The fire-breathing lasted for roughly five minutes—five long, scorching minutes.
The only fuel Liu Yang Yang used throughout the entire process was the severed tail of that golden centipede. Yet the flames grew hotter and hotter, almost as though they were tempering the air itself into something purer. Waves of dizziness swept over Qin Shu.
Of course, Pei Zhao’s solemn declaration—I like you the way you are now—was partly to blame for that dizziness too.
Pei Zhao himself did not seem to think there was anything unusual about what he had said. When he noticed faint steam rising from Qin Shu’s head, he even frowned and reached up to touch his face. His soft, icy palm rested lightly against Qin Shu’s skin, like an iced drink on a summer day that somehow left him hotter with every sip.
Qin Shu found it increasingly difficult to breathe. All he could do was endure and pray for those five minutes to pass faster.
By the time Liu Yang Yang finally closed his mouth, sweat was pouring off him. His clothes were soaked through, and even his gaze had become slightly unfocused.
The altar had been reduced to a patch of blackened ruin. Restoring it would probably take a long time. Miraculously, however, the tabernacle at its center remained completely unharmed. Its outer glass case gleamed, surrounded by an eerie, dark golden light.
Qin Shu narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. The maggots and flies had all been burned into fine black dust, yet the wine left inside the silver chalices remained inexplicably untouched. The half-eaten round wafers were also unchanged, though they no longer gave off that nauseating stench of decay.
Curious, he took several steps forward, only to encounter an indescribable, invisible resistance. It pushed him gently back, preventing him from approaching the tabernacle.
Not only that, the eyeball inside his pocket also began to stir. Just as Qin Shu was about to collide with the invisible barrier, it sprang out of its box on its own and retreated several meters, trembling as though fleeing from something lethally dangerous.
It fled so hastily that it nearly bumped into Pei Zhao, whose expression was unreadable. The gray-white eyeball shuddered again, then obediently crawled back into its box while still quivering.
Completely baffled, Qin Shu studied it for a moment before putting the box away with an amused shake of his head. So this was what Liu Yang Yang had meant by buying them time. It had sounded like a temporary, makeshift solution, but the technique was clearly profound—and far from easy to perform. An ordinary person could never have done it.
Liu Yang Yang was not doing well either. Like a fish on the verge of being roasted dry, he staggered several crooked steps before collapsing into Mr. Litt’s rigid arms, barely managing to stay upright. “Does anyone… have water? Just one sip…”
“Thank you sincerely for all you have done. St. Maria Cathedral will never forget your heroism.”
Father William had come prepared. He handed over a cup of jasmine tea brewed in advance. The warm water carried a delicate floral fragrance that helped dilute the strange burnt smell inside the church.
He personally distributed tea to all three of them. Only after Liu Yang Yang’s condition improved slightly did he ask solemnly, “Mr. Liu, what is the state of the tabernacle now? Must it still be destroyed? Is there anything else I need to do to prevent evil spirits and demons from corrupting the Holy Sacrament?”
“It’s fine for now. No need. You don’t need to do anything—cough, cough…” Liu Yang Yang drank too quickly and choked. “Sorry, Father, but I have an appointment tonight. I need to catch a boat to Haicheng, and I’m seriously running out of time. I have to eat something right now. Oh god, I’m starving. I could eat three whole roast chickens. I can’t take it anymore!”
Seeing the worry on Father William’s face, Qin Shu patted him on the shoulder and added seriously, “Keep doing what you’ve been doing. That alone will help you resist evil temptation. Your devotion has not gone unrewarded, and the one protecting you has not abandoned you. As for everyone else’s fate… some things are only revealed when the moment arrives. Knowing too much in advance might not be good for you.”
He meant every word sincerely. Father William’s prayers genuinely worked, and a soft holy light truly appeared around him. He clearly possessed remarkable spiritual potential. Had he been born somewhere else, perhaps he might have become a powerful holy practitioner, wielding purification and divine light until no evil spirit had anywhere left to hide.
Liu Yang Yang raised his thumb. “That’s Brother Qin for you—educated and eloquent. Father, listen to him and you can’t go wrong. Ugh… I’m so exhausted I can barely move my lips. I need food!”
Qin Shu laughed. “All right. We’ll take you to Liu & Li’s for crispy-skinned roast chicken. There’s a branch here in the eastern district. A line will start forming soon, so we should hurry… Oh, right. Father William, let’s exchange contact details. Send me the church’s payment code later so I can compensate you for the repairs.”
“Thank you for your guidance, Mr. Qin, but you and Mr. Liu have already done so much for our church. There is truly no need for compensation…”
“No. That’s a separate matter.”
＊
Half an hour later, the three of them left the brightly lit Liu & Li’s Roast Chicken, full and satisfied. No—perhaps it would be more accurate to say there were four of them. Mr. Litt had also successfully disguised himself as an ordinary customer and blended in.
As for the other three living people, their eating speed was as terrifyingly efficient as ever.
Liu Yang Yang had expended far too much energy and ate like a starving ghost reincarnated that night. Qin Shu had always been a prodigious eater, and his appetite was no less impressive.
Pei Zhao ate a single chicken leg before claiming he was full. He then wandered over to the shop’s ice-cream freezer and bought himself a bowl of chilled brown-sugar jelly. While slowly enjoying it, he marked the extra test papers Qin Shu had completed that day, deducting points without the slightest mercy.
He was normally easy to get along with, but whenever he personally checked someone’s homework, his entire presence changed. A quiet pressure spread around him that was even more intimidating than many teachers.
That was precisely why Old Fu insisted on making him the academic representative. Forget the other students daring to argue with Pei Zhao—at times like this, even Qin Shu barely dared to turn around and look at him.
Qin Shu devoted himself entirely to eating. Only after finishing did he realize he had stuffed himself so full that he felt capable of diving into the river in Jiangcheng and swimming nonstop all the way to Haicheng Harbor.
He turned to ask Pei Zhao’s opinion, then offered, “Brother Liu, we’ll take you to the ferry terminal. The commission isn’t technically over yet, so it’s better to be safe.”
“Sure! Then I’ll buy some more food for the trip while we’re at it. Goodness, in weather this cold, that roasted-milk stall smells incredible…”
Liu Yang Yang still had room in his stomach. He called a car, then used the waiting time to sweep through the night market and collect all sorts of delicacies. He hung every bag from Mr. Litt’s arms, which was remarkably convenient.
The ride-hailing car emerged from the darkness. Three people and one corpse climbed in one after another and headed toward the riverside ferry terminal. Jiangcheng was named for its river, which flowed all the way to the sea. Its ferry network was far more developed than those in most other places, with numerous routes running directly to coastal cities. Some people even commuted between cities by ferry.
Liu Yang Yang planned to board a regularly scheduled passenger ferry that night. It would depart at eight o’clock sharp. If the sea remained calm, he would arrive in Haicheng at nine and hand Mr. Litt over to the client.
Snow began falling over Jiangcheng again that night, but the journey passed without incident. After getting out of the car, Qin Shu took the folding umbrella he always kept in his backpack and opened it quickly, squeezing himself and Pei Zhao beneath it with some difficulty.
“This is far enough, Brother Qin, Brother Pei. I’m really glad I met you both. The next time we see each other should be in Yun City. I’ll take you to try the night market at the foot of the mountain.”
Standing at the ticket gate, Liu Yang Yang smiled radiantly, his face glowing with the satisfaction of a full stomach.
“I’m looking forward to it.” Qin Shu’s gaze settled on Mr. Litt. After examining the corpse carefully, he looked back at Liu Yang Yang. “Stay alert on the way there. Until the handover is complete, it would be best not to let your guard down… Looking at you right now, I have a bad feeling I can’t quite explain. Honestly, I still don’t think it’s safe for you to go alone.”
Calling it unsafe was already putting it mildly. The longer Qin Shu looked, the darker Liu Yang Yang’s forehead seemed, like the ominous shadow fortune-tellers described appearing between a person’s brows.
Admittedly, Liu Yang Yang already had a dark complexion, and he had just spent five full minutes being scorched at close range by raging fire. Naturally, he looked darker than usual… But beneath the night sky, something about his smiling face looked wrong no matter how Qin Shu examined it. More importantly, the elderly nun at the mortuary had made what sounded very much like a curse, and they had never received an explanation.
Liu Yang Yang paused, then nodded slightly. His voice was sincere. “I’ll be careful. You two shouldn’t wander around outside for too long either. Things have been unsettled these past few years. The yin energy at night is getting heavier, and hauntings and supernatural disasters are happening more often than before. It’s safer to be home before eleven.”
“All right. Put a few more talismans on Mr. Litt,” Qin Shu said, finally smiling. “See you in Yun City.”
“See you in Yun City!”
The crowded ferry slowly pulled away from the terminal. Its engines rose to full power as it cut through the river and vanished beneath the moonlit horizon.
Qin Shu breathed out and turned to Pei Zhao. “Shall I take you home?”
“I can get a car myself.”
“Absolutely not. Brother Liu just told us ghosts are more active at night.” Qin Shu waved his phone; the car he had ordered was nearly there. “Are your parents home? I haven’t seen them in ages. I should go remind them what I look like.”
“They aren’t.” Pei Zhao’s gaze shifted toward the moon veiled in mist. He did not look at Qin Shu, but neither did he refuse again.
“Then I definitely have to take you home. Let’s go!”
Pei Zhao’s home was not especially far from Qin Shu’s—roughly a thirty-minute walk. Yet for various reasons, even on weekends when they had little homework, Pei Zhao rarely went out and almost never invited Qin Shu over.
They were already so close, yet still had so little time to spend together outside school. Qin Shu resented this deeply.
He did not dare complain too much, however, because Pei Zhao’s family situation… did not seem entirely normal either.
Pei Zhao’s parents looked utterly ordinary. They were quiet, unobtrusive, and so lacking in presence that teachers and other parents easily overlooked them during parent-teacher meetings.
They refused to share any parenting experience, never volunteered to speak, and showed no interest in subject selection for the college entrance examination or additional tutoring. Even when teachers praised Pei Zhao’s grades by name, they showed no reaction. They merely sat in place with indifferent expressions. Their behavior became even stranger once the meetings ended. Without saying goodbye, they would simply disappear. Teachers who wanted to speak with them afterward could never find them and were forced to communicate online instead.
Auntie Su Ting Lian had secretly told Qin Shu all of this and asked him to pay more attention to his deskmate’s daily life, in case Pei Zhao became too lonely and developed emotional problems.
During the New Year’s Eve activities that involved both parents and students, Pei Zhao’s parents were exactly like Qin Shu’s own. They did not watch their child perform, did not visit the stall he ran, and did not come to pick him up afterward… That had worked out perfectly for Qin Shu and Pei Zhao. Like conjoined twins, they stayed together all night until the countdown struck midnight.
But Qin Shu’s parents were rarely home because their professions kept them exceptionally busy. In recent years, their work had become overwhelming, and Qin Shu himself was so independent and reliable that they simply gave him more freedom. Pei Zhao’s parents, on the other hand… were simply strange. Every meeting with them felt odd, and the atmosphere inside their home was eerily still.
Qin Shu even suspected that if Pei Zhao vanished unexpectedly over the weekend, his parents might not notice in time. Forget reporting him missing—they might not even bother asking more than a single question. There was no way Qin Shu could feel comfortable letting him go home alone.
For example, when the two of them stepped out of the elevator outside Pei Zhao’s apartment, the doors slowly closed behind them and the corridor plunged into total darkness.
“It’s pitch-black. How long has the motion-sensor light outside your place been broken? Why haven’t your parents asked property management to repair it… Never mind. I have your building manager on WeChat. I’ll contact them.”
It was an upscale residential building with only two apartments on each floor, offering excellent privacy. Yet the motion-sensor light near Pei Zhao’s side of the landing had been left broken, the fire door leading to the stairs stood open, and the firefighting equipment mounted on the wall had clearly not been inspected for a long time.
Qin Shu turned on his flashlight and inspected the area. The sight irritated him so badly that his entire body felt uncomfortable, though there was little he could say.
Pei Zhao noticed that Qin Shu was nearly working himself into a temper and tried to reassure him quietly. “It doesn’t affect me. I usually stay at school and rarely come home.”
“…Fine. You really are a low-maintenance baby.” Qin Shu pinched his cheek in displeasure, then turned and entered the familiar door code before pulling open the security door.
Good. At least Pei Zhao’s home remained neat and clean, smelled pleasant, and contained neither cobwebs nor any other unidentified life forms.
“Go to bed early. Since your parents won’t be back, come to my house tomorrow?” Qin Shu nudged Pei Zhao into the entryway and leaned against the doorframe with a smile. “I want to watch a few horror movies, but I’ll be scared on my own. Keep me company.”
Pei Zhao rubbed the cheek Qin Shu had pinched and frowned. “Can’t Tang Rui Cheng watch them with you?”
“I wouldn’t dare invite an injured patient over. What if he falls in my courtyard and decides to extort me?”
At that, Qin Shu’s eyes suddenly lit up. He stroked his chin. “Actually, Zhaozhao, you’ve reminded me of something. After we finish the movies, we can go to his house and freeload lunch. Perfect. Auntie Su is home looking after him these days, and her fish aspic is the best in Jiangcheng.”
“Is fish aspic the kind kept in the refrigerator?” Pei Zhao instantly seized upon the important detail.
Qin Shu raised an eyebrow. “That’s right. You finally found something you like, didn’t you?”
“All right. I’ll come to your house tomorrow.”
Successfully persuading the homebody Pei Zhao to go out swept away all of Qin Shu’s lingering irritation and filled him with accomplishment.
In high spirits, he went downstairs alone, unlocked a shared bicycle, and rode home. He sped along the dim road dusted with fine snow, deliberately circling the longer route several times and riding as fast as he could to help digest his enormous dinner.
By the time he reached home, the light snow had stopped, and the clouds covering the moon had quietly dispersed. Qin Shu stretched. Since it was still early, he took out the snow-clearing tools and swept the snow from the front lawn into two round mounds.
After hesitating briefly, he lifted the smaller mound onto the larger one, added an unused scarf, and set two cherry tomatoes into its face as eyes. Just like that, a plump snowman appeared.
Qin Shu took a photograph and sent it to his mother and Pei Zhao. Satisfied, he patted the snowman and prepared to go inside for a shower. Then he suddenly heard an odd rustling sound. It came from the lawn and was drawing closer.
Qin Shu stopped. Relying on his excellent eyesight, he narrowed his eyes into the darkness. Then he abruptly froze, his expression darkening. “You?”
It was Liu Yang Yang’s golden centipede—the one with the missing tail segment.