Only when he finally calmed down did he notice the girl’s hair—a strange, faint lavender shade that didn’t look dyed at all.
In the dim light, it could easily be mistaken for black, but a closer look revealed its true hue: an eerie, almost otherworldly pale purple.
Even her eyes gleamed like amethyst.
But Ye Chang’an hadn’t yet seen them clear and crystalline. Right now, shadowed and sharp, her gaze held clear hostility.
The girl didn’t let Chang’an leave.
Perhaps because he’d uncovered her secret—but she wasn’t planning to silence him.
That’d be far too terrifying.
Instead, she seemed intent on making him her “accomplice.”
And another thought nagged her: how had a boy in casual clothes wandered into this all-girls school?
Without hesitation, she began bossing Ye Chang’an around, ordering him to move the jars and bottles of paint lined up on the podium.
Chang’an couldn’t quite grasp how things had spiraled like this.
Still, his gentle nature had him complying anyway.
Thankfully, the blood-like smear on the blackboard was just paint. Otherwise, he might’ve feared she was a fanatical killer worshipping dark entities… or that he’d stumbled straight into a demon-summoning ritual.
But what unsettled him more were the clothes arranged on the ritual array—a girl’s school uniform…
Hers? Or someone else’s?
Why shape it like someone was wearing it?
It sent a chill down his spine, echoing the uncanny valley effect: when something mimics humanity too closely yet isn’t human, fear takes root.
Clothes shaped like a person… with no owner in sight.
To conquer fear, he needed truth.
Ye Chang’an turned to the arrogant, beautiful girl who’d so casually taken charge and asked softly,
“…What are you doing? And wasn’t it class time just now… classmate?”
He kept his voice low. Neither wanted outsiders interrupting—especially now, during break, when hurried footsteps occasionally brushed past the hallway.
Earlier, she’d left the door slightly ajar, likely assuming no one would notice during class.
Especially *here*…
Every school has ghost stories. Dorms get abandoned—always because someone died inside.
This classroom was no exception.
That’s why footsteps fled quickly. The girls here weren’t fearless.
Once, a girl ended her life right here.
And the room was sealed shut ever since.
The purple-haired girl knelt on the dusty floor, uncaring of stains on her clothes or skin, utterly absorbed in painting the spirit-summoning array. At his question, she frowned almost imperceptibly.
“Spirit summoning,” she replied flatly.
Seizing his stunned silence, she countered,
“And you? A boy in streetwear… you’re not a student here, are you?”
Ye Chang’an shook his head—then remembered she couldn’t see him—and nodded instead.
“Um… I’m not. I was just passing by and thought I’d peek in…”
“What a flimsy excuse. Do the guards just stand around?” Her tone sharpened.
“It’s true!” he defended. “Fine—Ye Xiaoxian brought me in.”
At that name, the girl shot upright, turned, and studied Ye Chang’an intently.
“Chairwoman… what’s your relationship with her?”
Calling her “Chairwoman” confirmed she was a student at Chang’an Noble Girls’ Academy.
Handing her a paint jar, Chang’an felt a flicker of unease.
“Something like… an older brother.”
“Oh, hello, Young Master.”
“Huh?! Why the sudden title change?!”
“Aren’t you the Ye Clan’s young master? You can’t be *that* Chang’an heir, but… still a young master.” She mused aloud.
No one linked Ye Chang’an to the “Chang’an” from five years ago.
Understandable. Vanished for half a decade, the world had nearly erased him.
He wouldn’t reveal his true identity just to shock her—to claim he *was* Chang’an.
So he nodded vaguely.
“Close enough… I’m Ye… Ye Huaixian. And you?” He borrowed his old name on impulse.
She accepted the paint, refining the array with brushstrokes—and even her fingertips.
“Jiang Jixue.”
“Ji Xue… ‘You lie buried, bones turned to clay; I remain, my hair white as snow.’ A sorrowful yet beautiful name.”
“The ‘Ji’ of *sacrifice*.”
“…”
*Could you not kill the vibe like that, sis?!*
