Chapter 877: Huo Huo?

The perspective shifts.

Qingque wandered aimlessly on the empty street for a while.

Saying she was wandering, it's actually closer to "walking around aimlessly"; after she came out of the alley where the yin shadows escorted her, she passed through two equally desolate commercial streets, walked by a teahouse with its sign half-crooked and a grocery store with its roll-up door half-pulled down, and even sat on the railing of a small stone bridge for half a minute, legs crossed, staring off.

The content of her dazed thoughts was mainly: Why aren't the yin shadows paying attention to her? Has she really turned into something strange?

And, what would happen if she went back now?

Since none of the three questions had an answer, she decided to keep walking.

The shoes on her feet made a pat-pat sound on the stone slab ground, the rhythm much steadier than before.

Those yin shadows still acted as if she weren't there.

Along the way she encountered several more waves of yin shadows: some crouched in wall corners napping, some lay on the ruins of roadside stalls rummaging for something, and one even crossed the street in front of her, walking slowly, as if taking a stroll.

When it passed by her, the yin shadow paused, tilted its head to glance at her, then let out a loud nasal snort—if that short, grayish-green mucus-laced sound from deep in its throat could be called a snort—and then continued walking slowly.

Qingque also tilted her head to look at it.

Their eye contact lasted about 0.3 seconds, the atmosphere somewhere between "mutual curiosity" and "mutual disdain".

Then each went their separate way.

"Alright,

Qingque slipped both hands into her coat pockets, shrugged, and pressed her lips into a thin line: "I suppose I'm basically a transparent person in the yin shadows' eyes. To be precise, they can see me but can't be bothered. This treatment—how to put it—is more relaxed than a retired Cloud Cavalry veteran strolling a vegetable market."

She sounded casual, but inside she was actually nervous.

That feeling is hard to describe, like wearing new clothes and walking down the street where everyone glances at you then looks away—you always sense something's off but can't pinpoint what.

She raised her hand to look at her fingers—pale and slender.

She used that hand to touch her face; the slap mark she'd given herself was still there, slightly warm, feeling normal.

She tugged at her hair; the brown strands brushed against her fingertips—also normal.

"Could the yin shadows really have bad eyesight?" she muttered, kicking a small stone on the ground.

The stone rolled three times, bounced off the roadside steps, and fell back.

This action completely failed to attract any notice from nearby yin shadows.

Just then, a different noise came from ahead.

It wasn't anything particularly loud.

It sounded like a group of something scraping and bumping on the ground, occasionally interspersed with short gurgling noises.

Qingque's ears perked up.

She quickened her pace for two steps, turned into a narrow side alley, and felt her way toward the sound.

When she reached the alley mouth, she slowed her steps, pressed her body against the wall corner, and poked out just half her head to look.

At the end of the alley was a small open space surrounded by several crooked wooden buildings.

A crack ran through the central stone slab floor, with a clump of withered yellow weeds growing in it.

The open space was filled with kneeling yin shadows.

Dense masses of yin shadows, more than she had ever seen on any street before—at least twenty of them.

Their bodies showed varying shades of grayish-green, the cracked skin glimmering with a dull oil sheen in the evening light.

But unlike the lazy, yawning, pawing-at-things yin shadows before, these all held the same posture: kneeling.

Knees on the ground, upper bodies bent forward, heads lowered, some even pressing their foreheads to the floor, their spines arched like a row of wind‑bent dead trees.

Silent as a group of stone statues.

And standing in the very center of this crowd of kneeling yin shadows was a person.

A petite back view.

Not tall, about half a head higher than the kneeling yin shadows.

On top of her head hung a pair of drooping folded ears, the right ear edge bearing a tiny nick, the ears a matcha‑green color.

She wore a slightly oversized standard outer robe of the Ten Kings Office, the sleeves long enough to cover most of her hands, leaving only a few pale fingers visible.

Below the hem a sliver of calf showed, her feet clad in black short boots.

From the back view, there was no doubt—it was Huo Huo.

Qingque blinked.

She blinked again.

Huo Huo?

Wasn't she missing?

But now a person appears in this sealed-off zone, with yin shadows kneeling all around—this scene just feels wrong no matter how you look at it.

Just as the thought "something's off" popped into Qingque's mind, that petite back figure moved slightly.

Huo Huo turned around.

As if she had sensed something, or heard an interesting noise.

She flicked the hem of her oversized Ten Kings Office robe, drawing a light arc.

After planting her feet, she lifted her head.

Qingque met a pair of eyes emitting a pale yellow glow.

Those eyes were still Huo Huo's original color—clean, transparent jade green—but deep in the pupils something flowed, like a drop of gold ink falling into a cup of clear water, not yet dispersed, slowly spreading outward.

Yellow light seeped from the centers of the pupils outward, turning the once‑clear green into a murky, unfamiliar hue.

And those eyes, through the gaps between a dozen or so kneeling yin shadows, locked precisely onto the half of Qingque's head she had poked out.

Then, Huo Huo's mouth corner twitched up slightly.

That smile was too weird.

Qingque felt her scalp tighten for a moment.

"... Is Huo Huo like this?"

She lowered her voice and muttered to herself.

Her first reaction was—run!

Just like when she previously ran into Bai Lu in the Dan Ding Office.

She had even already prepared to turn and sprint, stepping her right foot back half a step, the sole of her shoe lightly scraping the stone slab floor.

Then Huo Huo spoke.

"Qingque of the Tai Bu Si?"

A soft voice, a glutinous tone, no different from the way Huo Huo usually sounds to Qingque.

It even carried a hint of the shy timidity typical of a young girl, as if tentatively asking a question she herself was hesitant to pose.

Qingque's steps suddenly halted.

She swallowed, turned her half‑turned body back, and stuck her head out again from the corner of the wall.

Huo Huo was still the same Huo Huo, at least in appearance, at least in voice.

She called out her own name in a normal tone, lacking Jing Yuan's clamping voice that could numb one's bones, and lacking Bai Lu's milk‑sweet fervor when shouting "battle".

Normal.

For Qingque this afternoon, that word was as precious as a limited‑edition Imperial Wall Jade.

"Hey, remember me?" Qingque blurted the surprise in her heart straight out of her mouth.

She looked at Huo Huo, whose pair of eyes still glowed a faint yellow, still watching her; though it was a little eerie to stare only at the eyes, the other side neither lunged nor shouted nor threw anything at her.

As of now, this was the most civilized of all the "old acquaintances" she had met today.

Comforting.