As night gradually fell, Tang Qingxue lay in bed, still unable to sleep. She leaned against the headboard, cradling the book she'd dug out from Lianxin's place, turning it over and over, reading it again and again. Those strange ancient characters had long since been rubbed so thin that their original shapes were no longer recognizable, but the names of the dead written on it were unnervingly clear. Every person who'd died had once vividly appeared in her life; now they'd withered like flowers and turned to dust.
She was a doctor; of course she didn't believe in so‑called Evil Spirits. There was no way someone would die just because their name was written in a book. There had to be some other reason.
Right now the only breakthrough was Lianxin.
Even though she was completely deranged, if she kept asking slowly, she'd eventually get to the final answer.
