Prologue

But I can never forget the days I spent with them. Their youth, all their joys and sorrows—it feels as though they became mine too.

The atmosphere was a bit awkward.

In the spacious, elegantly appointed hall of the Si residence, Young Master Liu stood with a bundle slung over his shoulder, his extremely picky gaze sweeping over everything in every direction; Mo Ya dragged along a large burlap sack full of clattering pots and pans, grinning foolishly as he pressed his palms together in greeting to everyone; behind them, Gungun led a flock of roosters and hens with great dignity, methodically inspecting this new territory it had never set foot in before.

Si Kuanglan sat in the seat of honor at the center of the hall, holding a scroll of Sun Tzu’s Art of War, resolutely pretending not to see this menagerie of demons and spirits before him.

This was probably the liveliest the Si residence had ever been—even Steward Miao wore a subtle expression, clearly uncomfortable yet forcing himself to smile in welcome.

Of everyone in the Si household, only Si Jingyuan was genuinely delighted. The moment he saw them come in, his eyes lit up, and he sprang up from his seat, pointing at Gungun with one hand while tugging at Si Kuanglan’s sleeve with the other. “Is that a fox or a dog? Half black, half white, how fun! And chickens behind it? A fox coexisting peacefully with chickens?” Without waiting for Si Kuanglan’s inevitable glare, he bounded over and crouched down to greet Gungun. “Hey, little guy, what’s your name? I’m Si Jingyuan, the eldest young master of the Si household. Oh, and also the older brother of that guy over there who’s about as expressive as a corpse.”

The pages turned methodically beneath Si Kuanglan’s fingers; he didn’t hear a single word Si Jingyuan said, and even if he had, he’d have silently disdained it all the same.

Gungun looked up at Si Jingyuan’s face, friendly to the point of fawning, blinked, and without any warning whatsoever, relieved itself on his shoes…

Si Jingyuan quietly stared down at his brand-new, decidedly not cheap shoes, then looked up at Steward Miao, who was struggling to hold back laughter, and said, “Fetch our longest, sharpest blade.”

“You mustn’t, sir!” The moment Mo Ya heard this, he leapt in front of him, waving his hands frantically. “If your shoes are dirty, just change them—how could you go and chop off your own foot?! I thought my Young Master Liu was the pinnacle of cleanliness obsession, but I never imagined the eldest young master would be even fiercer than him!”

Si Jingyuan patiently let him finish before smiling. “Little monk, your imagination is quite something. I meant to slaughter this fox, not chop off my own foot.”

At this, Mo Ya rushed over and clutched the wandering Gungun tightly to his chest. “That’s even worse! I apologize to you on Gungun’s behalf—it meant no harm, the urinating was just a way of marking territory. To be honest, it does this to anything it considers its own property. In other words, it only urinates on you because it considers you one of its own! How could the eldest young master possibly slaughter such an affectionate little creature?!”

“So then, as this ‘property,’ should I also treat it to a meal to thank it for considering me one of its own, and perhaps invite it to urinate on me some more?” Si Jingyuan gave the monk and the fox a thoroughly irritated once-over. “The two of you together, sold off, wouldn’t fetch the price of these shoes! There’s nothing cheap about anything belonging to me, the eldest young master of the Si household! You two…”

“All right, all right, the shoes will wash clean.” Steward Miao hurried to smooth things over. “This little fox has some character to it—eldest young master, there’s no need to quarrel with a fox over this.” He then turned to Tao Yao beside him. “Girl Tao, these two are the ones you mentioned, correct? And this is all their luggage?”

Tao Yao nodded, beaming. “Just these two—I introduced them the moment we walked in! This decent-looking one is Young Master Liu, and the little monk is called Mo Ya. Both fellow villagers of mine.” She then winked at Si Kuanglan, seated above. “Second Young Master, I’ve brought them as promised. Nothing’s changed about our agreement, has it?”

She had previously agreed to help recover Si Jingyuan’s soul, on the condition that Si Kuanglan take in her two pitiful, homeless fellow villagers, plus a rather spiritually gifted fox that wouldn’t even touch chicken—and, throwing in some embellished tears, had spun a tragic tale of how the three of them had gone from begging their way from their hometown all the way to the capital.

“They don’t seem nearly as pitiful as you made them out to be.” Si Kuanglan turned a page of his military treatise without so much as a flicker of expression. “Steward Miao, take them down and settle them in. Assign their duties tomorrow.”

“Yes, Second Young Master.” Steward Miao immediately turned to Young Master Liu and Mo Ya. “This way, please, gentlemen.”

“Hold on a moment.” Young Master Liu shot Si Kuanglan a sidelong glance. “Assign duties? Surely you’re not thinking of having someone of my caliber feed horses for you?”

“We have enough hands for the horses already.” Si Kuanglan’s gaze never once left his book. “The Si household doesn’t keep idlers.”

“Why you little…”

“Oh, come on, don’t make a scene!” Tao Yao quickly grabbed Young Master Liu, lowering her voice. “Free room and board, plus wages! Living in a house this nice for free! What’s a little work compared to that!”

Young Master Liu grabbed her braid and said through gritted teeth, “You sold me and the little monk off just like that, so generously? Do you know who I am? I am Young Master Liu of Tao Capital! Servant to these common mortals?”

“We’re broke, aren’t we!” Tao Yao rolled her eyes. “Save where you can! Besides, being a servant in a household this wealthy beats living every day in that shabby house eating vegetables and tofu. I hear they even hand out extra bonuses during festivals. Tempting, isn’t it?!”

“I think it’s fine,” Mo Ya chimed in. “This place is so beautiful, the house is big and comfortable, the courtyard is spacious, pretty as a painting. And they don’t seem like the type of household that would mistreat servants—since we’re planning to settle in the capital long-term anyway, living somewhere like this and earning our keep through honest work beats drifting through wind and rain with uncertain meals outside. The important thing is, I can tell Gungun likes it here too… just not sure if there’s a suitable place to raise chickens.”

Young Master Liu flicked his bald head hard. “Who was it who said we should wander and endure hardship to temper the soul? Who was it who said fine food and silk robes erode a person’s will? You little baldy, just because their house is big, you’re fine with selling yourself into servitude? Where have your soul and willpower gone?”

“Amitabha. Enduring wind and dew is tempering; a soft bed and warm pillow is also tempering. In truth, coarse buns and plain robes versus fine delicacies and silk garments are, in my eyes, equal—I hold no discriminating heart between them. Young Master Liu, you still haven’t achieved enlightenment.” Mo Ya pressed his palms together.

“Get out of here!” Young Master Liu smacked his bald head in irritation. “Hanging around that damned girl Tao Yao for so long, you haven’t learned anything useful, but you’ve certainly gotten better at twisting words to your advantage!”

“I’m not twisting words, I…”

“All right, enough out of you two! So, it’s settled—we’re staying at the Si residence from now on, hee hee.”

“Why are you smiling so slyly?”

“No more supporting you two! Free room and board now! I wanted to smile even more obviously, honestly!”

“…”

Si Jingyuan crossed his arms and nudged Steward Miao with a frown. “What are those three whispering about over there?”

“No idea,” Steward Miao said with a smile. “All I know is the Si household is about to get a lot livelier from now on.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Si Kuanglan suddenly spoke up. “There’s nothing here concerning you. Why haven’t you gone back to your room to reflect on your mistakes?”

Si Jingyuan immediately deflated. “New people have arrived at the house—shouldn’t I come out to welcome them? Isn’t that proper etiquette for a great household?”

“Back to your room.” Si Kuanglan turned another page. “Ten days confined to your room is already the lightest punishment.”

“Why are you punishing me at all?!” Si Jingyuan protested. “You think I helped rescue Sect Leader Yue’s daughter purely for his sake? I read Yue Pingchuan’s birth chart—the girl’s fate is a strong one, and I thought maybe I could match her up with you! I’m your older brother after all, and it pains me to see you remain a bachelor for so long! And look how quickly you sent Miss Yue away! I…”

“Someone!” Si Kuanglan cut him off without ceremony.

Two servants rushed in at his call.

“Stuff the eldest young master back in his room. Unless I give the order, if he dares set one foot outside his door, beat him within an inch of his life—no need to hold back.” Si Kuanglan said this indifferently.

“Yes, sir!” The servants immediately flanked Si Jingyuan on either side, dragging him out despite his noisy protests and struggling. As he passed by Tao Yao and the others, he shouted, unwilling to give up, “Just you wait! In ten days I’m coming to hang out with you all!”

Young Master Liu watched Si Jingyuan’s melodramatic flailing with utter disdain and asked Tao Yao, “This lunatic is really the eldest young master of the Si household?”

“Amusing, isn’t he?” Tao Yao smiled.

Steward Miao sighed and muttered, “Honestly, I can’t tell anymore who’s supposed to be the older brother…”

According to the almanac, today was inauspicious for all matters, but for Tao Yao, there couldn’t have been a better day. From now on, she’d get to see Young Master Liu’s sour face and hear Mo Ya’s nagging every day, and even wipe plates clean with Gungun’s tail—a “family reunion” truly was a source of great happiness! Most importantly, she’d perfectly solved those two’s livelihood problem. Why should she be the only one working to support the household, hmph!

Steward Miao, apparently bewitched by something or other, had actually believed Young Master Liu’s boasts about his culinary skills and assigned him to the kitchen as an assistant to the cook, Old Zhang. As for a “child” like Mo Ya, he gave him special consideration too, not assigning him any fixed duties, only having him sweep fallen leaves in the courtyard when he had time, feed the fish in the pond, run errands for whoever needed help, and otherwise leaving him free to meditate and chant. Per Tao Yao’s request, both were also arranged to live with her at the stable grounds.

Young Master Liu was, of course, unwilling about this—all that talk about being like siblings and naturally needing to live together to look out for each other. Bah! As if anyone didn’t know this girl had arranged it purely to keep an eye on them, so they wouldn’t hide food, money, or anything fun for themselves!

But regardless, everything had suddenly and unexpectedly settled into place. Just days ago they’d been renting a shabby room in the capital, never sure where their next meal would come from, and suddenly they’d landed in this grand, wealthy household with no worries about food or clothing. Remarkably, aside from the unlikable Si Kuanglan, everyone else in the Si household was quite amiable and courteous. Though it was hard to say for certain—there was still Si Jingyuan, confined by his own younger brother, who’d be released in ten days, and who knew what chaos the Si residence would descend into then. But for now, everything seemed fine, and life had never felt so orderly. Tao Yao felt she was gradually becoming more like an ordinary person—having a fixed place to stay, and the same group of people to see every day.

For now, this would do. Who knew—perhaps the Si brothers could help with finding the Compendium of a Hundred Demons down the line. She secretly rubbed her hands together.

Anyway, all things considered, everything was going smoothly, except for poor Old Zhang in the kitchen, who had it rough now that his assistant was Young Master Liu… The oil temperature control issue, resulting in food charred to a crisp, was one thing; his atrocious knife skills chopping vegetables was another—but how in the world could he add scallions to a sweet eight-treasure porridge made with various preserved fruits and candied ingredients?! Old Zhang simply couldn’t comprehend it. When he asked, Young Master Liu shot back, why shouldn’t sweet things have scallions added—isn’t cooking about maximizing imagination?

It was fortunate that Old Zhang had such a good temper; anyone else probably would have upended the bowl of porridge on his head by now.

“Young Master Liu, cooking is honestly no different from dealing with people,” Old Zhang said as he re-brewed the porridge. “If someone prefers quiet, and you insist on throwing them into a bustling marketplace, they’ll be unhappy and resent you for it. If someone prefers excitement, and you insist on locking them in a room, they’ll be unhappy too, and resent you all the same. So, sweet porridge with scallions won’t taste good—it wastes the ingredients, and whoever eats it will find it strange.” He patiently stirred the rice in the pot. “Most things in this world follow certain rules. Go against them, and trouble tends to follow.”

Young Master Liu pursed his lips, sizing up this unremarkable old cook in his sixties once more. In his youth he’d probably been quite tall, though his back had now slightly hunched, but his hands remained remarkably steady—whether wielding the ladle or the knife, every motion felt sure and forceful, as if he never made a single mistake. Tao Yao had a good impression of Old Zhang, mainly because whenever she snuck into the kitchen to steal food, she never went away empty-handed. Even when the stove was cold and no meals were being made, as long as Old Zhang was around, he’d somehow conjure up something tasty for her, and seeing her eat happily always pleased him greatly—he’d urge her to eat more, saying eating well made you grow well, and that at her age she really should be putting on more weight.

Once the porridge was done, Old Zhang wiped his hands on his apron and took out a plate of small fish from the cupboard, placing them in the pot to fry until crisp.

“Smells wonderful…” Young Master Liu sniffed deeply and reached to grab one right away.

Old Zhang quickly whisked the plate out of reach. “This isn’t for you.”

Missing his grab, Young Master Liu grumbled, “Fine, fine, I know you’re saving these for yourself to go with your wine. Don’t eat them then, see if I care.”

Old Zhang laughed. “Come with me. From now on, when I’m not around, this task will be yours.”

“What task?”

“Just come along.”

Old Zhang picked up a water jug as well and led him out of the kitchen, straight to the back gate of the Si residence. Once outside, Old Zhang walked a few steps to the base of the wall nearby, where a few empty bowls were set out, along with a wooden box nailed together from planks, its top covered with a layer of waterproof oilcloth.

Young Master Liu watched as Old Zhang crouched down at the base of the wall and carefully filled one bowl about two-thirds full with clean water, then loaded the other two bowls generously with dried fish.

In the distance, faint cat cries could be heard.

“All strays, with no owner—eating one meal, going hungry the next,” Old Zhang said, clapping his hands together and standing.

“You set all this up?” Young Master Liu looked at the items—both the bowls and the box were kept spotlessly clean.

“Whatever food’s left over, I bring it here—no point letting it go to waste anyway.” He looked into the distance, smiling. “Every time it’s licked completely clean, so they must be quite hungry. These cats, nobody looks after them—they survive entirely on their own. Whatever meal I can give them, I give.”

Young Master Liu said, “Stray cats usually don’t live very long.”

“That’s true.” Old Zhang smiled. “The cats that come to me have already cycled through several generations. The ones who stop coming have probably passed on. Carving out a path through this world, trying to go as far as you can—it’s hard for anyone.”

Young Master Liu looked him over once more, pursing his lips. “For a cook, you have some interesting things to say.”

“I’m an interesting sort of cook, then.” Old Zhang laughed heartily, patting his shoulder. “From now on, when I’m not around, this task falls to you. They love dried fish, and chicken or duck liver stewed with rice works fine too.” Then he added, somewhat worried, “Just, whatever you do, don’t put scallions in it…”

“You old man, why are you so annoying! You don’t remember my handsome face or my genius cooking skills, but you remember ‘scallions, scallions’!”

“No need to get worked up, young man. When I was young, I wasn’t any worse than you—quite handsome myself too.”

“I don’t believe it…”

“It’s true!”

“I don’t believe it…”

“Fine, fine, how about I teach you a few dishes once we’re back?”

“How about scallion-braised fish?”

“You really do love scallions, don’t you…”

It rained lightly that day, not clearing until noon. Mo Ya helped Tao Yao clean the stables, while Gungun took its rooster and hen companions for a walk within the fenced-off patch of land Steward Miao had specially set aside for it. Over time, the chickens no longer seemed to fear it, following it around happily. It was actually the rooster who, whenever it was in a bad mood, would peck at the top of Gungun’s head to vent its frustration—at this rate, one had to worry that even if Gungun ever cultivated into human form, it’d end up bald…

Si Jingyuan remained confined to his room, with his three meals delivered on schedule. Tao Yao helped deliver one, only to find him peering pitifully out through the window, unshaven, deliberately waving both arms around. “Girl Tao, you’ve come! Come keep your brother company for a bit, I’m so bored!” He really didn’t act the least bit like an eldest young master—she genuinely wondered whether he and Si Kuanglan had the same parents at all, given the difference between them was at least twenty Young Master Lius wide…

“Eat well, eldest young master. You’ve still got several days left before you’re free,” Tao Yao said, sticking out her tongue playfully.

“Don’t go, don’t go.” He clutched his rice bowl by the window, eating as he spoke. “Even if you won’t chat with me, at least tell me what interesting things have happened outside lately. Ugh, I was born with a free and unrestrained spirit—one day without going outside and I can barely stand it! Lanlan’s just too cruel, knowing my weakness and locking me up like this.”

“With your skills, you can’t manage to walk out of this room?” Tao Yao smiled slyly.

“It’s not that I can’t—I just don’t want to upset Lanlan,” Si Jingyuan said, shoveling food into his mouth. “If you only had one younger brother like this, you’d be the same as me. Come on, tell me, what’s happened lately?”

Tao Yao thought for a moment, then clapped her hands. “Oh! I remember now. Not exactly interesting, more like a big deal, actually.”

“What? Old Wang Sanmazi next street over got married again?”

“No, no, someone died! I heard the owner of Xingxiangzhai over on North Street passed away.” Tao Yao said this with an air of great seriousness. “I heard it from one of your household’s servants, actually, who’d gone out to run errands. He died in his own bedroom—apparently a whole bunch of constables showed up, and the scene was quite horrific, killed in a single stroke, head separated from body. That Xingxiangzhai sells antiques and treasures, a big shop, so everyone assumed it was robbery-murder, but oddly enough, nothing valuable was missing, not even the silver in the cash box was touched. So now people are saying it must be a vendetta killing. Interesting enough for you?”

“What? Boss Yang got killed?” Si Jingyuan’s eyes went wide, nearly choking on his rice. “That guy was always incredibly stingy, and not exactly honest in business either, passing off inferior goods as genuine to fool buyers who didn’t know better—happened all the time. I recall even Steward Miao got cheated by him once, about half a year ago—he spent a small fortune on some supposedly hundred-year-old vermillion glass vase said to keep flowers alive forever. Brought it home and Lanlan took one look and said it was fresh work, made no more than half a month prior. Even Old Zhang could tell it wasn’t a genuine antique, said he’d seen similar pieces sold at the night market for next to nothing. Steward Miao was so furious he stormed straight to Xingxiangzhai demanding an explanation. That Boss Yang, seeing he was the steward of the Si household, didn’t waste words and refunded the money right away, claiming his shop assistant had made a mistake, mistaking a new piece for an antique, and asked Steward Miao not to hold it against him. Steward Miao took the refund without further argument, only saying that a proper business should deal in genuine goods, and never patronized the place again after that. I even joked at the time that if that old man ever kicked the bucket someday, it’d surely be because someone had taken his money and made him so mad he’d died of it. And here it’s been only half a year, and Yang really did die! Wasn’t it over money after all?!”

Tao Yao pursed her lips. “The way you tell it, this Boss Yang must have offended quite a few people in his lifetime—a vendetta killing sounds plausible enough.”

“That’s true. But going that far, one clean cut to behead him?!” Si Yingyuan said, mouth full and sauce smeared everywhere. “Though this Boss Yang wasn’t exactly a decent man, I’ve never heard of him doing anything particularly evil—what kind of grudge would warrant treating him like that?”

“So what, is the eldest young master thinking of taking on this case?” Tao Yao asked curiously, since wasn’t handling all sorts of underworld troubles exactly the Si family’s specialty?

“That’s the authorities’ business,” Si Jingyuan said, burping. “If I go and involve myself in something like this again, I won’t be getting out of this room until the end of the year. Say, are there any chicken legs left? Send me two more.”

“No way, Old Zhang only fried four chicken legs today, and the remaining two are already promised to me!”

“Give me one!”

“No.”

“Hey, you little girl, I’m your eldest young master—since when does a young master have to fight over food with a servant!”

“I’m in charge of feeding horses, not feeding the eldest young master. As long as I don’t compete with the horses for food, I’ve done right by your household.”

“Fine, fine, at least get me a bun then!”

“That works.”

“Meat filling, not vegetable!”

The most shocking thing happening in the city of Bianjing these past few days was, without question, the beheading of the Xingxiangzhai owner. Rumors and panic swirled through every street and alley, with everyone speculating about the motive while lamenting the unpredictability of life. Though few had much fondness for Boss Yang, the fact that a man in his sixties, surrounded by children and grandchildren, had met such a wretched end beneath a cold blade was still cause for sighs of sympathy. Amid the panic, people condemned the murderer’s cruelty and lawlessness, daring to commit such an atrocity right under the Emperor’s feet, and hoped the authorities would soon capture the culprit and bring them to justice.

The authorities were troubled indeed.

Not a single clue had been found at the scene—no signs of struggle, a single clean stroke that killed instantly. The coroner who examined the body said he’d never in his life seen such a perfectly smooth wound; the killer’s skill with a blade was masterful beyond the reach of any ordinary person, given this was a human neck, not a twig that could be snapped in one motion.

Magistrate Shen, in charge of the case, hadn’t slept for two nights straight. Late the previous night, he’d risen from his bed, thrown on a robe, and pulled an old archive from the office records. The archive recorded that roughly forty years ago, when the city of Luoyang had fallen to Shi Jingtang, amid the chaos there had been a similar series of murders—sixty-seven bodies found in a remote, unnamed mountain outside the city, every victim killed in a single clean stroke, the wounds smooth as a mirror, yet the perpetrator never found, remaining a mystery to this day.

Reading this, his head throbbed unbearably, and he still hadn’t slept a wink even as the eastern sky began to lighten.

It had been forty years—surely this couldn’t be the same killer.

Just as he was pondering this, a constable knocked at his door.

“My lord, there’s someone outside asking to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t say, only asked me to deliver this letter, saying you’d understand once you read it.”

“Bring it here.”

A letter wrapped in white silk was placed before him.

He unwrapped it, and immediately his brow furrowed, a sharp intake of breath escaping him.

The envelope inside was also pristine white, and on the seal, a strange beast had been painted in thick black ink—tiger-like yet not quite a tiger, its form lithe and powerful, its eyes sharp with a piercing gleam, majestic yet carrying a faint undertone of dark, ruthless menace.

Aside from this image, there was nothing else on the envelope—not a single word. What’s more, the envelope itself was completely empty inside.

“This…” Magistrate Shen murmured, then steadied himself, stood, straightened his robes, and went to the door, telling the constable, “Come, quickly, we must go receive this honored guest.”

Young Master Liu was too hungry to sleep, and the thought of Tao Yao single-handedly devouring all the braised pork at dinner only made him angrier and more sleepless.

Amid the alternating snoring of Tao Yao and Mo Ya, he quietly slipped out of the room.

The kitchen should have plenty to eat—even leftover steamed buns from dinner would do, paired with Old Zhang’s meat sauce, practically a delicacy fit for the gods.

He’d just reached the kitchen door when he stopped in his tracks.

At this hour, there shouldn’t have been any activity inside, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Peering through the gap in the door, he saw within the pitch-black kitchen a streak of white light bobbing and darting about, like a gust of wind given form; looking closer, it also resembled a bird. Though semi-transparent, it appeared all the more distinct in the darkness.

Looks like it’s here to steal food?

He watched the bird-like creature hover over the cutting board, sniffing hungrily at some leftover dishes covered with a gauze net.

Wisps of demonic energy leaked out through the gap in the door.

Young Master Liu thought for a moment, then gently pushed the door open and crept up silently behind the creature, poking his head forward to ask, “Smells good?”

“Aiya!” The creature let out a startled cry, springing far away, then with a shudder of its body, a flash of cold light shot straight for Young Master Liu’s face.

Young Master Liu, unhurried, executed a graceful side kick, his toe striking a cold, hard object dead-on. There came a sharp clang, and the object embedded itself into the wall—a gleaming kitchen cleaver.

Young Master Liu stepped closer to examine it, and indeed, it was an ordinary-looking cleaver, its black wooden handle clearly quite old, worn smooth yet marked with the traces of countless years.

Truly, nothing was ordinary right under the Emperor’s feet—even a kitchen cleaver could become a spirit?!

Just as he thought this, the cleaver transformed once more into the shape of a bird, its head still stuck in the wall, struggling and calling for help. “Aiyo, kind sir, please help pull me out, I mean no harm, you just startled me!”

The scene had suddenly become rather comical—a demon with its head stuck in a wall, unable to pull itself free, was quite the sight.

Young Master Liu reached out and grabbed hold of its body—though semi-transparent, it still felt somewhat solid to the touch, like a cool, chewy rice dumpling, or perhaps like sinking one’s hand into a wisp of intangible wind.

With a light tug, he freed the unfortunate creature.

It landed on the counter nearby, gasping for breath, and idly smoothed down the sparse feathers on its head.

Young Master Liu pulled up a stool and sat across from it, looking it over from every angle, but for the life of him couldn’t recall what species of demon this could possibly be—he had no memory of any creature that switched between a bird and a kitchen cleaver.

“Thanks.” The bird nodded at him with an air of haughtiness, all traces of its earlier flustered state gone. “Oh, it’s you—the kid who’s been helping out in the kitchen these past couple days? Though I don’t think you’re human. You’ve got a smell to you.”

“If I were an ordinary human, you’d have split my skull just now,” Young Master Liu said with a cold smile. “You’re a demon, and yet here you are sneaking into the kitchen to steal food in the middle of the night? Your cultivation must be shallow if you can’t even go hungry for a bit.”

“I killed a man—used up quite a bit of energy,” the bird said solemnly. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be this hungry.”

Young Master Liu froze. “Killed who?”

“Boss Yang from Xingxiangzhai, who else.”

Xingxiangzhai?!

That murder had happened just a few days ago—Tao Yao had described it to them in vivid detail, saying the entire capital was buzzing about it. He’d scoffed at the time, saying the authorities were all useless fools, and that if he’d been the one investigating, he’d have caught the culprit ages ago.

Seemed he shouldn’t have spoken so carelessly…

“You had a grudge against him?” Young Master Liu asked.

“Not exactly,” the bird said. “The one who wields me had a grudge against him.”

“The one who wields you?” Young Master Liu thought for a moment. “If your other form is a kitchen cleaver, then whoever wields you…”

“Old Zhang,” the bird said bluntly. “I’m his cleaver now.”

“I knew it… no wonder you looked familiar. I’ve seen Old Zhang using you to chop vegetables every day.” Young Master Liu suddenly froze mid-sentence, pointing at it. “Wait a minute, are you saying Old Zhang uses you to cook our meals while also using you to chop off other people’s heads?!”

“Aiyo, no, no.” The bird protested. “I haven’t touched human blood in nearly forty years. Old Zhang’s only ever used me for cooking.”

Young Master Liu relaxed slightly, suppressing the queasy expression about to surface. “Old Zhang really is more than he appears! An old man committing murder without a trace, living his whole life among demons and staying calm about it, willingly serving as a cook in someone else’s household.”

“He doesn’t know his cleaver is me,” the bird said, coughing awkwardly. “He’s always believed I’m simply a kitchen cleaver, nothing more.”

“Oh?” Young Master Liu frowned. “So what exactly are you, you strange thing? A bird demon or a cleaver spirit?”

“Well, since you seem decent enough, and fate’s brought us together in this kitchen at midnight, I suppose I don’t mind telling you the truth.” The bird ruffled its feathers, and Young Master Liu felt a cool breeze sweep across his cheek. “I am a Longque.”

Before it had left home, the elderly relative in its family, ancient beyond reckoning, had earnestly warned it: go wherever you like, just avoid venturing carelessly into the human realm, because there were all sorts of gold, silver, bronze, and iron objects there, and their bodies were peculiar—once they touched such things, they’d become trapped.

There had been several unfortunate precedents in the family—its uncles, even grandfathers’ generation—who, upon leaving home, had been captured by humans and nearly all sealed into blades and swords… The most famous case was perhaps the legendary “Great Xia Longque” blade, wielding boundless power, capable of felling a foe in a single stroke.

Oddly enough, it was said their ancestors had been born from the very first gust of wind that ever blew across the world, and so the Longque clan had, for generations upon generations, possessed semi-transparent bodies, capable of not only riding the wind but freely controlling its direction and force. Some said that though they were technically demons, they were in truth incarnations of the wind god, soaring through the heavens, free across mountains and rivers.

Its home lay behind the farthest, highest cloud layers to the west, its exact position ever-shifting; before leaving, it had thought—perhaps next time it returned, it wouldn’t even be able to find home again… But it had decided to go anyway, because it was simply too exciting—finally, a chance to live a different life. It had heard that the world beyond the clouds was an entirely different place, vibrant and colorful, far more interesting than home.

And indeed, reality matched its expectations. It truly loved this world before it now, filled with scenery and men and women, and the food they made, so utterly different from what it usually “ate.” At home, it had subsisted daily on wind and cloud, neither of which had much flavor—inhaling them just left a cool, flat sensation. But the mortal realm was different; every type of food carried its own distinct aroma, and it could “taste” something new every single day, finding it deeply satisfying.

It also remembered what the old relative had warned—to carefully avoid all metal objects, keeping its distance even from iron woks.

But, it hadn’t been quite as lucky as it had hoped.

Someone had spotted it wandering the city. It had assumed humans couldn’t see it, but that particular person had been formidable—not only could he see it, he’d also loosed an arrow to chase it down, an arrow with a yellow talisman covered in strange markings pierced through it. Only later did it learn that this was what mystics called a talisman.

Its speed rivaled the wind itself, but that arrow hadn’t been slow either, closing the distance relentlessly.

It hated that arrow, because it was a bronze arrow—getting hit by it would spell trouble.

It fled through unnamed wild mountains, all the way to a stretch of open farmland, glancing back at its pursuer while flying—and the result was, it crashed straight into a tree, and worse, it blacked out.

Its last memory of this incident was sliding down the thick trunk, landing right in a lidless bamboo basket beside a napping child on the ground beneath the tree, falling in perfectly without a single misstep.

Of course, the worst part was… inside that bamboo basket sat an iron kitchen cleaver.

When it woke, it discovered it had truly been “stuck” fast. That cleaver had become its body. It could no longer spread its wings and soar; it could only drag this body along in short hops. If it refused to obediently remain a cleaver, then to an ordinary person, it would appear as a knife that jumped around on its own; to someone with a bit of spiritual insight, they would see a semi-transparent bird, alternating between bird and blade, the two forms tangled together, endlessly thrashing about.

It considered itself fairly level-headed, thinking it best not to act rashly, lest it frighten some human into believing this cleaver was a monster and toss it straight into a furnace—game over.

The old relative had once said that escaping this constraint wasn’t impossible; the only way was, once you’d become trapped like this, if the first person to touch the object died, you’d be freed.

It thought to itself, then I’ll simply kill him. But it dared not say this aloud, since the elders had always taught them that living peacefully was paramount—never cause trouble, never take a life.

Unexpectedly, it now found itself facing exactly this dilemma of “to kill or not to kill.”

Its owner—well, “owner” was a stretch—was precisely that damned child who’d been napping under the tree. Of all things to carry in a bamboo basket, why did it have to be a beat-up old cleaver!

This child was barely ten years old; if it didn’t kill him, waiting for him to die of old age naturally would take several more decades at least… unless it got lucky and some accident befell him, hastening his death somewhat? It found itself pondering this every single day.

The child’s home—now its home too—was a dilapidated house on the outskirts of Luoyang.

In truth, it was an ownerless, abandoned estate, taken over as shelter by a group of homeless orphans.

There were three children in total; its “owner,” it heard the others call “A’Long”; the two others, slightly younger than him by a year or two, were called Xiao Tian and Wapian.

It was an era rife with fractures and warfare; the most common news was either that their emperor was about to attack someone else, or someone else was about to attack their emperor. War after war, endlessly.

Children with parents already struggled to survive; for these parentless ones, survival was far harder still.

A’Long was far more mature than the other children his age; in his eyes, the most important things in the world were the two younger brothers who relied on him for survival, and this kitchen cleaver.

After some time, it learned from the children’s idle chatter that this cleaver had belonged to A’Long’s father, a cook by trade, and that this blade had been his most treasured possession, always kept close at hand. The year bandits had broken into A’Long’s home, his father had used this very cleaver to cut a bloody path, managing to save his son’s life, but his parents had never risen from the pool of blood again.

A’Long had been only eight that year, thin as a monkey, needing both hands just to lift this cleaver.

But things had improved now—he could wield the cleaver one-handed, and even use it to intimidate the neighborhood thugs who bullied him, reclaiming food that had been stolen from him. Xiao Tian and Wapian had both been saved by him and this cleaver too—both had been caught stealing food and beaten half to death, dumped in the street.

Through those years, the three of them clung to life ferociously, like feral cats and dogs.

Every time he brought food home and watched Xiao Tian and Wapian devour it ravenously, he always felt happier than if he’d eaten it himself.

He carried himself exactly like a true elder brother—perhaps because he’d once lost everything, he now poured every effort into protecting the hard-won support he had left.

Gradually, it stopped calculating so frequently when A’Long might die; what it thought about most now was when the boy would next give it a bath and sharpen it on the whetstone—being sharpened, it turned out, was such a pleasant sensation, its whole body flooding with comfort. Though its movement was restricted, A’Long kept it constantly at his side, so it managed well enough—no need to walk or fly, it still got to travel to all sorts of places, hearing and seeing all manner of interesting people and events. Well, might as well settle in for now, then.

The year A’Long turned thirteen, he acquired a master.

It happened when the master, drinking in a tavern, had his coin purse pickpocketed; A’Long witnessed it and got it back for him. The master, however, called him meddlesome, tore open the pouch, and dumped out a pile of stones, saying he simply enjoyed toying with petty thieves like that. A’Long, angry, turned to leave, but the master called him back, saying his heart seemed too earnest and honest, and that he’d probably suffered plenty of bullying because of it.

A’Long retorted defiantly, saying he had his cleaver and wasn’t afraid of anything.

The master laughed, asking whether he’d like to learn some hand-to-hand combat too—the world was growing chaotic, and a single cleaver alone might not be enough.

Who wants to be your disciple—you might not even be able to beat me anyway, A’Long said, turning to walk off.

Then how about we spar and find out?

Fine, let’s spar then!

It found itself back in A’Long’s grip once more.

In a narrow alley, the master fought his future disciple. A’Long lost, naturally, but not disgracefully—because he’d managed to slice off half the master’s long beard…

The master was somewhat startled, remarking that he hadn’t expected the boy’s blade work to be quite so fast.

Well, ahem, it wasn’t really A’Long’s speed—it had simply lent a bit of assistance. It was a Longque, after all, said in legend to be a spirit born of the wind god’s lineage—making a blade move as fast as wind was nothing difficult at all. Never mind shaving a beard—if it had truly wanted to, taking off his head would have been just as simple a matter. Why else had all those people gone to such trouble in the past trying to seal its relatives into weapons, if not to obtain that wind-like speed?

A’Long was equally surprised, never expecting this unremarkable, gaunt man to subdue him in just two or three moves.

Since both were equally impressed with the other, they decided to become master and disciple.

A’Long had one condition—that the master take his two younger brothers on as disciples too.

Six years of training in the mountains passed, and by the end, even the master could no longer defeat A’Long.

Xiao Tian and Wapian no longer had to fear any street thug either.

The three children, through the cycling of winter snow and summer sun, gradually grew into strong young men.

Bidding farewell to their master, they returned to the city of Luoyang, from which they’d long been away.

The times had grown even more chaotic; it was clear the current emperor’s grip on the throne was slipping.

The three of them founded a sect together—after a night of deliberation, naming it “Ghost-Slayer Gate.” A’Long declared that he would use this cleaver to eliminate every evil spirit in the world, including those wearing human skin.

Over the following two years, they hunted down bandits and robbers, taking on matters the authorities dared not touch, dealing with people the law dared not confront. The money they earned was split three ways—one part kept for themselves, one part offered to their master, one part given to the poor. In no time, these young heroes’ fame spread far and wide.

Any truly wicked person who fell into A’Long’s hands met the same fate without exception—a single stroke, head separated from body.

It felt that by this point, even without its help, A’Long’s swordsmanship had reached a level of transcendent mastery on its own.

Those years were the happiest, most carefree time the three brothers ever shared.

During their years training in the mountains, it had witnessed countless moments of the three of them laughing and playing together; it had also seen them punished by their master, forced to stand in the stream, each holding up a large jar without being allowed to set it down, looking thoroughly embarrassed; it had accompanied them as they slipped love letters to farm girls down the mountain. A’Long, blushing, had insisted that a certain family’s daughter was gorgeous, while Wapian argued she wasn’t pretty at all, pointing out her pockmarked face—only to be chased down and beaten by A’Long, who yelled that he had even more pockmarks than she did! Every time the two of them tussled like this, Xiao Tian would just watch quietly to the side, smiling, never bothering to intervene—no matter how fierce the fight got, all three would inevitably end up laughing and running home together, whether under the setting sun or pouring rain.

Perhaps this was what youth truly meant—hiding outside other people’s doors to catch glimpses of girls, gossiping behind their master’s back, delighting in nothing despite having little money in their pockets, standing by each other through wind and storm or blazing sun alike, never once abandoning one another.

But time flew by like an arrow, and as their sect’s reputation grew louder, so too did their enemies multiply, spanning both the righteous and the criminal underworld alike.

Of the three, Wapian’s martial skills were the weakest, but his mind was the sharpest. He urged A’Long to consider retiring from this life and switching trades—continuing like this, he worried, risked their very lives, and after all these years they hadn’t managed to save up much wealth anyway. Better to go into business instead; he’d recently discovered that forging fake jewelry was quite profitable. A’Long scolded him harshly for this, saying going into business was one thing, but running a fraud scheme to deceive people was unacceptable. Xiao Tian also felt this kind of business was wrong and tried to talk Wapian out of the idea.

But Wapian went ahead and did it anyway, stubbornly. He had genuine talent in this area, having always enjoyed dabbling in such underhanded crafts, and the fakes he produced from his own hands were truly convincing enough to pass as real. But the matter soon reached A’Long’s ears, and he gave Wapian a brutal beating. It was an accident too—A’Long, momentarily overcome with rage, failed to hold back, and Wapian fell from a height, permanently crippling one leg.

Afterward, A’Long, wracked with guilt, sought out countless physicians to treat Wapian’s leg, all to no avail. Instead, it was Wapian who urged him not to dwell on it, saying his own martial skills had never been great anyway, and being lame didn’t much matter—since it upset A’Long so much, he’d simply never touch that trade again.

The more he said this, the more A’Long regretted it, feeling increasingly that he’d been too impulsive—that the person he’d protected like a younger brother since childhood had ended up permanently disabled because of him. A’Long, who had never once cried, secretly shed tears over this in private.

A year later, Shi Jingtang’s army finally breached the gates of Luoyang, and the emperor died by self-immolation.

In this moment of national collapse, when everyone feared for their own survival, it became the perfect opportunity for A’Long’s enemies. Taking advantage of the chaos, they organized a large force, vowing to raze Ghost-Slayer Gate to the ground and leave no survivors.

Wapian said their enemies had come well-prepared, with overwhelming numbers—it wasn’t wise to fight head-on; better to escape first through the secret tunnel.

Xiao Tian agreed this was the best plan. A’Long thought it over and agreed as well—after all, blades knew no mercy in the chaos of battle; he and Xiao Tian could probably manage to protect themselves, but the lame Wapian would be in grave danger.

So the three quickly gathered a few belongings and slipped into the secret tunnel before the enemy forces broke in. This tunnel led all the way to the wild mountains outside the city—it had originally been Wapian’s suggestion to dig it, just in case.

But the moment they emerged from the tunnel, a shower of lime powder rained down upon them from every direction, followed immediately by countless gleaming blades.

Someone had been lying in wait at the exit all along, and, utterly unprepared, they found themselves in the greatest danger of their lives.

In the chaos, Xiao Tian took several blows; A’Long, though his eyes were blinded by the lime, suffered no loss in his swordsmanship whatsoever, the plain, unremarkable cleaver moving fast as a gale, cutting down countless heads in swift succession.

But Xiao Tian was struggling more and more to hold his ground—the enemy simply outnumbered them too greatly, and every one of them fought with murderous intent.

A’Long forced one eye open, rushed to Xiao Tian’s side, and shouted, “Go now! Staying won’t help! Wait for me at the old place!” And without waiting for Xiao Tian’s agreement, he shoved him down the hillside with one palm strike.

Gradually, A’Long’s figure grew indistinct amid the flashing blades and spraying blood. From start to finish, he made no sound at all, no matter how many blows he took.

The weather that day had been particularly foul, threatening rain that never quite fell, dark clouds pressing so low they nearly touched the ground.

Their “old place” referred to the dilapidated house they’d lived in as children. A’Long had once said that if they were ever separated, he would wait for them at the old estate.

Xiao Tian waited at the estate for three days. A’Long never came. Wapian never came either.

His mind was in complete disarray; he felt he couldn’t wait any longer.

At dawn, he rushed out of the house, and the moment he stepped outside, he saw something gleaming lying on the ground—A’Long’s cleaver.

He froze in shock, then rushed over to pick it up, the bloodstains on it long since dried.

Yet his heart also filled with a flicker of hope—if the cleaver was here, surely A’Long must be nearby too.

But he was soon disappointed again—there was no sign of A’Long anywhere.

Growing increasingly uneasy, he sprinted, cleaver in hand, toward the place where he and A’Long had parted.

On the wild mountainside, corpses lay scattered everywhere.

A’Long sat there, his back against a tree, eyes still open, his body a mangled mess of blood and flesh, his already-stiffened right hand still gripping the position of a blade.

He stood there in a daze, and the rain that had been holding back for three days finally began to fall.

He carried A’Long’s body away, and rather than burying it, he burned it. Because A’Long had once said, if he ever died, just burn him and scatter the ashes to the wind, let them drift wherever they might—it would feel like even in death, he’d be free. Back then, Xiao Tian had teased him, saying, what if they landed in someone’s rice bowl, wouldn’t that disgust them to death.

But now, no matter how outrageous a joke he might crack, there’d be no one left to swing a fist at him for it.

He wondered whether that pockmarked girl still remembered the foolish boy who’d secretly slipped her love letters.

No point in going back to their master either—the old man was already advanced in years; some things were better left unknown forever.

Before the burning flames, he spoke to A’Long’s cleaver: “Whoever it was that brought you before me, I don’t know, but from now on, you’ll stay with me.”

It, of course, never told him that it had found its own way to him. Nor did it tell him how valiantly A’Long had fought in that final battle—that both it and he had done everything they could, but he’d fought alone, too badly wounded, and even with its help cutting down every enemy, it couldn’t buy back his life.

But it knew what had mattered most to A’Long.

Before the roaring flames, it watched silently alongside Xiao Tian, sparks scattering and rising, tracing brilliant patterns across the sky, climbing higher and higher—perhaps this was what it looked like when a soul departed this world.

Wapian vanished completely. Xiao Tian searched for him year after year, but the man seemed to have disappeared without a trace, no clue of his whereabouts to be found anywhere.

Aside from the three of them, no one else knew of the tunnel’s exit.

Sometimes he wondered how a person’s hatred could conceal itself so thoroughly, leaving no trace at all.

He never took pleasure in killing—if there was ever one person in this life he had to kill, it would be him alone.

He came to prefer cooking instead. In his hands, the cleaver became a true kitchen knife once more; he carried it with him through decades, from one dynasty to the next, quietly working as a cook in the kitchens of countless great and small cities, forever after living among pots and pans.

So many things, buried along with that time.

Young Master Liu fell silent for a long moment, then asked, “Boss Yang was Wapian?”

“Yes,” the bird answered. “This scoundrel actually found someone skilled enough to alter his appearance. We returned from another province five years ago and settled at the Si residence. Over the years in Luoyang, we passed by Xingxiangzhai’s front door many times, even crossed paths with him from a distance a few times, yet never once recognized him.”

“Even if he changed his appearance, surely his limp couldn’t be disguised?” Young Master Liu frowned. “How did you finally recognize him?”

“Thanks to Steward Miao buying that fake vase,” the bird said with a cold laugh. “Forty years ago, the very first counterfeit antique he ever produced was exactly this design—he’d been quite proud of it at the time, saying only he could think to pair vermillion with glaze in that way. That very day, Old Zhang went to Xingxiangzhai and observed the man closely from nearby, discovering that aside from a face unlike Wapian’s, everything else—his build, his manner of speech, and that limping right leg—was unmistakably the Wapian of old. But, not wanting to wrongfully accuse an innocent man, Old Zhang spent nearly half a year secretly investigating everything about this Boss Yang, and in the end, he was almost certain this Boss Yang was the long-vanished Wapian.”

“Almost certain?” Young Master Liu pursed his lips. “So Old Zhang still had some doubt, and yet he killed the man anyway?”

“A few nights ago, we went to Boss Yang’s home and knocked out his family and guards,” the bird said slowly.

On that moonless, starless night, Boss Yang, cold sweat beading on his forehead, stared at Old Zhang standing in his bedroom. After calling out for help and receiving no response, he wiped his sweat and said, “Venerable hero, take whatever treasures of mine you fancy, I’ll never report this, I only beg you spare my life.”

Old Zhang said nothing, lit the oil lamp on the table, sat down, and quietly studied Boss Yang’s face.

Unnerved by the stare, Boss Yang added, “If none of that satisfies you, there are even finer things in my hidden chamber.”

“Still keeping the habit of digging secret chambers, I see,” Old Zhang said with a faint smile. “You changed your name, changed your face, but you’re still the same as always, Wapian.”

Boss Yang’s face instantly turned ashen, cold sweat pouring down in beads.

“You… you…” he stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Old Zhang, then instinctively rose and leaned closer, staring for a long while before hesitantly asking, “You’re… Xiao Tian? You’re still alive?”

“Were you really that afraid back then? Too scared to even go back up the mountain to check whether we’d both died?” Old Zhang smiled.

“No, no, Xiao Tian, you misunderstand!” His legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees before Old Zhang with a thud. “I never meant to harm you, and I certainly never wanted you dead. We’re brothers!”

“And A’Long wasn’t a brother, then?” Old Zhang’s smile gradually faded. “Who was it that saved you when you were half-dead? Who went hungry himself to share his buns with you? Who protected you from bullies every step of the way?”

“I never wanted A’Long dead either…” Tears suddenly streamed down his aged face. “I was just angry—we could have lived a good life, and yet he was so stubborn about it. And besides…” He suddenly pointed furiously at his own crippled leg. “This ruined leg of mine is thanks to him! When he came down hard on me, did he ever once think that I was his brother too? Was something he simply disapproved of really worth my life being ruined? I’ll tell you this—from the day my leg was crippled, I swore that one day I would make A’Long disappear from my life entirely. I could no longer let that man control my fate.”

“Was that the only reason?” Old Zhang stood, looking down at this old acquaintance he hadn’t seen in decades. “I clearly heard that the group who ambushed us at the tunnel exit back then belonged to the Black Water Sect. Their surviving members said their leader had privately approached you, offering you no small reward if you’d help him eliminate A’Long.”

“No, no, Xiao Tian, you’re mistaken, that never happened! I…” he hastily protested.

A flash of cold light—the icy blade was suddenly pressed against his throat.

“I’ve spent forty years searching for you,” Old Zhang said coldly. “You know my nature—I never wrongfully accuse anyone.”

The room fell into deathly silence.

No one knew how much time passed before he finally gritted his teeth and admitted, “Fine! I did it, all of it! The Black Water Sect gave me a chest of gold—I had no reason to refuse. Besides, staying with him meant our lives were forfeit sooner or later anyway. Better to end it early. Xiao Tian, since you’ve come this far, kill me or maim me, do as you wish, just spare my family.”

Old Zhang stared at him for a long while, his eyes gradually reddening. “Wapian, we’re brothers by choice, not blood.”

He clenched his fists, saying nothing more.

The blade sliced a thin cut across his throat, a fine trickle of red slowly seeping down.

Old Zhang had thought he might be the last person he’d ever kill—but in the end, his blade withdrew from this man he could never forgive.

“Go turn yourself in to the authorities. Confess everything about how you betrayed your brother back then, even though forty years have passed. My not killing you doesn’t mean you’re innocent.” Old Zhang extended three fingers toward him. “Three days. If you haven’t turned yourself in within three days, I will come settle this with you again.”

“All right… I’ll turn myself in.” He let out a breath of relief, slumping to the floor. “But I’m already in my sixties, Xiao Tian—you’ve always had the kindest heart. Can you truly bear to watch me suffer in prison?”

“A’Long died before he even reached thirty. How could you bear that?” Old Zhang turned away, unwilling to look at him any longer. “Three days. That’s the agreement.”

“Yes… yes…” He slowly climbed to his feet and walked toward his bed, shaking his head with a bitter smile as he went. “No wonder I’ve been dreaming so much of the old days lately—dreaming of us training in the mountains, dreaming of our master punishing us to hold up water jars… Xiao Tian, this hasn’t been easy for me either.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, he suddenly pulled a bronze tube from beneath his pillow, pressed it to his lips, aimed it at Old Zhang’s back, and blew hard—a miniature poisoned dart shot out.

Old Zhang shifted his body slightly to the side; the dart embedded itself viciously into the door frame in front of him.

The man once known as Wapian, now Boss Yang, had, in this instant, finally and permanently lost his right to speak.

The cleaver that had once belonged to A’Long swept across his neck like the swiftest gust of wind.

A head that had never once repented finally fell to the floor.

Old Zhang stood frozen for a moment, then slowly rose from where he’d been, walked over to retrieve the cleaver, wiped the blood clean, and finally looked once more at the man lying dead on the ground, eyes still open in disbelief. He sighed. “From now on, I’m the only one left in this world.”

Upon hearing this, Young Master Liu asked bluntly, “So who exactly is the killer here, you or Old Zhang?”

“Does it matter?” the bird ruffled itself.

“It does—if it’s pinned on Old Zhang, the authorities will come for him sooner or later. I hear this case has already been classified a major one; the authorities won’t rest until they catch the culprit.” Young Master Liu stood, glancing out the window at the still-deep night. “You two had better either flee quickly, or take your chances waiting to be caught.”

The bird tilted its head, watching Young Master Liu. “You seem to be worried about us.”

“No, no, I just can’t stand the thought of a blade that’s chopped off a human head hanging around my kitchen every day,” Young Master Liu said seriously. “Doesn’t it disgust even you?”

The bird suddenly grinned. “You are worried about us.”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, little demon.” Young Master Liu turned and rummaged through the kitchen, finally finding a cold steamed bun which he clamped between his teeth, then waved a hand at it and headed for the kitchen door.

“What kind of demon are you, exactly?” the bird called after him.

He turned back, spat out the bun, and hissed, baring sharp, serpentine fangs. “A demon that could definitely eat you, that’s what.”

“You’re a wolf?” The bird’s eyes went wide.

“Wolf fangs could never be as beautiful as my snake fangs!” Young Master Liu blurted out.

“Oh, so you’re a snake demon!” the bird said happily. “What an honor to meet you in this kitchen. You have no idea—it’s been years since I’ve been able to talk to someone this comfortably. The moment I saw you, I knew you were someone I could speak freely with.”

“No, no, just pretend you never met me. If I weren’t half-starved out of my mind, why would I have wasted so much time listening to your long-winded story? I’ve never had any interest in other people’s business. Sort your own troubles out.” He turned to leave, then suddenly stopped. “Wait, A’Long died forty years ago—you should have been freed from that cleaver and regained your freedom ages ago!”

He turned back; the bird still perched on the counter, tilting its head foolishly. “That’s right, I could have left long ago.”

It paused, then continued, “But I can never forget the days I spent with them. Their youth, all their joys and sorrows—it feels as though they became mine too. I wanted to keep watch, though I couldn’t even say exactly what it is I’m keeping watch over.”

Young Master Liu was silent for a moment, then said, “Then keep being a kitchen cleaver, I suppose. That way Old Zhang will at least have a blade by his side.”

“Sure.” The bird lifted its head, calling after his retreating back. “Don’t go telling anyone about tonight, all right?”

“I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” Young Master Liu waved a hand. “We’ll never meet again.”

Most encounters in this world come easily enough, but staying together without ever saying goodbye is far harder to manage. Since fate had brought them together, perhaps it was better to simply remain that way.

With this thought, Young Master Liu walked out of the kitchen.

But the moment he stepped outside, a hand yanked him aside, another clamping over his mouth.

Tao Yao, looking thoroughly furtive, shushed him urgently.

He pulled her hand away, furious. “What are you doing awake in the middle of the night?!”

“You’re out sneaking food too!” Tao Yao gestured toward the kitchen with her chin. “A Longque, no less!”

“What are you thinking?” he asked warily.

Tao Yao rubbed her hands together. “You have no idea how valuable this kind of demon is! Capture it, seal it into a weapon, and you’d have a rare divine artifact—capable of speeds many times faster than an ordinary blade! Someone like me, with no martial skill at all, if I had a Longque blade in hand, I might even become the leader of the entire martial world!”

“Wake up, it’s not even dawn yet.” Young Master Liu shot her a glare. “Whatever the case, give up on that creature in there. If you try anything against it, I’ll go disfigure Si Kuanglan.”

Tao Yao’s eyelids drooped. “Why is Si Kuanglan suddenly part of this conversation?”

“Heh, every time you see him, you practically drool like an idiot. You think I’m blind?” Young Master Liu sneered.

“Was it that obvious?” Tao Yao poked her own fingers together. “I thought I’d been quite subtle.”

“Come on, let’s go, back to bed.”

“I haven’t even found anything to eat yet!”

“Eat my foot, don’t you know eating at night makes you fat? You’re already unattractive enough—if you get any fatter, even I’ll start finding you distasteful!”

“Then at least let me take one more look at the Longque—there aren’t many of that kind left.”

“No looking. Just pretend you know nothing about any of this!”

Outside the kitchen, Tao Yao was forcibly dragged away by Young Master Liu.

Inside the Si residence, all remained still and silent. Not a single sleeping soul knew what had transpired in the kitchen that night.

Three days later, officials arrived at the Si residence, with Magistrate Shen personally in attendance, demanding the arrest of the Si household’s head cook, Zhang Tian.

Si Kuanglan said coolly, “People of the Si household are not simply taken as one pleases.”

“Second Young Master, Zhang Tian is the prime suspect in the Xingxiangzhai case. Please don’t make this difficult for us,” Magistrate Shen said, clasping his hands respectfully.

“It’s not I who’s making this difficult for you—it’s simply that this Zhang Tian resigned and departed just yesterday. I’d be glad to assist, but there’s little I can do.” Si Kuanglan turned slightly. “If Magistrate Shen doesn’t believe me, you’re welcome to search my residence. If I’ve spoken a single false word, I’ll gladly return with you to the magistrate’s office to accept punishment.”

Magistrate Shen frowned, considering this for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. Given what the Second Young Master says, and given the Si household’s standing and reputation, I trust of course that you would harbor no intent to shield a criminal. There’s no need for a search. Apologies for the disturbance.”

With that, the group departed, looking rather put out.

Seeing this, Steward Miao stepped forward to speak to Si Kuanglan. “Strange, isn’t it—this Magistrate Shen is famously known as ‘Slow Shen the Third,’ slow to eat, slow to walk, slow to catch criminals, yet this time he moved with such speed, and came straight to our door with such confidence besides. Given that he’s never had any dealings with our household, he wouldn’t dare provoke us without cause—for him to come knocking today, he must have solid evidence in hand. And yet, thinking it over, none of this matches his usual style at all.”

Si Kuanglan said coldly, “Perhaps whoever moved this quickly wasn’t Magistrate Shen at all.”

“You mean… someone skilled is guiding Magistrate Shen from behind the scenes?”

Si Kuanglan smiled but said nothing, sitting back down to pick up his unfinished military treatise. “How’s Si Jingyuan doing over there? Still causing trouble?”

“The eldest young master has been remarkably well-behaved these past two days, quite eagerly having the maids teach him embroidery…”

Si Kuanglan coughed twice, his expression unchanged. “Good. Let him embroider to his heart’s content.”

“Yes, sir.”

Si Kuanglan hadn’t lied to Magistrate Shen—Old Zhang had indeed left early the previous morning.

Young Master Liu could vouch for this, since he’d even seen him off partway.

Outside the city gates, Old Zhang told him to stop there.

“Where are you headed?” Young Master Liu asked.

“Wherever the road takes me, I suppose. Maybe down south for a while.” Old Zhang pulled a piece of paper from his robe. “I left in a hurry this time—didn’t have the chance to finish teaching you the dishes I’d promised. This is a recipe I wrote out, with all the details on how to prepare various things. Take a look when you have time.”

He accepted it, asking a question he already knew the answer to: “Why the sudden departure?”

Old Zhang smiled. “If I told you I’ve killed someone, and I’m traveling far to escape the consequences, would you believe me?”

“I believe you,” Young Master Liu said, smiling as well. “Then I wish you good luck on the road, and hope you’re never caught.”

“Haha, good, I’ll take that blessing.” Old Zhang laughed heartily, then pulled a flask of wine from his pack, took a swig himself, and passed it to Young Master Liu. “You and I haven’t known each other long, but teaching you to cook counts for something of a master-disciple bond between us. Who knows when we’ll meet again after this parting—one drink, and let’s call our fated bond complete.”

Had it been anyone else, Young Master Liu would certainly have grimaced and refused to drink after someone else’s mouth. But today, without hesitation, he took the flask and drank a large mouthful.

Old Zhang, pleased, clapped him on the shoulder. “Good lad. Keep working hard at the Si residence from now on—I can tell you’re a clever one. Someday you’ll cook the finest food in the world.”

I’m far older than you, in truth—who’s really the “lad” here… Young Master Liu thought to himself, but smiled and said, “I’ll take that blessing too, then.”

As Old Zhang departed, a bit of sunlight finally managed to break through the clouds.

“One more cup of wine, my friend, I urge—beyond Yang Pass to the west, no old friends remain”—this seemed a moment that called for a drink.

Old Zhang’s wine was strong; Young Master Liu smacked his lips, still feeling the warmth and burn lingering on his tongue and lips.

The Longque poked its head out from the pack, flapping its wings at him, then transformed back into the cleaver, continuing to accompany this old man, now well into his twilight years, to the ends of the earth.

He recalled what the Longque had said that night—but I can never forget the days I spent with them. Their youth, all their joys and sorrows—it feels as though they became mine too. I wanted to keep watch.

Then keep watching, he thought. That way, even beyond Yang Pass to the west, there would still be an old friend after all. He smiled and turned to head back.

As for the Longque, Tao Yao said the Compendium of a Hundred Demons described it this way: at the far western edge of the world, beyond the clouds, dwells the Longque—bird-like, wind-like, said to be born of the first wind. Though a demon, its nature is gentle and benevolent, fond of wandering the vastness. Only gold, silver, and iron can seal it. A blade housing a Longque within gains wind-like speed, a treasure among weapons.

Too bad the Compendium of a Hundred Demons never mentioned that there also existed a Longque willing to give up its freedom, just to keep an old man company.

Young Master Liu took a deep breath and quickened his pace. From today onward, the kitchen would be his battlefield alone! He would show them all what he was truly capable of! Just wait and see!