“I have no interest in finding people.” I was, for once, diligently wiping down an entire row of glass display cases. Inside, translucent candies and pastries had been arranged into adorable poses, tempting customers into temptation.

The woman behind me was around thirty, with a round face and round eyes, features as lovely as a painting, her whole appearance exquisitely put together. She had ordered a cup of green tea and a slice of tiramisu, and had been sitting in the rattan chair for a full hour, all for a single purpose — to ask me to find someone for her. A man.

“I run a dessert shop, not a private detective agency.” I had lost count of how many times I’d refused her. The newspaper-folded hat perched on my head made the whole scene rather absurd.

“I know you’re not human.” The woman’s deep brown eyes held the desperate longing of someone clutching at a lifeline. “And I know your rules.”

She reached into her elegant handbag and produced a bundle wrapped in black cloth, setting it heavily on the table. The black cloth fell open to reveal a blinding golden gleam.

“Ten times that amount wouldn’t change my answer.” I sat down across from her and pushed the dazzling pile back toward her. “I’ve been busy lately. I only have time to listen to one story. Beyond that, there’s nothing I can do.”

The light in the woman’s eyes flickered out like a candle.

Early May, the first edge of summer. Sunlight, gently warm. A small, unremarkable street where cobblestone roads cradled pale grey walls, green ivy growing lush and exuberant, birds darting past, a few strolling pedestrians. The small courtyard at the end of the lane was said to be a structure from the Ming and Qing dynasties. In the back courtyard grew a frail ginkgo tree, and beneath it a cluster of gardenia flowers just beginning to bloom, their quiet fragrance floating softly through the air. Half a year ago, I had taken one look at this place and bought it, opening this dessert shop. The name was a bit peculiar — it was called: Bu Ting.

The woman had spoken the truth. I was not human.

I was a tree spirit — a demon born in the snow-swept twelfth month, having wandered through a thousand years and across all four corners of the world. Never once had any place been able to hold my steps for long.

I liked gold, but had no particular fondness for sweets and feared growing fat. It was only because the two helpers I’d hired could make nothing but sweets — they had deceived my feelings entirely. During their interviews, they’d claimed they could do anything at all, calling themselves master chefs, filling the air with grand, extravagant boasts. In the end, my dream of opening a Sichuan restaurant had run aground, marooned in a dessert shop.

“I am only interested in listening to stories.” Fragrant tea drifted through the air. I stretched lazily, the pale evening sun settling outside the window. My languid expression was nothing more than a signal to the woman: if you have something to say, say it; if not, you may leave.

“After you’ve heard this story,” the woman said, “I wonder — will you change your mind?” She took a small sip of the emerald-green tea and furrowed her brow ever so slightly.

I knew the water brewed from those tea leaves was quite bitter. For every special guest who came not for the sweets, I always recommended they order this tea.

The tea was called “Fu Sheng.”

The woman set down the snow-white bone china teacup and drew a quiet breath…

1.

A’Liao could not read. She had attended primary school for seven consecutive years — from the age of seven to fourteen — and still could not read. Except for her own name.

Every teacher who had taught her was deeply discouraged. Even the little bald boy in class who was always drooling could write out “Moonlight before my bed” in crooked, shaky strokes — but A’Liao could not. Whatever character she was taught today would be entirely forgotten by the next morning.

Apart from her inability to read, A’Liao was, in all other respects, a perfectly ordinary student, and the school had no grounds to expel her. This year, she was in the sixth grade for the second time, now classmates with students who had once been her juniors.

None of the teachers particularly liked her, and mockery from her classmates was never in short supply. Seven years of school and still illiterate — what else could that be but brain damage? Yet A’Liao didn’t care in the slightest. She always greeted people with a smile, her eyes full of sunshine, as radiant as a vivid, blooming sunflower.

So she acquired yet another label: “scatterbrained.”

For A’Liao, the most blissful moments of her day came after school — leaning her back against the trunk of the ginkgo tree, eating a red bean ice pop, and gazing into the distance.

She loved every blade of grass and every leaf here, every bird and even every ant. Even the ginkgo tree itself was interesting and endearing to her. And there was a bird she couldn’t name — white-backed and black-winged — perching among the dense branches, singing melodiously. She loved to doze off against the trunk, the solid, steadfast support behind her bringing an ineffable sense of calm. The bright, clear birdsong gifted her another kind of quiet, tranquil happiness.

Still, bliss always came at a price. A’Liao would often wake to find her bicycle had vanished without a trace. By now, she had lost over a dozen of them.

Maybe someone else needs it more than I do. A’Liao told herself this every time, then spent an hour and a half strolling up along the small path through the wheat fields, passing through a small grove of ginkgo trees, and cheerfully making her way home to the little house on the hillside.

This small town was planted thick with ginkgo trees. Every early autumn, A’Liao would watch people out on the streets and in the lanes, holding long bamboo poles and striking down round, plump fruits from the crowns of the ginkgo trees in all manner of exaggerated poses. They said those were white nuts — also called ginkgo seeds — nutritious and medicinal, and finest of all when stewed in chicken broth.

One evening a week ago, A’Liao passed by after school to find a white-haired old man in a black cloth robe standing beneath the ginkgo tree she walked under every day, gazing up at the canopy. On his face, weathered deep with the frost and wind of years, was an unspeakable sorrow.

“The appointed time…” The elder shook his head and murmured softly.

“Grandpa, is there anything I can do to help?” A’Liao walked up to him.

The elder turned and looked at her. In an instant, the wrinkles smoothed from his face. “A’Liao.”

“Oh, you know my name?”

“I often watch you pass beneath this tree.” The elder patted A’Liao’s head with a kind hand. “But soon, I won’t be able to watch anymore.”

A’Liao looked at him strangely. “Why is it that I’ve never seen you before?”

“But you have,” said the elder with a smile. With gentle affection, he wiped a smear of red bean ice from the corner of her mouth. “Every day after school, always late to go home — always eating red bean ice, always leaning against the trunk for a nap before you’ll finally leave.”

A’Liao scratched her head and chuckled, embarrassed.

“How wonderful it is to be alive,” the elder said. His hand slowly dropped to his side, and as he looked into A’Liao’s eyes, there was longing in his gaze.

“Then just keep living!” A’Liao couldn’t understand what there was to envy or lament in that.

The elder shook his head. “I am ill. I don’t have much time left.”

“Ah?” A’Liao startled. “Then Grandpa, you should hurry to the hospital!” She paused, then suddenly remembered something, pointing to the ginkgo tree. “Eat those white nuts — the ginkgo seeds! I’ve heard so many people say they can cure all kinds of illness! I think they’ll ripen in about another month!”

“Ginkgo seeds?” The elder was momentarily taken aback, and murmured softly, “They truly would help with a great calamity… but not just anyone can eat them, you know…”

“They’re all over the streets,” A’Liao said urgently. “When the time comes, I’ll help you knock them down from the tree, and you can take them home to stew in chicken broth…”

“Ha ha, you silly girl.” The elder’s complexion returned to normal, and he smiled. “It’s getting late — hurry home now.” With that, he gave her a gentle push on the back.

A’Liao felt her body lighten, and she somehow floated several steps forward. When she turned to look back, there was no one beneath the ginkgo tree.

2.

That night, a hailstorm struck the small town — rare in its ferocity. Dense marble-sized chunks of ice pelted down upon flowers and grass, earth and rooftops, leaving devastation everywhere.

The following morning, on her way to school, A’Liao found a dead bird beneath the ginkgo tree. White-backed and black-winged, its stiff wings were spread wide open, frozen forever in the posture of flight.

A’Liao was overcome with inexplicable sorrow. She dug a small hole beneath the tree and buried it.

From that day on, A’Liao never again heard the moving birdsong drifting down from the ginkgo tree. In the dreams she had beneath that tree, one warm voice was gone.

And she never saw the white-haired old man in black again.

That particular day, the weather was unusually foul — dark clouds obscuring the sun, the air stifling and oppressive.

A’Liao was walking home alone. As she neared the ginkgo grove, a strange feeling crept up behind her, as if someone were silently following her.

A’Liao turned around. Behind her was only emptiness — not a single figure to be seen.

She kept walking. Through the ginkgo grove, an occasional rare breeze drifted past, the leaves above rustling and whispering. The strange feeling at her back persisted.

Meow!!!

A sharp cat’s cry erupted from the forest. A’Liao spun around. In the dim, shadowed light between the trees, a streak of white light plunged down from above, then came a violent gust of wind, sweeping up dirt and stones, slamming directly into A’Liao and blinding her eyes. The immense force pushed her backward dozens of meters, her feet carving long grooves into the earth.

Standing at the edge of the forest, staring at this grove she knew so well, A’Liao suddenly felt a kind of unease — even fear. In those swirling sands and flying stones, she could see no light, could make out no sound, only danger.

A’Liao sprinted home.

“Who were you fighting with this time?” A bespectacled, refined-looking man in an apron carefully set a steaming pot of soup onto the Eight Immortals table in the center of the room, then arranged several small, neatly-prepared dishes around the soup pot.

A’Liao stood in the doorway, her hands fidgeting together. Her ponytail had come undone. A bruise darkened the corner of her mouth. Her red school uniform was streaked with grime, and most of the buttons on her shirt had gone missing, the remaining ones hanging on for dear life.

“Two boys from the class next door were trying to borrow money from a first-grader. The little kid was trembling so hard he was shaking.” A’Liao slowly edged toward the table, eyes fixed hungrily on the food.

The moment she stepped through this door — the moment she returned to his side — every trace of unease inside A’Liao vanished.

“Did anyone else see?” The man adjusted his glasses and asked.

A’Liao stuck out her tongue. “We were right in the middle of the small lane behind the school gate. Not even a ghost in sight.”

“Good.” The man let out a quiet breath of relief. “Fighting gets you expelled. They’ve been looking for that excuse for a long time. Eat first, or get the medicine on your injuries first?”

“Eat first!!” A’Liao cheered, then added, “Oh right — something really strange happened on the way home today. It felt like someone was following me. When I passed through the ginkgo grove, a weird gust of wind pushed me aside. There were strange movements in the forest too. I didn’t dare look too closely, so I ran.”

“Oh. I see. Go eat now.”

A’Liao had a home, but no parents.

The man beside her was tall and slender, composed and unreadable in his emotions, clean-featured and handsome, and entirely ordinary in name — Liang Yudong.

She called him Shifu.

That one word, Shifu, was in name only. In eleven years, apart from looking after A’Liao’s meals and daily life, Liang Yudong had taught her nothing whatsoever.

He made medicine — gathering medicinal herbs from distant mountains, drying some, roasting others. On countless nights of clear moonlight and scattered stars, the room at the far west end of the courtyard always carried the rhythmic sound of herbs being ground and pounded. A’Liao had once secretly peered through the crack in the window. In the pale amber lamplight, Liang Yudong concentrated intently, lifting a small spoon to ladle a measure of powder from a dark ceramic jar into a slender porcelain vial in his hand, white as pristine snow, and shook it gently. As he shook it, he glanced at a thread-bound booklet laid open beside him, as old and brittle as a dried leaf.

A’Liao had assumed he was wholly absorbed in his work — yet whenever she tried to get a closer look, a gust of wind and dust would blow in through the window frame and into her eyes. By the time she pried open her red-rubbed eyes again, Liang Yudong would already be standing silently beside her, pinching her ear and marching her back to her room while she stuck out her tongue at him.

This sort of scene played out several times a year. That ancient, worn booklet was the thing A’Liao was most curious about — second only to red bean ice.

She had snuck a look inside — but she couldn’t understand it. The booklet was densely packed with tiny characters, like little ants standing tall and proud, mocking her. One page in particular had been turned so many times it was nearly falling apart.

On many a summer night bathed in clear moonlight, or crisp mornings with red plum blossoms set against snow, Liang Yudong would sit at the stone table in the courtyard, pouring his own wine and drinking alone. In the pleasant haze of a mild intoxication, he would always recite softly, bathed in moonlight or drifting snowflakes:

“Cold mountains turn to emerald deep, Autumn rivers run their murmuring sleep. I lean on my staff beside the brushwood gate, And listen in the wind for evening’s cicadas’ late.”

The mountain breeze passing through would lift the hem of his neat clothes and sweep a few petals down to settle in his black hair. At moments like these, A’Liao would bounce over to him like a rabbit, stand up on a stone stool, and with a grin pluck the petals from his hair one by one.

“Have you had your fill of playing at elegance? Don’t you need to eat?” The lovely atmosphere was invariably broken by a woman’s sharp, high-pitched voice.

Mo Bai, clad in luxurious white, carried a basin of vegetables into the room with a frigid expression. She set the basin down heavily in front of A’Liao. “Dead girl, go wash the vegetables!”

“At your command, Elder Sister Mo Bai.” A’Liao stuck out her tongue and ran.

“Your temper is awful,” Liang Yudong said with a shrug.

Mo Bai shot him a withering glare, then looked at A’Liao’s retreating figure and said coldly, “I don’t have as many feelings as you. I hate acting on emotion most of all.”

How to describe Mo Bai? Liang Yudong was the first man A’Liao could remember seeing. Mo Bai was the first woman she saw and could remember.

The three of them lived under the same roof.

Mo Bai was extraordinarily beautiful — captivating eyes that reached to the bone, brimming with feminine allure. She loved to dress up and wore different styles of clothing every day, though the color never changed from a perpetual, unchanging white. She was not Liang Yudong’s wife, nor his kin, and didn’t seem to be his friend either. She spent her days grumbling and shouldering most of the household duties, occasionally venturing out to gather medicinal herbs for Liang Yudong, and otherwise disappearing entirely.

From as far back as A’Liao could remember and all the way to now, she had never once seen Mo Bai smile at her. Beyond yelling things like “Take off those dirty clothes!” and “Get back to bed!” at her, Mo Bai had nothing but rolled eyes and pointed indifference.

A’Liao knew Mo Bai loved fish most of all. Once, when Mo Bai was ill and couldn’t eat, A’Liao secretly ran to the river behind the mountain to catch her the freshest fish she could find, and nearly slipped and drowned in the process. When she carried the finished fish broth to Mo Bai’s bedside, it was slapped out of her hands and sent crashing to the floor, and she was told to get far away.

For this strange dynamic — deranged witch versus pure little lamb — A’Liao felt no anger, only puzzlement. She thought about it for a long time, from every angle, and still couldn’t figure out what she had done to offend Mo Bai. Could it be that Mo Bai thought she was too plain-looking?

Though somewhat confused, A’Liao still felt no anger. She didn’t really have concepts like “anger” or “holding a grudge.”

Mo Bai, just like Liang Yudong, remained one of the most important people in her life.

Applying cool ointment to A’Liao’s injuries, Liang Yudong shook his head. “I have told you N times — you need to keep a low profile. If you get into fights and something breaks, then what?”

“I’m not a porcelain cup. It’s not that easy to break me,” A’Liao said, wincing and sucking in air. “Lighter, lighter.”

He stopped what he was doing.

“To me, you are the only one.” He gazed at A’Liao for a brief, dazed moment, then quickly returned to his normal expression, stood up, and took his medicine kit back toward the inner room. “There’s still soup in the kitchen. Go serve yourself.”

Shifu has been different from before, lately.

A’Liao watched his retreating figure, carefully pressing a hand to the corner of her mouth.

3.

The first time Liang Yudong saw A’Liao, she was just over three years old.

When he tossed a thick stack of banknotes onto the grimy, oil-stained wooden table, two pairs of greedy eyes lit up like they’d been electrified. The woman’s cracked, dry lips trembled, and she said quietly, “Who would have thought — picked up a girl out in the mountains, and someone’s actually willing to pay for her.” She instantly changed her expression, called out toward the kitchen with barely concealed delight: “Girl, come out here.”

It was the last day of December. Heavy snow was falling deep in the mountains.

The little girl who appeared in the doorway looked three or four years old. A thin old sweater with fraying cuffs and collar wrapped around her small, slight frame. A basin of freshly boiled potatoes was balanced in her hands, and her large, dark eyes darted with life on her small, round face, smudged all over with soot and dirt.

“Father.” She trotted over to the man, tilted her head up with a joyful smile, and held the potatoes out to him. “Look — I didn’t burn them this time.”

The man impatiently snatched the bowl away and set it aside, then dragged her to the window and shoved her toward the young man standing before him. “Here, she’s yours.” Then he fixed the little girl with a glare. “From now on, he’s your father. Go with him.”

What he handed over was not a person. It was merely a piece of merchandise, sold and done with.

“Father and Mother are so happy. How wonderful.” The little girl stood before the crooked, lopsided fence gate, turned to look at what had once been “home,” and blinked her large eyes. There was no sorrow on her face, no anger, no fear — only a smile, beautiful as a wildflower blooming quietly in the field.

Liang Yudong watched this small child — from the moment he took her by the hand and led her out the door, she had been like a gentle, obedient little cat. No resistance at all, letting him lead her off in a completely unknown direction.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m taking you?” he said.

“No,” she replied, tilting her small face up to look at him, wiping at the cold-drawn snot on her nose with a grin. “You’re not going to eat me.”

He shook his head, crouched down, and carefully wiped her dirty little nose with a handkerchief. “You really are as clean as a blank sheet of paper,” he smiled.

A thin layer of snow had settled in the courtyard. The tall ginkgo tree outside pressed close against the courtyard wall. In this bitter cold with its biting wind, the tree was covered in layer upon layer of fresh green ginkgo leaves, each one so tender it seemed you could squeeze water from it.

White snow and green leaves — an incongruous pairing, yet one that radiated a brimming vitality.

Liang Yudong glanced up at the tree, then turned away, leading his small child by the hand. On the winding mountain path, two sets of footprints — one large, one small — stretched on ahead…

In a simple, modest rural inn, Liang Yudong was straightening out the disheveled bedding, frowning as he said, “We’ll be home tomorrow. We’ll manage one night here. Go to sleep early.” He turned to look at her as she glanced this way and that. “A’Liao, did you hear me?”

“This place…” She ran to Liang Yudong’s side and happily grabbed his hand. “This place’s house is so pretty!” With that, she launched herself onto the bed, rolled back and forth on the blanket that carried a faint smell of mildew, and clapped her hands, laughing with delight. “So soft and comfortable!”

“Have you never slept in a bed like this before?” Liang Yudong sat on the edge of the bed, watching this excited, flushed little child with a look of genuine curiosity.

“There’s no bed in my room. Only Father and Mother have one. But I have lots of straw!” She hugged the pillow and pressed her small face into it. “And I always sleep with Xiao Du. Leaning against Xiao Du is so warm.”

“Who is Xiao Du?”

“The dog that watches the yard for Father and Mother! Snow-white fur, very big, but never seems to gain any weight — always thin and skinny.”

“Oh, is that so.”

Liang Yudong straightened her out on the bed and drew the blanket over her. “Sleep now. It won’t be cold tonight.”

“Mm!” Her little face, rosy as a red apple, dived under the covers, leaving only a pair of eyes dancing with sweet, lingering smiles. “Today was really happy.” Then she popped half her head back out and asked, earnestly, “Will I be able to see Father and Mother again someday?”

“They’ll live very well,” he said, patting her head. “To have a daughter like you — that’s good fortune earned across many lifetimes.”

“Ha, how wonderful!” She burrowed back under the blanket, content and at peace, and drifted off to sleep. “Get some rest too, Shifu.”

Then she poked her head back out and gave Liang Yudong a sweet smile. “Shifu, you’re so good!”

“Mm,” Liang Yudong said, smiling a little awkwardly.

On the road here, he had done two things: when they passed a vast, wide-open field, he had casually given her a name; and he had made their future relationship clear between them. He didn’t like calling her girl, and even less did he like her calling him Father.

Deep in the night, mountain winds sharp as blades howled in through the broken window. In the mountains in winter, the damp cold could seep into one’s very bones. Liang Yudong sat on the bed, reading by the faint glow of an oil lamp — a yellowed booklet, even older than the dusty lamp itself. A’Liao was pressed close against his side, sleeping as soundly as a little pig, one finger stuck absent-mindedly in her mouth.

He closed the booklet and looked at the small person beside him. His impassive face, in the swaying lamplight, was cast in a deep, brooding shadow.

A fierce gust surged through, extinguishing the oil lamp.

Liang Yudong couldn’t help but sneeze.

He rubbed his nose and gave a bitter smile. So he had already grown this weak — soaring through the sky and vanishing into the earth, shaping wood into houses with a single touch — all of it was a thing of the past now. And here he was, unable even to withstand a bit of cold.

What did it matter that he had cultivated into human form as a ginkgo tree spirit? What did a thousand years of cultivation matter? When the great calamity drew near, one was nothing more than a body barely clinging to life.

If he could escape it, there would be longevity. If not, it was the end — spirit and form alike obliterated.

Such was the fate written for demons and spirits.

In the darkness, the sound of breathing beside him was even and serene. A’Liao’s smile and her bright laughter drifted through his mind — sometimes vivid and clear, sometimes fading into mist…

At the first light of dawn, Liang Yudong opened his eyes wrapped in warmth. At some point, a blanket had been draped over him. It had an odd smell, but it had truly kept out the cold. A’Liao had only a corner of the blanket barely covering herself, curled into a small ball beside him, one small hand resting on his arm, still snoring away contentedly, a trail of drool on her face.

Just as Liang Yudong was shaking his head and pulling the blanket back over her, A’Liao stirred and woke up.

“Looks like I’ll have to glue you down, or you’ll never stay put and stop kicking off the covers,” Liang Yudong said, giving her a mild, reproachful look.

A’Liao rubbed her eyes and sat up. “I didn’t kick off the covers!”

“Then how did the blanket end up on me?”

“I heard you coughing in the night, so I put it on you,” A’Liao said honestly. “I didn’t kick it.”

He paused, then asked, “If you gave me the blanket, weren’t you cold?”

“Cold, yes, but I wasn’t coughing,” A’Liao said, her lips puffed out in a pout. “Before, when Xiao Du was also coughing and shivering, I would just lay lots of straw thick over it and hug it, and it got better really fast!”

“I’m not Xiao Du,” he said, flicking her nose lightly.

“But you’re right beside me,” A’Liao said, tilting her head and counting on her fingers with great seriousness. “I don’t want you to be sick. If you’re sick, you’ll be unhappy. If you’re unhappy, A’Liao will be unhappy too. A’Liao wants Father and Mother and Xiao Du, and Shifu — everyone around me to be happy!”

“Silly child,” he said, patting her head. The smile at the corner of his mouth carried something difficult to name.

Because you’re right beside me…

Very well. From now on, you will only be beside me.

Liang Yudong extended one finger and lightly pressed it to the center of A’Liao’s brow. A faint luminescence seeped from his fingertip.

A’Liao. You no longer have a past. Only a future — lived alongside me.

4.

Boom. With a tremendous crash, the door was sent flying open.

Mo Bai stumbled in, clutching her arm, blood at the corner of her mouth, lurching and swaying before her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor.

A’Liao, who had been clearing away the dishes, was startled out of her wits. She rushed over and helped hold her up, then turned her head and called out toward the inner room, “Shifu, Shifu! Elder Sister Mo Bai is injured!!”

“Let go!”

Mo Bai shoved her away, struggled to her feet, and fixed Liang Yudong with a direct, furrowed stare as he came hurrying out. In a low voice, she said, “They’ve tracked us here. I can’t beat them. I set up a barrier using the Seven Severing Curse — it’ll hold them for three days.”

“So called righteous cultivators are most skilled at taking advantage of others’ weakness,” Liang Yudong said, his gaze cold as he looked toward the doorway. “Your injuries are serious. Come inside and let me put some medicine on them.”

“That’s right, Elder Sister Mo Bai, you’re bleeding!” A’Liao interjected anxiously.

“Aside from the Elixir of Longevity, you know perfectly well those medicines only treat the symptoms, not the root.” Mo Bai ignored A’Liao entirely. She grabbed hold of Liang Yudong’s arm, her carefully shaped nails nearly pressing into his flesh. “The great calamity is near. Neither you nor I have any time left. That bird spirit with five hundred years of cultivation has already met its fate in the calamity. We both know what became of it. How much more do you still need to complete?”

Liang Yudong paused to consider. “I still need one ingredient… the ginkgo seed.”

“Three days.” Mo Bai leaned against the table and sat down, gasping in great, heaving breaths. “If in three days you still haven’t obtained the ginkgo seed and produced the Elixir of Longevity, you may escape man-made disaster — but heaven’s tribulation will be inescapable.”

“I know.” Liang Yudong pulled his gaze back from the distance, gave a bitter smile, and sat down across from Mo Bai. “Humans are always saying that making a living is hard. They certainly never imagine that spirits feel the same.” The corner of his mouth forced itself upward. “Ha — all we spirits want is a quiet, undisturbed existence, flowing with the years without contest. Even that, it seems, is not permitted.”

Mo Bai lowered her eyes. Her beautiful lashes trembled faintly.

Two people at one table, enclosing a quiet, desolate world between them.

A’Liao couldn’t read, but she wasn’t dim-witted.

They had just spoken of “bird spirit” and “met its fate in the calamity.” She easily thought of that gentle, benevolent elder she had only met once, yet who had felt like someone she’d known long before. That dead bird still never left her mind.

“Shifu…” She stood between the two of them. “Are you a spirit?”

She was always this still and serene, carrying a luminous clarity — as though anything unrelated to happiness simply had no room inside her. Including now, when she asked about “spirit,” a word that made many people’s faces go pale.

Liang Yudong looked into her eyes, pure as clear water, and said nothing.

“Is there still any point in hiding it?” Mo Bai glanced at him, then said to A’Liao, “You don’t know the meaning of fear anyway. I’ll tell you then — your Shifu and I are not human. He is a ginkgo tree spirit. Don’t let the young face fool you — he’s actually an undying creature well over a thousand years old.”

“What about you?” A’Liao propped her chin in her hand, nothing but curiosity, not a flicker of fear.

“Me…” Mo Bai pursed her lips. “Why should I tell you.”

A’Liao’s eyes darted sideways. “Elder Sister Mo Bai loves fish so much… could she be a cat spirit?”

“You little—” Mo Bai moved as if to hit her.

“Those who are truly coming to cause trouble — let me go and deal with them.” Liang Yudong stood and cut short their quarrel. “Mo Bai, take A’Liao somewhere safe for a while.”

“Safe?” Mo Bai reacted as though she’d been jabbed in a wound. She shot to her feet with a sharp voice. “Where can we possibly go? In three days, if you still haven’t found the ginkgo seed and made the Elixir of Longevity, there is only one fate waiting for you and me, no matter where we are.”

“I know.” Liang Yudong gave a slight nod.

“You know?!” The look in Mo Bai’s eyes was sharp as a blade’s edge. Entirely ignoring her still-bleeding wound, she sprang up, darted into Liang Yudong’s room with lightning speed, and was back in a moment — the booklet pinched between her fingers. “This formula for the Elixir of Longevity — you’ve read it over countless years. Did you think I haven’t read it too? Did you think your Amnesia Curse works on me as well? I am not that foolish girl — I am also a spirit with my own cultivation! I was merely waiting for you to make a decision!”

“You do indeed have the keen wit of a cat spirit,” Liang Yudong said, regarding the booklet she had crumpled, his tone even. “But haven’t you already decided?”

“I—” Mo Bai was momentarily speechless. She flung the booklet aside, surged forward, seized Liang Yudong by the collar, and said through gritted teeth, “I don’t want to die together with you.”

“Mm, I know,” Liang Yudong said, not moving an inch.

“I…” Mo Bai’s beautiful brows knotted together. Her pale, rosy lips pressed so tight they nearly drew blood. After a long, tense standoff, she let her hands fall and slumped forward, deflated, landing one fist against Liang Yudong’s chest, and murmured with her head bowed, “All I want is to wear beautiful clothes, eat all kinds of fish, live like a real woman — to just live, and live well…”

“I know…” Liang Yudong sighed softly and gathered Mo Bai into his arms. “I’m sorry…”

Mo Bai’s shoulders shuddered, and she wept in quiet, low sobs.

This was the first time A’Liao had ever heard Liang Yudong apologize. The first time she had ever seen Mo Bai cry. The first time she had ever seen the two of them this close to each other.

But in that one instant, she dimly sensed that the life she had always known, still and calm as water, had been severed by some force beyond all knowing.

5.

The ginkgo seed!

A’Liao grabbed her flashlight and ran stumbling down the road.

Mo Bai had said: all spirits, without exception, faced a heavenly tribulation in their destined time. Fail to survive it, and it was death — body and soul obliterated without a trace. Fortunately, in ancient times, a great master had left behind a mysterious tome — The Elixir of Longevity for Demon Spirits. So long as one gathered all the rare medicinal ingredients listed within and combined them with the spirit’s own vital energy, one could produce a colorless, odorless divine medicine — the Elixir of Longevity. If taken on the very day the heavenly tribulation arrived, it would allow the spirit to pass through unscathed. That bird who had died beneath the ginkgo tree had been unable to gather all the required ingredients, unable to produce the Elixir of Longevity for its own kind. It could not pass through its tribulation. Centuries of cultivation were lost in a single night, and it met its lonely end on the day of its appointed doom.

Liang Yudong was a thousand-year ginkgo tree spirit. Mo Bai said his day of doom was three days away.

A’Liao could not lose her Shifu.

She ran faster and faster. She would help Shifu find this final ingredient. There were so many ginkgo trees in the forest — she would gather plenty of ginkgo seeds.

On the mountain path in the summer night, a faint fragrance of grass drifted through the air, insects chirped in every direction, and the stars in the night sky blinked like eyes, watching the girl below as she sprinted headlong.

The mountain path was too dark, she ran too fast — a stone caught her and sent her sprawling hard onto the ground. Her palms and knees felt scraped and bleeding. It hurt. A’Liao blinked back tears and pushed herself up — only to find someone blocking her path.

“I knew you’d go running off.” Liang Yudong, breathing slightly hard, wiped the sweat from his brow. “I really am no good anymore. Even a small trick like instant movement — I can barely manage it.”

“Shifu, let me go and get the ginkgo seeds for you!” A’Liao looked up at him, her eyes holding a stubbornness they had never shown before.

Liang Yudong crouched down and patted her head as he always did. “Silly girl. Ginkgo seeds aren’t something you can just get.”

“I can.” A’Liao grabbed his hand. “I know it’s not the season for ginkgo to fruit yet, but there must be trees that fruit early. I’ll go search every single one!”

“A’Liao—”

“Ha ha ha, so much effort for nothing! That cat spirit’s barrier was wasted.” A gust of swift wind swept past. From behind a ginkgo tree in the forest jumped two middle-aged men in black robes, their ferocious presence sending countless leaves raining to the ground. A lean man with a goatee pointed at Liang Yudong and declared, “Demon creature — we have chased you for twenty years. Today, there is no path left for you to escape!”

Liang Yudong gave a cold laugh and pushed A’Liao behind him.

The other man — bald-headed — pressed his fingertips together in a calculating gesture, then leaned close to the goatee man and murmured, “Senior Brother, the ginkgo tree spirit is approaching his great limit. He barely has any power left. It’s a shame he slipped away from us twenty years ago — otherwise…”

“Though capturing him now to refine into an elixir would do little for our cultivation,” the goatee man said, his narrow, calculating eyes glinting with greed and venom, “he is still a thousand-year ginkgo, after all. To consume him — one would gain eternal life without end.”

Two long swords materialized in their hands as if by magic, their cold light sharp as snow, pressing in with fierce intent.

Liang Yudong shoved A’Liao back, then leaped forward — bare-handed, he threw himself into battle against the two sect brothers. Where the sword light passed, several wounds opened across Liang Yudong’s arms and back, and from the cuts poured a liquid green as jade, glowing faintly in the night.

Seizing the right moment, A’Liao lunged forward, threw both arms around the bald man’s leg, and sank her teeth in with all her might. Never before — never before had she disliked anyone so much… disliked these two men with their swords so much.

The bald man howled in pain, spun around, and slammed his palm into A’Liao’s chest. A’Liao flew backward like a kite with its string cut, and finally landed in a soft embrace.

“Stupid girl, honestly.” Mo Bai caught her as she landed, pointed a finger in her face, and said, “Stay right here and don’t you dare move!” Her lithe body then shot into the battle formation at a speed too fast for the naked eye, cutting through it like a blade.

After more than a dozen exchanges, both Daoist priests bore fresh, bloody cuts across their faces, and Mo Bai’s body was covered in wounds as well.

“Demon creatures — you were already defeated in the open this afternoon, and you still dare to make a dying struggle!” The goatee man, snarling, pressed a hand to his bleeding face, and in a great rage pulled out a yellow talisman. A fireball ignited between his fingers in an instant. “Seeking death!”

Before the words had finished, the fireball shot forward, swelling suddenly into an enormous blazing sphere, charging ferociously toward Mo Bai and Liang Yudong.

“You can’t block this one — get out of the way!” Mo Bai shoved Liang Yudong aside with a palm strike, flew forward, and thrust both hands out in front of her with a great shout. In an instant, vivid crimson veins spread across every inch of her skin.

“Mo Bai!” Liang Yudong, now on the ground, cried out in alarm.

Boom. A tremendous sound rang out, and from the sky above descended a dense “rain,” dousing the fireball that had sought to burn everything to ash.

White smoke hissed and sizzled from the bodies of the Daoist priests, and they howled in pain. The goatee man was the worst — he pressed both hands over his eyes and rolled across the ground.

A’Liao touched her rain-soaked face. Her palm was stained a deep, vivid red.

“Run!” Liang Yudong rushed over, one arm around Mo Bai’s waist, one hand seizing A’Liao.

For a moment her mind went blank, and wind rushed past her ears.

When A’Liao came to herself, she was on top of the mountain. Below her, the small town was faint and distant, flickering with lights.

“You draw on blood-curse techniques when your cultivation is insufficient — what reckless nonsense!” Liang Yudong held Mo Bai in his arms, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Hold on — I’ll go find medicine.”

“Don’t waste your effort on useless things.” Mo Bai pulled him back. Her lips, white as writing paper, parted and closed with great effort. “I thought… that by following you I might share in an everlasting life… ha ha… Though I couldn’t have eternal life, I’ve lived so many extra years. That’s enough.”

A’Liao panicked and threw herself at Mo Bai, wrapping her arms around her and crying out, “Elder Sister Mo Bai, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”

Mo Bai slowly turned her head and looked steadily at A’Liao. She smiled. “I just hated that you were always so good to everyone around you… I just didn’t want to let myself like you… I was afraid I’d end up like that fool…” She glanced at Liang Yudong. “I hate people who act on their emotions most of all.”

“Feel free to hate me,” Liang Yudong said, smiling and shaking his head, pulling her closer.

“Live well… you foolish girl…” Mo Bai let out one long, slow breath. The only smile she had ever given A’Liao in this entire life remained fixed, perfect and radiant, upon her beautiful face — forever.

A’Liao watched, dazed, as Mo Bai’s body grew smaller and smaller, shrinking down until she became a tiny white cat — and then faded into a ring of light that vanished in Liang Yudong’s arms.

“Shifu… Elder Sister Mo Bai, she…” A’Liao stared blankly, pressing her hands hard against the earth. “Where did Elder Sister Mo Bai go?”

“To another place where the living endure,” Liang Yudong said, taking her hand. His face held no grief — only a quiet, settled release.

A’Liao looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “Is Shifu going there too? If the Elixir of Longevity can’t be made in time?”

“With the ginkgo seed, there’ll be no need to go.” Liang Yudong flicked her nose lightly and turned, pointing behind them. “Look over there — what do you see?”

A’Liao turned around. There was a tall, magnificent ginkgo tree, spreading its branches thick and full beneath the starlight.

Liang Yudong walked up to it and pressed his palm gently to the trunk, murmuring something under his breath. A ring of faint green light rose from beneath his hand, traced a beautiful arc through the air, and settled into his open palm.

A’Liao looked at the small, round, white fruit resting in his hand, quickly wiped away her tears, and said blankly, “This ginkgo seed… it’s different from the ones I usually see.”

“Of course it’s different. The ginkgo seed is a divine object of heaven — it takes a thousand years to fully grow. I calculated the timing — tonight is the very night the ginkgo seed has ripened. Mo Bai was too hasty.” He sighed quietly and leaned back against the trunk, sliding down to sit. “She was a white cat who died of illness. Three hundred years ago, her owner buried her beneath my true form. Touched by my spiritual essence and sustained by the essence of sun and moon, she became a spirit. Over the long years, her true form and mine became one body. If I failed to survive this calamity, she would perish alongside me — vanishing without a trace.”

“Then — then Shifu, quickly put the ginkgo seed into the medicine! Then you can make the Elixir of Longevity!” A’Liao said urgently.

“It’ll be finished tonight.” Liang Yudong smiled at A’Liao, the relief in his voice unmistakable. “But after taking the medicine, I must go somewhere far away to recuperate in solitude for a time. During that time, you’ll need to look after yourself.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Ten years.”

“All right. I’ll wait for Shifu to come back.”

A’Liao pressed close to Liang Yudong’s side and looped her arm through his, as if afraid that the moment she let go, he would vanish.

The mountain wind stirred and passed. All was still. On the mountaintop, there were only two figures leaning on each other, and the sound of long, quiet breathing…

“A’Liao, do you think longevity is a good thing? A life without end.”

“Of course it is! If every day is full of happiness, then longevity makes happiness endless too.”

“And if it isn’t happy?”

“Shifu, what does ‘not happy’ even feel like?”

“For instance… when Elder Sister Mo Bai disappeared. Or imagine — if I disappeared too.”

“No! I… I hate unhappy things. I don’t want unhappy days!”

“‘I don’t want unhappy days.’ Ha ha, A’Liao — well said. Then promise me — from now on, live every single day with happiness.”

“Mm. I understand. I’ll be good and wait for Shifu to come back.”

At dawn, Liang Yudong was gone.

On the mountaintop, leaning against the ginkgo tree, A’Liao slept on in her dreams…

Two nights later, the town was struck by the worst thunderstorm seen in a hundred years. Lightning so bright it was white split the sky as if tearing it to shreds.

People endured a night of pounding hearts and startled nerves, and by morning welcomed the return of the sun.

“That thunder last night was terrifying!”

“Did you hear? The old ginkgo tree outside育才 Primary School was split clean in two!”

“Really?”

“My nephew lives right in that village — it was strange, I tell you. They say it was struck straight through the middle, and the tree roots were blasted open into a great hollow — and inside that hollow they found a white skeleton, whether a cat or a dog, no one could tell!”

“How frightful… What’s been going on lately? First hail, now thunder and lightning — is Heaven throwing a tantrum?”

In a residential area in the evening, a group of strolling neighbors gathered and chatted with great relish about the storm from the night before.

6.

“I have already waited twenty years.” The woman seemed to have grown accustomed to the taste of Fu Sheng. Only half a cup of tea remained. “He did not come back.”

I turned to look at the frail ginkgo tree in the back courtyard.

“You are also a tree spirit. Can you help me find him?” The woman leaned forward, tears nearly overflowing her eyes. “He left an entire chest of gold for me. As long as you can find him, I’ll give you what’s left.”

“You still can’t read, can you, A’Liao?” I said, answering something else entirely.

She was startled, then gave an embarrassed nod.

“That’s quite all right,” I said, and found myself smiling.

She looked at me, uncomprehending.

“You’ll always remember him, won’t you? And all those days you had together.” I took a sip of my tea. “Remember the happiness you promised him.”

“Yes.” In her voice was the softest, most unshakeable certainty.

I set down my cup and pushed the gold bars back toward her. “Please go now.”

“Miss Shaluo, you—” She looked stunned, and then crestfallen.

“Live with happiness. Perhaps there will be a chance to meet again.”

I stood and walked her to the door.

“Boss, you… you actually turned down that much gold!!” Fatty — the first of my two helpers — popped up behind me, staring at A’Liao’s departing figure and beating his chest in anguish.

Skinny — the second helper — was already tapping furiously on a calculator, converting today’s gold price to estimate what that pile of gold would fetch in cash, then figuring out how much good food and good things that cash could buy.

I ignored them both, reached into the air, and pulled out a booklet — yellowed cover, neatly inscribed with the title: The Elixir of Longevity for Demon Spirits.

I flipped through it to the “Tree Spirits” section and let my eyes settle on the final few lines:

“Ginkgo Seed: A divine medicine; produced by the celestial ginkgo spirit-tree of the heavenly realm. Every thousand years it yields four seeds, which upon falling to earth take the form of young girls — flesh and bone, heart and will, indistinguishable from human. In appearance, round and gentle; in heart, pure and untainted; incapable of malicious thought. Wherever they dwell, withered trees revive and fruit appears in winter. On the day of the great tribulation, take her heart, combine with the above ingredients, and the Elixir of Longevity for tree spirits is complete. Upon consumption, the tree spirit’s primordial soul will be preserved, its true form indestructible. Eternal life assured.”

“Deceiving her really would have been very easy,” I said quietly, smiling to myself. I closed the booklet and walked toward the back courtyard.

“Ah? Boss, you have this booklet too?!” Fatty and Skinny jostled and clamored as they crowded up behind me, staring hungrily at the thing in my hands.

“I suggest you give up any ideas of sneaking a look,” I said, shooting them a cool glance, eyebrow raised. “Otherwise I’ll follow the example of my fellow spirits, slip an Amnesia Curse into your food, and make illiterates out of you for the rest of your lives.”

Fatty and Skinny looked at each other and muttered in unison: “The characters we know… weren’t really all that many to begin with…”

The moon hung in the sky, a slim, white crescent. Cool, silver light draped gently over the courtyard in the night.

“Strange — doesn’t this ginkgo suddenly look so much healthier? So many more leaves, so much greener. This morning it still looked half-dead.” Fatty pointed at the ginkgo tree — once so listless and drooping — and called out loudly.

“You’re right…” Skinny wandered under the tree for a while, then suddenly pointed up and shouted, “Look up there — it’s fruiting!! Isn’t it way too early for that?!”

“Does that mean… we can make white-nut chicken broth ahead of schedule?” Fatty’s mouth was already watering. “That woman really was a ginkgo seed — she was only here for half a day, and even this wreck of a tree has already fruited.”

“I’ll go get a pole to knock them down.” Skinny vanished in a blink.

I stood beneath the tree and patted its rough bark, murmuring to myself, “If we had killed her for the medicine — what he called longevity would have become an eternity of loneliness and grief…”

With someone who cares for you beside you, even a single moment is a kind of longevity.

To be held firmly in another’s heart, never forgotten — even fading into oblivion is a kind of longevity.

At the very end, Liang Yudong must have thought so too.

“Boss, we’ll face our own heavenly tribulation one day, won’t we?” Fatty crept up behind me, eyes fixed covetously on the booklet in my hands. “That… surely there’s a section in there about how our kind can get through it, isn’t there…”

“You’ve got a long way to go before that.” I gave him a sidelong glance. “But I’d suggest losing some weight. When the Thunder God strikes at you, you’d at least be able to run a little faster.”

“Attacking someone’s physical attributes…” Fatty chewed on his finger, aggrieved, and squatted down into a corner to nurse his wounded feelings.

The sight of Fatty like that made me think suddenly of Mo Bai’s cat — she was truly the most clever of them all, far cleverer than Liang Yudong. She had at least understood, from the very beginning, to work hard at making herself despise A’Liao, to refuse every kindness A’Liao offered — so that when the time came to use the ginkgo seed, she wouldn’t be too soft-hearted to do it.

And yet, in the end, she was too soft-hearted after all.

She had countless opportunities over the years to kill A’Liao.

Liang Yudong. Mo Bai. Neither of them achieved longevity.

And yet — they lived on longer than anyone.

Inside the heart of an illiterate young woman named A’Liao, a little bit silly, who couldn’t read a word.

Epilogue

Fatty and Skinny were busy in the kitchen. The fragrance of cream and powdered sugar drifted through every corner of the Bu Ting Dessert Shop.

“Is there really no finding him?”

“Where would you even look? Shaluo, you should know better than anyone — a spirit that can’t survive the heavenly tribulation has only one fate: death. At most it leaves a body behind in the world. Since the other party was a tree spirit, go look in his home territory — find his remains and make a chair or stool out of them. A nice little memento.”

“Jiu Jue, does your mouth have to be that poisonous? I was just asking offhandedly!”

I hung up the phone in a sulk and mentally flogged that insufferable man on the other end a hundred times.

I’ll admit it — I had let myself imagine that Liang Yudong was still alive. The way it goes in soap operas, where at death’s door one meets a great master or stumbles upon a secret manual, and emerges from calamity transformed.

The purity and longing in A’Liao’s eyes had made me get carried away with sentiment, made me want to help her.

But it was only a feverish fantasy.

A’Liao’s happiness from here on could only be achieved by A’Liao herself.

I took a deep breath, stretched out my arms, and strolled out of my room, humming an old, hopelessly unfashionable song: “Wishing You Peace and Well.”

On the desk, the computer had been left on. The webpage displayed a brief entry:

“Tang dynasty poet Wang Wei, in his later years, lived in seclusion at Wang Chuan. It is said he personally planted a ginkgo tree there.”

Centered against the backdrop of a ginkgo tree, two lines were written in regular script:

Carved from fine apricot wood the beams are made, The fragrant thatch woven to form the hall. Unknown — the clouds that drift beneath the eaves, Gone to fall as rain upon the world of men.

Wang Wei, Tang Dynasty, “Wang Chuan Collection: The Apricot Pavilion”