Huo Zihong recalled what she had said when first seeing the second Water Shadow.
—This doesn’t look like a domesticated dog, if my family raised a dog like this, I’d rather put it down.
It had seemed so strange then: when the master’s household faced disaster, the dog they raised not only failed to rush in to save them, but sat calmly, perfectly composed.
Now she understood: what if that fire was set by the dog?
Huo Zihong shuddered violently.
Luo Ren paused, as if considering how best to phrase it: “Before you all came, Mu Dai and I discussed this. It’s difficult to judge this Literate Dog by normal human standards. The story in ‘Zi Bu Yu’ also mentioned this—when the magistrate asked the Singing Dog if it was human or dog, it replied that it didn’t know itself.”
Huo Zihong said softly: “If it were truly only three years old… it wouldn’t understand anything yet. How could one expect it to have a normal worldview?”
If it were simply an animal, that would be one thing—your master gives you food, and you serve the household faithfully. But it wasn’t that simple. It had a human heart but didn’t understand human nature. Terms like betrayal, ingratitude, or bringing calamity upon one’s benefactors had no particular meaning to them. It harbored twisted desires for that girl, and when those couldn’t be fulfilled, it resolved everything through bestial violence, yet absurdly and ironically used fire.
Many historical texts mention that the discovery and use of fire was humanity’s greatest achievement in the Paleolithic era. From then on, humans descended from trees to walk on the ground, largely separating from their animal nature.
Perhaps those historians were too optimistic.
In the silence, Cao Yanhua looked at one person, then another: “So… what happened next?”
The Water Shadows were in reverse order, with the first Shadow being the conclusion of the entire story.
Cao Yanhua clearly remembered the image—there was a dog, and beside it, a bamboo slip sealed with the Phoenix Luan Button.
“Does this mean the last ominous bamboo slip was with that dog?”
Luo Ren slowly shook his head: “Chronologically, over a hundred years have passed. Whether human or dog, it’s likely dead by now. I’m more inclined to think…”
He pondered for a moment: “We previously speculated that after Laozi sealed them, the seven ominous slips were repeatedly opened. So I think that the most recent unsealing of the Phoenix Luan Button was done by that Literate Dog. Remember when Yin Xi asked Laozi what would happen if one day the Phoenix Luan Button were opened again?”
They remembered.
The legend mentioned that Laozi had laughed heartily, flicked his fly whisk, and mounted his blue ox to depart, saying, “Don’t worry, in this world, no human can open the Phoenix Luan Button.”
Luo Ren’s voice was very low: “Looking back at this statement now, it seems there’s more to it.”
What was Laozi’s definition of “human”? Was it someone with a human heart and nature, possessing the most basic morality, worthy of being called human? Or was merely having a human form sufficient?
The Literate Dog met none of these criteria.
It was neither human nor dog—born human but living as a dog, possessing a human heart but trapped in an animal form, enduring inhuman suffering, then committing unspeakable crimes.
—In this world, no human can open the Phoenix Luan Button.
The Literate Dog was precisely that unexpected, perfectly fitting key.
The six Water Shadows, from the initial faint reflections in the small merchant’s water basin to the vivid scene at Cao Family Village with its clear sky and gentle breeze, had been telling this story all along.
With the mystery that had troubled them finally revealed, Cao Yanhua felt relieved yet somehow unsatisfied. Upon further reflection, it seemed rather anticlimactic: “I thought it would hint at where the next ominous slip might be.”
He muttered: “We’re still at a loss.”
“That’s not necessarily true. I think it might have pointed us toward something else.”
At this point, Luo Ren deliberately paused. Yi Wansan had a flash of insight and exclaimed, “Ah!” The second to guess was Shen Gun, whose face flushed with excitement. Huo Zihong, not understanding, urged Luo Ren: “What is it? Tell us quickly.”
Only Cao Yanhua felt a twinge of sourness, thinking: My Brother San has figured it out first again, hmph.
Luo Ren answered: “The Phoenix Luan Button.”
“All along, we’ve focused on finding the seven ominous bamboo slips. But we’ve overlooked something—the seven slips must be sealed with the Phoenix Luan Button. Even if we gather all seven, we still need to find those three objects: the Phoenix Button, the Huang Button, and the Luan Button.”
“The Literate Dog lived in that town—that was its last known location. After the fire, it opened the Phoenix Luan Button. Let’s make a bold assumption: the place where the seven ominous slips were discovered isn’t far from that town.”
“The Phoenix Luan Button is essentially a lock. A thief who breaks open a door will take the treasures, but who would take the lock too…”
Shen Gun grew excited: “Are you suggesting the Phoenix Luan Button might still be in that area?”
Luo Ren smiled faintly: “Didn’t you say we carry the power of the Phoenix Luan Button? If the ominous slips can attach themselves to people and move around, and if the Phoenix Luan Button could do the same, it should have found us by now. Since it has never appeared, there’s an eighty percent chance it’s still in its original location—or at least not very far.”
Cao Yanhua suddenly remembered something: “I just recalled, in the Water Shadow with the street performance, someone said, ‘Let Tutor Wei from the private school in Long Town write it.’ That sentence contains so much information!”
Huo Zihong also realized: “The town is called Long Town, and that girl’s surname is Wei. Her father was a private tutor. Wan Fenghuo could trace Leopard’s ancestry, so with a bit more information, we might be able to uncover the details from that time.”
Before she finished speaking, Yi Wansan had already taken out his phone to search for “Long Town.”
After looking for a while, he shook his head: “Nothing. There’s no town by that name.”
Luo Ren wasn’t concerned: “Many towns were renamed after the founding of the People’s Republic. When Qingmu returns, I’ll discuss it with him. I’ll try to get discharged today—you all haven’t seen the complete Water Shadow images. I think if I join in, we might get more clues.”
After thinking for a moment, he added: “My injury has already delayed us for too long, and I’m worried about missing the seventy-seven day deadline. When you all go back, please pack your bags. We need to visit Fog Town as soon as possible.”
Most of the breakfast remained untouched—they couldn’t eat but didn’t want to waste it. Huo Zihong packed the portions separately, left some for Luo Ren, and took the rest back in their original containers. As they were leaving, she called to Mu Dai: “Coming back with us?”
Mu Dai, lacking enthusiasm, said: “I’ll stay a bit longer.”
Suddenly, everyone was gone, leaving the hospital room feeling empty. Mu Dai sat for a while, then looked up at Luo Ren.
From last night until now, she had been in a daze. Even during normal conversation, she would unconsciously shudder.
She looked up at Luo Ren.
Luo Ren said, “Come here.”
She rose and went to him, slowly nestling into his embrace, her arms around his waist, her face buried deep in his chest. He smelled of clean, starched bed sheets, soda water, and the familiar scent that was uniquely Luo Ren’s.
Luo Ren stroked her hair, saying softly: “I used to hate Leopard so much. After what happened to Tasha, after what happened to Yuris and the others, I wanted her dead. But strangely, now, suddenly, I feel somewhat grateful to her.”
Mu Dai laughed softly, saying, “Me too.”
—Come, choose one.
—What does this represent?
—It represents your fate.
—I have a newer, more interesting method, but it’s somewhat cruel.
…
Mu Dai squeezed her eyes shut.
She didn’t want to think about what the other “option” might have been, but she couldn’t control the chills running down her back. Sometimes she felt she was strong enough, but then realized that all strength has something akin to a vital point—one touch and it shatters.
If she were honest with herself, could she have survived if she had lost her human form?
If Leopard had brought her before Luo Ren in that state, he would have been destroyed too.
How strange to suddenly feel grateful toward someone so vicious, simply because they had shown mercy.
Mu Dai tightened her arms, her fingers clutching desperately at Luo Ren’s body. For a moment, she didn’t want to look up or see anyone; she just wanted to burrow deeper into his embrace, as if she might find some escape there.
The door opened, and Shen Gun’s voice came through.
“Um… excuse me, could I take that book? I’d like to study it.”
She was truly grateful for his arrival. Mu Dai’s tension suddenly dissolved, exhaustion taking over. She felt Luo Ren reach out to cup her face.
Shen Gun’s footsteps approached, and the rustling sound of book pages filled her ears. Mu Dai didn’t want to move, remaining where she was, and Shen Gun didn’t seem to find her behavior strange.
All his attention was on the book.
He muttered to himself: Why would Leopard have this book? Did she also know the story of the Singing Dog?
Mu Dai thought she probably did know.
The Phoenix Luan Button knew, and the ominous slips certainly knew. Of all who had subjugated the ominous slips, Leopard had formed the most terrifying bond with them. If even Ya Feng could sense the slips to some degree, Leopard must have perceived much more.
Shen Gun suddenly exclaimed: “Hmm? There’s English too?”
He stumbled through the pronunciation: “H-ai-duh, ah-yi, duh, uh, what kind of English is this?”
Luo Ren said, “Let me see.”
Mu Dai raised her head, arms propping herself up. Her hair, mussed from burrowing into his chest, was in disarray. Luo Ren took the book with one hand while naturally smoothing her hair with the other.
It was on the inside back cover, crudely written: h-i-d-e, meaning conceal or hide. It was hard to understand how Shen Gun had learned English, pronouncing the final ‘e’ as “uh”—did he think it was pinyin?
That evening, Luo Ren was discharged, though he wasn’t fully recovered. The doctors and nurses were astounded, privately commenting: “This man doesn’t value his life.”
Qingmu didn’t think it was a big deal. In his view, as long as a bullet didn’t pierce the heart or skull, it was merely “a minor gunshot wound.”
Uncle Zheng was very anxious, closing Phoenix Pavilion early to prepare at home. As soon as Luo Ren lay down on his bedroom bed, Uncle Zheng brought him chicken soup that had been simmering over a low fire for hours. He fully expected Little Dao to be moved and say something heartfelt like “family is still the closest,” but Luo Ren frowned, lifted the soup bowl to sniff it, and said: “Do men drink this too? Isn’t this what women drink during postpartum confinement?”
Uncle Zheng was irritated, but Pin Ting beside him burst out laughing.
During Luo Ren’s hospitalization, Pin Ting and Uncle Zheng had often visited. He had chatted with Pin Ting several times, and although she was still taking medication, her speech and behavior were indeed indistinguishable from a normal person’s.
He asked Pin Ting, “Do you have any plans for the future?”
Pin Ting was taken aback.
“When I brought you from the Small Merchant River, it was because you were ill, and I was genuinely concerned—I didn’t ask your opinion, and I don’t know if you like it here.”
Pin Ting said quietly: “I quite like it here.”
Luo Ren smiled: “It’s not enough just to like it. You studied art, and I think after your recovery, further education would be good. Have you considered any schools? Domestic or international?”
Pin Ting was silent for a moment, then suddenly said: “Brother Xiao Dao, are you trying to get rid of me?”
Luo Ren frowned slightly, glancing at Uncle Zheng, signaling him to leave.
Uncle Zheng hesitated but eventually left. Although he would sometimes speak harshly to Luo Ren, he knew well that when it came to making important decisions, Luo Ren was the head of the household.
Luo Ren took Pin Ting’s hand, gesturing for her to sit at the bedside: “Uncle has passed away, and although he left some inheritance, I’ve calculated carefully, and it’s not enough for you to live comfortably for life.”
“Uncle Zheng will take care of you, but he’s getting old, and his income is limited. So, Pin Ting, you need to establish yourself quickly. Further education to increase your qualifications would be good.”
Pin Ting’s eyes reddened, knowing he meant well: “Brother Xiao Dao, don’t I still have you?”
Luo Ren smiled: “Of course, I’ll take care of you, but I can’t do it forever. Even blood brothers eventually separate and live their own lives. I won’t be checking if there’s rice in your pot for every meal.”
Pin Ting didn’t speak, and after a long pause, said: “Brother Xiao Dao, things were better before.”
Luo Ren said, “People only have one pair of eyes. If you’re always focused on the past, you can’t see the present.”
That night, after the bar closed, Mu Dai and the others came over and tried the Water Shadows once more.
This time, there were no blank fragments, and the scenes were clearer. Beyond sounds and smells, even the occasional brushing against others while walking through the market felt extraordinarily real.
Luo Ren instructed everyone: Don’t just focus on the performers; pay attention to the surroundings. Any distinctive terrain features or noteworthy clues could be crucial for our future search.
The five of them spread out in different directions through the market.
At the sound of the performance’s brass gong, Yi Wansan and the others couldn’t contain their curiosity and crowded around. With the story of the “Singing Dog” as context, they watched more carefully this time, whispering to each other: “If you look closely at that dog’s face, it does have something human about it.”
Mu Dai didn’t want to look. Because of Leopard, she instinctively felt revulsion and nausea toward this scene.
She strolled casually outside the crowd.
She saw a fortune-telling and character-interpretation stall. The fortune teller stroked his goatee, wore small black-framed goat-eye glasses, and behind him hung a sign that read: Character Interpretation, Fortune Telling, Letter Writing, Auspicious Names.
Quite a diverse business.
A middle-aged man sat on a folding stool in front of the stall, his trouser legs tied up, with a simple and honest demeanor, talking to the fortune teller.
Mu Dai heard him say: “My wife’s belly was productive, just delivered a big, healthy boy. I don’t know many characters, so I’d like the master to give him an auspicious name. If you could establish a generational naming scheme, that would be even better!”
“Your surname?”
“Yin.”
The fortune teller flipped through a name register beside him, putting on a show: “To establish a generational scheme, we must start from the beginning. The ‘Dao De Jing’ says, ‘The Dao produces One, One produces Two, Two produces Three, Three produces all things.’ Following this, the generational line will continue unbroken. The cycle of Jiazi, the succession of Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, the Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, as the years change, descendants will continue endlessly.”
“This year is… the Year of the Tiger, so your son should be named Yin Daohu…”
The man nodded repeatedly, with an expression of “the master makes perfect sense.”
Mu Dai found it amusing. This fortune teller was making things up. Who would randomly use the twelve zodiac animals for naming? Consider that one of the twelve zodiac animals is the Pig—which generation would get stuck with the character for “pig”? Wouldn’t they want to bang their heads against a wall?
She held back her laughter, calculating the absurd naming scheme the fortune teller had devised.
The first generation would be Yin Daohu, the second generation would be Yin Yitu, and the third would be…
Mu Dai’s heart suddenly raced.
Yin Erma, the third generation, would be called Yin Erma!