hut, and then the lights inside were extinguished.

As the darkness fell, a shadow appeared outside the hut—a figure in red robes, none other than Zhou Qing, who had followed after dealing with the corpse in the ruined temple.

As Zhou Qing approached, Qiao Bilian inside the hut leaned over Yin Mao and breathed upon him. Yin Mao’s eyes closed, and he fainted.

Outside, Zhou Qing regarded the hut with a strange smile. To his eyes, there was no hut at all—only a solitary grave in the midst of the woods.

At that moment, Yin Mao lay in the arms of a sinister spirit shrouded in red light, beside the lonely grave.

“I do not wish to trouble you. Let him go,” Zhou Qing said, his smile vanishing.

The spirit released Yin Mao and drifted closer, hiding her mouth with a sleeve as she laughed enchantingly.

“Oh, you heartless one, you’re quite handsome. Are you a cultivator? Somehow you don’t seem like one.”

“Let him go. I won’t trouble you. But if you insist, tonight I’ll scatter your soul to the winds,” Zhou Qing replied coldly, his tone impatient. His mood was grim—were it not for Yin Mao, he wouldn’t have had to deal with corpses and spirits in this forsaken place tonight.