Chapter Thirty: The Face of a Cat

Jiang Pingchuan dashed through the grand courtyard of the Zhou family, gripping the black pearl in his hand, feeling the faint trace of aura swirling in his palm, dissipating swiftly as he ran. His silver-white boots landed soundlessly, not disturbing the rain droplets spreading ripples across the ground. He knew the one who had set the formation sensed his presence and had restrained the phantasmal puppet he’d sent.

On the compass that controlled the array, the puppet had been forcibly destroyed—a technique both deeply sinister and among the most sensitive spells for a Maoshan practitioner. Darkness stretched endlessly ahead. Behind Jiang Pingchuan, the distant lights had faded into a hazy blur, while the rain fell in rhythmic sheets, striking the earth with relentless force.

He realized he had wandered into a strange marshland. Rain seeped into his boots, and his soles, sticky with black mud, dripped filth onto his robe. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the bottom of his foot, and something within his chest trembled violently. Stumbling, Jiang Pingchuan steadied himself and pressed his chest.

It was the jade pendant the old man had given him. The pendant seemed to sense something unusual, vibrating without pause. Jiang Pingchuan gripped it tightly, halting to survey the pitch-black wilderness around him. There was no chill, no sinister wind—only a boundless wasteland. He opened his other hand, discovering the black pearl had vanished.

A faint, chirping sound pierced the steady rush of rain and entered his ears. He glanced at the now-still pendant and tucked it away, but as he did so, his hands froze: his chest was drenched. This robe, ever untouched by the outside world, was now caked in mud. Jiang Pingchuan sensed that much around him defied all he had learned at Maoshan.

He listened intently. The rain was gone from his hearing; the chirping sound dominated, insistent and shrill. He moved toward its source.

Suddenly, a hand clapped his shoulder. He turned to find a figure in a black raincoat. In the gnarled, wrinkled hand, the elder played with a round object. Jiang Pingchuan looked closely—it was the severed head of a brown-black civet cat, its eyes still glowing with an eerie light, freshly dead. What made him frown, however, was the casual way the old woman left a bloody handprint on his shoulder.

“Young man, what brings you here so late? No one has come by in ages. It doesn’t make sense, not at all,” croaked the cloaked elder, voice seasoned with years, unmistakably that of an old woman. Jiang Pingchuan felt no evil from her and so regarded her with suspicion. In the darkness, her face was hidden beneath her hat.

“Is it not stranger, granny, that you would be out so late, watching me with such leisure?” Jiang Pingchuan retreated a step but found his feet heavy, as if something rooted him in place.

“I can’t recall how long I’ve wandered here,” the old woman rasped, half-laughing, half-mocking herself, her voice as thin and squeaky as a rat’s. “The last time I saw a living soul, I hadn’t yet developed a taste for human flesh.” Her words sent a chill down his spine. The corners of his eyes twitched, but then Jiang Pingchuan laughed, prompting the old woman to grunt in clear displeasure.

“What are you laughing at, boy?” She lifted the bloody civet’s head—the cat’s eyes fixed on Jiang Pingchuan, and its tight-lipped mouth bared fangs.

The green in its gaze grew more intense. Jiang Pingchuan reached out and touched the civet’s head, thinking, not of danger, but of Maoqiu. Maoqiu’s head was much larger, softer, too, while this one was hard and lifeless, more stone than flesh.

“I just find it amusing, granny, that you prowl about frightening people at this hour. Do you rely on your unique face for courage?”

He reached up and lifted the conical hat from her head. Beneath it was a cat’s face—pale, sunken, with a withered mouth beneath a flat feline nose. Sparse white hair hung about her bald pate, her forehead bulging, and her eyes glowed a ghostly green. She was an old woman with the face of a cat.

Staring at that grotesque, swollen visage, Jiang Pingchuan found himself at a loss for words. With a sigh, he replaced her hat.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Her voice trembled.

Perhaps Jiang Pingchuan was the first to see her face and remain unfazed; disbelief filled her tone. He shook his head.

He was not unafraid, but sensed no threat from her. He had never encountered a cat-faced entity who could keep her mind intact, let alone speak. All these things together set her apart from the monsters of legend. What was terrifying was not the face, but the hatred and yearning in her eyes—the look of one seeing life for the first time in ages.

“Come with me. This place is complicated; I’ll lead you out,” she said, withdrawing the hand that gripped the cat’s head. Stooped and swaying, she shuffled into the endless darkness of the rainy night. Jiang Pingchuan did not follow.

She halted, back to him, and a dense, black aura of resentment billowed from her, fierce and overwhelming. Jiang Pingchuan realized she was angry.

“I appreciate your kindness, granny. But you know I am not an ordinary man. No cat-faced being can control herself. You resist the madness not to harm others, but for how long? Sooner or later, you will cease eating cat flesh and feast on human blood.” His brow furrowed as the resentful aura began to gnaw at him—layered with longing, regret, hatred, and sorrow. He withdrew his own energy, letting the aura wash over him.

A low, feline yowl sounded, then a bitter laugh.

The old woman tore off her raincoat and hat, revealing her true form: emaciated, her neck ringed with a crimson, strangulation mark. She lifted her face, lips pressed to Jiang Pingchuan’s neck, panting, struggling to restrain herself from biting down.

He felt it—the single fang piercing his skin. This cat-faced old woman had only one fang.

As the pain flared, she shrieked and staggered back, as if struck by a violent force. Jiang Pingchuan clutched his neck, gazing innocently at her; she glared, baring her one fang, while her lips curled to reveal the stump of another, broken tooth.

“You do not belong here.”

Jiang Pingchuan drew the jade pendant from his chest, the one the old man had given him, and held it before her. Her face calmed, and the green glow faded from her eyes. He placed the pendant in her hand; at that touch, it quivered, as if reuniting with a long-lost friend.