CH 116

Under the night sky, a thin mist floated on Peony Steet like silk, floating against the clear water channel.

On the second floor of Peony B&B, Du Sixian leaned against the window, staring at the canal in a daze.

Earlier, An Qing told her that she was a genius. She believed it, and she even thought she would be able to master the spells on the scroll with ease.

However, when she actually tried, she realised that perhaps An Qing was just lying to make her feel better.

From 3 in the afternoon to 9 in the evening, she couldn’t even stimulate her powers.

Mantras are like mathematics in the world of urban legends. If you can’t decipher it, then it’s all gibberish.

Du Sixian herself is also stubborn. If she believes in something, she will fight for it.

She practised the mantras until she felt strangely exhausted, and An Qing carried her back to her residence.

When they parted, An Qing’s hesitation to speak made her suffer a lot.

She thought that An Qing was just lying to make her feel better, but she wouldn’t give up. Now that she’s come into contact with the world of urban legends, it’s too early to give up.

She raised her hands again, murmuring the inscription of the scrolls she had seen earlier.

“Desolate wilderness; straw; bones; fan a fire, and a red flame will come!”

As she chanted, she recalled the description of the operation of psychic energy on the scroll.

Imagine withered grass in an empty wilderness, igniting in red flames. Then, try to envision the shape of the flames at your fingertips.

The moment she sketched the flame out in her mind, she suddenly felt something stir within her, followed by a ray of crimson that gleamed at her fingertips.

It lasted for only less than a second, however, and it fizzled out before it even formed a flame.

She was immediately struck with a wave of dizziness again, and a cold sweat ran across her pale face.

“Damn it-!”

She sighed, got up to close the window, and collapsed back onto her bed.

Hiding her body under the sheets, she let her exhaustion take over, and soon she found herself in that weird dreamscape once again.

The biting wind choked at Du Sixian’s face, and after a short panic, she found herself in a dilapidated street.

“Again?”

She muttered to herself, bending down and picking up the sand formed by the weathered buildings that towered above her, rubbing it lightly between her fingers.

The sand and stones slid across her delicate fingers. It all felt real.

Dusting the sand off her clothes, she found a puddle of sewage accumulating under a rusty fire hydrant.

Squatting down next to the sewage, she frowned slightly as she suppressed her nausea, touching the nasty water with her fingers.

The pungent smell of sewage greeted her nostrils, and the greasy texture was true to her fingers.

“Sure enough…”

A small smile appeared on her face, “I can practise my mantras here!”

She slowly raised her hands and parted her lips, chanting the spell in a low voice, “Desolate wilderness; straw; bones; fan a fire, and a red flame will come!”

After she chanted the mantra, a crimson gleam flashed across her fingertips, only to fizzle out once again.

Instead of feeling defeated, she was delighted.

She could practise spells in her dream.

Everything here feels real—the sand, the water, even the movement of psychic energy in her body as she attempts to cast a spell and the fleeting heat that comes to her fingertips.

And she doesn’t feel the slightest bit tired.

“Come on! Desolate wilderness…”

“Desolate wilderness…!”

She practised again and again, and occasionally, figures wandering the street would cast their eyes on her, only to look away, thinking that she was a lunatic.

They were here to pray to the gods anyway.

“I don’t have any,” Lu Yibei sighed as he glanced at Jumeng, who was complaining about wanting to eat supper. “You ate a lot for dinner. How are you hungry again?”

“Tsk! I am not accustomed to such little food! Back in my domain…’

“Yeah, in your domain. We’re in Lu Yibei’s house now,” he interrupted. “If you’re that hungry, I can cook you food.”

“I want noodles,” she muttered. “Longevity noodles.”

“Isn’t that easy?”

“I’m talking about the noodles made by turning psychic energy into dough. I used to go to that tavern to eat a bowl every one or two weeks, and let me tell you, the taste is just wonderful!”

“Then why don’t you go there now?”

“Are you crazy?” she yelled. “If I go there in my injured state, I’ll be the main course!”

“Christ, what kind of tavern are you going to? Won’t the owner be scared that he’ll lose sales?”

“It’s a tavern dedicated to urban legends,” she explained. “You can’t fight in the tavern, but once you leave… Anyway, if you beg me nicely, I can take you there in the future.”

He imagined it for a moment—a group of urban legends, potentially friendly ones, chatting in the tavern. Then, outside, a group of urban legends—potentially unfriendly ones—gnawed at each other outside the door. His heart shuddered for a moment.

“N-no. I don’t want to go to that sort of place, even if you beg me to go.”

‘I might become premium Witch Steak if I go there!’

Thinking about it, he turned around, picked up the paper on the table, and blew on the ink that hadn’t completely dried out. There were crooked hieroglyphs written on the paper, copied from what he wrote on the bamboo scrolls.

Although he remembers less than a third of the content, if Jumeng could recognise the text, she should be able to remember everything.

“Alright, come take a look. You’re proficient in many languages, right?”

“You’re asking the right person,” she said as she leapt from the sofa.

“Tell me! What language do you want the great goddess to translate for you? If you beg me, I might consider!”

“Any language?”

“Exactly!”

“Could you translate it into C?”

Jumeng visibly froze, followed by a light dusting of pink on her face, “Ah, except for that. Any other language!”

“Java, then.”

Seeing that Jumeng’s eyes were gradually darkening and his eyes were starting to burn, he hurriedly cleared his throat and said, “English. Translate this into English.”

Perhaps angering an ancient goddess wasn’t the wisest thing he had done.

Snatching the piece of paper from him, she spat disdainfully as she read the writings, “The Writings of the Southern Barbarians. I could read it in a single glance!”

“Great! What’s in it?”

“In modern terms, you could call it a diary.”

“A diary?”

“Look, right here is the date: the third day of the month. The diary entry talks about a king asking the writer to lead 300 soldiers and bring 120 children to the mountains to worship the gods. The king is f*cking inhumane.”

“Sacrificing children… I agree. People like these are f*cking inhumane. I can’t believe a goddess like you can swear like this!”

“Oh, it’s just written on here.”

“Oh.”

“And here,” she pointed to another paragraph. “On the sixth day, they went eight hundred miles, and they couldn’t find anybody in any of the places they went, losing a lot of people to poisonous miasma in the forest. He wrote, and I quote, [These f*cking children are so annoying. I can’t sleep at night!]”

!

It’s not that he doesn’t believe in what Jumeng is saying. It’s just that the contents…

He couldn’t believe that a diary full of swears would lead to urban legends forming.

Did Professor Ma make a mistake?