Prologue

“There exists in the world a strange demon, born from books. Its body is as tiny as a fly, flat as a leaf, with four legs, each bearing a single eye. Its nature is clever, and it takes reading as its greatest joy, never forgetting what it reads, understanding all it hears. It lives long, and to possess one is to know a million things. Thus it is called Baizhi—All-Knowing—and it is exceedingly rare.”

Today, the sky hung gray and low, a thin, cool rain drifting down, yet even the bleakest touch of autumn could not diminish the scenery along the way to Lianshui Village. For living in seclusion, for growing old together away from the world, there could surely be no place more fitting than this.

At the ferry crossing, two small boats pulled up to shore one after another. But the minds of those aboard were far from the scenery—before the boats had even settled, hands went to hips and the bickering began.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t we agree you’d wait at home for us to come back?” Si Jingyuan glared at Tao Yao on the neighboring boat. “And you brought the monk and the fox too?”

“I changed my mind. I didn’t want to wait.” Tao Yao said, entirely unrepentant. “Your Kuanglan already agreed to it.”

“Eldest Young Master, we’re here to help. Tao Yao already told me everything about what happened to Madam Lu.” Mo Ya hastily swallowed the last piece of sesame cake and wiped his mouth carelessly. Gungun poked its head out of the bamboo basket on his back, sesame seeds still clinging to the corners of its mouth.

Si Jingyuan sighed toward the sky. “And since when do you respect Si Kuanglan’s opinions so much? Don’t think this is fun and games—we’re not chasing down some petty thief who steals chickens and dogs. We’re after a fiend who kills without blinking.”

Tao Yao hopped from the boat onto the shore and turned back with a grin. “Don’t underestimate our Gungun. A vegetarian fox is nothing to scoff at.” Then, to the fox: “Quick, strike a fierce pose for the young master!”

Gungun immediately gripped the edge of the basket, glaring with wide, vicious eyes and an open mouth, letting out a series of squeaking cries.

Si Jingyuan patted his chest. “Fine. I’m politely terrified.”

Steward Miao stepped off the boat, his face like iron, saying nothing, staring blankly at the stone path he’d walked countless times before—all the earlier urgency that had sent him bolting from the door now entirely gone.

“Steward Miao, you know these roads best. Where should we start looking?” Tao Yao walked up beside him, asking with deliberate casualness. “Lianshui Village isn’t large. Finding someone who’s suddenly gone blind shouldn’t be hard.”

Steward Miao frowned. “Why don’t you all wait for me at the crossing?”

“What are you afraid of?” Si Jingyuan said bluntly.

“I…” Steward Miao hedged, “I’m afraid something might happen to you.”

“You’re not afraid something will happen to us. You’re afraid we won’t catch the killer—and you’re afraid we will.” Si Jingyuan smiled faintly.

“Whatever you’re afraid of, standing here won’t help.” Tao Yao looked down the stone path stretching ahead. “If you’re not walking, I will.”

“Tao girl!” Steward Miao suddenly called out to her, his expression strangely complicated. “Whatever happens—don’t crush the murderer the way you crushed that demon.”

Tao Yao smiled. “For the sake of all those late-night snacks you’ve saved for me, I won’t do anything to upset you.”

“My thanks.” Something had shifted, subtly, in how Steward Miao regarded her. Ever since he’d witnessed with his own eyes what Tao Yao had done to Anke, even he—the formidable head steward of the Si household—found it hard to keep thinking of this girl as some insignificant stable hand.

It was nearly noon, and the rain, rather than easing, grew heavier. Lianshui Village had never had many residents, and along the road from the ferry to the Lu family academy, they didn’t encounter a single soul.

Standing before the academy’s firmly shut gate, Tao Yao poked at the dripping iron lock and glanced around. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

“If someone were home, would the gate be locked?!” Mo Ya cradled Gungun and peered through the crack in the door.

“Madam Lu’s family lives here?” Si Jingyuan looked to Steward Miao.

“Yes.” Steward Miao surveyed the residence before them. “It’s not a small compound—split in two. Half for the students to study, half for the couple to live in. Aside from them and the students, only a page boy and a maid handle the household. Quite modest, all told.”

“Let’s go in and take a look.” Si Jingyuan suggested.

Steward Miao was silent a moment, then reached out and gripped the heavy iron lock. Without any visible exertion, there came a sharp crack, and the lock split in two, falling to the ground.

Tao Yao stuck out her tongue. “Didn’t know Steward Miao’s finger strength was so impressive. Practiced on an abacus, was it?”

On any other day, Steward Miao might have traded a few jokes with her, but right now his attention was entirely elsewhere. The gate—now a mere formality—seemed to have become his greatest adversary; he’d broken the iron lock with ease, yet the door before him felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

If Steward Miao were facing a true opponent right now, he likely wouldn’t stand a chance. However deeply hidden his skills, however seasoned a veteran of the world he was, the moment matters of the heart took hold of him, he was no longer the flawless master he’d once been.

No wonder people said that only the loneliest could climb to the very top.

Tao Yao and Si Jingyuan reached for the gate at the same moment, unspoken agreement between them, forcing him past the hesitation he had no business having.

The gate swung open. The rain-soaked courtyard beyond was empty.

“If anyone were here, why lock the gate?” Steward Miao said. “No need to go in.”

Si Jingyuan didn’t move. “Maybe he’s shut himself in nursing his wounds. Or maybe he’s dropped dead of the pain at home.” He turned to Tao Yao. “Does it hurt, when you go blind?”

“I’ve never been blind, how would I know if it hurts!” Tao Yao shot him a look. “But I’d imagine it’s unpleasant.”

Steward Miao’s face darkened further, because every word out of Si Jingyuan’s mouth was exactly what he’d been instinctively avoiding.

Though none of them had said outright who the blinded murderer actually was, all three present—and likely Si Kuanglan too, though he wasn’t here—already had their answer in their hearts.

Anke could only be used on someone who trusted you absolutely. And Madam Lu’s most trusted person surely wasn’t some vegetable seller on the street. Ha.

But both Tao Yao and Si Jingyuan understood just how badly Steward Miao hoped that the blinded man was that vegetable seller, or some other stranger entirely—anyone he didn’t know.

The rain grew heavier still. The broken umbrella borrowed from the boatman was useless now. Tao Yao hopped through the gate. “Whether anyone’s home or not, let’s get out of this rain first. It’s coming down too hard.”

Si Jingyuan pulled Steward Miao through the gate, and the group hurried to the nearest covered pavilion. The moment they stopped, the door of a nearby building creaked open, and a young girl poked half her body out, clutching a broom, staring at them in alarm. “You—who are you? Why have you barged into someone’s home?”

Seeing her, Steward Miao stepped forward. “Might that be Miss Chongchong?”

The girl squinted through the rain, studying him for a long moment before recognition dawned. “It’s Mister Miao!”

“Indeed it is.” Steward Miao hurried toward her, then turned to Si Jingyuan and Tao Yao. “This young lady is the Lu couple’s maid.”

The girl bowed hastily to them. “Greetings, Mister Miao, and to all of you. In this heavy rain, what brings you here?” She glanced at the gate, muttering, “The gate was clearly locked.”

Si Jingyuan cupped his hands in greeting. “May I ask, Miss…”

“No need for formalities, young master. Just call me Chongchong.” She cut him off, looking him and Tao Yao over. “You and this young lady are friends of Mister Miao? I don’t recognize you at all.” Her gaze landed on Mo Ya and Gungun. “And could this little master also be a friend of Mister Miao’s?”

“Yes, yes, we’re all friends of Mister Miao.” Si Jingyuan said evasively, glancing around. “Just you here alone?”

Chongchong nodded.

“Then why lock the gate?” Tao Yao asked, puzzled.

Chongchong sighed. “Master’s orders. He didn’t want to be disturbed, said we should all come and go through the back door.” She lowered her voice to Steward Miao. “You’ve come later than usual this year. Could I trouble you for a word aside?”

Seeing the difficulty on her face, Steward Miao let her lead him away.

“What’s troubling you, Miss Chongchong?” Steward Miao asked.

She rubbed her eyes, her voice thick with tears. “Mister Miao, you don’t know—Madam’s gotten herself into trouble. She killed someone in the street, in broad daylight, and was thrown in the county jail. But not long ago, someone broke her out, and now no one knows where she’s been taken, whether she’s alive or dead. Mister Miao, you have to help my master!”

Steward Miao asked, “Where is Lu Cheng? Where is he now?”

“Master’s been out drinking every day, getting worse by the day. This morning he woke up complaining of a headache, and Xiaojiu’s gone home to visit family, so I offered to go with him to see the physician, but he wouldn’t let me, said he’d go alone. He’s probably at Physician Shen’s medicine hut to the west by now—if he’s finished with the physician, he’s most likely drowning his sorrows at the tavern.” Chongchong wiped her eyes again. “Such a curse… such a good family, ruined.”

Overhearing, Tao Yao leaned in. “Is your master’s only trouble a headache? Nothing else?”

Chongchong looked confused. “I haven’t heard Master mention anything else wrong.”

Si Jingyuan pointed to his own eyes. “Your master—are his eyes all right?”

Chongchong grew even more puzzled. “Why do you ask that, young master?”

Tao Yao frowned. “Doesn’t he walk into walls?”

“You’re quite strange, miss. My master isn’t blind—why would he walk into walls?” Chongchong looked between them, a hint of wariness creeping in. “What exactly are you here for?”

Steward Miao gripped Chongchong’s shoulder. “Lu Cheng really isn’t blind?”

Chongchong startled. “Mister Miao, you know Master so well—why would you ask me that too? Has something happened to him?”

Steward Miao released her, and both Si Jingyuan and Tao Yao clearly heard the involuntary breath of relief he let out.

Si Jingyuan and Tao Yao exchanged glances. Could it be… had they all been wrong?

“I know where he is.” Steward Miao turned to leave. “Wait for me here. I’ll find him and bring him back, and then we’ll decide what to do.”

“I’ll go too.” Si Jingyuan followed. “I don’t trust you alone.”

Steward Miao looked at him. “Eldest Young Master, I taught you most of what you know of fighting.”

Si Jingyuan shrugged. “But you’re getting on in years.”

“I’m past forty—still in my prime.” Steward Miao sighed. “Eldest Young Master, if you don’t want to be locked up again by the Second Young Master, you really must stop saying such things.”

Si Jingyuan sniffed. “Getting older tends to soften the heart, doesn’t it? What do you think I’m not at ease about?”

“You still think it’s him?” Steward Miao countered.

“Seeing is believing—that’s the only way to set my mind at rest.” Si Jingyuan jutted his chin toward the door. “Let’s go. And while we’re at it, give me a tour of this peach-blossom paradise you’ve been pining after.”

Chongchong watched them, bewildered, anxiety mounting. “What are you all even talking about? Madam’s already in trouble—if something happens to Master too, what then?”

“Worried no one’ll be left to pay your wages?” Tao Yao looked around; a house without human presence always seemed to fall to ruin faster than most.

“Yes. My parents back home are still waiting on the money I send them.” Chongchong answered honestly. “But in all my years at the Lu household, Master and Madam have treated me well. I only hope this family doesn’t suffer any more misfortune. Even if my wages are cut short, I’m willing to stay.” She looked around at everything before her. “If even I leave, the Lu family will truly fall apart.”

“Young as you are, you’re quite the loyal one.” Tao Yao smiled, then turned to Steward Miao. “Go on.”

Just as she finished speaking, her nose itched and she sneezed twice in a row.

Si Jingyuan stopped her.

“What?” She glared at him. “Planning to ditch me and go eat something good without me?”

“Look at you, you’re like a drowned chicken.” Si Jingyuan turned to Chongchong. “Miss Chongchong, would you mind finding her some dry clothes to change into? The little monk too. As for the fox, just tie it by your stove to dry off.”

Before Tao Yao could protest, Steward Miao spoke. “Tao girl, it’s pouring out there, and the young master and I are hardy enough to handle a bit of cold. But you and the little monk shouldn’t go traipsing about with us—if you catch a chill, who’ll look after the young master’s horse?”

Chongchong glanced worriedly at the sky, then at Tao Yao. “I don’t know what urgent business you have finding Master, and I can’t help much with that, but perhaps you should stay, miss. A young lady’s constitution is delicate, and staying in wet clothes is a quick way to fall ill.”

Tao Yao considered this. “Fine. Mo Ya and I will wait here.”

“Good girl.” Si Jingyuan ruffled her hair. “I’ll bring you something good to eat when we’re back.”

Watching the two men’s figures vanish through the gate, Tao Yao turned back to Chongchong. “No need to trouble yourself finding us a change of clothes. Just a basin of coals will do—our clothes will dry soon enough.”

“All right, I’ll fetch it.” Chongchong pointed toward the inner room. “Don’t just stand out here—go rest inside. I’ll bring the coals in.”

“Thanks.” Tao Yao smiled, then patted Mo Ya. “Let’s go in.”

But Mo Ya looked uneasily toward the gate, tugging at Tao Yao’s sleeve. “There won’t be any trouble, will there?”

Tao Yao pursed her lips. “What trouble could there be? In a straight fight, Steward Miao’s skills might even be a match for Young Master Liu.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “As long as the opponent is human, they’ll be fine.”

Before long, Chongchong returned with the coal basin, ushering them inside and warmly pouring them hot tea.

“No need to fuss over us,” Tao Yao said politely. “I can see you’re busy enough managing a household this size alone. Go on and do what you need to.”

Chongchong nodded. “All right, I’ll go clean up, then. And I need to go buy vegetables later—is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

“We eat anything, we’re not picky! I eat meat, the little monk eats vegetarian.”

“All right…”

By the time the rain stopped, by the time the sun set, Si Jingyuan and Steward Miao still hadn’t returned.

In the room, Tao Yao had already drunk several bowls of ginger soup and eaten a pile of Chongchong’s pastries, praising her cooking again and again.

“Madam’s cooking is the real thing.” Chongchong said, downcast. “I don’t believe someone as gentle as Madam could commit murder.”

“Madam Lu really was a gentle, lovely woman.” Tao Yao said with regret, then changed the subject. “Has there truly been no one in Lianshui Village who’s suddenly gone blind recently?”

Chongchong shook her head firmly. “No. I go to the market every day—Lianshui Village isn’t big, everyone I see is familiar. I certainly haven’t seen anyone suddenly go blind.” She looked puzzled. “Why do you all keep dwelling on this? Does it have something to do with my master and Madam?”

Tao Yao smiled. “You could say it’s related.”

Before she’d finished speaking, Mo Ya came running in from outside.

“Well?” Tao Yao asked.

Mo Ya shook his head. “I went all around. Everyone I saw looked fine, and I didn’t hear a word about anyone going blind in the villagers’ chatter.”

“Hm.” Tao Yao thought for a moment, then smiled. “Now that’s interesting.”

For the true culprit had to meet two conditions: first, they had to have Madam Lu’s absolute trust; second, they had to hold a deep grudge against Steward Miao…

Lu Cheng met the first condition, but the second didn’t quite hold up. As the right hand of the Si household, Steward Miao surely had no shortage of enemies in the martial world who’d love him dead—but it seemed unlikely any of them had ties to the reclusive Madam Lu. If the true killer wasn’t in Lianshui Village, this investigation would get complicated.

But her judgment shouldn’t be wrong—unless Lu Cheng really was perfectly fine.

Chongchong looked out the window, worried. “It’s almost dark—why aren’t Mister Miao and Master back yet?” The more she thought about it, the more anxious she grew. She turned to Tao Yao. “Miss Tao, I’m going out to look for them.”

“Where would you even look?” Tao Yao asked.

Chongchong considered. “Master’s either at the medicine hut or the tavern. I’ll check the tavern in the market first—those are the only two places it could be.”

Tao Yao stood and stopped her, smiling. “Leave the search to those of us who can’t cook.”

“Miss Tao,” Chongchong said hastily, “you don’t know Lianshui Village well. Why don’t I come along with you?”

“No, no, we’ll be back to eat. You don’t want your master and Mister Miao to come home to no hot meal, do you?” Tao Yao stuck her tongue out at her. “Just tell me roughly where the medicine hut and tavern are.”

Chongchong could only nod.

By now night had fully fallen, and the air after the rain was remarkably fresh, but the sudden drop in temperature had driven the village’s already sparse pedestrians firmly back indoors.

When Tao Yao reached the tavern in the market, there wasn’t a single customer inside—only the owner, grumbling endlessly about the weather.

After some inquiry, the owner said he hadn’t seen Lu Cheng at all today, hadn’t seen him in several days, in fact. He had, however, seen two well-dressed men she described—they’d come asking about Lu Cheng too, and upon learning he hadn’t shown up, they’d left. When Tao Yao asked when the two men had left, the owner said sometime in the afternoon.

Outside the tavern, Mo Ya said to Tao Yao, “This doesn’t seem right.”

“Maybe they’re sitting around a fire somewhere right now, eating and drinking their fill.” Tao Yao said, unconcerned. “Come on, let’s check the medicine hut.”

To the west of Lianshui Village stretched wild, rolling hills, almost entirely uninhabited. Within dozens of li, the only structure to be seen was the compound before them, marked with a sign reading “Medicine Hut.” The gate stood half open, lamplight flickering faintly within, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of herbs being ground.

“You go with—” Mo Ya said quietly.

Tao Yao glanced around, then stepped up and knocked on the door ring, calling out loudly, “Is this Physician Shen’s residence?”

Before long, someone emerged from within—a white-haired old man in loose robes, carrying a lantern, shuffling slowly to the door. He raised the lantern to illuminate their faces. “The two of you here to see the physician?”

“Looking for someone.” Tao Yao smiled. “Might Scholar Lu be here at Physician Shen’s residence?”

“Scholar Lu, ah, yes, he’s here. Came early this morning.” Physician Shen looked Tao Yao over. “You’re not from around here, miss, are you?”

“Scholar Lu is my uncle. The little monk is his grand-nephew. We’ve come to Lianshui Village specially to visit family.” Tao Yao glanced inside. “I heard my uncle wasn’t feeling well and came to see you this morning, but I waited at the Lu house half the day and he never came back. Since he’s still here, might I be allowed to visit him?”

“Of course. This way.” Physician Shen set down the lantern and led the way inside. “Scholar Lu’s headaches have gotten quite severe. I’ve been treating him with acupuncture, which has taken some time, but he should be ready in about half an incense-stick’s time.”

“Just headaches, for my uncle?” Tao Yao asked casually.

“Not only that.” Physician Shen shook his head. “Excessive drinking, damage to the spleen and stomach—he really doesn’t take care of himself at all.” He added, “Before you arrived, two other gentlemen came looking for him as well. They’re keeping watch by his bedside right now.”

Inside, the thick scent of herbs hit them at once. The room was large but sparsely furnished—aside from the table, chairs, bed, and medicine, the most abundant thing was books, packed into every available space, even filling the gaps beneath the table where a half-ground batch of medicine sat by the window.

Mo Ya marveled, “They always say ‘ten thousand books read’ is just a figure of speech, but Physician Shen’s collection might genuinely surpass that.”

Physician Shen stroked his beard, looking rather pleased with himself. “Aside from healing the sick, this is my only hobby, old as I am.”

“Who would have thought such a small village as Lianshui could hold someone so learned as Physician Shen. Remarkable, truly remarkable.” Tao Yao said admiringly. “Where might my uncle be resting?”

“This way.” Physician Shen walked to a heavy cloth curtain against the wall and lifted a corner. “Scholar Lu is in the inner room. The two gentlemen are keeping watch inside as well. You may look in, but please, no loud talking, and take care not to touch the silver needles in Scholar Lu’s body.”

Tao Yao ducked under the curtain and looked up—inside, someone lay on a bed. Two figures sat with their backs to her on stools before it; by their clothing, they were indeed Si Jingyuan and Steward Miao. The whole room was lit only by a single oil lamp in the corner, dim and shadowy, an incense stick nearly burned to its end smoldering in a censer beside it.

Mo Ya called out softly to the two figures before them: “Eldest Young Master, Steward Miao!”

Physician Shen quickly pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh! I said keep quiet, don’t disturb the patient!” Then, to Tao Yao, “Take your look and head out. I’ll go prepare the medicine for Scholar Lu to take home.” With that, he lifted the curtain and left.

Tao Yao walked up behind Si Jingyuan and clapped him hard on the shoulder—only for him to topple sideways entirely, revealing what stood before them to be nothing but a straw figure dressed in Si Jingyuan’s clothes. The “Steward Miao” beside it was the same, and Tao Yao kicked it over with a cold smile.

Mo Ya yanked back the blanket. “Oh no, your uncle’s fake too…”

“How annoying.” Tao Yao frowned. “We’re not making it back for dinner tonight.”

Mo Ya hurried to the curtain and yanked it aside, only to find a solid wall where the curtain had been—the entire room had become a windowless prison.

Tao Yao checked around; it truly was an impenetrable fortress, not even a fly could slip out.

“You don’t think the young master and Steward Miao fell for this too, do you?” Mo Ya immediately set down the bamboo basket, pulling Gungun out and clutching it protectively. “Could there be traps in this room? What if poisoned arrows or darts come flying out?”

Tao Yao shrugged. “Then I suppose you two will just have to be human shields.”

“If I die, your friendship with Young Master Liu dies with me!” Mo Ya said indignantly.

“Today’s joke of the day: that Young Master Liu and I are friends.” Tao Yao rolled her eyes. “Relax, there’s no hidden weapons here, nothing’s going to skewer you.”

Mo Ya let out a breath. “Really?”

“But poisoned arrows and darts aren’t the most dangerous kind of trap anyway.” Tao Yao pulled Mo Ya behind her, her gaze suddenly sharpening with wariness.

Suddenly, a rumbling sound rose from beneath the ground, and the floor began to tremble. Before Tao Yao could react, the solid floor split abruptly in two, tilting rapidly downward, and in an instant they were “poured” straight down into the earth below.

Tao Yao’s vision went black as her body plunged, but through it all she never made a sound—only held tight to Mo Ya from start to finish.

This place had thoroughly ruined whatever good impression Lianshui Village had left on her.

When she hit the ground, Tao Yao truly understood what it meant to have the soul scared out of one’s body—fortunately she’d held onto Mo Ya, so using him and Gungun as a cushion at the critical moment proved rather useful. At least the one left dazed and half-tongue-lolling from the impact wasn’t her.

But before she could even take stock of their surroundings, a strand of white silk shot out of nowhere, wrapping her tightly from head to toe in a few swift motions, leaving only her head exposed—and in a blink, three cocoon-like bundles, two large and one small, sat heaped on the ground.

“Gungun! Gungun, are you all right!” Mo Ya struggled and shouted.

Gungun writhed desperately, straining to poke its head free of the white silk, squeaking back at Mo Ya.

“You ask a fox before you ask me? I’m hurt.” Tao Yao said, looking around as she spoke.

“What could possibly happen to you? Gungun and I nearly got crushed to death by you!” Mo Ya said with effort.

“Then you should be grateful I hadn’t eaten dinner yet.”

“…”

The place seemed to be a natural cavern, hundreds of feet wide by rough estimate. Holes had been carved into the stone walls at intervals, each holding glowing crystals of various shapes, so the lighting wasn’t too poor—but everywhere the eye could see was piled with books, in numbers beyond counting. If ever there was a scene to embody the phrase “a boundless sea of books,” this was it.

The clearing where Tao Yao and the others had landed sat in the very center of the book piles. Not far off stood a row of wooden flower racks, blooming with flowers of every color, as if someone had hung the whole of spring up on display.

But it was autumn now—every flower had been folded from colored paper, lifelike down to the last detail, even the branches and leaves convincing enough to pass for real.

Beneath the flower rack sat a tall-backed rattan chair, and reclining against it, head tilted as if dozing, was a man dressed as a scholar. His pale blue robe was neither new nor old, and cradled in his arms was a single stem of a jade-green, translucent plant—no more than three feet, curved like a snake, leaves growing from its stalk shaped like human hearts, and beneath each leaf hung a fruit the size of a pearl, one leaf, one fruit, glossy and pure white. Had he not been a skeleton, the scene would have been beautiful indeed—blooming flowers, a young man like something from a dream.

Seeing the figure in the chair clearly, Mo Ya jumped in fright.

But what startled Tao Yao wasn’t the skeleton dressed in fine clothes—it was the other three “human cocoons” bound tightly beside the flower rack: Si Jingyuan, Steward Miao, both present and accounted for, and a middle-aged man with ruined, festering eyes she didn’t recognize, though she was fairly certain he must be… Scholar Lu.

Si Jingyuan lay as if dead, not stirring at all. Steward Miao, though his eyes were open, was equally motionless, as if his soul had been swallowed whole. Tao Yao called out to him several times with no response. The blinded man struggled the hardest of them all—likely having already screamed his voice raw earlier, for what came out now as “help me” was barely audible.

Just then, light, unhurried footsteps sounded from behind.

Tao Yao struggled to turn her head and saw a young woman emerge from the shadows, carrying a wooden bucket in one hand and something like a garment draped over the other arm, smiling as she approached. Beside her trotted a spider, white and furry, as large as a washbasin.

Recognizing the newcomer’s face, Tao Yao couldn’t help but laugh. “So the name truly suits the person. ‘Chongchong’ fits you perfectly, doesn’t it.”

Just hours ago, this had been the same Chongchong who’d brewed her ginger soup and baked her pastries. Now she strolled up unhurried, smiling. “I rather expected that anyone capable of killing an Anke-wielder would be quite formidable. You’ve disappointed me.”

Mo Ya froze. “Chong—Chongchong… it’s you?”

“Give me a moment, let me put this garment away properly.” She smiled at Mo Ya, walked straight to the flower rack, set down the bucket, then laid the garment on the ground and carefully folded it.

But this garment was strange indeed—it had a face, hands, feet, even a white beard. It was, unmistakably, a human skin, and unmistakably in the shape of Physician Shen.

As she folded it, she said, “I’ve never quite gotten used to men’s clothing. Women’s clothes suit me best.” She glanced down at herself, then looked up and smiled at Tao Yao and the others. “In this past century, this outfit has suited me most, closest to how he liked to see me.” With that, she pulled out a wooden box from beneath the flower rack, opened it, placed the “garment” inside, closed it, and pushed the box back into place.

“You’ve mastered this ‘wearing people’ technique to quite a polished degree—no wonder there’s not a trace of demonic aura about you.” Tao Yao looked her up and down. “Not many demons know this trick. Who taught you?”

Chongchong smiled. “No one taught me. I simply love reading.”

“Is that so.” Tao Yao smiled. “No wonder you were willing to work as a maid at the Lu household. In all of Lianshui Village, the Lu family’s collection is probably the only one worth your time.”

“She’s a demon?” Mo Ya stared at Tao Yao in shock. “You didn’t notice at all, beforehand?”

“A demon who’s mastered the ‘wearing people’ technique is more formidable than one who simply transforms into human form. Transformation alone isn’t enough to fully mask a demonic aura, but a demon who directly ‘wears’ a person completely seals its demonic aura beneath the ‘human skin.’ As long as the ‘skin’ hasn’t sat unused for more than ten years, it remains functional, and will age and grow with time just like an ordinary person. As long as the demon wishes, it can keep crafting new ‘skins’ and live on under any number of identities. Without a proper artifact for detecting demons in hand, forget me—even that person in our household might not have noticed.” Tao Yao shot him a look. “Instead of pointing fingers at me, why don’t you go find us a demon-detecting artifact? And it can’t be some ordinary trinket either—it’d need to be truly formidable, divine-artifact grade.”

Chongchong walked over and crouched down in front of Tao Yao, studying her immobilized form, admiration flickering in her eyes. “You’re not very old, yet you already know what the ‘wearing people’ technique is. Who told you?”

“I read it in a book too.” Tao Yao said with a smile. “My family’s collection back home puts yours to shame.”

“Really?” Chongchong’s eyes lit up. “Where is your family?”

“Fiend!” A thunderous roar cut through their strangely mismatched conversation.

Steward Miao, having apparently come back to his senses at some point, had eyes bloodshot with fury, as though he meant to skewer Chongchong with a glare alone.

Chongchong stood and turned to him, puzzled. “Mister Miao, why such anger toward me? Shouldn’t the one you’re furious with be my master?”

At this, Steward Miao clenched his jaw, glanced at the man beside him, and seemed to choke on something lodged in his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt, did I miss some story arriving late?” Tao Yao asked, curious.

“Oh, it’s just that my master always suspected Madam had an affair with Mister Miao.” Chongchong said it as casually as discussing dinner plans. “About a decade ago, Madam Lu suffered a miscarriage three months into her pregnancy, and only survived thanks to me—well, I suppose, thanks to ‘Physician Shen.’ Strange thing was, Scholar Lu and Madam had always seemed a deeply devoted couple, and Madam’s pregnancy should have been wonderful news. But I found traces of an abortifacient in Madam’s system. She told me that morning she’d only had a bowl of chicken soup—one Scholar Lu had made for her himself. After that disaster, Madam’s health suffered, and she never had another chance at motherhood, yet Scholar Lu remained devoted to her, never once wavering, and everyone praised him for it. I never told anyone about the abortifacient, but after that, I developed a considerable interest in the Lu household. Over these past dozen or so years, I’ve changed skins several times, working there as a hired hand, an odd-jobs servant—the maid’s role I’ve held longest, since I am, after all, a woman.”

Tao Yao smiled. “So Miss Chongchong is quite the busy one, isn’t she—working as a maid at the Lu household on one hand, and playing Physician Shen at the medicine hut on the other. Doesn’t all that back-and-forth wear you out?”

“It’s a bit tiring, but worth it.” Chongchong admitted. “After all, the Lu family’s collection is so vast, and books are what I love most in this life. I went to the Lu household partly to read, partly out of curiosity. Because in all the books I’ve read, I could never find the answer I wanted.”

“An answer?”

Chongchong pursed her lips. “Why Scholar Lu didn’t want his own child.”

Tao Yao frowned. “How can you be certain it was Lu Cheng who caused Madam Lu to lose the child? You weren’t even working for them at the time—you couldn’t have known them well.”

“When I told him the child couldn’t be saved, he clearly looked relieved—but an instant later, his face twisted with grief.” Chongchong smiled. “I was so curious why a man renowned as a devoted husband would wear such an expression over a lost child. So I decided to go to the Lu household. Over more than a decade, I finally found my answer.” She turned to look at the blinded man behind her. “Master is a man who’s gentle before everyone. He pours all his resentment and rage onto paper, then burns it. I simply hid outside his window while he wrote, listening to the sound of his brush strokes.”

Tao Yao’s eyes widened. “Just by listening, you knew what he wrote?”

“I don’t read only with my eyes. I can read with my ears too. And reading by ear is faster, actually.” Chongchong shrugged. “He raged on paper, calling Madam promiscuous, accusing her of carrying on with Mister Miao, insisting that Mister Miao’s visits to ‘an old friend’ were a pretense to carry on an affair with Madam. He was frail, told long ago by physicians he’d likely never father children—regrettable, but still better than raising some bastard child. His words were so venomous, so vicious, even I doubted whether the man scribbling furiously was the same gentle, courteous master I saw every day treating even the servants kindly. But it was him, without question. He seemed to pour every suspicion and rage he could never voice aloud onto paper, then burned it to ash, and went on living as if nothing were wrong.” She smiled. “So you see, demons aren’t the only ones who can practice the ‘wearing people’ technique.”

“You gave him Anke, didn’t you? And taught him how to use it?” Tao Yao’s gaze drifted to the plant cradled in the skeleton’s arms. Looking closer, it wasn’t being held at all—it grew directly out of the pile of bones. “You’ve been at his side for over a decade, you know his mind well. Why incite him to kill now?”

“I have no interest in killing, myself.” Chongchong walked slowly to stand before the skeleton, fingers brushing lightly over the bones. “It’s been another thirteen years. Anke bears fruit once every thirteen years, and must be fed with flesh and blood to keep thriving. Since Master hated his wife and Mister Miao so deeply—oh, and that Scholar Liu too—hated them enough to wish them dead, I simply took on Physician Shen’s identity, found an excuse, and handed him Anke along with instructions on how to use it. But as I’ve said, the world is full of ordinary grudges. Whether to let it go or kill for satisfaction—that choice was his. And the result, same as it’s been for countless thirteen-year cycles before, is that no one who’s ever received Anke has chosen to let go.” She looked down at all of them lying on the ground. “Originally, any living person would do, but I’ve grown accustomed to using those who’ve used Anke themselves as its nourishment. Since I’ve helped them fulfill their hearts’ desire, using their flesh and blood to sustain Anke in turn doesn’t seem too excessive.”

Mo Ya panicked. “Then why did you trick us into coming here? We never used your Anke!”

Chongchong smiled. “You came looking for us on your own. You could have stayed out of it entirely.”

Suddenly, Steward Miao’s laughter filled the entire cavern. “Stay out of it? I always thought staying detached would keep everything fine. Turns out I was in it from the start.” He looked toward Lu Cheng beside him, and after a long pause, said, “You saved my life once. If you’d wanted it back, you had only to say so. Why drag Xiaojing into this?”

At this, Lu Cheng, who had been half-lifeless, suddenly grew agitated, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare claim you didn’t hand her over to me simply because you looked down on her for selling herself into a brothel! Don’t you dare claim you never had feelings for her! She never once let go of you—everything you ever gave her, she treasured like a precious jewel. Her body was here, but her heart never was. What did you think I was—some fool willing to take in the ‘tasteless yet wasteful’ scraps you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away?”

Every word cut like a blade, raw and bleeding.

“So… this is what you’ve always thought.” Steward Miao let out a long sigh, collapsing as if every joint in his body had given way, and despite himself, he began to laugh. As he laughed, a single tear slid down the corner of his eye.

Seeing this, Chongchong sighed. “It’s truly a pity, to be dragged down by someone like that. When Lu Cheng, suddenly blinded, sent me to fetch Physician Shen, I was rather surprised. Because in all these years, only you two have ever managed to kill an Anke-wielder. I was certain your skills would lead you straight to Lu Cheng, so I waited at the Lu academy the whole time, quite curious what sort of people you’d turn out to be.” She sighed with a hint of disappointment. “But I’m a bit let down—you weren’t quite as formidable as I’d hoped. The only real trouble was that I’d planned to catch you all in one net, but you split up instead, so I had to sneak off to the medicine hut, deal with the two gentlemen first, then hurry back to brew you ginger soup, then take a shortcut to beat you to the medicine hut and wait. Kept me quite busy… but no matter, not a single one of you slipped away.” She paused, then said plainly, “To avoid future trouble, I’m afraid I can’t let any of you live.”

The moment she finished speaking, she abruptly bent down, gripped Lu Cheng’s chin, and forced a dark purple pill into his mouth.

“What are you doing?! Let him go!” Steward Miao roared at the sight.

“Though the real Physician Shen became my skin decades ago, my medical skill is genuine. I don’t just wear people—I become them. Everything I’ve learned from books is enough to let me handle any role.” Chongchong released Lu Cheng. “In a moment, there will be no more Lu Cheng in this world.”

“You—” Steward Miao struggled with all his might, as if trying to burn through the strength binding him with sheer force.

“Xue’er’s silk can’t even be cut by fire. Keep struggling like that and you’ll only hurt yourself.” Chongchong said earnestly. “I understand you’d give your life for anyone here—but Lu Cheng shouldn’t be among them. Even if I don’t kill him, you shouldn’t spare him either. Grudges settled, debts repaid—that’s what so many of the books I’ve read all say.”

Steward Miao gritted his teeth. “Even if he’s my enemy, he’s mine to deal with. You have no right to decide his fate for me.”

Across the way, Lu Cheng, having swallowed the pill, coughed violently, desperately trying to vomit it back up—but it was too late. Within moments, his face flushed a deep red, and his features began to dissolve rapidly, until he became nothing but a pool of blood. The silk wrapped around him collapsed, the shocking crimson slowly staining it the same color.

A human life, extinguished so swiftly, so horrifically—even though this man was a murderer who’d gotten his due, it was enough to make everyone present draw a sharp, cold breath.

Unconcerned, Chongchong gathered up the silk from the ground, walked to the bucket she’d brought, and wrung it out patiently, as if wringing wet laundry. The entire cavern fell into dead silence, broken only by the steady drip, drip, drip from the bucket.

Once wrung dry, she carried the bucket over to the skeleton, retrieved a wooden ladle meant for watering flowers from beside the rack, stirred slowly in the bucket, then carefully scooped some up and fed it to the skull, saying as she did, “No need to fear. This one person alone is enough nourishment for the next thirteen years.”

“Do you mean to starve us to death?” Tao Yao glared at her.

“I don’t want to kill you, but you can’t be allowed to live either.” Chongchong said, with genuine difficulty. “Why don’t you stay here for now, and I’ll go check my books to see if there’s some way to handle this kind of situation.”

Tao Yao sneered. “You know how to cultivate and tend Anke, you know how to use it, you’ve mastered the ‘wearing people’ technique that other demons probably haven’t even heard of, and whether you’re playing physician or maid or any role at all, you handle it flawlessly—all thanks to your one hobby. You’ve drawn deep knowledge and understanding from countless books in this world, and you think that living in a tiny place like Lianshui Village is enough to understand the whole of it.” She paused, a corner of her mouth lifting. “No wonder they call you the demon Baizhi.”

Chongchong startled. “You actually know of me?”

“I like reading too.” Tao Yao stuck out her tongue. “I read in a book once: ‘There exists in the world a strange demon, born from books. Its body is as tiny as a fly, flat as a leaf, with four legs, each bearing a single eye. Its nature is clever, and it takes reading as its greatest joy, never forgetting what it reads, understanding all it hears. It lives long, and to possess one is to know a million things. Thus it is called Baizhi, and it is exceedingly rare.'”

Chongchong asked, astonished, “What book did you read that in?”

“Not telling you.” Tao Yao smiled. “Suffice it to say, it’s a book most ordinary people have never even heard of.”

Chongchong fell silent. After feeding the last ladle of “nourishment” to the skull, she walked over to stand before Tao Yao. “Tell me the title!”

“Quite the bookworm, aren’t you.” Tao Yao winked at her. “Shouldn’t there be some exchange involved? I can’t just tell you the title and have you starve me to death anyway.”

“I can’t let you go.” Chongchong said flatly.

“Then how about letting the little monk go instead?” Tao Yao said seriously. “You know medicine—just poison him mute. No need to take his life.”

“Tao Yao, have you lost your mind!” Mo Ya cried in alarm. “If I’m mute, how will I chant scriptures!”

“Better than not being able to chant at all because you’re dead.”

“Can you be serious for one moment, given the circumstances!”

“When have I ever not been serious!”

“Then think of a way that doesn’t involve me dying!”

“I did, but you won’t agree to it!”

The two of them actually began bickering at the very brink of death, until Chongchong, exasperated, covered her ears and shouted, “Stop arguing! Neither of you is going anywhere!”

“No, I absolutely must knock some sense into this bald little donkey today!”

“You’re calling me a donkey? With a mouth that sharp, you’ll never find a husband!”

“You dead donkey, how dare you curse me!”

Just as their argument reached its peak, a gleaming thin line shot unexpectedly from behind Chongchong, wrapping tightly around her neck—Steward Miao, now clad only in his inner robes, had drawn a fine cord of unknown material from a ring on his finger, the only weapon capable of restraining Chongchong in this moment. With his ability to snap an iron lock with ease, the slightest additional pressure would sever her head from her body.

“Xue’er!” Chongchong cried out.

But her Xue’er clearly had no chance to come to her rescue, locked as it was in a fierce battle with Gungun. The silk it kept spitting out, Gungun dodged nimbly each time, and with every evasion, another deep claw mark appeared on the spider’s body. Before long, between tearing and biting, Gungun had all but killed the thing—it lay belly-up amid a useless heap of its own silk, guts spilling out. Gungun then leapt onto Si Jingyuan; the fire-proof silk binding him proved no match for its teeth, and in the blink of an eye, with the same relish it usually reserved for sesame cake, Gungun shredded the silk to pieces. But Si Jingyuan, freed, remained utterly still, sprawled on the ground as if dead.

This fox that Chongchong had entirely overlooked—when had it slipped from her sight, and when had it broken free of the silk?

Chongchong’s face changed drastically, and in the next instant her body went limp, collapsing entirely onto Steward Miao. At the same moment, a tiny white shape darted from her ear, vanishing instantly into the pile of books. Chongchong herself sagged like a deflated ball, collapsing into nothing more than a limp human skin sliding to the ground.

Steward Miao instinctively released his grip and stepped back, disregarding everything else, rushing at once to Si Jingyuan’s side, cradling him and calling out again and again, “Eldest Young Master! Eldest Young Master!” But no matter how he called or shook him, Si Jingyuan showed no response.

Tao Yao, brushing off the silk still clinging to her, ran over, crouched down, felt Si Jingyuan’s forehead, then his pulse, and clicked her tongue. “This one’s body really is too weak—knocked out cold by spider silk. Doesn’t even measure up to our Gungun.”

Steward Miao frowned, glancing around. “The demon’s escaped?”

“Of course it fled. Baizhi is skilled with the pen, not the sword—without Xue’er’s help, it stood no chance against you.” She tapped her own head. “Its real strength is all up here. It’s simply absorbed too much.”It’s not just able to read—it can learn, too.” She glanced back at the spider. “Cultivating Anke, recruiting a snow spider as a servant, even mastering the ‘wearing people’ technique—that’s genuinely impressive.”

“Just from reading books, it became this formidable?” Steward Miao asked, half in disbelief.

“Baizhi is a demon born from books itself—its comprehension of written text is unmatched by anyone.” Tao Yao said plainly. “Give an ordinary person the method for cultivating Anke, and they still wouldn’t grasp the key to it.”

Steward Miao’s expression turned grave. “One shouldn’t judge by appearances—seems that goes for demons too.”

Meanwhile, Mo Ya, panting heavily, hugged Gungun close and planted several kisses on it. “Let’s see who dares call you a glutton after this!”

“How did it manage that?” Steward Miao asked.

“You’ll have to ask Gungun.” Tao Yao shrugged.

Mo Ya ran over cradling Gungun, and seeing Si Jingyuan cradled in Steward Miao’s arms, asked anxiously, “What happened to the young master?”

“Knocked out. He’s fine.” Tao Yao tweaked Gungun’s ear. “Not bad, not bad. Grown quite capable. I’ll add an extra chicken drumstick when we’re home.”

Gungun swayed its head proudly, giving two smug squeaks.

“You scared me half to death!” Mo Ya stroked Gungun’s head, still shaken. “I noticed early on that Gungun was secretly gnawing at the spider silk and could actually chew through it, but Baizhi was so absorbed in talking to you all, it never gave Gungun a second glance. So when Gungun slipped into a gap between the book piles while it was off feeding the skeleton, it never noticed one of the ‘cocoons’ present had gone missing—the small one. Then I deliberately started that argument with you, meaning to give Gungun a chance to slip away safely. Instead, the little thing didn’t run at all—it went and freed Steward Miao from the silk, and even killed the spider in the process. That, I never expected.”

“Forget Baizhi—even I didn’t notice it was gone.” Tao Yao stood, glancing around, her mind already elsewhere.

“We should get out of here, and quickly.” Steward Miao hoisted Si Jingyuan up.

“Getting out…” Tao Yao’s gaze fell on the skeleton scholar. “I’m afraid we’ll need its master’s help to get out safely and conveniently.”

With that, her fingers came to rest on the Anke cradled in the skeleton’s arms, brushing from leaf to fruit. “Such a lovely plant. What a shame it isn’t just for viewing.” Before she’d finished speaking, a leaf and its accompanying fruit had already been pinched off and dropped to the ground, crushed underfoot.

Seeing this, Mo Ya nodded eagerly. “Right, whatever else happens, let’s destroy this cursed thing first!” He hurried over and, mimicking Tao Yao, snapped off another leaf and fruit, stomping it to pieces.

“No need for all that.” Steward Miao set Si Jingyuan down for the moment. “Rather than plucking it piece by piece, why not tear it out by the root? Let me handle it.”

At that moment, a panicked voice rang out from the air: “Don’t!”

A ball of white light, barely larger than a soybean, drifted out from behind the towering book piles and slowly descended before them.

Baizhi truly was tiny—one had to look very closely to make out its true form. Just as Tao Yao had described, it was a small white insect, its body flat like a leaf, with only four legs, each bearing a large eye like a human’s. Its voice was small too, thin and delicate like a shy young girl’s; that single cry of “Don’t!” must have taken all its strength to make audible to everyone.

“Don’t destroy it,” it pleaded. “If you agree, I’ll send you out of here immediately. I’ve laid countless lethal traps throughout this place—I’m the only one who knows the safe way out.”

“Leave it be, and you’ll only bring more harm to more people!” Steward Miao forced down the fury rising in his chest.

It was silent a moment, then said, “With skills such as yours, you must already know that Anke can only be used on those who trust you most. In other words, it means pushing the person who trusts you most off a cliff. Anyone capable of using Anke without hesitation is already a blight in themselves.”

“And what of those dragged into it by Anke?” Mo Ya countered. “Like Madam Lu, like Scholar Liu—annoying as he was, he didn’t deserve death—and all those other victims we don’t even know about. Are they blights too?”

It thought for a long moment, then said, “The books say, ‘It takes two hands to clap.’ If there were truly nothing wrong with oneself, why would others stir up trouble out of nothing?”

“The books say, the books say…” Mo Ya said, exasperated. “After all these years, have you never learned to understand the world with your own eyes and heart?”

“All the wisdom and knowledge in the world exists within books.” It said with conviction. “I don’t need to hide my ignorance behind foolish sayings like ‘ten thousand miles traveled is worth ten thousand books read,’ the way the illiterate do. I’ve lost today, but only through my own carelessness and your brute force. In terms of pure intellect, none of you are my match.”

“What gives you such confidence?” Steward Miao restrained himself mightily from simply slapping it dead on the spot.

“Give you a physician’s skin, and you still couldn’t be a physician. Give you a cave, and you couldn’t turn it into a precise fortress. Give you Anke’s seed, and you couldn’t cultivate it successfully.” It said, word by word. “Whatever I set out to accomplish, I possess the ability to accomplish it.”

Tao Yao smiled. “Weren’t you just begging us a moment ago? Now suddenly looking down on us again?”

“Because I still have something to bargain with.” It said seriously. “I’ll say it once more: if you agree to spare Anke, and let bygones be bygones between us, I’ll guarantee you safe passage out of here. I won’t go back on my word.”

“You said yourself you have no interest in killing—why insist on keeping Anke, then.” Tao Yao looked at it. “If you love flowers and plants, surely you could grow something else.”

It was silent a long while, then said, “I’ve tended it for a hundred and thirty years now. When the thirteenth cycle of thirteen years arrives, perhaps I’ll consider your suggestion. But not now. I can’t let it all come to nothing at this stage.”

Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “Thirteen cycles of thirteen years?”

“The books say that when the bones capable of birthing Anke have seen it bear fruit thirteen times over, the white bones will grow flesh and blood once more, and the departed shall live again.” It said slowly. “I only want him to live again.”

Him?!

Everyone froze.

Just as everyone instinctively turned to look at the skeleton scholar, they were given quite a fright. Mo Ya reacted most dramatically of all, jumping and pointing at the skeleton, shouting, “Gungun, what are you doing?!”

Gungun, having slipped from Mo Ya’s arms at some point unnoticed, sat perched atop the skeleton scholar quite contentedly, and with a satisfying pop, yanked Anke straight out of the skeleton’s chest like pulling a radish from the ground, sniffed it, then flung it away in disgust.

Severed from its roots, Anke wilted rapidly, fading from green to gray, quickly collapsing into a heap of light, withered branches and shriveled fruit, curling weakly on the ground.

The air seemed to freeze solid.

After a long moment, Tao Yao wiped the sweat from her forehead and pointed at Gungun, now perched on Mo Ya’s head. “Your chicken drumstick… is cancelled.”

Then came a scream of pure despair.

Baizhi flung itself madly onto the withered remains on the ground, then onto the skeleton scholar, over and over, but nothing could be salvaged. The white light that had always surrounded it gradually turned blood red.

Seeing this, Tao Yao’s expression changed, and she hurried to usher everyone back.

“I said I’d let you go… why did you have to destroy it…” It landed on the skeleton’s chest, babbling incoherently. “Only three more cycles left… just three… everything’s gone, and even if I found another Anke seed, I couldn’t plant it again… a person only gets one chance…”

Tao Yao watched it warily, but aside from muttering to itself atop the bones, it made no other movement. Yet the temperature around them began climbing rapidly, and faint red light began seeping from the surrounding mountains of books, like iron heated to glowing.

Mo Ya, drenched in sweat, tugged frantically at Tao Yao’s sleeve. “Did Gungun cause a huge disaster?”

“It didn’t do anything wrong, just picked the wrong moment.” Tao Yao frowned. “Baizhi was born from books—it probably doesn’t want to live anymore. It’s going to pour everything it has into turning this mountain of books into a sea of fire, taking us down with it.”

Steward Miao gritted his teeth. “Let me kill this fiend now!”

“If it lives, there’s still a chance to put out this fire. If we kill it, the burst of power it releases in its dying moment will turn this whole place into an inferno instantly.” Tao Yao said, wiping her brow. “It might just be one of the most powerful demons relative to its size that I’ve ever encountered.”

“Then what do we do?” Mo Ya asked urgently. “Would beating Gungun senseless in front of it calm it down?”

Tao Yao answered, “You could tear Gungun limb from limb and it still wouldn’t bring that plant back.”

Steward Miao pushed Si Jingyuan into Tao Yao’s arms. “There has to be an exit. I’ll find it. Eldest Young Master, watch over him.”

Tao Yao grabbed his arm. “Don’t throw your life away for nothing. This cave doesn’t just have a fire about to break out—there are still all of Baizhi’s traps to worry about.”

“I can’t just sit here waiting to die. I promised the old master and mistress I’d protect both young masters with my life.” Steward Miao clenched his fists. “Even if I have to smash through, I’ll carve a path out of here.”

At this critical, desperate moment, someone suddenly let out a sigh—a young man’s voice.

“Girl…” Amid a faint creak, creak, the skeleton scholar raised his hand, pale fingertips coming gently to rest on Baizhi.

Baizhi’s frantic muttering stopped instantly.

The skeleton scholar slowly sat up, and with the motion cupped it in his palm, saying softly, “Silly girl. No need to wait three more cycles.”

“Chenghuai?” It froze.

“It’s me. Xu Chenghuai.” The skeleton scholar’s voice was gentle as spring rain. “Girl, it’s been a long time.”

The light surrounding Baizhi gradually returned to white, and the mountain of books, which had nearly caught fire, settled back to normal as well, the temperature rapidly dropping.

Tao Yao let out a long breath of relief.

It was as though the whole world had shrunk down to just the skeleton scholar and the demon Baizhi.

Before the flower rack, the skeleton scholar tilted his head up, gazing at those meticulously crafted paper flowers. “You remembered every flower I loved.”

“How could I forget.” Baizhi settled on his shoulder. “The flowers you loved, the food you liked, the clothes you liked to wear—I haven’t forgotten a single one.”

The skeleton scholar laughed. “Right. I nearly forgot you’re a Baizhi—you can remember even ten thousand volumes of books, let alone trifles like these.”

“Those aren’t trifles.” It corrected him.

“Fine, fine, whatever you say.” The skeleton scholar said fondly, then glanced around. “You’ve been living here, all this time?”

“No. Aside from coming to see you, I’ve always lived above.” It said. “All these years, I’ve never once left Lianshui Village. Even our old home—I’ve kept it well, all this time.”

“Our old home is still there?” The skeleton scholar said, delighted. “Could you take me to see it?”

“Of course.” It said without hesitation. “The exit from this place is our old home.”

“Truly?! Take me there, quickly!”

Tao Yao and Steward Miao exchanged glances; Mo Ya, still clutching Gungun, stood at a complete loss. From the moment the skeleton scholar had come back to life, they had all become invisible to Baizhi, no longer drawing even a fraction of its attention.

As the skeleton scholar passed by them, he added, “Let these people go too. Annoying as they seem, if not for their clumsy stumbling in pulling out Anke, I might not have woken so soon.”

“All right. If you say let them go, I’ll let them go.” It led the skeleton scholar to the pile of books along the west wall, and after triggering some mechanism, a door opened in the east wall.

“Let’s go.” The skeleton scholar walked toward it happily, but as he passed Tao Yao, he stopped, his two hollow eye sockets fixing dead on her face, his tone a clear warning. “Don’t come looking for trouble with us again, or I’ll make sure you’re left with only half a life!”

He put particular weight on the words “half a life.”

Tao Yao’s heart gave a jolt, but she quickly cleared her throat, unbothered. “Now that Anke’s destroyed, and the killer we were after has been reduced to nothing by your own girl, this chapter’s closed. Different paths from here on. As if anyone would want anything to do with a skeleton man like you anyway!”

“Good, then.” The skeleton scholar was about to leave, then turned back. “I have a name. It’s Xu Chenghuai.”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes at him, and only once he and Baizhi had vanished through the door did she rap Mo Ya on his bald head. “Still standing around, what for! Let’s go!”

“That’s it? It’s over?” Mo Ya rubbed his head. “Did something go wrong somewhere? Why does it feel like this didn’t play out the way it should have?”

“Would you rather we all burned to ash in each other’s arms? That’s what counts as it going right? Move when I tell you to move, no more nonsense!”

“Tao girl, I feel like something’s…”

“Oh, Steward Miao, you finally got your life back—hurry up and carry the young master out already. We can talk about all the important stuff once we’re out of here.”

Under Tao Yao’s urging, the group hurried up the stone steps behind the door. Before long, in the light streaming toward them, they passed through the hidden door at the top of the steps, and looking around, found themselves in the hall of an unfamiliar house. Though the room was old, it was kept spotless and tastefully arranged; outside the window, sunlight shone brightly, tree shadows dancing in the breeze. The man who called himself Xu Chenghuai stood before the window, gazing out at the scenery in a daze.

Baizhi still rested on his shoulder, and said, “Go on, then. We won’t meet again.”

“Ah, all right, then.”

Tao Yao brushed back the loose strands of hair from her forehead, and the golden bell at her wrist chimed softly with the motion.