Nine Nights Owl Song

As Su Jiuge walked out of the Earth God Temple, the moonlight shone through the gaps in the clouds, illuminating the open space in front of the temple as if it were daytime.

She stood in that pale light, looking up at the nearly full moon in the sky, silently calculating the days.

The third day of the twelfth lunar month, six days before the ninth day of the twelfth lunar month.

It took four days to get to Liangzhou, and three days to investigate the Blood Hall. Today is the third day of the Lunar New Year.

Six days is enough time to kill Chen Beixuan and rush back to Luoyang from Liangzhou.

Footsteps came from behind, but it wasn't the old drunkard's. The old drunkard's footsteps were heavy and dragging, like a tired old ox plowing the muddy ground.

The footsteps behind me were light and steady, each step so precise it was as if measured with a ruler. They landed silently, yet each step carried a sense of pressure.

The Dark Pavilion's top assassin's pace, his seventh-place ranking is no fluke.

"You've been following me all this way."

Su Jiuge didn't turn around, and said in a calm voice.

The ghostly hand emerged from the shadows of the temple gate and stood five steps behind her.

The moonlight shone on him, making his faded gray robe appear even more withered. His face was gaunt, and his eyes were sunken, making him look ten years older than when he was in the Dark Pavilion. But his eyes were still like two dry wells, bottomless.

"I saw you the moment you entered the Blood Hall liaison office."

Ghost Hand walked to her side, took a gourd from his waist, uncorked it, took a sip, and then handed it to her.

"Want a sip? Liangzhou's strong liquor is stronger than Luoyang's."

Su Jiuge glanced at the wine gourd.

When she was in the Dark Pavilion, she never drank the wine offered by Ghost Hand, not because she was afraid he would poison her, but because she didn't want to have any interaction with anyone.

Drinking is for sharing; once you drink, you're friends. But friends are prone to betrayal, and she didn't need any. Yet, she reached out, took the gourd of wine, and took a swig.

The strong liquor burned her way down her throat to her stomach, making her feel as if she were on fire. Yet, her expression remained unchanged as she handed the gourd back to Ghost Hand.

Ghost Hand took the gourd of wine and glanced at her.

"You've changed," he said.

You never used to drink my wine.

Su Jiuge did not answer.

She has indeed changed, and she doesn't know if this change is good or bad.

"When did you find out the old drunkard wasn't dead?" she asked.

Ghost Hand took another swig of wine and looked up at the moon in the sky.

"Three years ago." His voice was calm.

"Three years ago, people from Qianji Tower found me and said that Yin Wuji was still alive and wanted to see me. I thought it was a trap and didn't go. They came a second time, and a third time. The fourth time I went, I saw him in a dilapidated temple. He was still alive, but much older than I had imagined."

Su Jiuge remained silent for a moment.

"Besides you, who else in the Dark Pavilion knows about this?"

"there is none left."

The ghostly hand tucked the wine gourd back into his waistband.

"Of Yin Wuji's old acquaintances in the Dark Pavilion, some are dead, some have betrayed him, and some have scattered. The only one still alive and who still acknowledges him as his senior brother is me. Qianji Tower helped him hide for three years. He said he was waiting for someone to grow up. Now I know who he was waiting for."

Su Jiuge lowered her head and looked at the moonlight at her feet.

I waited three years for her.

The old drunkard waited for her for nine years.

While she was practicing her skills by killing people in the Dark Pavilion from the age of seven to fifteen, the old drunkard was waiting for her somewhere she didn't know.

He wasn't waiting for her to avenge him; he was waiting for her to grow up. Waiting for her to grow into an adult who didn't need his protection and could choose her own path in life.

Ghost Hand suddenly stood up and dusted off his robe. He reached into his robes and pulled out a black iron plaque engraved with a lotus flower, its petals layered and lifelike—the Dark Pavilion's gold plaque. He handed the plaque to Su Wen.

I am fifty-one years old this year.

His voice was calm, so calm that it didn't sound like he was making any major decision.

"I've been in the Dark Pavilion for thirty-one years, rising from the lowest-ranking Guide to the seventh-ranked Gold Medalist. I've killed many people, both good and bad. I've earned a lot of silver, enough to last me a lifetime. I have no regrets in this life, except for one thing—bringing you to the Dark Pavilion back then."

Su Jiuge looked at the iron plaque but did not take it.

"I don't blame you for bringing me to the Dark Pavilion. Without the Dark Pavilion, I might still be fighting for food with stray dogs in the abandoned neighborhood."

"It's not because you blame me."

Ghost Hand shook his head and said,

"It's because you shouldn't be living this kind of life. You are the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Dingyuan's family. You should be living a life of luxury in the Marquis's mansion, studying, learning to embroider, and managing a household. When you reach a certain age, you should marry into a good family and live a peaceful and stable life. I shouldn't have dragged you into the dark chamber, and I shouldn't have turned you into a killing knife."

Su Jiuge remained silent for a moment.

"You saved my life, and you helped me when we were in the Dark Pavilion. You don't owe me anything."

"I'm not paying off a debt."

Ghost Hand moved the iron plate forward another inch.

"I want to work with you. Not to make up for anything, but because I want to live a different life. I've lived the Dark Pavilion's way of life for thirty-one years, that's enough. I want to see what it's like to live with someone like you. This knife has been a killing knife for thirty-one years, and now I want to sharpen it in a different way."

Su Jiuge looked at the iron plaque, then at Ghost Hand's face. The moonlight shone on his gaunt face, making the wrinkles appear exceptionally deep, as if they had been carved in stroke by stroke with a knife.

She knew this person. In her nine years in the Dark Pavilion, Ghost Hand was the only one who had never lied to her, never used her, and never stabbed her in the back.

He wasn't enthusiastic, affectionate, or caring, but he would leave a bottle of wound medicine at the door of her stone house when she returned injured from a mission, speak up for her in front of Hades after she clashed with Chen Xiaotian, and watch her from afar on the mountain road of Cangwu Mountain when she left the Dark Pavilion.

Su Jiuge reached out and took the iron plaque.

"Following me is much harder than killing someone. I don't keep idle people. I won't give you money, I won't assign you tasks, and I won't say thank you for your hard work. You're following me because we happen to be on the same path."

Ghost Hand's lips curved slightly. It wasn't a smile, but something older than a smile, like a stone that had been worn down by wind and sand for thirty years finally being turned over, revealing the side that hadn't been eroded by the wind and sand.

"We happen to be going the same way," he said.

"it is good."

Su Jiuge stuffed the iron plaque into her bosom, next to her three treasures—the wooden box, the gold plaque, and the jade pendant.

Now there are four items.

Her heart was growing fuller and fuller.

The old drunkard's coughing came from the earth god temple behind him, one cough after another, heart-wrenching, as if he was coughing up his internal organs.

Su Jiuge turned around and walked towards the temple gate.

"His injuries are severe."

The voice of the ghost hand came from behind, low and menacing.

"When we found him, his dantian was mostly shattered, and his martial arts were reduced to 80%. His condition had been deteriorating over the years. The doctor couldn't say for sure how long he would live; maybe three to five years, maybe a year and a half."

Su Jiuge paused at the temple entrance, then pushed it open and went inside.

The old drunkard sat on a futon, leaning against the wall, head down, coughing so hard his whole body was trembling.

He covered his mouth with his hand, and blood seeped through his fingers—dark red blood with clots, as if coughed up from a very deep place.

Su Jiuge walked over and squatted down in front of him, removing his hand from his mouth and looking at the dark red bloodstains with no expression on her face.

You coughed up blood.

Her voice was as calm as if she were saying that the weather was nice today.

The old drunkard wiped his mouth with his sleeve, not taking it seriously.

"It's an old problem, nothing serious."

Su Jiuge took out a handkerchief from her waist—a light purple one with an orchid embroidered on the corner, given to her by Madam Shen to wipe her knife.

She folded the handkerchief and stuffed it into the old drunkard's hand.

"Use it to cover your mouth. Don't cough it onto your hands."

The old drunkard looked down at the handkerchief. The handkerchief was soft and delicate, with a faint fragrance of osmanthus. The stitches were fine and meticulous, showing great care in every stitch.

His thin, scarred hands, covered with age spots, held the handkerchief as if it were something precious that he dared not grip tightly.

He didn't use it; he carefully folded the handkerchief, stuffed it into his bosom, and placed it against his heart.

Su Jiuge saw it but didn't say anything.

She stood up, turned around, walked to the temple entrance, and looked in the direction of Liangzhou City. In the distance, the lights of the Blood Hall flickered in the night, like scattered stars, or the eyes of a pack of wild beasts lurking in the darkness.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to kill Chen Beixuan."

The old drunkard's voice came from behind, hoarse but firm:

"He's broken through to the Core Formation stage. You can't beat him alone."

Su Jiuge did not turn around.

"Even if we can't beat them, we have to fight. It's time for them to pay back the debt they owe me."

Ghost Hand walked in from outside the door, stood beside her, and also looked in the direction of Liangzhou City.

"I'll go with you."

Su Jiuge shook her head.

"No need. You wait for me outside and watch the old drunkard. I'm fine on my own."

Ghost Hand glanced at her but said nothing more.

He knew that when Night Owl said one person was enough, it meant one person was enough; having another person would be a burden.

He stepped back and disappeared into the darkness again, like a piece of dead wood forgotten in a corner, silent but always there.

Su Jiuge stood at the temple gate, the wind blowing her robes, making them flutter.

The moonlight shone on her pale face, on her dark, bright eyes, and on the straight sword at her waist that had drunk the blood of countless people.

She reached out and touched the things on her chest: a wooden box, a gold medal, a jade pendant, and an iron plaque.

There are four kinds now, more and more, more and more crowded, and warmer and warmer.

Something was moving beneath the ice in her chest; it wasn't a crack, it was melting.

Little by little, like snowmelt in spring flowing down from the mountaintop, it gathered into streams, into brooks, into rivers she had never seen before.

Tomorrow, kill Chen Beixuan.

Then, take the old drunkard back to Luoyang.

She could then wear the lotus-root-colored dress chosen by Ms. Shen, put on the gold-inlaid jade hairpin selected by Ms. Shen, and eat the osmanthus cake made by Ms. Shen.