The days at the temple were exceedingly dull. The young Daoists were occupied either receiving and seeing off visiting worshippers or reciting scriptures and practicing martial arts. Even Rong Chen Zi was busy searching for a solution to destroy the serpents. He Bang was bored out of her mind. The injuries on her body had been gradually healing under the care of spiritual medicine and Rong Chen Zi’s attentive nursing. Though he still would not permit her to use techniques that required too great an expenditure of energy, he had tacitly allowed her to wander about and amuse herself freely.

In the winter, Lingxia Mountain’s flowers had all withered. The peaks were blanketed in snow, the pines standing dark green and unchanging — a different, remarkable spectacle from the spring and summer months. He Bang was brimming with life, constantly running back and forth across the rear mountain, building snowmen and throwing snowballs. On this particular day, a winter camellia on the rear mountain had bloomed early. Its enormous flower was half-buried in snow, vivid and striking. He Bang wanted to pick it but couldn’t bear to, and was still wavering when the sound of footsteps rose behind her. She turned her head and saw Jiang Haoran. Unusually, he was dressed all in plain white today. Fearing she would bolt again, he stopped at a respectful distance of ten paces: “Even if you can’t find a suitable martial cultivator, there’s no need to go attaching yourself to a Daoist.” He stroked the fine beard beneath his chin, his tone carrying a note of exasperation at her unwillingness to think for herself. “I know that being close to him is nothing but a way to provoke me. But it’s been hundreds of years — how long do you intend to keep this up?”

He Bang was so furious she was beside herself: “Provoke you my foot — get as far away from me as you possibly can!”

Jiang Haoran stepped forward, his tone gentling: “Panpan, think about it — after a thousand years, I’ve finally achieved something. We can finally be together. Come back with me — won’t you?”

He Bang’s temper flared to the point that she almost laughed: “If I go back with you, what becomes of Gao Bixin?”

Jiang Haoran considered for a moment, then bit the bullet and said: “She and I have not wed. The clan’s wishes… you know how it is. But we knew each other first, you and I — it isn’t out of the question for you to marry me as the principal wife…”

He Bang’s brows shot up in fury. She thought it over, then switched to a smile: “I’ve slept with Rong Chen Zi, you know. Does that not bother you?”

“Wh — what?” A flash of startled anguish crossed Jiang Haoran’s features. A long moment passed before he finally spoke softly: “The Jiang family code holds that a woman who has lost her chastity may not be the principal wife. But… I would treat you as I always have.”

He Bang’s laughter rang out like silver bells. When it subsided, she leaned forward and lightly brushed the hem of her skirt: “I can consider going back — but, Jiang Haoran, give me back what belongs to me first!”

At these words, Jiang Haoran’s color changed: “Panpan! I’ve said long ago that thing is of no use to you — why must you…”

He Bang’s face hardened too: “Useful or not, it is mine. Either return it to me, or there is nothing further to discuss!”

Jiang Haoran showed clear difficulty: “But Bixin is my cousin — the Gao and Jiang clans have been allies for generations. How can I…”

He Bang gave a cold snort: “Then why did you come looking for me? Go as far away as you can get!”

She had not been on her guard, and while Jiang Haoran had been talking to her, he suddenly lunged forward. He Bang was startled, and before she could react, he had seized her wrist in a firm grip. He was a martial cultivator — the strength could well be imagined: “Do you really think that Daoist can protect you?” He Bang’s anger surged past its peak. She raised her foot and kicked hard. The two were locked in a struggle when a sudden cough rang out. Jiang Haoran, mindful of his dignity after all, released her at once. He Bang leaped away to a safe distance — she had no dignity to worry about — and immediately called forth an ice spike. It came hurtling toward him; Jiang Haoran caught it with bare fingers and crushed it first.

When he looked again, He Bang was already nowhere to be seen. Jiaye Dashi stood nearby. Jiang Haoran cleared his throat. It was Jiaye Dashi who spoke first: “Brother Haoran, this humble monk does not know what dispute you have with this Patron He — but allow me to offer a word of counsel. Rong Zhiguan is someone who is gentle until he is not. Once he loses his temper, never mind you and I — even the most august of celestial beings may not be beyond his anger. As for Patron He… he protects her with considerable thoroughness. If you truly have something to discuss, it is better to speak with him plainly, face to face, and avoid any further trouble.”

Jiang Haoran was humiliated and furious: “Dashi, what you do not know is that this He Pan is — is —” He frowned for a long moment, and at last managed to get the words out: “She is Jiang’s runaway wife!”

At noon, He Bang did not appear in the dining hall. Rong Chen Zi had food sent to the bedroom without particular notice. The atmosphere at the table was notably tense. Jiang Haoran’s expression was grave: “Daoist Rong, I have something I would like to speak with you about privately.”

Since their confrontation, Rong Chen Zi had held nothing but unfavorable impressions of the man — but he was willing to hear what he had to say. He excused himself from the table and went with him outside.

“Daoist Rong, your reputation precedes you as a most virtuous and devout master — but there is one matter this person does not understand.” Jiang Haoran clasped his hands in a full formal bow. “As a man who has taken religious vows, to harbor another’s wife — does that not tarnish the teachings of your saintly path and worthy virtue?”

A slight lift of Rong Chen Zi’s brow. In the past, had he heard such words, he would have turned crimson with embarrassment. But after He Bang had pushed the limits of his composure past all counting, his own threshold had grown considerably higher. He was, however, utterly unrattled: “What leads Patron Jiang to say so?”

Jiang Haoran stroked his beard: “To speak plainly — He Pan is this lord’s wife. More than three hundred years ago, she left home over a small matter within the clan, and has not returned to this day. I never imagined I would find her here in Daoist Rong’s temple.”

Rong Chen Zi gave a cold snort: “Patron Jiang speaks repeatedly of being husband and wife — do you have a marriage certificate?”

Jiang Haoran paused: “Is Daoist Rong not being rather unreasonable? Demon-world marriage vows are not like those of the human world — where would there be a marriage certificate?”

Rong Chen Zi was beginning to lose patience: “Then what proof does Patron Jiang have for what he claims? Furthermore, as you yourself have said — demon-world marriage vows are not like those of the human world. If two parties are compatible they stay; if not, they part. After several hundred years have passed, the word ‘runaway wife’ hardly applies.”

“You—” Jiang Haoran’s smile turned cold. “I have only ever heard of Daoist Rong as a man of deep sincerity and lofty character. I did not expect you to also be so skilled at clever words and smooth-tongued arguments. But how much do you truly know about her? We came here with good intentions, out of concern for Daoist Rong’s wellbeing. My wife’s temperament — no one knows it better than I. She came to find you for no other reason than because you are a reincarnated star deity. What she is scheming for — you ought to know better than anyone. Moreover, you have taken religious vows, Daoist Rong — a master of your reputation, your cultivation, your spiritual grounding and discipline — you are certainly not someone easily led astray by a woman’s beauty. Daoist Rong may not know this, but my wife practices the soul-ensnaring art — those who fall under it lose their minds and wills and remain completely unaware. I am also concerned that you may have been ensnared by her.”

A shadow passed through Rong Chen Zi’s eyes. Jiang Haoran was perceptive enough, and pressed the advantage at once: “As for her past — how much has she told you? Even… Daoist Rong, do you know her name? Her lineage and background? You know nothing at all, yet you keep a demon like this at your side — to claim it is not infatuation with her beauty, no one would believe you.” Before Rong Chen Zi could even respond, he added with a cold smile: “And moreover, there is a reason she has not mentioned any of this to you — who would announce their name and origins to a meal they are about to eat?”

Rong Chen Zi’s brows drew into a deep furrow. Jiang Haoran lightly stroked his beard and resumed an air of sincerity: “Daoist Rong, I say this for your own benefit. You are a righteous star deity — you need only cultivate the Dao in peace. Why entangle yourself with a demon? Daoist Rong, do think this over carefully.”

Rong Chen Zi said nothing more. He turned and went back into the dining hall. Before everyone present, neither man brought up He Bang again, but neither one had ever truly moved his thoughts from her.

At noon, Rong Chen Zi returned to the room for his midday rest. He Bang threw herself at him, aggrieved beyond measure: “Zhiguan! That surnamed-Jiang hit me!!” She thrust her wrist up in front of Rong Chen Zi. Her skin was naturally delicate — a careless bump would leave a mark for quite a while. And this had been Jiang Haoran’s grip. The bruise had not yet faded: purple-blue in color, strikingly stark. Rong Chen Zi gently worked the bruise loose, and then suddenly said: “You have never told me your name.”

He Bang tilted her head and thought about it: “My name is He Pan. You knew that already, didn’t you?”

Rong Chen Zi held her eyes: “You have never told me your lineage and background either. And Jiang Haoran — what exactly is he to you?”

His voice and expression were both sharp. He Bang hesitated: “Zhiguan? What’s gotten into you — I’m injured and you won’t even look after me!”

Her eyes shimmered, guileless and pure. Rong Chen Zi let out a long exhale. He had to acknowledge that Jiang Haoran’s words had struck him where it hurt — he knew almost nothing about this river clam. Sometimes she seemed frightengingly simple and open, but when she told lies she did not even blink. He was afraid — truly afraid.

He reached out and drew He Bang into his arms. He Bang rested her chin on his shoulder, her lips still in a small pout: “Zhiguan?”

Rong Chen Zi patted her on the back. He had devoted himself to the Dao for half his life, and he still could not understand why he was so unable to bring himself to let this river clam go: “I’m sorry.” He exhaled softly. “Sometimes I’m very afraid — truly afraid.”

I’m afraid that what I feel for you is nothing but the effect of your soul-ensnaring art. I’m afraid that what I think and feel, what I love and what I dislike, is none of it truly my own. I’m afraid that one day I’ll wake up to discover you have far larger designs. I’m afraid that in your eyes I am nothing but an item on a recipe.

He Bang sat quietly in his arms, counting on her fingers: “The day after tomorrow is the Laba Festival. I wonder if there’s any Laba congee to be had down the mountain.”

Rong Chen Zi pushed her flat onto the bed, barely restraining the impulse to give her a good smack: “You were in my arms and you were thinking about Laba congee?!”

He Bang, completely unprepared for his sudden outburst, stared up at him with wide round eyes: “Then what should I be thinking about? Oh — Qingyin said this morning he was making fried cakes for lunch, and I didn’t see any. Liar!”

Rong Chen Zi didn’t know what to do with her. With all the heart to make her pay for this properly, she pressed her face against his chest instead with a bright, clear laugh, her voice crisp as an apple not quite ripe: “Zhiguan, I like you… you’re the one I like best…”

And all his smoldering fury melted, without resistance, into gentleness.