Chapter 18: The Dreamweaving Bell

“Boss, what should we do now?” Wen Yao slumped onto the table, sighing deeply.

Di Jiang was equally troubled, at a loss for solutions. After a long pause, she finally said: “If Sister Li refuses to speak, what can I possibly do?”

“Are you just going to stand by and watch her be drowned in the river?”

“What else can we do? Do you plan to break into the jail?”

“Oh! That’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?” Wen Yao immediately perked up. “I’ll go right now!”

“Stop!” Di Jiang barked. “Are you really that thoughtless, or are you joking around? Can’t you tell I was being sarcastic?”

Shu Xiang couldn’t help but chuckle, earning a sharp glare from Wen Yao. She retorted: “But isn’t breaking in the only option left? I don’t believe there’s anyone in this little village who can defeat me!”

“Are you sure about that?” Di Jiang gave her a sidelong glance and calmly added: “What about Zhong Xu next door? He’s no mere figurehead.”

“…” Wen Yao deflated instantly. She remembered that Zhong Xu’s Daoist powers were top-tier and orthodox. If she lost her purity, she wouldn’t even have a guaranteed chance of winning. Not to mention, her own magical abilities were far inferior to Di Jiang’s. Even Di Jiang herself constantly sought Zhong Xu’s favor—his prowess spoke volumes.

“Boss, then what do you suggest we do?” Wen Yao humbly asked for advice.

“Make Sister Li speak up and seek justice, or force the real murderer to confess,” Di Jiang replied.

“But both seem impossible.”

“Indeed…”

As the two despaired, Shu Xiang spoke up firmly: “Sister Li’s weak point is Pan Yuelang. As for dealing with the murderer, we can use the Ten Killers Flower.”

After Shu Xiang finished speaking, Di Jiang felt as if struck by enlightenment. “That’s right—I can borrow the Dreamweaving Bell!”

“What’s the Dreamweaving Bell?” Wen Yao asked, puzzled.

Shu Xiang explained: “The Dreamweaving Bell is one of the Ghost King’s artifacts. It can weave a dream so vivid that the dreamer cannot distinguish between reality and illusion.”

“The Ghost King’s artifact?!” Wen Yao’s voice suddenly rose an octave in shock. “How can we just borrow something belonging to the Ghost King?”

As Shu Xiang and Wen Yao debated, Di Jiang suddenly interjected coldly: “I’m going to sleep.” Her tone was a command, not a request. With that, she ushered Shu Xiang and Wen Yao out of the room. Wen Yao tried to ask more questions, but Di Jiang’s stern expression left no room for argument.

The door slammed shut with a loud “thud.” Wen Yao and Shu Xiang exchanged glances, then retreated to their respective rooms.

Exhausted from the day’s events, the three soon fell into a deep sleep. Shu Xiang and Wen Yao had dreamless nights, but Di Jiang found herself traveling in spirit to the underworld. When the various ghostly attendants saw her, they all bowed low in reverence.

She approached the Bridge of Helplessness, where souls crowded the banks. Among them, her sharp eyes immediately spotted Old Pan, smiling faintly. He wore clothes that seemed unfitting—an opulent deep red garment, and his hat was clearly not something an ordinary person could afford.

“Old Pan?” Di Jiang called out twice, but he remained silent. Upon closer inspection, she realized this wasn’t entirely Old Pan. It was merely a fragment of his soul, devoid of consciousness, capable only of smiling.

“Alas…” Di Jiang’s confusion deepened. She continued forward, passing through the ten palaces of Yama until she reached the Ghost King’s garden. Without lingering, she headed straight for his chambers.

The Ghost King’s bedchamber was adorned with black gauze that fluttered wildly in the wind, repeatedly brushing against Di Jiang’s face and irritating her. “I’ve told him countless times to burn these things—why are there even more now?”

In frustration, Di Jiang flicked her index finger, sending a spark flying onto the gauze. In moments, the entire chamber erupted into flames.

Amidst the fiery inferno, beside the bed, hung a glowing bell. Its handle was crafted from flawless white jade, adorned with two golden bells that jingled melodiously when shaken.

“Who dares set fire here?!”

A thunderous roar jolted Di Jiang back to awareness. Before the intruder could enter the chamber, Di Jiang quickly cast a spell.

Her form flashed, and she abruptly awoke from the dream.

Upon waking, she found herself still lying in the inn provided by Shopkeeper Meng. Her surroundings were mundane yet comforting—clean and tidy, with simple furniture typical of ordinary households. Compared to the Ghost King’s extravagant abode, this modest setting felt far more soothing.

To her surprise, a white jade bell now rested in her right hand. Every slight movement caused it to chime softly.

Di Jiang glanced at the window. Outside, the first light of dawn broke through—it was already the third watch of the night. The villagers would soon rise, and according to the magistrate’s decree, Sister Li would be drowned in the river today.

“There’s no time left.” Di Jiang urgently activated the bell, its tinkling sound resonating endlessly in her ears, seeping into her heart. She focused on Sister Li’s image and projected her imagined nightmare into Sister Li’s dreams.

In her dream, Sister Li found herself bound and stuffed into a bamboo pig cage, the kind used for slaughtering pigs. The cage reeked of feces and blood, its stench overwhelming. Beside her, Zhang Quande, the incense shopkeeper, lay gagged and sobbing, tears, snot, and excrement trailing behind them as they were carried through the streets.

The villagers hurled rotten vegetables and tree roots at them, and even the four strong men carrying the cage occasionally got caught in the crossfire. Yet instead of stopping the crowd, they cheered them on. Amidst the chaos, one figure stood out—Pan Yuelang.

He followed silently, neither crying nor protesting, his icy gaze piercing Sister Li like daggers. Unable to bear his stare, she closed her eyes, resigned to her impending death.

Soon, freezing water surged from all sides, filling her nostrils and mouth. The air she once took for granted became an unattainable luxury. She tried to speak but could utter no words.

She wasn’t afraid of death—but she feared leaving Pan Yuelang alone in the world.

With this thought anchoring her, her soul finally departed her body. Only then did she realize she hadn’t been rescued—she had died. She watched her corpse sink into the icy depths, her eyes wide open, unyielding even in death.

Without lingering, her spirit flew to Pan Yuelang. All she wanted was to see her son one last time, to ensure he was alright. But when she arrived at their former home, she saw him sitting in front of a mirror—not crying, but laughing. His laughter was chilling, grotesque.

From that day on, Pan Yuelang never smiled again. Once a bright, healthy, and ambitious young man, he became a madman. People mocked him for having a shameless mother. His scholar status was revoked, and he was barred from attending school.

He begged on the streets, scavenging for spoiled food discarded by others. Sometimes, even those scraps were snatched away by playful children. His life became worse than that of a stray dog.

On snowy days, Sister Li tried to shield him, but her hands passed through his body again and again. Worse still, whenever she approached, Pan Yuelang grew colder, his lips turning purple from frostbite.

On New Year’s Eve, unable to endure any longer, he climbed a small hill and leapt off. His body lay undiscovered for days, rotting in the sun when spring arrived, emitting a putrid stench that attracted swarms of flies.

With nothing left to hold her in the mortal realm, Sister Li descended to the underworld, where she encountered Pan Yuelang once more. He stared at her coldly, asking: “Why did you bring me into this world?”

“Ahhhh—” Sister Li thrashed and shook her head. When she regained consciousness, she found herself back in the pig cage, surrounded by the same mob. This time, however, Pan Yuelang was nowhere to be seen.

Rotten vegetables and sour water splattered across her body, while Zhang Quande beside her had already fainted from crying. Only then did she realize that everything she had just experienced was a dream—and now, she truly lay in the pig cage, awaiting her fate in the river.

Waking from the dream, she returned to the beginning of the nightmare.

“Don’t assume that was merely a dream—it was the truth of what would happen after your death,” Di Jiang’s voice suddenly echoed in her mind. Sister Li scanned the crowd and finally spotted her at the rear.

Di Jiang stood quietly among the villagers, her piercing gaze locked onto Sister Li. Her words struck Sister Li to her core: “If you wish to destroy Pan Yuelang’s future, you can die like this.”

Di Jiang’s voice rang out again, though Sister Li hadn’t seen her lips move.

Eyes wide, Sister Li tried to speak but could only mumble through her gag. Desperately, she pleaded with Di Jiang using her eyes.

“You may not be able to speak to others, but you can speak to me,” Di Jiang guided her.

At that moment, Sister Li shouted in her mind: “Miss Di, please save me! I didn’t kill Pan Lang!”

No sooner had she finished speaking than two consecutive splashes resounded, followed by the icy, bone-chilling water engulfing her body. Just before losing consciousness, she felt a small object, the size of a walnut, appear in her bound right palm. Then she heard Di Jiang say: “I will ensure Pan Yuelang’s safety.”

“Is that true…? Then it’s fine… It’s fine… I can die in peace…” With those thoughts, Sister Li slipped into unconsciousness.