That very day, after receiving the property certificate for the mountainside villa, she made up her mind to go there.

The real estate agent tagged along, and standing in front of the villa, gazing at the retro European-style house made of blue bricks—just as she had imagined it—Nan Muran felt a sense of peace for the first time.

Because she knew that in this lifetime, as long as she waited here, she would definitely see Si Ye again.

As she opened the villa’s front door, the damp, moldy air hit her nose immediately. She walked through the 15-square-meter entry garden, around the foyer, and into a large, open hall. The space was over a hundred square meters but completely empty.

The harsh sunlight filtered through the dust-covered windows on the south side, dimming its brilliance and casting a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere throughout the room.

Directly opposite, above the fireplace, an old painting swayed eerily in the air, tangled in cobwebs, giving off a creepy vibe. And for some unknown reason, the temperature inside the villa was unusually low, with occasional cold breezes that made her shiver.

Every step on the living room floor left a clear footprint in the thick layer of dust.

The agent who had followed her in changed expressions several times—this place was just too dilapidated. Spending 1.5 million on this? Total loss.

Suddenly, there was a loud creak from the corner. The wooden door to the maid’s room, which was located off the kitchen, flung open and slammed against the wall before bouncing back and swinging wildly with another series of creaks.

The sudden movement startled the agent beside her. He rubbed his arms as goosebumps rose, his face pale.

Seeing that he was truly frightened, Nan Muran spoke gently, “You can wait for me in the car. I’ll take a look around on my own.”

“I’d better stay and keep you company,” the agent replied, clearly scared but too embarrassed to leave her—just a girl—alone in the villa.

“It’s okay, I’m not afraid,” Nan Muran said calmly.

Once she was alone in the villa’s living room, Nan Muran slowly walked to the center and looked up at the massive bronze chandelier that swayed precariously from the ceiling.

Suddenly, from some unknown corner of the villa, came an eerie creaking sound accompanied by gusts of cold wind—enough to make anyone’s skin crawl.

But Nan Muran remained perfectly still, completely unafraid. She even turned to face the window, trying to feel the warmth of the sunlight. “I’ve already bought this villa. The renovation team will be moving in tomorrow.

I won’t be scared by your little tricks. In fact, I can even find where you’re hiding.”

When she first entered, Xiaoliu had already warned her—there were signs of people living in the attic and the basement. Combined with what Si Ye had told her in her past life, Nan Muran had a good idea of who they were.

Her gentle voice echoed through the empty living room, and the creaking sounds suddenly fell silent—as if the presence behind them was contemplating her words.

“The one you want to save—only I can save her,” Nan Muran continued. “And you, only have one chance.”

After a moment, a man appeared at the kitchen doorway. “You said you can save her?”

Nan Muran turned around slowly. The man was about 1.75 meters tall, lean and muscular. He wore a faded olive-green uniform, his black hair messy and uneven. His right eye was hidden beneath his bangs, and a hideous scar—like a red centipede—ran from the center of his brow to his chin.

In this dim, unsettling environment, anyone catching sight of him suddenly would likely be scared half to death.

“Yes, I can save her,” Nan Muran replied, meeting his gaze.

“If you can save her, my life is yours,” the man said, his voice low and cold. He found the girl before him—beautiful to the point of being otherworldly—a bit strange, but he couldn’t ignore her words.

As long as she could truly save his wife, he was willing to pay any price.

And this was exactly what Nan Muran wanted: “Deal.”

The man’s name was Jiawu. He had once been part of a top international mercenary unit. After his enemies wiped out his entire family, he rushed back just in time to rescue his wife, who was barely clinging to life.

Though he later avenged them by destroying the rival gang, it didn’t bring his family back. After completing his revenge, to avoid lifelong pursuit, he brought his wife back to this lawless land of mercenaries and assassins—but without legal status, they couldn’t live a normal life.

So, for all these years, he had hidden here with his wife in this villa. Nan Muran had learned all this in her previous life. In that life, Jiawu had helped Si Ye and the others escape the basement for the first time, but ended up dying along with his wife at the hands of mutated core experiment subjects.

In this life, Nan Muran chose to help him because Si Ye had once told her that Jiawu was a real man. And because she needed someone trustworthy to be her teacher—to train her in combat, firearms, and killing. As a former elite international mercenary, Jiawu was her best choice.

“Take her out to the lawn in the backyard,” Nan Muran instructed calmly.

Jiawu’s eyes flickered. He was beginning to suspect that this girl was very familiar with the villa.

Nan Muran smiled at him. “I’ve got a lot to do today. Hurry.”

The backyard was less than 50 square meters, overgrown with waist-high weeds. A single careless step could send someone plunging down a sheer cliff.

Nan Muran took the mat from Jiawu and laid it on the grass in the center of the yard.

Jiawu placed his wife down gently. Perhaps because she had been bedridden for so long and was surviving on nutrient solutions, her body was small and fragile. Her face, though beautiful, was ghostly pale—like she could shatter at any moment.

“Her condition is too severe. Today I can only wake her up. The lower half of her body will have to wait,” Nan Muran said, gripping the woman’s delicate hand. She closed her eyes, focusing all her energy. Xiaoliu on her wrist began to glow faintly green, as did her whole body.

Jiawu felt like a bell had struck his mind. Wake her up—those words echoed endlessly in his brain.

In the sunlight, life energy wrapped in white threads tinged with green became faintly visible. The weeds around them began growing wildly, as if fast-forwarding through an entire life cycle, before rapidly wilting and dying—spreading even toward the cliff.

Jiawu thought something was wrong with his eyes. What was he seeing? Immortal magic? Witchcraft? But that couldn’t be—it was illegal to become a spirit after the founding of the People’s Republic!

Only after nearly all the plants in the backyard had withered and the decay reached toward the cliff’s edge did Nan Muran finally open her eyes.

She had exhausted all her abilities and collapsed to the ground, drenched in sweat as if she had just stepped out of a bath. “Move her somewhere shady. The sunlight here is too harsh—it’ll hurt her eyes.”

Her voice snapped Jiawu out of his trance.

He hurriedly picked up his wife and carried her into a small, inconspicuous room in the villa’s far corner.

Once she was placed on the bed, after three to five minutes, the woman’s long lashes began to tremble slightly—until finally, she slowly opened her eyes.

“Bai Mei, you’re awake…” Jiawu stared at his wife in disbelief.

Nan Muran let out a long breath. “Yes, she’s awake. But speech and vision will still take time to recover.” After all, she’d been in a coma for two years—there was no way she’d be back to normal in an instant.

Jiawu turned back without hesitation, knelt before Nan Muran, and while she was still dazed, knocked his head on the ground three times—hard.

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”