Chapter 179 I Miss You

Chapter 179: Longing for You

"Though I was your mother’s disciple, I lacked true wisdom. Only after all was said and done did I finally grasp what your mother had been doing all those years." Wu Yang tilted her head slightly, a faint smile gracing her lips. "My teacher… she was truly extraordinary."

To forcibly bridge the underworld with formations, to sever the bloodlines of two children, to exchange life for life—granting them another existence.

Every taboo in this world had been violated.

"Why?" A Chan’s lips trembled, her expression bewildered and lost.

She had long accepted that her mother didn’t love her, but it didn’t matter. Love didn’t have to be mutual; her love for her parents was enough.

She was an easy little fox to comfort. Even when thoughts of them brought sadness, she could always soothe herself.

She had never imagined her parents would pay with their lives for her and A Mian to live, disappearing from the world without a trace.

Why?

"Because you were their daughter."

"But now I share not a single drop of blood with them."

The life they had traded for had turned her into someone else, another’s child, with no ties left to them.

"Your father and mother wouldn’t care about such things. They would only wish for you to live well."

A Chan fell silent, unable to overcome the hurdle in her heart.

Wu Yang had no words to comfort A Chan; this was a realization she had to reach on her own.

She had often wondered if her teacher’s actions were truly worth it.

Those two children had been sent away at birth. Their connection was so fleeting, they had never truly spent time together.

Love in this world requires reciprocation.

But seeing A Chan here today, she reconsidered. Perhaps her teacher and Lord Xi Jing had never pondered whether it was worth it or not.

Everything they did stemmed from pure instinct—the instinct to love their children.

One day, A Chan would understand.

"Your father and mother used to live in the house next door. Would you like to see it?" Wu Yang spoke suddenly, hoping to draw A Chan out of her grief.

A Chan hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."

Wu Yang rose and led her to the wooden house next door.

The door was unlocked. As Wu Yang opened it, A Chan stood at the threshold, a memory flickering through her mind.

She remembered this place.

She stepped inside, and without any guidance, opened the door on the left.

Inside was a study. A few scattered books lay on the desk, and the entire back wall was a bookshelf laden with books, bamboo scrolls, and fabric scrolls.

The study didn’t seem very large now, but to the younger A Chan, it had felt immense.

She had once tried to hide here, to avoid capture, to prevent being taken away.

But she was quickly found, only managing to snatch a book from the desk and clutch it tightly to her chest. Later, that book became her most cherished possession.

A Chan walked to the desk, her fingers tracing its surface. That book had once rested here.

She turned to Wu Yang. "I once took a book from my mother here."

Wu Yang thought for a moment, then smiled. "I remember. It was a book on incense-making—a work your mother compiled based on the clan’s records. Some of the content was her own addition, and its recipes were quite fascinating."

"That book was later destroyed. Is there a copy here?" A Chan asked.

Back then, she had fought with other fox cubs on Qingyu Mountain. After winning, the defeated cub had rallied others for revenge.

They had bullied A Mian in her absence, snatching the book from her hands and tearing it apart. By the time A Chan returned, they had burned the scraps to ashes before her eyes.

Fortunately, she had read it countless times and had memorized its entire content.

That had been the first time A Chan had ever intended to kill a fellow fox. If the mountain elders hadn’t intervened, she and A Mian might have been banished from Qingyu Mountain.

But she was still punished. The injuries from the fight, combined with the punishment, left her delirious for days. She remembered A Mian weeping endlessly by her bedside, especially loudly when she slept.

It seemed that from that day on, A Mian never spoke of their parents in front of her again.

"No," Wu Yang’s voice pulled A Chan from her distant thoughts.

Seeing the surprise on her face, Wu Yang smiled. "That book was originally meant for Wu Ying. But after your mother heard you had taken it, she never recopied it."

"Why?" A Chan was puzzled.

"It wasn’t a lavish gift, but I think… your mother wanted it to be unique."

That book had been the sole connection between mother and daughter.

A Chan froze. Slowly, she turned away from Wu Yang. After a long moment, she whispered, "Granny Yang… may I stay here alone for a while?"

"Of course," Wu Yang nodded. "You can rest here for a bit. By the time you wake up, Hui Xue will be back with the Silkie, and I’ll prepare soup for you both."

"Alright. Thank you, Granny Yang."

Wu Yang stepped out of the wooden house. As she turned to close the door, she saw A Chan still standing alone through the two doorways.

She had guarded this place for many years. Even knowing those who had left would never return, there were moments—brief, dreamlike—when she felt that opening the door would reveal her teacher and Lord Xi Jing standing there.

This child bore no resemblance to her teacher or Lord Xi Jing now, yet somehow, Wu Yang saw shadows of Lord Xi Jing from days long past.

No matter how the form changed, some things would never fade.

The soft click of the door echoed. A Chan stood motionless for a long time before finally rounding the desk and sitting in the chair behind it.

She thought—her mother must have often sat just so. Perhaps her father had sat with her too.

Where would her father have liked to sit?

A Chan’s gaze swept slowly across the study, finally settling on the faded little cushion beneath the back window. Her father would have been there.

Coiled in fox form, he could have watched her mother’s profile. And if her mother grew tired, she would only need to turn her head to see him.

A quiet laugh escaped A Chan at the thought.

After sitting for a while, she rose again to peruse the shelves behind her.

In the lowest corner of the bookshelf, blocked by a wooden vase stand, there seemed to be a box tucked away.

A Chan moved the vase aside and shifted the wooden stand, extracting a small wooden box from the space behind it.

The box had no lid, and the items inside were covered in a thick layer of dust. Granny Yang must have missed this spot while cleaning the room.

From within, A Chan retrieved two small hand drums, small bamboo spheres, a windmill skeleton, and a white bone whistle.

At the very bottom, her fingers encountered two small wooden carvings.

One was a little fox lying on the ground with its tail puffed up, and the other was a plump infant sucking its fingers.

A Chan produced a handkerchief and carefully wiped the dust off the carvings before placing them on the desk.

After tidying the box and returning it to its original spot, she resumed her seat.

Resting her chin on her arms as she leaned over the desk, she studied the two figurines. Who had made the little trinkets in that box? Were the carvings made by her father or her mother?

A Chan stopped searching for answers.

She closed her eyes, resting her head on her arm, and slipped into sleep in the quiet study.

The scent of food awakened A Chan from her slumber. Before she even opened her eyes, her stomach rumbled loudly in response.

Bleary-eyed, she sat up and blinked to find Shen Huixue sitting across the desk, holding a small bowl while wafting its steam with her other hand.

"You're back, Hui Xue," A Chan murmured, her voice sleep-softened.

Shen Huixue noticed A Chan’s puffy eyes—as if she had cried in her sleep—but said nothing about it. Instead, she slid the bowl of Silkie soup across to A Chan.

"I caught four Silkies. Granny Yang used two for the soup, and we’ll roast the other two tonight. Try the soup first—how does it taste?"

A Chan didn’t refuse. She lifted the bowl, blew on it lightly, and took a small sip.

The soup was seasoned only with salt, yet it was deeply flavorful. After finishing the small bowl, she found herself even hungrier.

"Is it good?" Hui Xue asked, her eyes shining expectantly.

"It’s delicious."

Shen Huixue beamed. "Come on, let’s eat. Granny Yang made a big pot."

"Okay." A Chan followed her out of the study.

At noon, they ate flatbread and drank a large pot of Silkie soup. By evening, when night had properly fallen, the remaining two Silkies were finally roasted.

Vines of varying lengths draped from the eaves of Granny Yang’s cottage, dangling fist-sized fruit that emitted a soft white glow in the night, illuminating the open space in front of the house.

Illuminated by this glow, the trio gathered on the open ground, enjoying their dinner.

As they ate, A Chan brought up how the High Priest had asked her to perform the Ritual Dance during the upcoming ceremony. Granny Yang gave her some pointers.

Later, egged on by A Chan and Hui Xue, Granny Yang demonstrated the dance herself. After watching for a while, A Chan was pulled up to practice alongside her, with Hui Xue keeping time for them.

After some adjustments and two complete rehearsals, A Chan had mastered the entire Ritual Dance flawlessly.

Shen Huixue applauded warmly. "A Chan, on the day of the ceremony, I’ll give you the prettiest floral wreath!"

It was a tradition to gift flower crowns to young witch dancers—the more crowns one received, the better their performance.

Though no one knew why the High Priest had invited A Chan, who wasn’t a witch, to dance in the ceremony, Hui Xue vowed that A Chan wouldn’t be left out. Even if she couldn’t win in quantity, her crown would be the biggest.

"Don’t forget, then," A Chan said, unsure of her dancing skills. Hui Xue might be her sole contributor, so she couldn’t let this opportunity slip.

"Alright, it’s getting late. Time to rest," Granny Yang said, worn out from the day's activities. She beckoned to Hui Xue. "Hui Xue, you’ll sleep here. A Chan, you take the house next door."

Neither protested. A Chan returned to her mother’s cottage. After washing up, she sat on the bed that had once belonged to her mother, now furnished with fresh bedding prepared by Granny Yang.

Perhaps it was the dancing earlier, but despite the late hour, A Chan felt not the slightest bit tired.

Alone in the utterly dark room, the events of the day flashed through her mind like a zoetrope.

Her spirits fell once more.

A realization came to her—after the possession, chains had mysteriously manifested on her soul. The first time had been an accident, but it had helped her understand their purpose. To break free from them, she had gradually drawn closer to humans, learning human emotions—love, hate, longing.

Had her mother known she would become human?

Had she left those chains so A Chan would grow more like a person? And just as her mother had hoped, she had adapted to human life, making friends and even… finding someone she loved.

Yet she still longed to be her parents’ daughter. Even if her original body was lost, she could use her father’s core to transform her body into that of a demon.

Though the risk was great—failure could turn her into a mindless half-human, half-demon monster—success would grant her a portion of her father’s power and memories, forging an unbreakable bond between them.

As if sensing her thoughts, the core abruptly appeared before her.

The golden orb rotated slowly, like a luminous pearl banishing the darkness.

A Chan reached out, her fingers nearly touching it.

But at the last moment, she hesitated, curling her fingers slightly.

The core flickered in response before vanishing into her body.

Darkness swallowed the room once more. Slowly, A Chan withdrew her hand.

Then, a rhythmic tapping sound broke the silence of the night.

Startled, A Chan turned toward the noise. The room was too dark to see, but she knew it came from the window.

After the tapping ceased, she held her breath, listening. It came again.

"Who’s there?"

The tightly shut window unfolded without a sound, revealing the figure of someone who should have still been in the village.

The wind rushed in, lifting the edge of the bed curtain—as if it had also swept A Chan’s heart into the air.

She leaped off the bed, barefoot, and dashed to the window. Her dark eyes fixed on the person standing just beyond the sill, her voice tinged with surprise she hadn’t even noticed. "Why are you here?"

"I missed you."