Chapter 6: The Flower Castle of the Confession Letter (2)

Mo Jiang sifted through his memories and recognized the girl before him. Her name was Zhou Yanxin. She was not particularly beautiful—utterly unremarkable in Feng Zhongyuan High School, a place renowned for its abundance of beauties. Yet, in this class, she stood out as the only one who truly cared about her studies.

Her grades ranked among the very best in the entire school. The teachers had long intended to transfer her into a class with a more studious atmosphere, but for reasons unknown, she chose to remain here.

“This book was published by Jeros, who is both a notorious swindler and the leader of a cult. It’s better not to read such things,” Mo Jiang said as he approached and sat in the seat directly in front of Zhou Yanxin.

He had a hunch that the stone door imprinted in his palm was inextricably linked to Mo Qingqing.

Moreover, Mo Qingqing’s death was shrouded in mystery—sudden and without warning—yet there seemed to have been some sort of arrangement, as if she had known she would be resurrected and her death was no mere accident.

But all these doubts had to be buried deep in his heart for now.

“Is it because of Qingqing?” Zhou Yanxin closed her book and suddenly spoke.

“Hm?” Mo Jiang glanced at her in surprise, not understanding her meaning.

“Su Nanzhou isn’t as innocent as you think—well, that’s all I’ll say for now,” Zhou Yanxin replied, sticking her tongue out sheepishly when she saw Mo Jiang watching her. She then handed him the book. “I was just curious, that’s why I read it. By the way, it was my father who arrested Jeros.”

She seemed completely unconcerned about speaking ill of others behind their backs.

Mo Jiang hardly knew Su Nanzhou, so he felt nothing amiss. Still, it was the first time he’d heard about this girl’s family background. As for his predecessor’s past—well, the perverse, sister-obsessed man had eyes only for Mo Qingqing. As for other girls—even Su Nanzhou—he’d shown little interest, only giving her perfunctory attention at Wen Lanjing’s insistence.

“Thank you,” Mo Jiang said after a moment’s thought, then turned his gaze to the book in his hands and opened it.

Its design was meticulous, radiating an air of religious mystique. The first impression it gave was solemnity, subtly inspiring belief deep within the reader.

Clearly, Jeros was a master at manipulating the human heart.

The opening pages offered ambiguous tales of the extraordinary, thickening the air of mystery. Even Mo Jiang found himself half-inclined to believe. But then, the narrative abruptly shifted, turning toward Jeros’s own church and the deity he worshipped.

As he flipped through, Mo Jiang stumbled upon a few short stories recounting the life and deeds of their so-called god. Only then did he realize this “evil god” was, in fact, a goddess.

One tale described how, when she was still mortal, she was known as the Seventh Miss. Her home, where flowers bloomed year-round, was called the Flower Castle—reputedly the primordial divine kingdom.

There were echoes of legends from foreign lands intertwined with local myth, creating an illusion of authenticity.

“Seventh Miss?” Mo Jiang murmured, inexplicably reminded of the ghostly sculpture Mo Qingqing had once bought.

He immediately closed the book, tore it apart with a decisive yank, and tossed the remains into the trash.

“Do I owe you money for that?” he asked, turning to Zhou Yanxin.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing into crescents. “Treat me to a meal instead, how about that?”

“No problem,” Mo Jiang agreed, a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he noticed her flushed cheeks. In that instant, he understood.

He had underestimated the allure of his current body—or rather, the power of his status.

“Where shall we eat?”

“I know a place with excellent barbecue. Let’s go there?” she suggested.

“Sounds good. My treat.” A faint smile played on Mo Jiang’s lips. He didn’t at all mind being attractive—especially to women. He rather enjoyed being asked out.

“My parents won’t let me go out at night,” Zhou Yanxin admitted sheepishly.

“Then let’s go this weekend.”

“That’s too far away. Let’s go now!” she said, her excitement unmistakable. “I’ve never skipped class before.”

Mo Jiang found her more and more intriguing, but since he had little interest in merely fulfilling academic requirements, he nodded.

They left the school together. Seeing them side by side, the security guards made no move to stop them—clearly accustomed to scenes like this, perhaps even instructed by the school authorities to turn a blind eye.

To his surprise, Zhou Yanxin had driven to school—behind the wheel of a sporty little coupe.

Mo Jiang recognized the car: it was worth at least half a million gold yuan.

He got in beside her, then shot her a curious glance. “You spoke ill of Xiao Zhou to me—you’re not afraid I’ll think less of you?”

“Not at all, brother,” Zhou Yanxin suddenly called him.

Mo Jiang froze, his expression changing instantly.

The two words she used were exactly how Mo Qingqing used to address him; her voice was identical.

“You…” Mo Jiang gazed at her for a long moment before shaking his head. “You’re not Qingqing.”

Perhaps because he didn’t share his predecessor’s feelings for Mo Qingqing, Mo Jiang felt no anger.

Zhou Yanxin abruptly pulled over, gathering her loose hair and twisting it into a bun as she looked at him. “Now… don’t I resemble her?”

For a split second, Mo Jiang was stunned. In that moment, Zhou Yanxin’s silhouette overlapped perfectly with the memory of Mo Qingqing in his mind.

“I’ve been imitating her all along—her way of speaking, of walking, her habitual gestures—because I like you. I really like you. I don’t mind if you treat me as her substitute,” Zhou Yanxin confessed, suddenly embracing him.

Mo Jiang was truly caught off guard.

Fortunately, Zhou Yanxin released him just as quickly. “I know it’s hard for you to accept right away, but I just wanted to confess my feelings.”

Mo Jiang remained silent, though he heaved a small sigh of relief.

After this, it was impossible to continue their meal. Zhou Yanxin didn’t press the matter.

“Let me give you a ride,” she offered.

“No need,” Mo Jiang replied, fleeing almost in haste.

As his figure receded, a hoarse woman’s voice suddenly sounded inside Zhou Yanxin’s car. “Why go to such trouble? A little sedative would do the trick.”

“I want to enter the Mo family openly and honorably.”

“But this body you wear isn’t even your own. Wearing another’s skin—is that what you call honorable?”

“Hmph!” Zhou Yanxin’s face changed instantly, turning a vivid cyan, as if poisoned. The color spread rapidly, snaking around both her hands. She struck the back seat with her palm.

A pained scream rang out, and a white, transparent human silhouette appeared in the air.