Chapter 567: Sister Yan’s Diary Translator: Timothy Editor: GlobeGlotter
The diary’s first page showed a picture of a young girl. Ye Mo recognized her as a young Sister Yan, and saw little difference between then and now. On the right side, it read ‘Yin Qingyan’s diary.’
Yin Qingyan? Was that Sister Yan’s name? Ye Mo recalled her mentioning his mother, Yin Qingcheng. Was she his aunt? He frowned. If so, hadn’t her behavior toward him been inappropriate?
While aunt-niece marriage to the same man was acceptable in Luo Yue Continent, this was Earth. He shook his head. Perhaps she missed his mother. He banged his head—he was overthinking. After his experiences with Song Yangzhu and daily life with Ning Qingxue, his thoughts seemed… soiled.
He shook his head and turned the page. The writing was obscure and crooked, as if written by a child, and the content sparse.
“1980, April 8th, sunny. Today we went to the Mao Ci Wan marketplace. My dad and sister took me, and I used his money to buy this diary. I really like it. I’m six, and I finally have my own diary.”
The following entries detailed trivial matters, her activities with her sister, who seemed very protective.
“1981, January 25th, snowy. A big brother joined our family. He’s a few years older than my sister, and became our martial brother. We call him Ye Cai.”
…
“1982, February 16th, sunny. Dad made us practice martial arts daily, but I didn’t like it. I preferred ancient music. Later, my martial brother and sister practiced martial arts, while I practiced music. At first, Dad scolded me, but later he stopped and supported me instead.”
“1982, March 27th, rainy. A friend of Dad’s visited. He said I was talented and should enter a national youth tournament. He wanted me to go to Beijing, but I refused. Dad simply asked me and then declined the offer.”
…
“1983, November 19th, cloudy. I’m not in a good mood today. My music feels awful. I think Dad’s mood is bad, too.”
…
“1984, June 21st, cloudy. My martial brother and sister are kind to me, maybe because I’m the youngest. When there’s good food or toys, Sister lets me choose first. She never fights with me. Dad is also nice to me and never criticizes me, but he always scolds Sister. Sometimes she cries, and he always lets me pick first. So I’ve been wondering… is Sister not his real daughter?”
The plane lurched, and Ye Mo sent out his spirit sense. Turbulence. A flight attendant approached with her trolley. “Sir, anything to drink?”
“Orange juice, please,” Ye Mo replied casually, taking the juice. Subconsciously glancing at her, he smiled subtly. He’d noticed a pistol under the trolley.
The attendant blushed. She was pretty, and knew Hong Kong-San Francisco flights catered to the wealthy. This handsome young man possessed a certain… aura. She forgot her duties.
Ye Mo patted the trolley, quickly grabbed the pistol, disabled its internal mechanism, left a spirit sense mark, and replaced it.
He’d assumed it belonged to the attendant, but apparently not. She was unaware of it.
He put away the diary; he could read it later. Finding the pistol meant something was amiss. He thought of Ning Qingxue’s flight—also Hong Kong to San Francisco.
The attendant moved down the aisle, serving a man coffee.
Ye Mo maintained his spirit sense scan, but nobody took the pistol. He was puzzled. Had someone forgotten it, or did it belong to the attendant after all?
The attendant stopped, chatting with her four colleagues. Ye Mo retracted his spirit sense; he'd marked the gun.
“San Francisco for holiday?” The man beside him interrupted Ye Mo’s thoughts.
Ye Mo looked at him properly—a man in his 60s, seemingly cheerful, yet Ye Mo sensed impending death. He was curious about the illness, and why he’d travel to the US while dying.
The man’s condition was odd. Though Ye Mo didn’t use his chi, his spirit sense usually diagnosed illnesses, but not this time. If not for the death chi, he wouldn’t have known the man was sick.
Ye Mo smiled. “You could say that. I went to see someone, then traveled around.”
He wasn’t interested in conversation, only the man’s unusual condition.
“Young man, you seem strong. An ancient martial arts family? About that gun, it clearly wasn't yours, but someone placed it there—implying other plans. The passengers are innocent, so why did you replace it?” The old man’s words startled Ye Mo.
Ye Mo immediately rescanned him with his spirit sense. The old man possessed no power qi. How could he perceive Ye Mo’s actions? Even most black-level cultivators couldn’t have seen him. The only thing the old man missed was the damage to the gun.
“You’re strong too! You saw me touch the pistol, so you’re not here for a holiday, right?” Ye Mo’s voice turned cold. He suspected the old man possessed spirit sense, and was a cultivator, far stronger than himself.
With ancient martial artists, he could sense strength regardless of their stage, as their qi couldn’t hide.
But spirit chi cultivators were different. If their power far surpassed his, he couldn’t detect abnormalities.
“Haha, don’t worry. I’m merely someone who understands Feng Shui,” the old man explained.
Ye Mo remained doubtful, but didn’t press further.
Seeing Ye Mo silent, the old man continued, “Young man, if you don’t mind, I can read your palm.”
Ye Mo almost refused, but considering the old man’s perception, he changed his mind.
As Ye Mo extended his hand, a young man stood. “Grandpa, your health… you shouldn’t.”
Ye Mo didn’t turn, but scanned the young man. He was in his 20s, also surrounded by faint death chi.
The old man waved. “Xiao Ku, don’t worry, I know.”