Chapter 92: Ma Ruoxing

I drank over half a kilo of alcohol and drove the car more than a hundred meters. Seeing that we were about to hit the main road, I quickly pulled over and asked Qi Qiqi to take the wheel. She muttered, “See, I *am* playing a crucial role.”

Lü Haoyang’s taxi, which he had driven for years, reeked of gasoline. The dashboard was cluttered with various maps and a simple English-German phrasebook, likely for dealing with foreign passengers. Qi Qiqi fumbled with the clutch, getting a feel for the car before shifting to third gear, releasing the clutch, and stepping on the gas to pull away.

Once on the main road, she shifted straight to fifth. The car followed the street out of Chiang Mai, seemingly heading toward the outskirts. My palms were slick with sweat. Along the way, the connection between the paired coins—used for tracking—cut off twice, but thankfully, it reconnected each time.

The alcohol gradually wore off as we drove deeper. The trees along the roadside grew taller, some entwined with vines, and the occasional sound of birds cooing echoed from within the foliage.

Qi Qiqi gazed outside. The world was pitch black, with only the hum of the taxi’s engine breaking the silence. Occasionally, a car heading back to the city would pass by.

Bai Yueming, who had drunk chicken blood earlier, seemed much calmer. Suddenly, the paired coins’ signal grew stronger, emitting a piercing noise…

I told Qi Qiqi to pull over. Glancing at her, I noticed she showed no fear. I figured since she was a woman, any potential attackers might spare her. The ghost infant in her arms was also sleeping soundly.

I kicked the car door open, taking the jade ruler and copper jar with me. The sloshing liquid inside remained a mystery. Since arriving in Thailand, danger had lurked at every turn. If multiple factions were after me, I had to remember my grandfather’s warning: if extreme danger arose, I should open the copper jar.

I carried it precisely for such a crisis.

I told Qi Qiqi that if I didn’t return, she should drive away and report to the embassy—to prove I hadn’t killed the Thai shaman. Despite mentioning the embassy so many times, I had avoided going, not wanting to burden my country.

Qi Qiqi nodded. “Fine. If I follow you in, I’ll just slow you down. Be careful. I’ll wait an hour. If you’re not back by then, I’ll leave with Bai Yueming.”

I thought, *At least you recognize the danger—yet here you are, tagging along anyway.*

I smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.” I had barely taken two steps when Qi Qiqi suddenly called out, “Xiao Qi, wait!”

Confused, I turned. “What now?”

She stepped out of the car and opened her arms. “Let me give you some energy.” Her smile was like spring itself. Hesitating for a moment, I hugged her.

“Don’t die,” she said. “Don’t die. I feel like… I’ve seen you somewhere before. Like in a past life… You *have* to come back.”

“*Past life*? That’s such a cliché,” I joked, catching the faint scent of her unique fragrance.

Bai Yueming seemed to witness the exchange, his bright eyes taking everything in.

Qi Qiqi scolded, “Get lost,” before letting go and returning to the car. She rolled up the window, signaling for me to hurry back.

As I walked away, I wondered—*Past life? Does Qi Qiqi really believe in that? Maybe we were close in another lifetime.* I vanished into the darkness, unaware that inside the car, Qi Qiqi had begun to cry.

*”Where have I seen you before? Your smile is so familiar, but I just can’t recall…”*

……

The main road gave way to a narrow path. Whether it was the trails of Baishui Village, the paths of Zheyin Mountain, or this one in the outskirts of Chiang Mai, they all felt the same—especially at night, dark and desolate.

This particular path made me even more uneasy, as if someone might jump out at any moment, mistaking me for a thief or a grave robber. Or worse, I might stumble upon a rope dangling from the trees, strung with cat bones—meant to terrify.

I moved as quietly as possible. The alcohol had worn off completely, replaced by a sudden urge to relieve myself. Checking that no one was around, I stepped to the roadside, undid my belt, and let loose.

The paired coins grew louder.

At this hour, the villagers were already asleep.

After finishing, I followed the coins’ signal deeper in. A dog barked twice in the distance, so I waited until it quieted before continuing. The small Thai village, influenced by foreign cultures, had lost much of its traditional architectural identity.

The coins led me to a wooden hut where a dim light flickered. Voices murmured inside, their words fragmented.

I slipped in through a side entrance and peered through a window. Instead of Xie Lingyu, I saw Bai Jingren.

It hit me—someone had imprisoned Bai Jingren here, likely to extract corpse oil.

Corpse oil was usually made from children or women. Using an old corpse like Bai Jingren? What was the point?

The situation was spiraling beyond my expectations.

Bai Jingren was tied to a wooden post, a yellow talisman pasted on his forehead, rendering him motionless. His milky-white eyes rolled wildly as an eerie wind swirled around the hut. Beneath his chin, a small flame burned, as if someone was roasting his flesh for oil.

*What the hell is going on here?*

Then, a familiar face emerged from the shadows—one I had nearly forgotten. Wearing straw sandals and a gray robe, his expression was unreadable.

It was Ma Ruoxing.

The man who had wept and laughed hysterically at my grandfather’s funeral, cursing me—why was he here now? And with Bai Jingren?

I recalled Zuo Shan’s words: Bai Jingren had been turned into a corpse to lure me to Thailand.

If Zuo Shan hadn’t gone to China himself, did that mean Ma Ruoxing was his inside man?

A chilling thought struck me—*Was Ma Ruoxing involved in my grandfather’s death?*

Beside him stood a monk. Fortunately, they were speaking Chinese, so I could understand.

Ma Ruoxing asked, “Master, how do we break this corpse?”

The monk placed a hand on Bai Jingren’s forehead, his Mandarin smooth. “Sir, do you have any unfulfilled wishes?”

Bai Jingren’s eyes twitched. “None. But I don’t want to be burned alive.”

Ma Ruoxing slapped him. “Too bad. I *want* to burn you. Why couldn’t you just stay in your coffin?”

The monk chuckled. “Mr. Ma, you’re quite fiery—even with corpses.”

Ma Ruoxing sat down, irritated. “Why hasn’t he arrived yet?”

The monk remained calm. “Patience, Mr. Ma.”

From my hiding spot, I couldn’t glean much, but one thing was clear—they were waiting for someone.

Ma Ruoxing eyed the monk nervously. “I’ve heard your two-headed ghost infant dominates Southeast Asia. Is that true?”

*The shaman Alang.* Things were getting more intense.

Alang’s two-headed ghost infant was a conjoined twin that had died in the womb. When doctors extracted it, they discovered two heads. The parents died within a year, and Alang acquired the infant, refining it over a decade into his ultimate weapon.

Alang humbly replied, “My ghost infant is nothing special. It pales next to the Blood Spider and Blood Flea.”

Ma Ruoxing flattered, “In my eyes, your ghost infant’s spiritual power is unmatched in all of Asia. No need for modesty.”

Flattery worked everywhere. Alang’s face wrinkled into a pleased smile. He stood, fetched a plate and a sharp knife, and approached Bai Jingren.

“Let’s prepare a snack. When Mr. Abe arrives, we’ll offer it as a gesture.”

Ma Ruoxing nodded. “Need help?”

“No need.” Alang scraped off dead skin and blackened secretions from Bai Jingren’s chin and armpits, mixing them with vinegar and spices to create a grotesque delicacy.

Ma Ruoxing didn’t even flinch. “I never knew Mr. Abe had such… exotic tastes.”

*Mr. Abe—was he connected to Abe Murokawa? Why were they gathering in this remote Thai village?*

Once the “snack” was ready, they waited.

Ma Ruoxing and Alang exchanged words about occult arts, though Alang deftly avoided questions about his ghost infant, instead probing Ma Ruoxing for secrets of physiognomy and divination.

Their alliance was clearly one of convenience, each seeking the other’s knowledge.

I was too intrigued to leave.

Ten minutes passed. Though their conversation was lively, the awaited guest still hadn’t arrived. Even Ma Ruoxing grew impatient. “What’s taking so long? Aren’t the Japanese supposed to be punctual?”

Then, voices echoed from the village.

Qi Qiqi’s voice rang out: “Keep your hands to yourself!”

A man replied, “I was being polite. You’re the one who bit me.”

My heart sank. The situation had escalated—Qi Qiqi was now involved.

She and Bai Yueming had been captured by Abe’s men.