A Short Life

"Shh... Those blackskins are here."

The shopkeepers fell silent, too scared to breathe. Though they couldn't tell the Inspection Bureau from the regular police, the sight of those uniforms made them instinctively shrink their necks and clear the way.

Three Inspection Bureau officers in black uniforms were walking in from the end of the street.

At their head was Yue Shan, whom Chen Mo had seen the night before. Today, he carried no long saber.

Yet his blood and qi burned so fiercely that even beneath the bright midday sun, they seemed to form an invisible field, thinning the lingering gloom that had haunted Funeral Street for years.

His expression was calm as his gaze swept across every shop on the street, finally settling on the slightly tattered cloth sign hanging outside Deliverance Studio.

Behind him were the same two team members, a man and a woman.

The man held a record book. The woman had lively eyes, and the small leather pouch and compass at her waist swayed lightly with every step.

They walked straight toward Deliverance Studio.

Inside, Chen Mo seemed to have been disturbed by the commotion outside. He slowly opened his eyes, and when he saw the visitors, a just-convincing touch of bewilderment crossed his face.

He braced himself as though to rise from the wicker chair, but his movements were weak and unsteady. It took him two tries to get to his feet. Leaning a hand against the counter, he breathed faintly.

"Wh... what can I do for you, officers?" Chen Mo's voice was hoarse and frail, and in the dim shop, his face looked paler than paper.

Yue Shan stepped inside and first swept his gaze around the shop.

It lingered for a moment on the faces of the paper dolls whose eyes had yet to be painted, then fell on Chen Mo.

"Inspection Bureau. Yue Shan." He flashed his badge, his tone strictly business. "Routine investigation. A serious case occurred in the western part of the city last night, and the Black Tiger Gang was wiped out. I've heard that Funeral Street has long had dealings with the Black Tiger Gang, so I've come to ask a few questions. You're Chen Mo? The young master of this paper funeral effigy shop?"

"Yes... yes, that's me." Chen Mo lowered his head and coughed twice, his shoulders trembling. "The Black Tiger Gang... is gone? We... cough, cough... we're just a small business. We only... only paid them a monthly sanitation fee. I don't know anything else."

He answered with careful humility, perfectly playing the part of a frail, timid shopkeeper who was afraid of trouble.

Yue Shan watched him in silence, his expression suggesting that he was weighing something.

Behind him, Zhou Ling frowned slightly. Her gaze lingered on Chen Mo's overly pale face and weak breathing. Almost without thinking, she brushed her fingers over a pouch at her waist. Something inside seemed to grow faintly warm.

Yue Shan suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and Chen Mo.

Chen Mo seemed cowed by the man's scorching, masculine presence. His body shrank back almost imperceptibly, and his breathing grew slightly more labored.

"Hold out your hand," Yue Shan said evenly, in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Chen Mo hesitated, then slowly raised his right hand. It was thin, the fingertips cool, still marked with faint traces from handling spirit money and gold foil. Now it trembled uncontrollably.

Yue Shan didn't touch him. He simply studied the skin of Chen Mo's wrist and the aura around his fingertips.

After a moment, his gaze lifted to the space between Chen Mo's brows. A wisp of faint blue-black energy lingered there, and under Yue Shan's burning gaze, it seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Baleful Yin has entered your body and sunk deep into your bones." Yue Shan's voice was calm, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with him. "This isn't ordinary weakness. You've been in contact with Yin objects for a long time, without a proper method to guide or protect yourself. The Baleful Yin has seeped into you and worn down your vital essence. And... it's been left too long. The Killing Intent has become entangled with your life force, like a thorn lodged in the bone."

Chen Mo's body stiffened, then he put on an even more bitter, helpless expression. "You have a keen eye, officer. It's the family trade, passed down through generations. We're bound to... to come into contact with a few unclean things. I can only blame myself for being useless..."

His words were half true and half false. The Baleful Yin in his body was a problem left behind by the original owner, and it also made the perfect cover for him.

At that moment, Zhou Ling couldn't help speaking in a soft voice, her tone colored with professional curiosity and instinctive pity. "The Baleful Yin has seeped in this deeply... Your Yang energy is nearly extinguished, and the functions of your internal organs are all declining. At your age... I'm afraid... you won't make it through the year."

After saying this, she seemed to realize that such blunt words were cruel to a stranger, especially one so young. A flicker of pity crossed her eyes, and she added, "What a shame."

Her final words, "What a shame," were very quiet, but the shop was silent, and everyone heard them clearly.

Perhaps she pitied his illness, or perhaps she regretted that even his frail, pale face could not conceal his handsome, refined features.

A handsome man with a short life always drew a deeper sigh.

Yue Shan glanced at Zhou Ling but said nothing, tacitly accepting her diagnosis. Then he looked at Chen Mo again. "If you remember anything unusual about the Black Tiger Gang, or saw anyone suspicious, report it to the Inspection Bureau at any time." He paused, his meaning clear. "Take good care of yourself. Linhe County hasn't been very peaceful lately. Keep out of trouble, and perhaps... you'll have a little more time."

It sounded like a warning, but Chen Mo heard a faint note of scrutiny beneath it.

Did Yue Shan truly believe that he was just a paper funeral effigy maker, sick to the point of death?

"Th... thank you for the advice, officer." Chen Mo nodded weakly, then broke into another muffled bout of coughing.

Yue Shan said nothing more. He turned and left Deliverance Studio with his subordinates.

They briefly questioned a few other shops on Funeral Street. All they got were similar accounts to Chen Mo's: fear of the Black Tiger Gang and declarations that it was none of their concern.

Only after the three Inspection Bureau officers disappeared at the end of the street did the hushed chatter return to Funeral Street. This time, though, whispers about Chen Mo's illness joined the conversation.

"Tsk, looks like that boy from the Chen family really isn't going to make it..."

"If an officer said so, then I'm afraid..."

"Ah, poor thing. He hasn't even learned the whole trade, has he? The family line's about to die out..."

"Baleful Yin in the body... How many of us in this trade get to die in peace? It's fate."

Inside the shop, Chen Mo slowly sat back down in the wicker chair and closed his eyes, as if utterly exhausted.

Only the faint rise and fall of his chest, and his fingers clenching tightly on the table before slowly relaxing, betrayed the fact that he was far from calm.

"Won't make it through the year?" Deep in his consciousness, the Moonlight Treasure Mirror hung motionless, and the entry for [Remaining Lifespan] flickered faintly.

Two hundred and sixty-three days.

He really had had a year left to live, but after making two moves in a row last night, his lifespan had dwindled to a little over two hundred and sixty days.

"Cough, cough..." A stifled cough surged up from deep in his throat, carrying a rusty, metallic sweetness. He calmly covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he unfolded it, a bright spot of dark red stood out.

The Baleful Yin in his body was flaring fiercely now. Even in broad daylight, his hands and feet remained ice-cold.

"Does the Ghost Market over in Jinmen have a way to deal with the Baleful Yin?"