Chapter 3 Are You Really Ji Chan?

Chapter 3: Are You Truly Ji Chan?

A Chan’s eyes fluttered open, her lashes trembling. Through the whispering snowfall, a pair of matte black leather boots entered her field of vision.

Before she could utter a sound, a sheathed longsword pressed against her neck. The barely-filed scales on the scabbard grazed her skin, instantly drawing blood from her throat.

"Name?" The voice above her was smooth and deep. Had the blade not been at her throat, A Chan might have found him a gentle man.

"A... Ji Chan."

"Why are you here?"

"I live in Changping Ward. I was merely passing through on my way home."

Ji Chan’s memories had flooded into A Chan’s mind immediately after the soul displacement—a complete, albeit brief, lifetime belonging to another, and the key to her survival as Ji Chan.

A Chan quickly sifted through the memories of that night to answer the man before her.

"Tell me, what happened?"

Being interrogated while lying on the ground was unpleasant, but the man showed no intention of moving his blade. She had no choice but to maintain her position and answer obediently.

"On my way back, I saw people nearby catching ghosts. When one of them charged at me, an arrow flew over... and wounded me."

The wound had already healed, and she shouldn’t have said anything unnecessary. But her snow-white coat stood out too much, soaked with a sprawling bloodstain on the chest—there was no way to talk her way out of it.

Bai Xiuming's gaze followed her words downward, landing on her chest, then shifting to the arrow beside her. It was government-issued, its style suggesting it came from the Ministry of Justice.

"Continue."

"I dragged myself into the alley and saw her."

"You spoke to it?"

"I thought I was dying, and I thought she would eat me, so I said something. To my surprise, she responded."

"What did she say?"

"She said she doesn’t prey on humans and asked for my name. Then she fell silent."

A scoff came from above. The blade that had threatened her life finally moved away. The standing man crouched before her, his black cloak pooling on the snow-covered ground.

A Chan idly thought, *It looks so warm.*

She had never felt cold before—her fur was not only beautiful but also insulating. Now, she shivered uncontrollably.

Being human was truly difficult.

"You’ve got nerve to lie to this official." The words, still carrying a trace of amusement, were followed by an iron grip seizing her throat, forcing her to lift her face. A Chan had no choice but to meet his gaze.

What greeted her was an extraordinarily handsome face, as if meticulously carved by the heavens. Among the demons and humans she knew, he could easily rank in the top three.

She had always been picky, favoring beautiful people—and paid dearly for it. This one, no doubt, was not one to cross.

The man had gentle eyes, and when he looked down at her, they shimmered with a languid, shimmering light. Yet his grip was anything but gentle. Within moments, A Chan’s vision tunneled, her breath nearly cut off.

She clawed desperately at his hand, trying to break free, but couldn’t make him budge.

Bai Xiuming watched her until her struggles weakened, then loosened his grip slightly and spoke again: "I’ll ask once more. What did it say to you?"

"She asked me for recognition, but failed. She also said she was an eight-tailed fox."

"Eight-tailed fox?" Bai Xiuming’s eyes flashed. Suddenly, he called, "Feng Yang."

"Your orders, sir?"

A man named Feng Yang appeared from nowhere, kneeling with his head bowed, awaiting orders.

"Have someone examine the corpse."

"Yes."

Soon, two men stepped forward to inspect A Chan’s original form. After a brief examination, they stood aside.

"Well?" Bai Xiuming asked.

"Reporting, sir. The demon is indeed an eight-tailed fox, and barely more than a cub. Its wounds are bone-deep, as if it was ambushed and slaughtered. We found no demon core inside."

Bai Xiuming seemed uninterested in their findings, asking only, "Stone dead?"

"Stone dead."

"Haul it back to the Bright Mirror Bureau."

"Yes."

"And this one..." He stood, accepting a plain silk handkerchief from Feng Yang to wipe his hands. "Take her in too."

The handkerchief fell to the ground.

"Yes."

A Chan was taken to the Bright Mirror Bureau—more precisely, to the underground prison known as Zhenyu.

She had heard of Zhenyu. It was said to hold many powerful demons, a place that could frighten young demon children into tears when mentioned in stories.

In Ji Chan’s stolen memories, many had also said that few who entered the Bright Mirror Bureau’s Zhenyu ever left alive.

At the prison’s entrance stood black-armored Bright Mirror Bureau guards, standing watch day and night. The dark iron gates bore the faint image of Bian, the Dragon’s seventh son.

As the Bright Mirror Bureau guards led A Chan closer, the Bian on the gates grew clearer, its eyes tracking her every step until the gates swung open and she was shoved unceremoniously inside.

Stepping through, A Chan thought, *That man really does suspect me.*

The world knew Bian could distinguish truth from falsehood and adjudicate trials, but few knew its true dragon’s gaze could also see whether a body and soul were truly paired.

Had she forcibly possessed Ji Chan tonight, even if she had escaped divine retribution, she wouldn’t have escaped him.

But even if she passed this test, would she really leave alive today?

The Bright Mirror Bureau guards didn’t take her to a cell. Instead, they led her down a pitch-black, claustrophobic passageway, at the end of which was a firelit stone chamber.

Upon entering, A Chan realized it was a torture chamber.

The red glow she had seen earlier came from burning coals, atop which lay searing irons of various sizes.

The guards swiftly and silently fastened A Chan to an iron frame in the corner, shackling her limbs and neck with cold iron shackles before silently departing.

In the interrogation room, A Chan was left alone.

It was only at this point that A Chan suddenly realized just how badly she’d screwed up.

A woman raised in the lap of luxury in a marquis’s household should not remain so calm when faced with such terrifying events.

The moment she answered his questions calmly and logically, she had already fallen into his trap.

She seethed with regret, but it was useless.

If she couldn’t provide him with a reasonable explanation today, they’d sooner kill her by mistake than let her walk free.

While A Chan was still worrying about her life, Bai Xiuming sat in the inner hall of the yamen, listening to Feng Yang’s briefing.

"Sir, we’ve confirmed Ji Chan’s identity."

"Speak." By now, Bai Xiuming had removed his cloak, and his tall frame was set off by the vermilion official robe embroidered with golden dragon-fish patterns.

"Ji Chan was originally the firstborn daughter of Marquis of Jinyang, Ji Heng, but not long ago, she was cast out. Rumor has it the Marquis suddenly realized she wasn’t his blood daughter."

"Suddenly discovered?" Bai Xiuming curled his lips, as if finding the statement somewhat laughable.

"I suspect the Marquis’s move ties back to the disgraced Lin family. The former Marchioness of Jinyang was the legitimate daughter of the Lin family."

"Hmm, anything else?" Bai Xiuming picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"Additionally, the person who injured Ji Chan tonight was likely Assistant Director of the Board of Punishments, Xue Mingtang. Xue Mingtang’s sister recently married the Marquis of Jinyang and brought her two kids in tow."

"That’s all?"

Feng Yang nodded. "That’s all."

As for his analysis, he assumed his boss already knew. The Marquis of Jinyang’s dirty laundry could hardly escape their lord’s notice.

"What kind of person is Ji Chan?"

Feng Yang paused, trying hard to recall the information he had gathered, and finally put it in four words: "A noble lady."

Bai Xiuming sneered. "Some noble lady."

Feng Yang also sensed Ji Chan’s earlier strangeness but dared not comment further.

"What about the fox spirit?"

"The fox spirit’s corpse has been sent for examination. No traces of its lingering spirit remained—it may have already dissipated."

"Dissipated? Fox spirits are slippery bastards. If it had a shot at survival, why would it just roll over and die?"

"But Ji Chan walked right under the Bixie’s watch without a flicker of strangeness."

Bai Xiuming stood and walked out. "That is precisely what I find curious."

Being strung up on the iron rack was agony, especially since A Chan’s body was still exceptionally weak.

At first, she thought it was due to the possession—her soul not quite fitting the body—and that it would improve with time.

But after so long, there was still no sign of recovery. A suspicion gnawed at her that this weakness might not stem from the soul-body mismatch.

Just then, she heard footsteps outside. Soon after, a tall silhouette loomed outside the interrogation chamber.

A Chan watched as the man entered. This time, no blade hung at his side, but within this stone chamber, there were worse things here than blades.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Bai Xiuming stopped before a table and picked up a whip from the assortment of torture instruments laid out on it.

He held the whip and strolled over to A Chan.

"Your name."

This was the second time Bai Xiuming had asked for her name.

"Ji Chan."

"Ji Chan?" His voice was low, and when he uttered those two words, it was as if he were murmuring the name of a lover, laced with suffocating tenderness.

"Lovely name. But... are you truly Ji Chan?"

"Does my lord doubt me?" A Chan challenged, looking straight at Bai Xiuming.

The rough whip slid lightly across her cheek, but Bai Xiuming's face betrayed nothing. He simply stared at her and said, "The trueborn daughter of the Marquis of Jinyang was no bold soul."

"Had my lord ever died once, perhaps you wouldn't think so. My courage is far beyond what you reckon."

"Oh? How great?"

A Chan smiled. "The lord wants to know where the fox spirit's golden core went, doesn't he? I know."

"You know?"

"Lean in closer, my lord, and I'll tell you."

Bai Xiuming leaned in, so close that their breath mingled. In her eyes, she saw his tender, lover's gaze.

A Chan breathed the words, "I ate it."

The next moment, she let out a shrill cry.

Bai Xiuming stood a few steps away, the whip in his hand leaving a long, lacerating wound on A Chan's body.

When the whip unfurled, its barbs spread wide, capable of scraping flesh—sadistically crafted.

Trembling in pain, A Chan still managed to taunt him through panting breaths. "Your lashings change nothing. I did eat it."

"Humans die if they consume a demon's inner core."

"Not if the demon gave it willingly." A Chan panted heavily. "It didn’t want to live anymore, so it bequeathed me its core. If I hadn’t eaten it, that arrow would have killed me long ago."

It sounded like a plausible enough tale.