The girl propped herself up against the wall, her fingertips pressed so hard they turned white, before she finally managed to stagger upright.
She tried to take a step, but her feet felt as unsteady as if she were treading through mud.
Snow-like light began to condense from the darkness, bit by bit, silently gathering into a human form.
It was her.
The “sister” who hadn’t shown up when she was fighting for her life was now floating quietly in front of her, as if she’d been there all along.
Bai Fan lifted her eyelids, not bothering to hide the emotions in her eyes.
Just moments ago, when she needed her the most, no matter how much she called out in her heart, it was like throwing a stone into a dry well—not even an echo came back.
It was as if she’d been thrown into an arena to fight a lion alone, and only after barely defeating it, with blood still pouring from her wounds, did the distant sound of sirens finally drift over.
There was an absurd sense of powerlessness.
Yet the snow-haired girl showed no sign of being late. Instead, she tilted her head and studied her disheveled state with genuine interest.
“As expected of my dear little sister, very impressive. You grasped the Purification Ability faster than I anticipated.”
Bai Fan bit her lip, her voice very soft: “You… where were you before?”
“Nowhere. I’ve been right by your side the whole time.”
“Then why didn’t you answer me?”
“Of course,” the snow-haired girl said as if it were only natural, “I was afraid I’d distract you during the fight.”
“So you were just…” Bai Fan paused here, “…here, watching me fight for my life against that monster?”
“I wasn’t just watching,” the other girl blinked, speaking as if she were praising something commendable, “I was cheering you on in my heart the whole time…”
At that moment, Bai Fan let out a bitter laugh of exasperation.
“When my life was on the line, you hid away, didn’t even show your face. And before, you told me ‘we’re in the same boat’?”
The snow-haired girl tilted her head.
Oh no, it seemed her dear little sister was really angry this time—not the kind that could be smoothed over with a little coaxing.
“But I’m in a spiritual form right now,” her voice softened, “even if I came out, I couldn’t block the monster for you. You wouldn’t want to see me just standing there with my mouth hanging open, would you? Wouldn’t that be even more embarrassing?”
“You clearly know a lot about that kind of monster. Even if you couldn’t act, you could have told me how to deal with it.”
The snow-haired girl was silent for a moment, then curved her lips into a cruel kind of certainty.
“Things like this… instead of me telling you, it’s better for you to figure them out with your own hands, don’t you think? The things you discover through your own exploration—the feeling of them—will stay with you much deeper.”
Her voice was soft: “Hasn’t your growth already proven that?”
Bai Fan was silent.
No one spoke again. In the cramped space, only the sound of gradually calming breaths remained, like an ebbing tide.
Bai Fan had to admit she was right.
She could clearly feel the changes in her body. Her control over Perception was no longer as difficult as it had been at first. It had become docile, responding more easily to her will.
If it had been a few days ago, on the night of the Sacrifice, if she had possessed even half of her current ability, maybe she wouldn’t have let things get so out of hand.
“And…” the snow-haired girl’s voice pulled her back, “at the most critical moment, you finally used it, didn’t you? That power that can purify filthy Spiritual Essence—it’s beautiful.”
Bai Fan looked down at her fingertips.
White spirit fire had burst out from there, thin and bright, like a white chrysanthemum silently blooming in the darkness.
At that moment, she hadn’t thought much. There were no techniques or formulas in her mind. She was simply filled with an overwhelmingly intense emotion.
She had to eliminate that monster, to wipe that filthy power from before her eyes once and for all.
Then something inside her had responded, as if it had understood the desire she hadn’t spoken aloud.
“What if I hadn’t been able to do it just now?” Bai Fan raised her eyes and stared straight at her. “What if I hadn’t grasped it and died right there?”
“Huh? How could that be?” The snow-haired girl’s tone was certain. “I’ve always believed in you. Dealing with the lowest level of Blood Slave—how could my little sister possibly mess that up?”
She looked at Bai Fan, her smile saying, ‘I can only believe in you too.’
Bai Fan suddenly felt something stuck in her throat.
She was finding it harder and harder to understand this back spirit who called herself her sister.
Was she really just a ghost who couldn’t help with anything? Or was she so coldly certain that if she pushed her into the abyss, she would grow wings and fly back up?
“And…” the snow-haired girl looked at her, her voice suddenly very soft, as if sharing a secret, “you felt it, didn’t you? That feeling… of getting stronger.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Feel your body. See for yourself.”
Bai Fan was silent. She had actually sensed it vaguely, but hadn’t had time to think about it.
Her vision had somehow become broader. What had previously been like looking through a dirty pane of glass—vague and unclear—was now gradually becoming sharp and distinct.
Her limbs were already exhausted to the point of falling apart, but inside her body there was a strange sense of fullness, like a small warm current flowing slowly through her blood vessels.
This feeling…
“The Mingshenyu can purify abnormal Spiritual Essence. After the filth is stripped away, the purest part of the Spiritual Essence is absorbed by the Mingshenyu and becomes yours. This process consumes your Perception, but—”
She looked at Bai Fan, smiling with eyes curved like crescent moons: “Every time you purify a corrupted being, you’ll become a little stronger than before.”
So that was it.
Bai Fan slowly closed her palm, her fingertips touching her palm.
This time, it wasn’t without gain.
She pushed herself off the ground, staggering back to her feet.
Her knees trembled, every bone screamed, but she still pulled herself up from the floor.
“Hey,” a voice came from behind, “you’re pretty badly injured right now. Aren’t you going to rest?”
Bai Fan didn’t answer her.
The “sister” floated in midair, following her unsteady direction. There lay the big yellow dog.
It lay in a pool of blood and rubble, like an old blanket left behind in the ruins.
Bai Fan was walking toward it, step by step, stumbling as if she might collapse at any moment, but she didn’t stop.
She carefully crouched down beside it.
This movement nearly drained the last of her strength. Her knees hit the ground with a dull thud.
Da Gan sensed something.
Its blood-soaked eyes struggled to open a slit, its blurry pupils trying to focus on her.
“Woof.” The sound was very soft, as soft as a withered leaf falling to the ground.
Bai Fan froze for half a second, then quickly forced a smile.
It wasn’t because she was happy, but because she was afraid that if she cried, it would worry.
“I’m fine,” she curled her lips upward into something that looked like a smile, “See, I’m perfectly fine. Don’t worry about me.”
She reached out and gently stroked its head. The fur under her fingertips was matted with blood, rough and cold.
She wouldn’t let herself think about what that warmth and stickiness meant. She just kept smoothing the tangled fur, like her mother used to stroke her forehead when she was sick as a child.
“I’m fine… Da Gan. You’ll be fine too.”
“Woof…” The big yellow dog answered her weakly.
It seemed to be saying, ‘Don’t worry about me.’
It had always been like this. When other dogs bullied it, when it tripped over stones on the road, when its stomach growled from hunger.
Every time, every single time, it looked at her like that.
As if to say, ‘It’s okay, I’m fine.’
“You’ll be fine.” Bai Fan’s voice began to tremble. She realized it, but couldn’t stop it. “I’ll take you to a doctor right now… The doctor will fix you up. It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
The big yellow dog seemed to understand.
It moved, its four legs trembling as it clawed at the ground, trying to push itself up. Its legs shook, its belly only a few centimeters off the ground, but it kept pushing upward.
It wanted to stand up and prove to her: See, I can still stand, so I’m fine. Don’t be so sad.
It lifted its tail, trying to wag it happily like always, but the tail only twitched in the air before drooping back down, settling limply on the rubble.
“Woof…” That bark seemed to drain whatever was left.
The big yellow dog collapsed weakly and never got up again.
“No…”
Bai Fan heard her own voice squeeze out of her throat.
“Please… don’t die…”
Da Gan’s breath was growing fainter and fainter, so faint that she had to press her face against its nose to feel the faintest trace of warmth.
She knew this feeling all too well. It was the feeling of something important slipping through her fingers.
Like that evening before her parents disappeared. She stood in the empty living room, and somehow a wind blew in, slamming all the doors shut.
She stood there alone and suddenly knew that something would never come back.
Now that feeling had returned.
Bai Fan bent down and gently hugged the big yellow dog’s body.
“No, you won’t die,” she buried her face in its blood-soaked fur, as if telling herself, “I’ll take you to the hospital right now.”
She looked up at the window.
Cold moonlight spilled in through the broken window. No car lights, no voices, not even the chirping of insects.
This place was as desolate as if it had been forgotten by the whole world. Where would a car come from? What driver would dare drive into a place like this?
Could she really carry this dog, weighing several dozen pounds, all the way to the hospital?
The question flashed through her mind, but she was already on her feet.
No.
It wasn’t just “standing up.”
She felt something rising from the soles of her feet.
It wasn’t strength—her strength was already gone. It was something else, something harder, something that refused to bow.
It surged up from the small patch of ground beneath her, flowing through her blood vessels and bones, propping up the body she had thought had nothing left.
“I’ll get you there.”
She spat out the blood foam in her mouth and hugged Da Gan closer.
“Hey.” A sigh came from the air.
The snow-haired girl’s voice, for once, lacked its usual lighthearted teasing.
“Even if you take it now, it’s too late.”
Bai Fan didn’t stop.
She didn’t even look at her, continuing to carry Da Gan toward the door.
The snow-haired girl’s voice chased after her: “Can’t you hear it? Its heartbeat… it’s about to stop.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?!”
Bai Fan spun around, and only then did tears finally spill from her eyes. The string she had held taut for so long snapped with a sharp crack.
It was like a child standing at the edge of a cliff, looking across to the other side, knowing there was no way forward but refusing to turn back.
The snow-haired girl floated in front of her.
Since becoming a back spirit, it was the first time her face bore an expression that could be called “serious.”
“Lend me your body for a moment.”
“I can keep it alive long enough for you to get to the hospital.”