YI Lier originally had four wives and more than ten children, but only two sons survived to adulthood, both now serving as officials in the capital. Lu Da had been sent to live with his brother in the capital at the age of ten and had never returned to Fujian City since. After not seeing each other for over ten years, when his father heard that his youngest son wanted to return home, his first reaction was to tell him not to come. Perhaps because he had been repeatedly dissuaded in the past ten years, this time Lu Da finally refused to obey and insisted on returning no matter what.

He Simu laughed and said, “What’s the matter? Is the master afraid his son will discover the ghostly aura in this mansion? You’re his father—his wealth, glory, and even his life were all given by you. Are you afraid he’ll put righteousness before family ties?”

YI Lier’s face showed an embarrassed expression.

Everyone in Fujian City knew that YI Lier’s youngest son was an exceptional talent, his pride and joy. Even Huchi nobles of higher bloodlines would treat YI Lier with extra courtesy out of respect for Lu Da.

Yet he didn’t even dare to see his own youngest son.

Duan Xu, holding his sword, turned his gaze toward He Simu. He Simu exchanged a glance with him and then snapped her fingers. “Since we’ve already been staying at Master YI Lier’s mansion for so many days, you might as well help him. Ghosts can travel quickly. Go intercept him and find a way to send him back to the capital.”

Duan Xu was silent for a moment, then said, “But you…”

“Don’t worry about me.”

Duan Xu’s gaze shifted between YI Lier and He Simu, and then he smiled and said, “I understand.”

Clutching his sword, he bid farewell to He Simu and YI Lier: “Take care.”

The black-robed youth wearing a veiled hat turned nimbly and walked out of the mansion, melting into the brilliant spring scenery.

Tonight’s dream felt too real. He Simu saw the small city where she had lived when she was very young—prosperous and noisy, with vendors calling out their wares, steaming wonton stalls, and bright sunshine.

She had grown very slowly as a child, taking a hundred years to reach adulthood, after which she stopped growing. Like her body, her mind had matured extremely slowly.

It seemed to be when she was around twenty years old, though she still looked like a five or six-year-old mortal child, fishing in the river with a group of children. A little girl, whose appearance she could no longer remember clearly, asked her amid the beautiful spring scene: “Why is your body so cold?”

Before she could answer, a boy nearby said, “Don’t you know? She’s a celestial child! She’s a child brought by the Star Lords from the Star Palace.”

She asked with some confusion, “What is a celestial child?”

“A celestial child is an immortal who looks like a small child, who can command wind and rain and never grows old! When we all grow old and die, you’ll still be young.”

“Celestial children also help us defeat demons and catch evil spirits, just like those adults at the Star Palace.”

Various explanations came from those children whose faces she couldn’t clearly remember, describing her and her mother, aunt, and uncle.

Actually, at that time, she didn’t know what she was. She only vaguely knew that she was different from other children, and these people could never see her father. Her father also forbade her from telling others about his existence, which was strange.

So she ran to find her father and asked him what death was.

Her father stood tall in the brilliant sunlight. Hearing this question, he seemed somewhat surprised and crouched down, his peach-blossom eyes looking at her seriously. He said, “Death is when one transforms into a bright lantern rising into the sky, temporarily leaving this human world, and then starting over as another life.”

“If one starts over… is that person still the original one?”

“Yes and no. The original person can never truly return.”

“Will I also become a bright lantern?”

“No, only living people who die become lanterns. Simu… you’re already dead.” When her father said this, his expression was somewhat hesitant.

She was already dead, what did that mean?

She was stunned and asked in confusion, “I haven’t even lived yet, and I’m already dead. Why haven’t I started over?”

Her father thought seriously for a long time as if this was an overly complex question. He didn’t know how to explain it to her, or how to explain it without making her sad. In the end, he just held her shoulders and patted her back, saying, “I’m sorry.”

In her memory, her father often apologized to her mother, but that was the first time he had apologized to her.

She didn’t understand why her father said this, nor did she know what she needed to forgive.

She thought she was quite happy, with her parents, aunt and uncle, and all these friends. If life could continue like this forever, what difference did life and death make?

Not understanding the meaning of this apology was truly a blessing.

Later, when she left that small city with her father, mother, aunt, and uncle, the entire city came to see them off. She had originally been holding her mother’s hand, but soon her mother’s hands were filled with gifts from people, unable to hold hers anymore. Even her own pockets were filled with candies, and her hands held a basket of pastries.

She asked her uncle in confusion, “Why are they doing this?”

Her always gentle and strong uncle smiled and said, “Because they love us.”

These mortals loved their relatives, lovers, friends, and this vast world. If you allowed them to love and be loved peacefully, then every bit of that love was related to you.

Perhaps they didn’t know you, didn’t know your name and weren’t even aware of your help.

But they loved you.

She didn’t fully understand these words; she just turned her head in a daze and saw those friends who had played with her in the crowd. Those children laughed happily and waved frantically at her, so she also waved her pastry basket at them.

She said, “Goodbye.”

She thought life was long, and there would always be a time to meet again. She didn’t know then that she had already seen these people for the last time in her life, and that “see you again” would be an unfulfilled promise.

She also didn’t get to say goodbye to her aunt and uncle.

When her aunt and uncle passed away, it was a grand scene. Shocked by the intense spiritual power fluctuations, she rushed out the door to see that in the September autumn weather, heavy snow had begun to fall, fluttering down to cover the ginkgo trees, maple leaves, and osmanthus branches.

Others told her that the snow was red, like New Year’s firecracker fragments dancing in the sky, but she didn’t know what red looked like. She just stood there, watching those two bright lanterns slowly ascending into the sky, nestling close to each other amid the wind and snow, suddenly not knowing where to go.

Her aunt would no longer give her little trinkets, and her uncle would no longer give her books. They would no longer come to protect her when her mother punished her. They might be reborn into this world, but being reborn meant that she would have no connection with them anymore.

Her father told her that her aunt’s family had a predetermined fate, and her aunt had already lived the longest in their family.

“One day your mother will also leave us, and finally only us father and daughter will be left, which is a bit desolate.” Her father sighed and smiled as he stroked her hair.

Her father said they would depend on each other, he had promised.

But her father broke his promise too.

That year, she wore mourning clothes with white flowers, sitting beside her mother’s coffin. Her mother lay quietly in the coffin, as if asleep. Due to her cultivation, when her mother passed away at over ninety years old, she still looked like a young person, with no trace of aging.

She held a jade box filled with ashes.

Or rather, this box contained her father.

She gently stroked the coffin made of sturdy, fine nanmu wood with gold thread that her mother had personally selected while still alive. Her mother had always said that birth, aging, illness, and death were the natural way of the human world, and one shouldn’t be too concerned about them. Indeed, her mother had passed away naturally after reaching her age.

She didn’t know whether she should care or not. She thought she should have the right to grieve or refuse to accept it.

But she was no longer a child with both parents who could throw tantrums and act spoiled.

So she flipped into the coffin, lying beside her mother, and stretched out her arms to hold her mother tightly as before, still holding the jade box containing her father’s ashes.

She softly said, “Look, I can now hold both of you with one arm.”

“You said you loved me, but you all left one by one, leaving me behind. You liars.”

She had matured enough to understand her fate.

Born already dead, a ghost ever since, eternally unchanging. All she loved was as fleeting as smoke, only the abyss would accompany her, as enduring as the heavens.

In the silent afternoon, she curled up in her mother’s coffin. No one answered her soliloquy; only the Ghost King’s lamp jade pendant at her waist gave off a faint glow. She took it off and held it up, examining it repeatedly.

“Left me… with this thing,” she said softly.

The sunlight pierced intensely through the Ghost King’s lamp. At that moment, she vaguely perceived a strange and subtle feeling she had never experienced before, as if another person was beside her.

It was a scent.

This word suddenly appeared in her mind, as if it had popped out of nowhere. She was stunned—the scent was something foreign and distant to her, seemingly existing only in others’ words.

What is a scent?

Why did she instantly determine that this was a scent, this lingering, crisp thing that floated like threads of wind, wrapping around her nostrils and heart?

This was… sandalwood, amber, styrax, mint leaves, baiji, benzoin…

This was…

This was…

Duan Xu’s fragrance.

His sachet.

He Simu paused as she held the Ghost King’s lamp. In silence as long as the changing of seas and mulberry fields, she tidied away her bewilderment and sorrow, then softly laughed: “Trying to browse through my memories to find my vital point, Lord of the Yao Ghost Palace, you’ve gone to great lengths.”

The sunlight, coffin, jade box, and Ghost King’s lamp all vanished at once. When He Simu opened her eyes again, she saw a full moon hanging in the sky. She sat in YI Lier’s garden, surrounded by a magical formation. Before her, a crystal pagoda surged with intense ghostly energy, as if shrouded in black mist, while YI Lier stood beside the crystal pagoda, nervously watching her.

He Simu smiled gently and said to the ghostly energy within the crystal pagoda, “Lord of the Yao Ghost Palace, it’s truly difficult to meet you.”

Far away near the capital, Lu Da entered his room at the post station and closed the door. Sensing an unusual atmosphere in the room, he frowned and turned around to see his window wide open. In the moonlight, a black-robed youth wearing a black veiled hat leaned against the window.

An evil ghost, an evil ghost holding a spiritual sword.

That evil ghost stepped closer to him, seemingly wanting to say something. Lu Da frowned and took out a bone flute from his sleeve—a flute made of eagle bone, carved with strange Huchi text. When the bone flute sounded, its shrill noise came like a blade. The ghost symbols on the evil ghost’s veiled hat became visible, then suddenly broke and fell.

As the veiled hat fell, the youth’s features became visible. His eyebrows and eyes were deep-set, his features distinct, handsome, and bright, with rounded, upturned eyes containing a layer of light.

Lu Da put down his bone flute in surprise and said, “Seventeen?”

The youth seemed even more surprised. He remained silent for a moment, then smiled and said, “The Young Priest recognizes me?”

Lu Da stepped forward and placed his hand on Duan Xu’s arm, feeling the cold ghostly energy emanating from it.

“You’ve been missing for many years. So you’re already dead?”

“…”

Duan Xu nodded and said seriously, “Indeed.”

“Then why have you appeared here?”

“To be honest, your father sent me to drive you back to the capital,” Duan Xu paused, then smiled brightly and said, “Of course, that was just an excuse your father used to send me away.”