Chapter 7: Even the Hateful Have Their Sorrows

On the other side, Bai Xian sprinted swiftly down the alley beside the restaurant.

She realized that not only had her physical abilities improved, but even her five senses had become much keener than before.

Although she couldn’t see any trace of the vengeful spirit, she caught a faint metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The alley behind the restaurant was not wide—at most three people could walk side by side. Apart from several enormous food waste bins and piles of restaurant odds and ends, there was nothing else and no one else.

Except, of course, for that terrifying red figure hovering in the air.

Though it had become a vengeful spirit, under the scorching midday sun, it dared not expose itself for long and was forced to crouch in the shadowy alley.

Driven into a corner, the ghost shrieked ceaselessly at Bai Xian blocking the entrance, its blood-red eyes devoid of any trace of reason or humanity.

Rather than the soul of a departed human, it was more like an evil entity bent solely on harm.

With nowhere left to escape, the ghost finally stopped fleeing and, just as it had in the restaurant, lunged at Bai Xian once more.

This time, Bai Xian didn’t use the willow branch.

That, after all, was nothing more than a folk remedy—barely adequate for a makeshift defense, but wholly insufficient to destroy a vengeful spirit.

She watched the ghost pounce through the air.

Bai Xian stepped back with her right leg, drew from behind her with her left hand the riot fork she’d taken from the hotel front desk.

With her right hand, she shaped her fingers into a sword and traced them along the fork’s tines.

In an instant, the pitch-black forkhead glimmered with a faint crimson glow. Gripping the weapon with both hands, she let her inner energy surge forth.

Evil entity, long-handled weapon—an instrument of justice...

“Dragon, arise!”

With a low, resonant cry akin to a dragon’s roar, the riot fork, now tinged with scarlet light, transformed into a divine weapon and pierced straight through the ghost’s body with ease.

Like a nemesis, it churned and shredded the translucent form, causing the vengeful spirit impaled upon the fork to writhe in agony.

Bai Xian sighed and suddenly raised her voice.

“Chen Yan! It’s time you awoke!”

Her clear, commanding shout rang out like a temple bell, jolting the struggling ghost from its madness.

Chen Yan froze, the frenzy on her face fading, consciousness returning gradually to her lifeless eyes.

She stared blankly at the claws at her fingertips, her broken body, and the riot fork lodged in her chest.

After a long while, two streams of bloody tears traced down her cheeks.

“One was my man, the other my closest friend—tell me, why did they betray me?” Chen Yan asked softly, or perhaps she was speaking to herself. “It hurts, my heart hurts so much.”

Bai Xian steadied her grip on the long fork, secretly thinking that this was, after all, a pitiable soul.

With a sigh, she said, “Regardless of who’s right or wrong—your husband, the other woman, or even yourself—you’re already dead. Your vengeance is taken; now let your soul return to where it belongs. Do not stay in the mortal world to harm others.”

By now, the ghost’s form was on the verge of collapse. A little more force from Bai Xian would erase her completely.

Chen Yan looked up at the sky, using the last of her strength, and said, “Pity my parents, who gave me life and raised me…”

Her voice faded, words dissolving with her spirit before she could finish.

Bai Xian exhaled, retrieving the long fork.

Her face paled and she nearly toppled.

The move “Dragon, arise,” granted by the Green Tome, was devastating—even a vengeful spirit with two lives on her hands couldn’t withstand it. But its cost matched its power.

Just one use had drained seventy percent of Bai Xian’s energy; a second time would have completely exhausted her.

“It seems this technique must never be used lightly except at a critical moment.”

Her phone rang.

Bai Xian answered.

“Hello?”

Liu Yi’s voice came over the line: “Sister Bai, something urgent’s come up at the station—I have to head back right away. I’ve already settled the bill; you go back and eat a bit more, and return the riot fork for me while you’re at it.”

…

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[4 days 15 hours 35 minutes 11 seconds remaining]

The not-too-large workshop thundered with machinery, the furnace glowing red-hot, the heat stinging the face.

On the anvil, a glowing iron billet was molded like clay, sparks flying as it was hammered into different shapes.

A young man, fit and wearing a sweat-soaked undershirt and glasses, swung his hammer in a steady rhythm.

He appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, muscles taut and veins bulging, but with a pale, beardless, scholarly face—a striking contrast.

On a nearby wall hung many swords and blades, each gleaming coldly—clearly not mere decorative pieces.

After a long while, as the iron on the anvil gradually took its intended shape, the young man stopped hammering, returned the cooling billet to the furnace, stepped on the bellows switch, and wiped sweat from his brow.

Turning around, he found, to his surprise, that someone had entered his workshop without his noticing.

It was a pretty young woman in a T-shirt and long pants, her face bare of makeup but glowing with healthy color—unlike complexions painted with foundation and blush, hers was entirely natural.

At that moment, she was gazing with interest at the billet in the furnace, an appreciative look in her eyes.

“This is my first time seeing forging in real life. Before, I’d only watched it in blade-making competitions.”

Bai Xian glanced at the youth’s streamlined muscles, not without a hint of envy—these were far more impressive than the bodybuilders in the gym.

Wang Fei felt a little awkward under her gaze and tugged at his undershirt.

“Miss, are you sure you’re in the right place? This is a blacksmith’s workshop. The nail salon is next door.”

His workshop was in an old alley, and with the nail salon next door, girls often wandered in by mistake.

From experience, this was probably another lost customer. After all, what modern girl would be interested in blacksmithing?

Bai Xian glanced at her own rounded fingernails, finding it hard to imagine herself wearing nail art.

“I don’t wear those cumbersome things. I came here today especially to find you.”

She pulled out her phone, opened a CAD drawing, and asked, “Can you make this? How long will it take?”

Wang Fei adjusted his glasses and leaned in.

On the screen was a long spear—

No, a pike, for it had no tassel, sharp edges on both sides of the tip, and barbs at the base, designed to inflict secondary wounds when withdrawn.

Perhaps for ease of carrying, the pike was made in segments—four in total, including the spearhead—each about fifty-five centimeters long. Assembled, it would be a two-meter-long infantry pike.

Even from the blueprint, one could feel its deadly intent.

“What do you want this made for?” Wang Fei asked, bewildered. He had been smithing for years, but never imagined a delicate young lady would commission him to forge a weapon.

Besides, this item didn’t look like something for display.

Bai Xian, however, didn’t want to explain further.

“Just tell me if you can make it—I want a sharpened edge.”

Wang Fei hesitated. “The forging isn’t hard, but putting an edge on it is illegal.”

Bai Xian gestured to the various swords and blades hanging on the wall. “And those?”

“Those aren’t for sale.”

“Oh?” Bai Xian arched an elegant brow. “I have a friend with the police. He’s interested in cold weapons too—I can call him right now…”

“No, no, no, please, miss! I’ll do it, all right?” Wang Fei quickly stopped Bai Xian, who was reaching for her phone.