Prologue

Among demons, it was a wandering knight—the best friend I ever met in my life.

1

“Second Young Master, what did you say?”

Madam Xiao stared at Si Kuanglan in disbelief, her usually gentle voice rising several notches. The servants in the hall exchanged glances, and the atmosphere suddenly tensed.

“This trouble in your household, I am unable to help. Please seek someone more capable, madam.” Si Kuanglan repeated himself patiently once more, then turned to leave.

Tao Yao hurried to follow, not forgetting to give Madam Xiao a sympathetic, apologetic smile.

“Second Young Master! Weren’t we in perfect agreement this morning?” Madam Xiao could hardly let him go. Abandoning all sense of decorum, she rushed in front of him and threw out both arms to block his path, her eyes red with urgency. “You’ve only just returned—how can you simply walk away now?”

Si Kuanglan said coldly, “Please let me pass, madam.”

“If not you, then where else would I find someone more capable?!” Madam Xiao dropped to her knees with a thud, nearly clutching at his legs. “If even you cannot resolve this, what else can I possibly do? I might as well dash my head against a wall and be done with it.”

Tao Yao quickly cut in, “Madam, you mustn’t think of ending your life like that. If something happened to you, wouldn’t Old Master Xiao be even worse off?”

It was hard to tell whether she was comforting the woman or fanning the flames…

Madam Xiao’s tears fell freely, her voice choked. “Second Young Master, was our hospitality lacking somehow? Or did we offend you two in some way?”

Tao Yao glanced at Si Kuanglan—faced with such pitiful pleading, this man didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow. Steady as an old dog, as always.

“Please rise, madam.” Si Kuanglan’s expression remained cold. “It’s hard to talk while kneeling.”

Hearing a hint of softening, Madam Xiao didn’t dare defy him and quickly got to her feet.

Si Kuanglan finally allowed himself a small smile. “Does madam know what a physician fears most when diagnosing an illness?”

Not getting paid! Tao Yao mentally raised her hand to answer.

Madam Xiao froze, terrified her answer might not satisfy him, and after a long moment said, “A misdiagnosis?”

Si Kuanglan shook his head. “What we fear most is a patient who won’t tell the truth.”

Madam Xiao froze again.

Si Kuanglan stepped half a pace closer and murmured near her ear, “The ‘female ghost in red’ that appears in your nightmares, madam—do you truly not recognize her?”

Madam Xiao’s mouth fell slightly open in shock, unsure how to respond.

Si Kuanglan straightened and cupped his hands toward her. “Farewell.” With that, he stepped around her and walked on.

“No helping it, that’s just my young master’s temper. No one ever knows what will set him off or when—please bear with him!” Tao Yao shrugged, then added quietly, “You’d best think of another way soon. Old Master Xiao doesn’t look like he can hold on much longer—oh, what a shame.”

Madam Xiao watched their retreating backs helplessly, her tightly clenched hands finally loosening in defeat. She called out, “Second Young Master, please wait—might I say one more thing?”

Si Kuanglan stopped.

Madam Xiao let out a small breath of relief and stepped forward. “Please, come with me.”

The two were led to a room resembling a study. She dismissed all the servants around her, personally locked the door, and after confirming there were no other ears within or without, finally invited them to sit.

Si Kuanglan lifted his tea and blew on it, waiting patiently for her to speak.

Tao Yao busied herself grabbing pastries from the plate, preparing to watch a good show unfold.

Madam Xiao sat across from them, twisting her sleeves between her fingers, her expression deeply troubled. The words she could never bring herself to say were buried in her heart like a knife, as though speaking them aloud would cause rivers of blood to flow.

Si Kuanglan sipped his tea. Tao Yao’s cheeks were already puffed full of pastry. Madam Xiao was still twisting her sleeves.

“Time is limited, madam. Consider carefully.” Si Kuanglan set down his teacup.

Madam Xiao took a deep breath and said, in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s, “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened in the Xiao household.”

Si Kuanglan raised his hand slightly. “Please, go on.”

Tao Yao hastily swallowed the pastry in her mouth, terrified of missing a single word.

“Ten years ago…” Madam Xiao said with great difficulty, “Xiao’An, only two years old at the time—my husband’s only son—changed overnight.”

Tao Yao blurted out, “The young master’s face split in half too?”

“No, not that.” Madam Xiao shook her head. “Xiao’An’s entire face changed into that of a completely different child, as if someone had forced an unfamiliar face onto him.” Madam Xiao unconsciously pressed a hand to her chest, her expression a mix of sorrow and confusion. “I still remember that child’s face to this day—very lovable, with a cinnabar mole between the brows. But it wasn’t Xiao’An’s face at all!”

“That cinnabar mole again…” Tao Yao muttered.

“How did Old Master Xiao react?” Si Kuanglan asked.

Madam Xiao’s eyes shifted, and after a long hesitation she gritted her teeth and said, “The moment my husband saw Xiao’An like that, he was naturally more shocked than anyone. And beyond the shock, he showed a kind of anger, a kind of loathing he rarely displayed—it was as if he’d become a different person. I thought he would at least send for someone to treat Xiao’An, but instead…” She truly couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“What happened?” Tao Yao pressed. “You have to say it now, no matter how much you don’t want to!”

Madam Xiao unconsciously clutched at her chest, and after a long while finally worked up the courage to say, “The day after it happened to Xiao’An… he disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. When I asked my husband, he struck me hard across the face. He said Xiao’An was never truly his child at all, just a demon spawn, and that anyone who dared ask about it or speak of it again would become his enemy, and he would show no mercy. Not even me…” She touched her own face, as though the pain of that slap still lingered. “In all our years of marriage, he had never once spoken a harsh word to me.”

“He wouldn’t have thrown the child away, would he?” Half of Tao Yao’s pastry fell right out of her mouth. “Wasn’t that his own son!”

Madam Xiao wiped her tears. “My husband was so uncharacteristically resolute about it that I, a mere woman, truly didn’t dare press further. But my personal maid told me quietly that on the very day Xiao’An disappeared, she happened to see two unfamiliar servants carrying a chest out of the household in secret.” She sighed several times before continuing, “Everyone in the household who knew of this understood that my husband was decisive and always followed through on what he said, so no one dared defy him, no one dared say a word more. Afterward, my husband told everyone outside that Xiao’An had died of illness, and from then on no one ever spoke of the child again, as though he’d never existed in this world at all.” She paused, then pressed her palms together. “All I can do is pray to Heaven that the child’s life was spared.”

A group of people with eyes who chose to see nothing—what right did they have to pray to Heaven for anything… Tao Yao sneered inwardly, then glanced at Si Kuanglan with a look that clearly asked, “Are we really still going to help someone like this?”

But Si Kuanglan remained impassive, as calm as if he were simply hearing about what someone had eaten for dinner the night before. “And the boy’s birth mother?”

Madam Xiao seemed to have been struck by another old wound. “After what happened to Xiao’An, A’Fei—Xiao’An’s birth mother—was placed under house confinement by my husband. He said he never should have taken her into the household, that she’d given birth to a demon spawn. Suffering such a calamity, A’Fei cried and screamed in her room day after day, refusing to eat or drink, and before long she’d descended into madness, and not long after that she hanged herself.” She lowered her head. “A’Fei was a well-behaved, good woman. She and I got along quite well in ordinary times, and she treated Xiao’An as her own. I don’t know what sin was committed, but in the span of a single day and night, they were all gone.”

“And no word of the young master since?” Si Kuanglan asked.

Madam Xiao shook her head. “None. Everyone believes Xiao’An died of illness. In the ten years since, my husband has thrown himself entirely into business, and his reputation and fortune have only grown. I once urged him to take another wife—the Xiao family couldn’t be left without an heir—but he was quite averse to the idea, saying what if another ‘demon spawn’ were born. I had no choice but to let the matter drop. Everything is fate, I suppose. Perhaps it was destined that only the two of us would grow old together, and I’ve had to accept it. Who could have known that now, my husband would suffer such a fate himself… my heart truly feels as though it’s shattering into pieces.”

Isn’t this exactly what karma looks like, Tao Yao sneered inwardly again, then asked her, “This ‘female ghost’ in your nightmares—could it be the second wife?”

She nodded weakly. “It is indeed A’Fei. Her skin was fair as snow, she was skilled in song and dance, and in life she always loved wearing red—she was graceful and lovely. Even my husband once praised her, saying she moved as gracefully as a red fish. I couldn’t be mistaken.” She looked up, apologetic. “I didn’t tell you before… because that matter from ten years ago is truly not something I could bring myself to speak of lightly.”

“So you’ve all been assuming it’s the second wife’s ‘vengeful spirit at work,’ come to take revenge on you?” Tao Yao frowned.

“I couldn’t think of any other reason,” Madam Xiao said. “After all, Xiao’An was her own son.”

Tao Yao snorted through her nose. “If she wanted revenge, she’d have taken it years ago, why wait ten years…” As she spoke, a thought flashed through her mind, and certain suspicions of hers grew more solid.

“Alright, I understand now.” Si Kuanglan stood up.

“Second Young Master…” Madam Xiao stood up nervously too. “I’ve told you everything I know, with nothing held back. Please don’t just walk away again!”

Si Kuanglan smiled.

2

The people of the Xiao household had never seen their mistress so undignified.

She had truly clung to the Si family’s second young master’s legs, tears and sobs pouring out as she begged him to stay and help, only to be forcibly pulled away by the red-clad little servant girl beside him. That girl had even advised her not to waste any more effort—her young master had said he wouldn’t get involved, and that was final, no amount of payment would change his mind. Continuing to cling to him would only look worse.

In the end, everyone watched helplessly as the two of them left Madam Xiao behind and walked out of the Xiao residence without a moment’s hesitation, leaving only a trail of despairing sobs in their wake.

Steward Xu and the maid Lan’er hurried forward to support her. Lan’er said sympathetically, “Madam, there was no need to beg them like that. Who’s to say they aren’t the same as the others, with no real ability at all.”

Old Xu agreed, “Indeed, madam, please don’t panic. I’ll go find some more capable people right away.”

The two guards, Hu Daniu and Zhang Sheng, muttered indignantly behind them, saying they’d never seen such arrogant people before, wishing they could give Si Kuanglan and Tao Yao a good beating—if only they weren’t afraid of losing…

By evening, the weather turned even colder. The attendant boy Little Fu brought over a cloak, urging Madam Xiao to take care of her health no matter what, lest she catch a chill on top of everything else.

But Madam Xiao wouldn’t listen to anyone’s advice. She pulled her hand from Lan’er’s grasp, refusing to let any of them follow her, saying only that she needed to be alone in the Buddhist hall to calm her mind, and that no one should disturb her tonight.

Everyone let out a collective sigh.

After dark, the snow grew heavier, and the entire Xiao residence sat dim and lifeless, its lamps flickering out one by one.

The guards stationed outside the side courtyard rubbed their hands together against the cold, grumbling to themselves about when the food would finally arrive—hungry and freezing both.

After a good while’s wait, two figures finally appeared in the distance, carrying meal boxes—it was Lan’er and Little Fu, who had been responsible for bringing food to the guards these past days.

The guards took the food and asked between bites, “Heard the people madam brought in all ran off?” They tilted their heads toward the courtyard and lowered their voices. “Those three masters got beaten off just this morning, and now even the ones who beat them off have run away too. What are we supposed to do?”

Lan’er frowned and scolded them, “Just eat your food. This matter is for madam to decide. All you need to do is guard the courtyard gate properly.”

“It’s not that… we’re scared too, being stationed here! It’s not like we don’t know what the old master looks like now…”

“Don’t say another word! Whatever the old master looks like, you’re still to guard this place properly!” Lan’er glared at them. “And another thing—madam has said no one is to discuss the old master’s condition in private, on pain of household punishment. Watch your own hides!”

“We’re just talking amongst ourselves…” the guard said, aggrieved, but couldn’t help continuing anyway, in a lower voice, “Our old master’s never exactly been a saint in ordinary times either, offended plenty of people—who’s to say he didn’t run afoul of some powerful figure and get cursed for it.”

“Enough!!” Lan’er grabbed half a steamed bun and shoved it into his mouth, then glanced once more into the pitch-black courtyard, sighing, at a loss for what to say.

“Sister Lan’er, should we still bring the food in?” Little Fu asked, shoulders hunched, hesitating as he looked down at the food box in his hands. “Can the old master… even eat anymore?”

“Of course we still bring it.” Lan’er looked at this normally efficient child. “Are you… scared?”

Little Fu said nothing.

Everyone knew that Madam Xiao had always treated them generously, regarding them as her true confidants. Only they knew what Old Master Xiao now looked like. Madam Xiao had ordered that no one else in the household be allowed near the side courtyard, and told outsiders that Old Master Xiao had contracted a serious, contagious illness. So ever since it happened, all the daily matters of the side courtyard had fallen to this small group to handle. But even with how well Madam Xiao treated them, it was hard not to be frightened by Old Master Xiao’s terrifying appearance, especially for a timid child like Little Fu. After moving into the side courtyard, Old Master Xiao had grown deeply afraid of seeing anyone, sometimes even unable to bear Madam Xiao’s presence—only Little Fu seemed to frighten him a little less, so these past days it had fallen to him to bring the meals. In the first few days, Old Master Xiao could still manage to eat a little, but as time went on, his mind grew ever more confused, seeing ghosts in everyone he looked at, refusing food, and smashing bowls and plates to pieces. Every time Little Fu came out from delivering a meal, he did so with heavy sighs.

“Should I come with you?” Lan’er offered, though her voice lacked much conviction—she too was afraid to step into that dark room.

Little Fu shook his head. “No need. This is simply my duty.”

With that, he took a deep breath and stepped through the courtyard gate.

Only the sound of howling wind filled his ears, cutting at his face like a small blade. Old Master Xiao’s room drew closer and closer, each window like a bottomless eye staring eerily at whoever approached.

Little Fu stopped before the door. Behind him, the wind and snow wove into a tangled mess of lines. On his face, reddened by the cold, the hesitation and fear from moments ago gradually faded away.

He pushed the door open and, following the faint glow of the oil lamp, made his way skillfully to where Old Master Xiao sat.

“My lord, time to eat,” he said, crouching before Old Master Xiao and taking the dishes out of the food box one by one. “Today there’s your favorite—sweet and sour carp.”

Beneath the blanket, Old Master Xiao remained wrapped tight, refusing to so much as poke his head out, trembling nonstop from the moment he’d heard someone enter.

“Please eat at least a little.” Little Fu held the plate up toward the blanket, his expression like a nagging old woman. “How wonderful it is to be able to eat—you should cherish it. In a few more days, you may not even be able to eat anymore, no matter how much you want to. But don’t worry, you won’t starve even if you don’t eat. You’ll still have to live, looking exactly like this, forever.” In the wavering dim light, his face looked less and less like a child’s, a cold smile creeping onto his lips. “No one can bring you back.”

Beneath the blanket, the figure trembled even harder.

“Truly don’t want to eat?” He sniffed at the plate of sweet and sour carp, then set it down. “What a pity.”

With that, he leaned in closer, extended his left hand, and frowned slightly as a wisp of gray mist billowed out from his eyes, coiling vine-like around his left arm before sliding swiftly toward his index finger, finally emerging from the fingertip as a thin, poison-tipped “needle” glowing faintly gray.

He smiled, then decisively raised his left hand, aiming the poisoned needle on his finger straight at Old Master Xiao’s head, and stabbed down viciously.

Just as quick, a small white hand shot out from beneath the blanket like lightning, seizing his wrist in an iron grip the instant the needle came down.

The thick blanket slid away, revealing Tao Yao’s grinning face. “I don’t like fish.”

Little Fu’s expression changed drastically. “You…”

In the instant his mouth fell open in shock, a white pill she’d prepared in advance was flicked precisely into his mouth. Tao Yao immediately reached up to cup his chin shut, then struck him across the forehead with her palm and shouted, “Come out!”

A sudden gust swept across Little Fu’s body, and he was thrown backward involuntarily. An inconspicuous gray shadow dropped from his back—and vanished instantly.

Gone? Tao Yao’s brow furrowed.

Little Fu had already fainted. Aside from Tao Yao’s slow breathing, no other sound stirred in the room.

Suddenly, the vase on the cabinet toppled to the ground with no external force, and then the door curtain began to sway, and the tightly shut door itself was knocked open a crack, as though something had fled out in a panic.

“This is bad…” Tao Yao knew something was wrong and hurried after it.

But the moment she rushed out the door, she crashed straight into someone’s back.

Si Kuanglan stood as steady as a stone statue on the steps, the blood sword in his hand not yet sheathed, its brilliant white blade still burning with a faint crimson glow.

Tao Yao clutched her aching nose and peeked out from behind him, only to see, diagonally across from them, a short tree scattered all over with freshly fallen broken branches and torn leaves. A small gray-green flower bearing a human face lay there feebly, dragging a thin flower stem that had been half severed. Not far from it, though nothing visible could be seen, the broken branches shook and rattled as though something invisible were pressing down on them.

“You lead the charge, I clean up after.” Si Kuanglan sheathed his sword and glanced at Tao Yao. “Lucky for you I was here to clean up.”

Tao Yao stepped forward, examining the demon that had nearly slipped from her grasp. “This time I was just a little bit careless. Just a little.” With that, she rummaged through her cloth pouch and pulled out a green pill, pinching it between two fingers until it crumbled into a small galaxy of sparkling dust floating above her palm, dazzling and beautiful.

Si Kuanglan watched the wondrous sight in her palm without changing expression. “Something this pretty must be poison, I’d wager.”

“I wish it were poison.” Tao Yao snorted and swept her hand outward, sending the little galaxy scattering swiftly through the air like tossed sand, settling entirely over the broken branches beside the demon.

Soon, something shaped like an egg with limbs, two fin-like wings sprouting from its back, began to emerge gradually from within that scattered starlight. It appeared to be injured, writhing weakly atop the broken branches.

There was a second demon after all?!

Tao Yao crouched down, brow furrowing once more, staring for a long while at the demon that had only become visible thanks to the medicine. Finally she slapped her thigh. “Ah! It’s a Yinyin!!”

Si Kuanglan asked calmly, “Another one?”

“Indeed.” Tao Yao immediately began explaining to him, “This demon is called Yinyin. Born from the primordial chaos of heaven and earth, its origins unknown, its form resembling nothingness, achieving its ends through clever schemes. Its true form is said to be egg-born with four limbs and a pair of wings on its back. It can hide itself and hide other demons too, making it extremely difficult to capture.” She scratched her head. “How did these two end up tangled together…”

She picked up the human-face flower and held it carefully in her hand, examining it, muttering, “Fortunately the injury isn’t too severe… it can still hold on for a few more days.” Then she looked up at Si Kuanglan, curious. “Just now even I couldn’t locate their exact position, yet you struck true on your first try. You shouldn’t have been able to see them either.”

“I felt an abnormal current of air pass by, and I saw the branches and leaves on that tree swaying unnaturally. Some things may be difficult to see with the naked eye, but as long as they exist, they will always leave a trace.” Si Kuanglan crouched down beside Tao Yao, looking at the two demons—one in her hand, one on the ground. “Working together?”

“If they weren’t working together, how could the human-face have hidden itself so thoroughly.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “But your sword actually managed to injure a demon. And you struck too hard—if your sword energy had aimed just a bit higher, both their heads might have been sliced clean off.”

Si Kuanglan seemed unconcerned. “Aren’t you a physician who specializes in treating demons? Surely a severed head can be reattached.”

“Reattached my foot! You think it’s a stool leg falling off?” Tao Yao brought the human-face flower closer to herself. The little thing curled up in her palm, eyes shut, teeth gritted, its body trembling with weakness—it was truly hard to associate something this small and pitiful with a vicious, malevolent demon. She then turned her attention to the Yinyin on the ground, casually picking up a twig to poke at its body, hearing it let out a few mosquito-thin groans in response.

Tao Yao set the twig down and smiled. “No wonder the heavens find your kind of stealth-demon so troublesome. You’re even more trouble than a Shuhu—at least those show their true form when injured or dying. You don’t have a shape at all, from birth to death, not even a treasure like the Buddha’s Eye could see through you… if I hadn’t happened to have these pills made from star-phosphor beast bone powder, specifically for breaking through invisibility techniques, I might never have laid eyes on you in this lifetime.”

At first it had still struggled a bit, but now it lay completely still, sprawled out, and after a long moment finally spoke: “Don’t kill it.”

Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “Running so fast a moment ago, and now you’re not running anymore?”

It shifted its body slightly and raised one of its limbs—if you could even call it a hand, more like a round lump sewn onto a length of string—pointing it at Si Kuanglan. “His sword was too vicious. I feel like every bone in my body is shattered.”

“You don’t even have a normal shape, where would you get bones from?” Tao Yao rolled her eyes at it. “You barely took a scratch of sword energy, and with that little bit of skill, you still dare to help other demons hide and abet their wrongdoing.”

“I already warned her. We could ignore any wandering charlatan the Xiao household brought in, but once someone from Taodu—someone truly formidable—showed up, running was the only sensible option. If she’d listened to me, you two would never have had the chance to catch us today.” It sounded rather aggrieved. “This foolish, inexperienced thing doesn’t recognize you, but I certainly do.”

“Knew how formidable I am, knew exactly why we came, and still wouldn’t flee for your life?” Tao Yao looked at the face in her hand and sneered coldly. “Since you don’t recognize me, you probably also don’t know that we of Taodu have always shown no mercy to demons who wound innocents so recklessly.”

Si Kuanglan listened to their exchange, carefully watching every shift in Tao Yao’s expression. During the day she’d been nothing more than a mischievous, food-loving, silly girl who’d fallen asleep drooling in a carriage—yet right now she seemed like an entirely different person. Those eyes that curved like crescent moons when she smiled, once stripped of any true warmth, became a pair of merciless blades, capable of effortlessly stripping the tendons and bones from an enemy.

He had never seen this side of her before, and found himself growing a little more curious about her.

The moment the words “no mercy” left her mouth, Yinyin looked in alarm at the golden bell on Tao Yao’s wrist and shouted anxiously at the human-face, “Say something! Just beg her not to kill you, is that so hard? Once that golden bell rings, there’s no surviving it!”

Tao Yao could clearly feel the demon in her hand trembling even more violently, but it still refused to speak.

For such an insignificant little demon, it seemed to have quite a stubborn streak.

“I’ve treated many demons, and killed many too. What you did to Old Master Xiao—by Taodu’s laws, harming an innocent human carries the death penalty.” Her expression darkened. “You had the bad luck to run into me. Best accept your fate.”

The creature on the ground grew frantic, struggling to sit up, shouting, “If you’re going to die anyway, at least don’t die so pathetically!”

“If you wish to carry out my execution today, I have nothing to say against it. But even if you don’t lay a hand on me, I have only a few more days to live regardless.” The human-face slowly opened its eyes and looked toward Old Master Xiao’s room. “That man—he is not innocent.”

Both Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan froze in surprise.

Just then, a chaotic sound of footsteps came from the distant courtyard gate—it was the steward, carrying a lantern, with a visibly anxious Madam Xiao trailing behind.

Seeing this, Si Kuanglan stood and walked toward them, intercepting them halfway. “Please, madam, wait a moment. Once we’ve handled this matter properly, we’ll explain everything to you.”

Madam Xiao glanced past him, catching only a faint glimpse of Tao Yao crouched under a tree, apparently doing something. Uneasy, she asked, “You had me put on that act during the day—has it worked?”

Si Kuanglan nodded.

Madam Xiao’s face lit up with joy. “Then my husband will fully recover?”

“At the very least, the one who’s been harming him no longer has the ability to continue.” Si Kuanglan, ever cautious with his words, could injure a demon with sword energy, but that hardly meant he had the power to restore Old Master Xiao. Whether he would “fully recover” was still up to fate.

Even with that answer, Madam Xiao felt considerably reassured. Since Si Kuanglan clearly didn’t wish to be disturbed further, she said, “Then I’ll leave everything to Second Young Master. Such a great kindness, I shall never forget it.” With that, she led her people away from the side courtyard, glancing back every few steps.

The courtyard fell quiet once more.

Tao Yao now sat cross-legged beneath the tree, the human-face still lying in her palm. Before her, the Yinyin, “marked” by the star-phosphor beast bone powder and no longer able to conceal its form, sat slumped and dejected, looking like a glowing egg, occasionally coughing pitifully as though trying to elicit sympathy from its deathbed.

“I hear a Yinyin’s fee for hiding a demon isn’t cheap at all,” Tao Yao said, staring at the human-face in her hand, clicking her tongue. “But you don’t look like the type who could afford a high fee, no matter how I look at it.” She smiled. “Why don’t the two of you tell me together how you got mixed up in this scheme of yours?”

Yinyin coughed a few more times, displeased by her description but not daring to say so outright.

“I am no wolf, and it is no jackal,” the human-face said, word by word. “I am nothing more than an ordinary little demon.”

3

It had truly never imagined it would end up “moving house” to Old Feng’s courtyard.

Old Feng had spent the first half of his life brewing wine in a government-run winery, and the title “Wine God” had followed him for half his life, admired by nobility and royalty alike. When he retired, his superiors were most reluctant to let him go, and specially granted him the privilege of “private brewing without penalty,” hoping to still enjoy his fine wine in the future. From then on, Old Feng became a wanderer with a home in every corner of the world, roaming the mountains and rivers, living life on his own terms. Besides his passion for brewing, he was also deeply fond of all manner of flowers and plants, seeking out region-specific varieties wherever he traveled and bringing them back to plant at whatever place he was staying. Once he’d had his fill of a place, he’d give away both the house and the plants and move on to the next, carefree and unburdened. It wasn’t until Old Feng turned sixty that he decided to stop wandering, returned to his hometown, chose this plot of land to build his cottage, and named it “Cloud Beyond Valley.”

It was the only plant Old Feng ever brought back with him—though truthfully, he had always simply thought of it as a plant. He had discovered it a few years earlier on some unnamed wild mountain far away. He’d originally gone looking for a spring in those mountains, but stumbled instead upon a translucent green flower bud growing on a branch beside the spring. It wasn’t its blooming season then, but it caught Old Feng’s eye all the same. He followed its stem and dug it out of the earth to bring back with him. Knowing it had a climbing nature, he planted it together with a cluster of gardenias, remarking on how unusual the flower was—that even someone as knowledgeable about plants as himself couldn’t identify it. From then on he looked forward eagerly to seeing it bloom, tending it with great care, and eventually carrying it all the way back to Cloud Beyond Valley.

Unfortunately, it simply refused to bloom, remaining in bud form indefinitely, keeping a low profile among the gardenia leaves.

Old Feng tried every method he could think of—adding water, adding fertilizer, exhausting every folk remedy, even speaking kindly to it—but nothing moved it in the slightest.

Whenever it heard Old Feng begging it to bloom, it wanted to laugh at his ignorance. It was a flower, and it was also a demon—a human-face flower blooms once every ten years. When he’d found it, its blooming period had only just passed. If he wanted to see its full glory, he’d simply have to wait ten years, patiently.

Old Feng, of course, had no idea he’d brought a demon home with him. No matter how much it refused to bloom, he still treasured this little thing, convinced it must be his own care that was lacking, going so far as to collect morning dew to water it with. On clear moonlit nights, he’d even turn it specially toward the moonlight, saying that unusual flowers and grasses always needed to absorb a bit of the sun and moon’s essence to grow well.

Yes, for many years, the one Old Feng spoke to most was it.

He told it everything—new brewing methods he’d found in ancient texts, quarrels he’d witnessed between people at the market, which lotus had bloomed where, even his own stomachaches and bouts of diarrhea…

Days passed by, neither rich nor bland. Though it could have gotten by well enough on its own, Old Feng’s care was rather pleasant too—morning dew really did taste better than rainwater… And gradually it came to realize that from the moment it arrived by Old Feng’s side, he had always lived alone, no wife, no children, no friends. Every day, aside from eating, sleeping, and writing down his brewing notes, he spent his time tending the flowers and plants in the courtyard, or taking walks outside, or fishing. Plenty of people came to visit him, but only ever to beg for his wine or to ask him to take them on as students. He always sent them off politely, then quietly complained to it afterward about how much he’d disliked so-and-so.

Through spring, summer, autumn, and winter, it grew accustomed to watching Old Feng leave alone and return alone, thinking to itself, just live well—ten years wasn’t really that long, it should be able to wait until its blooming time came.

In the third year of settling at Cloud Beyond Valley, Old Feng finally wasn’t alone anymore—not through marriage, but through taking on disciples. He took two: one named Xiao Yuanxin, the other Fang Heyu.

It watched these two young men kowtow to Old Feng, offer him tea, call him master, and settle in to live at Cloud Beyond Valley.

The once-quiet days suddenly grew much livelier.

Every day it could hear the sound of recitation drifting from the window, the young men holding the books Old Feng had given them, not daring to mispronounce a single word, while Old Feng sat nearby with a switch in hand—the moment he heard a mistake, the switch would come down lightly, not too hard, on their bodies.

What they recited and memorized was all about brewing, the crystallized essence of Old Feng’s lifetime of effort.

After a period of careful instruction, he had them start with the simplest wines, recording every step of the brewing process, then reviewing their gains and losses, until every step was perfected before moving on to more complex goals.

During that time, it spent its days and nights steeped in all manner of wine aromas.

On holidays and festivals, Fang Heyu’s mother would also come visit Cloud Beyond Valley, bringing homemade food or new clothes, but she never dared stay too long, afraid of disturbing Old Feng. Each time she left, she would repeatedly urge her son to study hard under Old Feng, saying that being accepted as his disciple was an enormous stroke of fortune.

Both disciples progressed quickly, and within just two years they had already learned half of Old Feng’s craft. Several wineries had even taken notice, wanting to recruit them.

But Old Feng turned them all down, telling the wineries that the two children weren’t ready yet, politely declining every offer.

Around that time, after Old Feng had fallen asleep, it saw Xiao Yuanxin, wine gourd in hand, pull his junior disciple out to the courtyard and say, tipsy, that their master was being too modest—what did he mean, not ready yet? With their current skill, aside from their master himself, who else in the world could brew wine better than them? He then went on lamenting for a good while about all the generous terms those wineries had offered.

Fang Heyu, the younger disciple, was a rather quiet young man in ordinary times, doing exactly as Old Feng instructed and, if he failed once, trying again until his master was satisfied. Hearing his senior brother’s complaints, he only laughed sheepishly and urged him to drink less, saying their master surely had his reasons—he’d spent his whole life brewing wine, while the two of them had only studied for a few years, still a long way from graduating. Besides, being accepted as their master’s disciples was already an unparalleled stroke of luck, and getting to keep learning from him was something to be grateful for, not impatient about.

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanxin knocked on his junior brother’s head. “Wooden head, no point explaining anything to you.”

Fang Heyu just rubbed his head and laughed sheepishly.

As it saw things, the two brothers had always gotten along well. Whenever the playful Xiao Yuanxin snuck back from outside, he never forgot to bring Fang Heyu some treat or trinket, and the two of them often ran off together outside Cloud Beyond Valley to catch fish and shrimp, lying in the grass under the sun, chatting about their future ambitions. Old Feng would test them periodically, and however many questions they got wrong, that many sticks of incense they’d have to kneel through. When Xiao Yuanxin couldn’t answer, Fang Heyu would secretly toss him a little paper ball with the answer.

One night, fragrant with the scent of osmanthus blossoms, Old Feng, drinking as he spoke to it, said he’d found these two boys by pure chance—both from humble backgrounds, one an orphan raised by relatives, the other with only a widowed mother left. If the two of them could achieve something through his guidance, that alone would be a fine thing. Besides, he said, he was getting older, and if he suddenly passed one day, who would water and fertilize you then?

It listened quietly to his ramblings, as always.

Yuanxin had exceptional talent, but his temperament was unstable, too eager for quick success—without more tempering, he might never amount to much. Heyu, though not as clever as his senior brother, was fortunately honest and steady, sincere in his dealings with others, and while diligence might make up for a lack of natural talent, he could inherit my mantle and take good care of Cloud Beyond Valley for years to come… sigh, when will you ever bloom—that was what Old Feng told it that night, before drifting off drunk.

It thought to itself, wait three more years then. On the day of your sixtieth birthday three years from now, that will be the day I bloom.

If Old Feng had known his own birthday coincided with its “birthday,” he’d probably have been even happier. Perhaps that was what people called fate.

Not long after, one day it saw Old Feng send Xiao Yuanxin off to the market on an errand, then solemnly hand a leather-bound notebook to Fang Heyu, saying that what was recorded in this notebook was the essence of all essences—whether he could become an even greater brewer than himself depended entirely on whether he could fully absorb what was written within.

Fang Heyu was somewhat surprised, and asked why he’d chosen to give this to him while his senior brother was away.

Old Feng laughed and said it was because he was slower-witted—his senior brother was clever enough to figure things out on his own eventually, so he should just keep this safe for now.

Oh… he carefully clutched the notebook to his chest.

How strange—that a master would favor the slower disciple more?

It wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it yet. It would wait until it bloomed.

But Old Feng never made it to those three years. In the eighth winter after it arrived at Cloud Beyond Valley, Old Feng passed away, and it happened to be exactly his birthday.

He’d had a freshly opened jar of fruit wine, let out a satisfied hiccup, and drifted off to sleep smiling, never to wake again. He went peacefully.

He’d arranged his affairs long ago, saying that if he passed, he wanted to be buried on the slope facing Cloud Beyond Valley, with his tombstone angled to face the house, so he could always watch over his home.

The day Old Feng was carried away, it couldn’t quite tell whether it felt sad or not—it only knew that from then on, no one would give it dew to drink anymore, and no one would ramble on about their ordinary yet fascinating life. It was a demon, born to live vastly longer than any human, and the years it had spent with Old Feng were far too short—too short to properly grieve over.

After that, Cloud Beyond Valley was left with only the two brothers.

Fang Heyu continued just as he had while Old Feng was alive, rising promptly every day, studying various related texts and the notebooks Old Feng had left behind, carefully recording every detail of the brewing process. Washing dishes and cooking fell to him, as did sweeping the courtyard and tending the plants—all done conscientiously and properly. Every so often, he would go home to visit his mother. Without Old Feng, Xiao Yuanxin became much freer. Besides occasionally flipping through books at Cloud Beyond Valley, most of his time was spent elsewhere, sometimes disappearing for several days at a stretch. Whenever he returned, he’d reek of wine and meat, and later, of sweet cosmetic powder as well. Every time Fang Heyu saw his senior brother in that state, he would sigh, help the drunken man to bed, and cook him a bowl of stomach-soothing porridge the next morning.

From the brothers’ conversations, it learned that Xiao Yuanxin had decided to accept a lucrative offer from a winery, taking a position as a brewer under the title of “successor to the Wine God,” but Fang Heyu wasn’t entirely in favor of it. He said that winery’s proprietor had a poor reputation, and if their master were still alive, he certainly wouldn’t have permitted it. Xiao Yuanxin dismissed this, calling him too rigid—he couldn’t spend his whole life guarding this run-down house, living an ordinary existence reciting books and watering plants. The whole reason he’d become Old Feng’s disciple was to learn the “Wine God’s” craft and rise above his station, to leave a life of subservience behind for good. Now that he finally could, why shouldn’t he?

Fang Heyu always felt something wasn’t quite right, but he was no match for his senior brother in eloquence, so he could only laugh sheepishly again and say no more.

Afterward, life seemed to continue without much change. Fang Heyu kept steadily to his routine, while Xiao Yuanxin returned to Cloud Beyond Valley less and less, sometimes gone for months at a time. When he did return, his attire was different from before too, like a wealthy young gentleman’s. He would excitedly tell Fang Heyu how splendid his life outside had become, how popular his brewed wine was, and that perhaps it wouldn’t be long before he too, like their master once had, earned the favor of imperial nobility and rose rapidly in status.

Fang Heyu just listened quietly, occasionally murmuring in acknowledgment, though what he privately thought was that while their master had indeed earned the imperial family’s favor, he had only ever loved the green mountains, never the heights of power.

Watching these two brothers grow from boys into young men, it suddenly felt that perhaps Old Feng had been right to give the notebook to Fang Heyu—because he alone thought of nothing but brewing a good jar of wine, nothing else.

Old Feng had wanted to see it bloom, but perhaps, it guessed, he had also hoped those two boys’ futures would bloom just as beautifully.

But not every flower that blooms is beautiful.

It remembered it was late spring that year, the time when Cloud Beyond Valley’s courtyard looked its most beautiful—Fang Heyu had tended every plant and flower there with great care.

By year’s end, it was due to bloom.

That evening, Xiao Yuanxin, who hadn’t returned in a long while, suddenly came back—but not in his usual carefree, spirited manner. He walked with a limp, his lip bruised purple, and the moment he entered he sat down on the stone bench in the courtyard to catch his breath, looking utterly wretched.

Seeing his senior brother like this, Fang Heyu asked in alarm what had happened.

Xiao Yuanxin waved it off, saying it was nothing, just some jealous people causing trouble. As he waved his hand, a heavily scented handkerchief fell from his sleeve—clearly a woman’s belonging. Xiao Yuanxin hurried to pick it up and stuff it back into his sleeve, his expression turning slightly awkward.

“Senior brother, what exactly happened?” Fang Heyu looked at him with concern. He might be slow-witted, but he wasn’t stupid. “Did someone really cause trouble out of jealousy?”

“It’s really nothing, just ran into some shameless scum.” Xiao Yuanxin still refused to tell the truth.

Fang Heyu said nothing, went inside to fetch a bottle of medicine for bruises, and poured him a cup of hot tea. Sitting back down, he said, “Master once told us to support each other, to treat each other like true brothers. If you won’t tell me the truth, I won’t feel at ease.”

Xiao Yuanxin frowned, fell silent for a moment, then said, “It’s… Biqin, from the Xunfang Tower.”

“Xunfang Tower…” Fang Heyu had never been there himself, but he’d heard of its fame—a place countless dissolute young gentlemen lingered endlessly. He looked at his senior brother’s current sorry state and asked, “A fight over a woman’s affections?”

“That lowlife Jin Dajiang is jealous of me!” Xiao Yuanxin suddenly grew furious, slamming the table. “Biqin and I are deeply in love with each other—I intend to buy her freedom! But that Jin Dajiang jumped in and claimed Biqin can only serve him. Who does he think he is! Just because he’s got a bit of stinking money, he actually dared to hit me!”

Fang Heyu frowned, thinking for a moment. “This Jin Dajiang you speak of—is he the young master of the great Jin Escort Agency in the city?”

“You know him too?” Xiao Yuanxin snorted. “Nothing but a reckless brute who only knows how to use his fists.”

“But I’ve heard the Jin family is enormously wealthy, and both he and his father are the fierce, combative type—not people to trifle with,” Fang Heyu advised. “Senior brother, perhaps you shouldn’t go back there anymore. Best to stay safely at Cloud Beyond Valley for a while. Safety comes first.”

But Xiao Yuanxin couldn’t swallow the humiliation. “I insist on buying Biqin’s freedom!”

“Senior brother…”

“Don’t concern yourself with this.”

Xiao Yuanxin got up impatiently and returned to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Fang Heyu sighed.

It thought to itself, if Old Feng were here, all he could do today would be sigh too—the children were grown now, fortune and misfortune left to heaven, no one could control them anymore.

In the courtyard, only the occasional chirp of insects remained, the spring night faintly lonely.

It had thought life would continue on as before, calm and uneventful, even a little boring. It never imagined that just a few days later, it would witness the most tragic scene Cloud Beyond Valley had seen in all its years.

That morning, Xiao Yuanxin rushed out in a hurry, taking his entire savings with him.

By the time Fang Heyu chased after him, he was already gone. He shook his head, muttering to himself, senior brother, please don’t do anything foolish.

Unfortunately, he did exactly that.

Just as darkness fell, Xiao Yuanxin came fleeing back to Cloud Beyond Valley in a panic, not far behind him three fierce-looking men in pursuit, one of them wielding a gleaming knife.

Xiao Yuanxin stumbled into the courtyard. Before Fang Heyu, who’d rushed out at the commotion, could even ask what was happening, the three men had already charged in, seizing Xiao Yuanxin and beating him savagely, his cries of pain unending.

“Stop hitting him!” Fang Heyu rushed forward to pull them off, but his strength was no match for theirs, and he was kicked away hard by one of them, falling heavily to the ground, gasping in pain. But seeing Xiao Yuanxin about to be beaten to death right before his eyes, he had a sudden flash of inspiration and dashed into the kitchen, dumping a large handful of Sichuan pepper powder into a salt jar, then rushed back out with the jar and hurled its contents at the men, who were entirely focused on attacking Xiao Yuanxin. The wind happened to be in his favor, and the three of them were instantly blinded, forced to stop their assault. Seizing the moment, he quickly pulled Xiao Yuanxin—curled up with his head in his hands—free from beneath them, ran him into the house, slammed the door and windows shut, and quickly blew out the lamp.

There was no time to ask what exactly had happened, though it hardly needed asking—it was surely that woman from Xunfang Tower again.

While the three men were still busy rubbing their eyes and sneezing, Fang Heyu hurriedly dragged the table and chairs to barricade the door, then said to Xiao Yuanxin repeatedly, “The hidden passage! Master’s hidden passage!”

The panicked Xiao Yuanxin snapped alert at once, rushing to the wall, grabbing a yellow wine gourd hanging there and yanking it downward.

The floorboards in the corner immediately split apart, revealing a square opening just large enough for one person to pass through.

Old Feng had prepared it specially—not because he had any enemies, but simply because visitors would come and he found it tiresome, not wanting to see anyone. Afraid of being caught if he tried to sneak out the door, he’d simply drop down into the hidden passage and emerge through the waist-high wild grass behind the cottage, slipping away entirely, leaving his two disciples to fend off the guests in his stead.

The two brothers had also snuck out through this passage for mischief when they were younger, several times angering Old Feng so much he threatened to seal it up, but in the end he never did, saying he’d spent so many days digging it himself, he couldn’t bear to destroy his own hard work just because of a couple of little rascals.

Fortunately, Old Feng had left behind this life-saving path.

The moment the passage opened, Xiao Yuanxin scrambled to jump down.

At that moment, the sound of furious pounding against the door had already begun.

Half his head poking out of the passage, Xiao Yuanxin, terrified and pale-faced, was about to call for Fang Heyu to hurry over, but suddenly his expression changed, and his open mouth made no further sound.

At that end, Fang Heyu certainly knew the door, reinforced with furniture as it was, wouldn’t hold for long. Gritting his teeth, he hurried toward the hidden passage.

But when he reached it, he froze in shock—the passage had been shut from the inside.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Just as he was about to turn back to the wall and try the switch again, a loud crash sounded—the door burst open, and the three men charged in furiously.

In the dark room, with the effects of the salt and pepper mixture perhaps not fully dissipated yet, the men, blinded with rage, could only vaguely make out a figure standing by the wall, a shape similar to Xiao Yuanxin’s. The man in the lead, knife in hand, charged forward without a moment’s hesitation, blade raised, roaring, “Anyone who touches what’s mine doesn’t get to live!”

“Stop! I—”

Whoosh!! Fang Heyu’s voice collided with the sound of the blade coming down.

In the darkness, something hot came gushing out, and then came the sound of a body falling heavily to the floor.

“Brother!” The other two rushed over. One of them fumbled to light an oil lamp, and in the gradually growing light, three dumbstruck faces appeared, one of them splattered with blood.

On the ground, Fang Heyu lay motionless, eyes half closed, blood slowly flowing from the deep wound in his neck.

Perhaps in the final moment before death, what he thought of was that he, who had never even fought with another person in his life, was about to die by someone else’s blade. Or perhaps he was thinking that he hadn’t yet finished today’s reading, or wondering whether his senior brother had managed to escape safely…

Who could know? No one knew.

One of the men crouched down, checked for breath, then jerked his hand back sharply, shaking his head at the one holding the knife. “Brother, it’s useless, he’s gone!”

The second man also panicked. “Brother… we killed the wrong person!”

The man with the knife stammered in shock himself. “I… I didn’t know it was him! I don’t even know him!”

The third man stammered too. “Then… brother, do we still go after that other fellow?”

“Go find… find nothing! Let’s move!!” The man with the knife turned and fled, his companions hurrying after him.

In the flickering lamplight, Fang Heyu lay alone on the ground, unmourned.

It floated silently in the air, gazing at Fang Heyu’s face. So a human life truly was this fragile—one blade, and it was gone.

It settled onto his body and murmured, “I am a human-face, not a particularly useful demon. I bloom once every ten years, and only when I bloom do I gain any real demonic power. On ordinary days, aside from sleeping among the gardenia leaves, I mostly just listen to your master’s rambling. Sometimes my soul leaves my body and I float around your dwelling, taking a look here and there, though even that has its limits—I can only drift within seven zhang of my true body.” It paused, looking at his unchanging face, and continued, “You humans, of course, cannot see me like this, nor hear my words, but I still want to say this to you—just in case you meet Old Feng down there, you must tell him, it’s not that I didn’t want to save you, it’s that I truly had no ability to do so. I don’t want him scolding me for being ungrateful, drinking the dew he worked so hard to gather for me, yet unable to save even the disciple he loved most.”

With that, it drifted back up into the air, out the door, and returned to its true body.

It felt it shouldn’t have any emotions at all. It was merely an onlooker in Old Feng’s courtyard, a demon. Xiao Yuanxin, Fang Heyu—it had no real bond with either of them. The lives and deaths of humans were none of its concern. Tonight it would sleep, and tomorrow morning would be just another peaceful day.

It decided to sleep, and pretend nothing had happened.

But that night, sleep never came easily…

4

Not long after, the perpetrator was arrested by the authorities.

It was indeed Jin Dajiang.

The Jin family used every means possible to save his life, but unfortunately for them, they’d run into an unusually upright official. The more arrogant and domineering the Jin family became, the more determined he was to rid the people of this menace, and in the end, Jin Dajiang was sentenced to death.

A single case of bloodshed seemed to reach the best possible resolution.

The guilty could not escape—except for Xiao Yuanxin, who emerged entirely unscathed.

In his testimony to the authorities, he claimed that Jin Dajiang had long resented his relationship with the young lady Biqin, and upon learning that he intended to buy her freedom that day, flew into an uncontrollable rage, bringing two accomplices to hunt him down. He’d fled back to Cloud Beyond Valley, joining his junior brother to fend off the three attackers. In the chaos, he’d desperately fled into the room and jumped into the hidden passage to save himself, all the while calling for his junior brother to follow him down—but his junior brother had insisted he go first, saying he would hold them off here, and besides, their target wasn’t him, they wouldn’t truly harm him. Overwhelmed and helpless, he had no choice but to flee through the passage first. Afterward, he’d hidden in the wilderness for a long while, unable to stop worrying about his junior brother, and finally steeled himself to return to Cloud Beyond Valley, just in time to see the three men fleeing in a panic from a distance—and then… he’d discovered his junior brother’s tragic death.

Jin Dajiang’s accomplices’ testimony differed little from Xiao Yuanxin’s account, admitting that after breaking down the door, the enraged and irrational Jin Dajiang had mistaken Fang Heyu for Xiao Yuanxin in the dark, killing him with a single blow.

In the courtroom, Xiao Yuanxin wept bitterly, nearly dashing his head against the ground, pounding his chest and cursing himself for returning too late—he never should have left his junior brother behind, he never imagined Jin Dajiang would be so cruel as to strike down an unarmed innocent man. The more he spoke, the more grief-stricken he became, fainting several times. Everyone present sighed in sympathy.

Only it knew that Xiao Yuanxin had lied.

But no one knew of its existence.

Under Xiao Yuanxin’s arrangements, Fang Heyu was cremated, on the grounds that his junior brother had once said, should anything ever happen to him, not to bury him in the earth—his mother’s legs weren’t strong enough for her to travel far often to visit his grave, so cremation was best, so he could remain close to her always, however small a space he took up.

Fang Heyu’s grief-stricken mother, knowing this had been her son’s wish, didn’t object, feeling it truly matched her son’s character—he had always been kind and considerate, always thinking of her above all else.

After Fang Heyu’s death, his mother moved into Cloud Beyond Valley, staying every day in the room where her son had once lived, as though he were still alive, tidying his room daily, looking through every book he’d read, every word he’d written. When she could no longer bear it, she would weep bitterly, and most of the time she simply talked to herself, expression vacant, like a soulless doll.

It listened from outside while Xiao Yuanxin discussed Fang Heyu’s funeral arrangements with his mother.

Having lived here for ten years, watching the two brothers grow from boyhood to this point, it had never once heard Fang Heyu say anything about what should be done should he die. This child had been so busy every day just studying and researching, how would someone so young ever think about his own funeral arrangements…

Watching Xiao Yuanxin hold Fang Heyu’s mother’s hand, appearing so sincerely moved, it suddenly felt it perhaps didn’t know this man very well at all, even after living under the same roof for so many years.

Heyu and I were like blood brothers. He’s gone now, but I’m still here. From now on, you’ll be my mother too, and I will surely care for you well in Heyu’s stead!

It heard Xiao Yuanxin say this quite clearly.

Fang Heyu’s mother wept old tears, gripping his hand and nodding, unable to say a single word.

It remembered that when Fang Heyu’s mother agreed to the cremation, Xiao Yuanxin had clearly looked as though a weight had lifted off him.

At first, it hadn’t quite understood this moment of relief, not until later, when someone told it that Xiao Yuanxin was a superstitious man, convinced that Fang Heyu had to be reduced entirely to ash to completely eliminate any possibility of him returning to seek vengeance. It was also this same someone who relayed to it, word for word, Xiao Yuanxin’s testimony and conduct in the courtroom. Only then did it understand—perhaps this man, whom Fang Heyu had died trying to save, wasn’t worth all that much after all.

But what could be done about it? The dead could not be brought back, and the living had to go on living. If Xiao Yuanxin truly did care for Fang Heyu’s mother as his own, perhaps Fang Heyu wouldn’t blame him for it, given how gentle his temperament had always been.

So be it then… human affairs were, in the end, matters for humans alone. Demons had no business meddling. If it stopped focusing on sleep and moonlight, it might not bloom so beautifully when the time came.

Thinking this, it finally drifted off into a deep sleep.

At the end of that year, it bloomed.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single soul at Cloud Beyond Valley at the time.

Fang Heyu’s mother had already left, taking her son’s ashes with her, escorted by Xiao Yuanxin himself, who said he’d arranged a comfortable new house for her, complete with a maid to attend her.

After that, they never returned.

Cloud Beyond Valley had never been so silent.

Its flower bloomed among the gardenia leaves, jade-green and translucent, its face smiling. If Old Feng had seen it, he surely would have leapt for joy.

It suddenly found itself missing Old Feng.

“Isn’t the moonlight lovely tonight?”

Just as it was lost in thought, a voice as thin as a child’s suddenly spoke before it, though nothing was visible.

Hee hee!

It couldn’t help itself; the laugh escaped completely beyond its control. Simply its nature.

“Haha, you demons of your kind really are quite foolish, laughing the moment someone asks a question. It would be far too easy to catch you.” The voice laughed too.

“What use is there in catching us anyway—can’t be eaten, can’t be used as medicine, and certainly can’t be forged into any fearsome weapon.” It said, displeased, “And what about your kind—going your whole life without even a proper form, living sneakily in the shadows. And now that I think of it, aren’t you the one on the Thunder God’s blacklist in the heavens? A fugitive, and yet you have the nerve to mock a proper, law-abiding demon like me.”

“Tsk, good intentions met with ill will. Once every ten years you bloom—quite an important moment in a demon’s life—and with no one to appreciate or celebrate it, I came to keep you company, and you scold me for it.” The voice feigned hurt.

“Keep me company? Nicely put.” It said scornfully. “As if I don’t know you’re just hiding here to escape trouble!”

The truth was, it had never in its wildest dreams imagined a second demon would ever appear in Cloud Beyond Valley’s courtyard.

That had been the most chaotic period at Cloud Beyond Valley—after Fang Heyu’s death, officials had come and gone for many days, thoroughly inspecting every corner. Listening to all the clamor, it couldn’t help feeling increasingly restless.

It had finally waited out their departure, and that night, it found itself sleepless again.

The once-tidy courtyard was considerably more disordered than usual. After the officials left, Xiao Yuanxin was nowhere to be seen, and no one tended to it. It could only watch, since it, having no demonic power at all, couldn’t even pick up a broom.

It was only then that it began to miss Fang Heyu. When he’d been around, Cloud Beyond Valley had remained impeccably neat, not a speck of dust out of place.

It let out a heavy sigh, murmuring offhandedly, “What a mess this place is.” Then it drifted off to sleep again.

In the middle of the night, it was suddenly startled awake by a strange sound. The long-idle broom, incredibly, seemed to have come alive, slowly sweeping up the garbage on the ground all by itself.

It watched in astonishment—brooms certainly didn’t come alive on their own, unless it had become a spirit itself. But what demon would be bored enough to come sweep a courtyard in the middle of the night?

“Who’s there!” It floated out and, gathering its courage, called out.

The broom finished sweeping up the last pile of debris and obediently returned to its original spot, leaning against the wall, with no further movement.

“If you don’t speak, I won’t be polite about it!” It tried to make itself sound as fierce as possible.

“Didn’t you just say the place was a mess? I helped clean it up, and instead of thanking me you get angry with me, hardly fair.” Someone answered from in front of it, though only a voice, no body to be seen. “I thought human-faces were supposed to be temperless little demons.”

It froze again. “You know of me?”

“I’ve been settled in this courtyard a whole day now.” The voice went on. “Never imagined that such a modest little human dwelling would not only have a murder case unfold, but also hide a demon.”

“What exactly are you?” It pressed further. “I’m not very mobile, and I don’t have much worldly experience. Good or bad, just give me a straight answer!”

The voice let out a chuckle. “You’re rather honest, aren’t you. I know your kind, human-faces, only get the chance to wander about when you bloom, so it’s hardly your fault for lacking experience. No harm in telling you—I’m a demon too, and others call my kind Yinyin.”

“Yinyin?” This was the first time it had heard of such a demon, and it couldn’t help but grow curious. “Is it because others can’t see you?”

“You could put it that way.” Yinyin’s voice drew a bit closer to it. “We’re among the hardest demons to capture. We’re naturally invisible—unless we choose to reveal our presence, not even the great gods of heaven could find us.”

“That impressive…” It didn’t quite believe this. “But even if you can’t be seen, your demonic aura surely can’t be hidden. If you cross paths with someone truly powerful, even the faintest trace of demonic aura won’t escape their divine perception.”

“We’re born without any demonic aura at all,” Yinyin explained. “Except when we’re at work.”

“At work? What could a demon without even a shape possibly do?” It suddenly felt there might be demons in this world even more useless than itself.

Yinyin laughed again. “Calling you inexperienced was truly accurate. There are always demons in this world who wish to hide, to stay unnoticed—say, ones who’ve made enemies of other demons, or who owe another demon a hand or a foot or something, or who’ve landed on some divine blacklist. Those demons need our help quite a lot. As long as we’re around, their enemies can be right in front of them and still not see them. We’re like a perfect vessel, wrapping them up tight until the danger passes, and then they come out again once it’s safe. There’s a bit of risk involved, of course—their demonic aura affects us too, like a small crack opened in the vessel, some of it inevitably leaks out no matter what. But there’s no need to worry too much—such a faint trace of aura, unless we truly run into someone extraordinarily powerful, like the person you mentioned, no one else would ever notice.” It seemed to grow more animated the longer it talked, and casually added, “All these years, I’ve only ever run into one truly formidable figure, or else I wouldn’t have needed to hide away in a remote, run-down place like this. I—” At this point, Yinyin suddenly stopped short—that last bit probably shouldn’t have been said…

“Oh!! So you’re a fugitive!!” It caught on immediately. “What you do, isn’t it just helping other demons become fugitives too? I’ve heard there are powerful heavenly gods whose job is specifically to catch demons who’ve done wrong. If you’re helping wrongdoers, then you’re a wrongdoer too—no wonder the gods are after you!”

“What would a little demon like you know.” Yinyin sounded indignant. “Not every demon who wants to hide is a villain. I’m doing good deeds too, in my own way.”

“Sure you are.” It snorted, but couldn’t resist asking, curious, “Who’s after you, then?”

Yinyin hesitated for a moment, then said, “No harm telling you, I suppose. It’s the Thunder God of the heavens. I’ve been on his blacklist for ages now—it’s not like he’s just started chasing me. But it’s fine, he chases, I run, let’s see who gives up first, heh heh.”

“The Thunder God is an extremely powerful deity, isn’t he?” It asked, puzzled. “Why aren’t you afraid at all?”

“He hasn’t caught me yet, I’ll be afraid once he does,” Yinyin said with no small amount of nerve. “Always being afraid of something that hasn’t even happened yet—that’s an exhausting way to live a demon’s life. Learn a thing or two, little demon.”

“What would I need to learn from you. I’ve been sitting here quietly, done nothing wrong at all, I don’t care about Thunder Gods or Rain Gods, none of it scares me.” It said, quite righteously. “I can’t see you, and I have no way to chase you off either. If you want to stay, go ahead and stay, just don’t bother me and don’t drag me into anything.”

“I don’t like staying in one place too long, don’t worry.” Yinyin’s voice settled in another direction. “Be a bit friendlier to me, and who knows, maybe I’ll sweep your courtyard for you regularly.”

“I haven’t been unfriendly to you. Why don’t you keep sweeping tomorrow, and clean up inside the house too while you’re at it.”

“…I’m tired. Going to sleep.”

It thought that all that had happened was that one slightly-less-annoying demon had joined it in the courtyard, never realizing that Yinyin’s arrival would be the single greatest turning point of its entire existence.

From that night on, the once-cold and lonely Cloud Beyond Valley was cold and lonely no more. It no longer had to simply listen to others ramble on one-sidedly—it finally had someone it could actually talk with.

When Yinyin asked about the murder case, it held nothing back, recounting its entire decade of life at Cloud Beyond Valley in full, including the true cause of Fang Heyu’s death.

After learning all this, Yinyin fell silent for a while, then asked, “Are you sad about it?”

It denied this. “I only knew them, that’s all. It’s not really a matter of sad or not sad.”

“Is that so.” Yinyin chuckled. “If you weren’t stuck here, where would you most want to go right now?”

“I’d want to go see the government office…” It blurted out, then quickly covered, “I’m just a little curious how they’ll handle the case, that’s all.”

“Oh!” Yinyin settled beside it. “Why don’t I go take a look for you?”

“Sure, why not.” It agreed immediately, but then grew a little worried. “You run around so freely—aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

“I’m not doing anything wrong right now, who could catch me.” Yinyin sounded rather pleased with itself. “Even the Thunder God can’t do a thing about me.”

“Well, be careful anyway.”

After that, it learned every piece of news about the case. Each time, it simply listened quietly; for every one of Xiao Yuanxin’s lies, at most it let out an “oh.”

Yinyin had once asked it—was it just going to let Xiao Yuanxin get away with lying like this?

It said that even if it stood up in the courtroom itself, it would be useless—who would believe a demon. And even if it weren’t a demon, it had been the only witness to everything that happened that night before Jin Dajiang broke down the door. Xiao Yuanxin could easily deny everything to the death, since after all, it was Jin Dajiang who’d wielded the blade, Jin Dajiang who’d directly taken Fang Heyu’s life—nothing to do with Xiao Yuanxin himself. His fabricated claim in court, that Fang Heyu had chosen to stay behind and hold them off, was probably in fact the very reason he’d shut the hidden passage door—he really had meant to leave Fang Heyu behind to buy himself more time, more distance to escape. Perhaps he truly hadn’t anticipated that Jin Dajiang would mistake Fang Heyu for himself, but… the one who had pushed Fang Heyu under Jin Dajiang’s blade would always be Xiao Yuanxin, and no one else.

“So, truly nothing’s to be done?” Yinyin asked it.

“Are you going to go beat him with a broom?” It shot back.

“That’s not necessary, but scaring him a little wouldn’t hurt.” Yinyin laughed.

“No need.” It said. “Scaring him would cost you extra demonic power too—if you slipped up, you might get caught.”

“How could I be that unlucky.” Yinyin said dismissively.

“Really, no need.”

“You’re hoping he’ll take good care of Fang Heyu’s mother?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m hoping for anything… I told you already, I really had no particular bond with Fang Heyu, I—”

“Fine, suit yourself. I have even less connection to them than you do anyway.”

“Didn’t you say you never stay in one place for long?”

“I’ll leave once you’ve bloomed.”

Today, it had bloomed, and Yinyin had indeed kept its word, becoming the only one to celebrate its blooming.

“You’re leaving?” Under the silvery moonlight, it looked toward that presence in midair—one it had spent so many days and nights alongside, yet had never once actually seen.

“Mm, I said I’d leave once you bloomed.” Yinyin laughed. “I just wanted to see if human-faces really were as foolish as they say, laughing the moment someone asks a question.”

“There, you can go now!!”

“Don’t miss me too much.” Yinyin’s voice drifted further away. “I’ll come back to see you next time you bloom.”

“No need! I don’t want you to!”

“I’m coming back regardless!”

A farewell that ended on a rather unfriendly note.

In truth, it would miss this invisible companion of hers.

Now that it had bloomed, it had fourteen days to leave this place—though it was a bit embarrassing to admit, even during its blooming period, the only way it could leave was by drifting out of its true body and finding some nearby living creature it could control, borrowing their body to travel far away. Don’t laugh at it—human-faces really were exceptionally, exceedingly small and weak demons.

This time, it “borrowed” a wild bird perched on the courtyard wall, flying without hesitation straight into the city.

It remembered the name of the winery where Xiao Yuanxin worked, and after quite some searching, finally found the place.

Xiao Yuanxin was indeed still there.

Over the remaining ten or so days, it watched him constantly, watched him work at the winery, watched him return after his shift to a rather decent residence—Fang Heyu’s mother did indeed live there, and there was indeed a maid attending to her.

Its heart felt a little more at ease.

Looking again at Xiao Yuanxin, he seemed somewhat different from before too—less of his old self-satisfied arrogance, considerably more composed. Aside from his work at the winery, he spent his remaining time shut away at home, studying diligently, and it saw him poring over none other than the very notebook Old Feng had once entrusted to Fang Heyu.

Watching him work so earnestly, he almost seemed like a second Fang Heyu.

On the evening of the fourteenth day, it returned to Cloud Beyond Valley, back into its true body, transforming once more into an unremarkable, still-budding little green flower.

It let out a small sigh of relief and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

5

Another eight years passed.

Cloud Beyond Valley had become nearly an abandoned residence, tended by no one.

Most of Old Feng’s plants had died, only a handful of the hardier ones surviving through sheer luck. The healthiest of all was the gardenia—as long as it lived, the gardenia benefited too.

In those eight years, Xiao Yuanxin never once set foot in Cloud Beyond Valley again, and no second demon ever appeared.

It had nothing much to do each day besides sleep and bask in the moonlight, occasionally wondering whether Yinyin would truly come back the next time it bloomed, hoping it was still a free spirit somewhere out there.

One morning, it was suddenly startled awake by the sound of chaotic footsteps.

A large group of people flooded into the courtyard, led by none other than a slightly plumper Xiao Yuanxin, accompanied by two elegant women, one of whom had a noticeably rounded belly.

Today was the anniversary of Old Feng’s death.

Eight years without a single visit—why come back now?

It watched this crowd, puzzled.

Following behind him weren’t just servants and attendants, but also several men who looked like gentry.

Then, he led his entourage in thoroughly tidying up Cloud Beyond Valley, even replacing all the withered plants. Afterward, they made their grand way to Old Feng’s grave, laid out lavish offerings, knelt down and slapped his own face twice, declaring himself an unworthy disciple who, caught up in his business affairs these past years, had failed to visit and pay respects to his beloved teacher, and had specially brought his family today to atone before his master. Every word delivered with heartfelt sincerity, moving enough to bring tears to the eyes.

The gentry standing nearby couldn’t help but praise Old Master Xiao as a disciple who respected his teacher and remembered his kindness—surely Feng Bayue, having such a disciple, could rest easy in the afterlife.

After paying respects to Old Feng, Xiao Yuanxin brought everyone back and, while showing them around the “Wine God’s former residence,” couldn’t resist mentioning offhandedly how diligently and wholeheartedly he had studied here in his youth, even pulling out the exam papers bearing his own name for them to admire, drawing another round of praise.

Until they left, it still couldn’t quite understand the point of bringing all these people here.

It was after this incident that someone came to tend to Cloud Beyond Valley periodically, sent by order.

The following year, Xiao Yuanxin returned again to pay his respects, then sat briefly in the courtyard afterward—quite different from how he behaved among the gentry. This time, he barely spoke at all, his gaze as he surveyed his surroundings perpetually gloomy.

So he was Old Master Xiao now.

On the tenth year, it bloomed again.

This time, it didn’t leave by way of a wild bird.

Old Feng’s birthday and death anniversary, its blooming day.

That day, it waited early, hoping this long-brewing “journey” in its heart would go smoothly.

Before long, Xiao Yuanxin did indeed arrive at Cloud Beyond Valley with his entourage once more.

It chose the youngest child among them, needing to borrow a human body—with its limited power, it could only choose a child.

As it left, it followed silently among the group. Passing Old Feng’s grave once more, Xiao Yuanxin suddenly stopped, turned to look at Old Feng’s tombstone, and said expressionlessly, “From now on, I’ll return every year on your death anniversary. So you can see, that your favoritism meant nothing in the end.”

Its heart skipped a beat.

Old Feng’s favoritism? Could it be… the notebook? Had he been holding this grudge against Old Feng all this time? But aside from not giving him the notebook, when had Old Feng ever treated him poorly in any other way?

It looked at Xiao Yuanxin’s cold profile, and suddenly felt that today was truly, terribly cold.

Following the group back to his home, it was thoroughly astonished—Xiao Yuanxin’s home… should really be called an estate now, grand and spacious as a palace, dazzling to behold.

In ten years, he had obtained everything he’d once hoped for. Ability? Luck? Cunning? Perhaps all three combined.

In truth, it wasn’t particularly concerned with how he’d made his fortune—it only wanted to know whether the person he’d promised to care for was still safe and well.

Taking the opportunity, it slipped through the Xiao residence, roundaboutly asking the servants where the elderly woman Old Master Xiao had brought back with him was staying. But every answer it received was some variation of: “Little Shun, are you running a fever? Since Old Master moved in here, he’s never brought back any elderly woman—if he brought anyone home, it’d be a pretty young servant girl.”

It froze in shock.

Then, under cover of night, it slipped out of the Xiao residence and went to the place where Xiao Yuanxin and Fang Heyu’s mother had lived ten years ago, but the place had long since changed hands, now a tailor’s shop.

It asked the people at the tailor’s shop whether they knew what had become of the middle-aged woman who used to live there.

They said they’d only moved in a few years earlier, and that the original owner of the house hadn’t been a woman at all, but a middle-aged man.

It lied, saying it was the woman’s great-nephew, come from its hometown to find its relative, and begged them to please tell it where it might find whoever had sold the place. But they said they’d long since lost contact with that person, and truly couldn’t help.

That night, it stood before the house, watching every person who passed by, utterly at a loss.

Unexpectedly, a middle-aged woman living two doors down called out to it, saying she’d overheard it asking about the woman—was it the one surnamed Fang? At once it saw a glimmer of hope, and hurriedly said yes, her husband’s family name was Fang, then asked if she knew where this person could now be found.

The woman said it had come too late—seven or eight years ago now, she’d fallen ill and died.

It froze for a moment, then asked—how had Madam Fang’s final days been?

The woman shook her head firmly, saying that at first her son had come to care for her somewhat, but later he’d vanished entirely, and not even her three meals a day were provided for anymore—she’d had to go out and buy cheap food herself, however difficult that was. Taking pity on her, the woman said she’d given her clothes and steamed buns from time to time, and had asked where her son had gone, but the old woman had only smiled and said she simply wasn’t fortunate enough to have devoted children—her son had his own affairs to attend to, and an old bag of bones like herself shouldn’t be a burden to the younger generation. But truthfully, the woman said, she’d wanted to curse the man out loud—what kind of son abandons his sick mother here and pays her no mind, however busy he might be, he still shouldn’t neglect his own mother like that. But she was just an outsider, hardly in a position to interfere in someone else’s family affairs. It must have been around the end of that year—she’d simply died, found collapsed in the kitchen, the porridge in the pot long since burned dry. If it hadn’t been for the smell of burning that had drifted out and caught the woman’s attention, prompting her to go check out of concern, who knows how many days she might have lain there. Sigh, truly no filial son at a sickbed after all this time! Her wretched son had never once shown his face again, and within a couple of years the house had changed hands. The woman then asked—wasn’t it her great-nephew? Why hadn’t its family come looking for her sooner?

The woman’s mouth kept moving, chattering on, but from that point onward, it could barely make out a single word she said.

You promised to take care of her… and this promise, this too, was simply cast aside? Its head suddenly rang with a chaotic buzzing, and without even thanking the woman, it turned and fled.

That night was bitterly cold, wind and snow howling together.

It felt no cold at all—instead, a strange, feverish heat churned and roiled within its body.

By the time it returned to the Xiao residence, it was already dinnertime. It stood outside the dining hall, silently watching Xiao Yuanxin holding his son, laughing and playing with him, while the two wives beside him busily served him food and poured his wine. A family gathered happily around one table, delicacies from land and sea steaming before them.

If Fang Heyu hadn’t died, could he have had a family like this too, right now?

During the meal, the two wives raised their cups to him, congratulating their husband on securing another fine business deal, saying it had all been thanks to the strong support of Elders Zhuang and Xu, and that success like this hadn’t come easily.

He drained his cup and laughed, saying that if he hadn’t offered those old men enough benefits, they never would have stood by his side—but benefits alone weren’t enough to secure a sure win. Those old men were all devotees of Feng Bayue, worshipping him practically as a god, and while he was his disciple, that alone wasn’t sufficient. So, under the pretext of paying respects, he’d taken this group of old men on a pilgrimage to Cloud Beyond Valley, then displayed a bit of heartfelt emotion for his late master—seeing this, they naturally grew closer to him. Only now that he’d started this practice, he’d have to keep returning to Cloud Beyond Valley every year going forward, keeping up appearances to the very end.

Every single word, it heard clearly.

This disciple—where was even a shred of gratitude toward Old Feng left in him now… even the grave-sweeping and memorial rites were nothing more than a performance to win others’ favor. And he was so unguarded about it, too, likely because his swollen confidence had convinced him of his absolute, unassailable standing in his own household—no matter what he said or did, no one would dare say Xiao Yuanxin was wrong.

He thoroughly relished his current success, while trampling underfoot, one by one, the very people he should have cherished and remembered.

Hadn’t he studied the words of the sages too?

It drifted away silently, crouching in some deserted corner of the Xiao residence, dazed the entire night.

6

Three days later, at dawn, a scream sounded from the second wife’s room.

Xiao Yuanxin and his primary wife hurried over at once. All the servants were sent outside; not a single one was permitted near the inner room.

Very soon, Xiao Yuanxin’s face turned paler than the snow outside the window. His young, only son had, overnight, changed appearance completely…

He held his son and stared blankly at him for a long moment, then suddenly went limp, his grip loosening—had the second wife not caught him quickly, the child would have fallen straight to the floor.

How could this happen? He staggered back several steps in fright. His son—how could he possibly resemble… resemble that person!!

The child before him now wasn’t terrifying or demonic in the least. On the contrary, with those large eyes, double eyelids, high nose bridge, and the cinnabar mole between his brows, he looked even more adorable than before. But… no matter how he looked at it, the resemblance to Fang Heyu was unmistakable!

Xiao Yuanxin’s mind went completely blank. He couldn’t understand why his son’s face had changed—into that of the very person he’d never once dared mention to anyone again.

Had he… come back for revenge?! No, no, that was impossible—he’d already burned his body, he couldn’t possibly come back.

Demon spawn, this child was a demon spawn!!

At that moment, it stood quietly not far away, observing Xiao Yuanxin’s expression carefully.

This had been its decision, made over the course of an entire night.

If Xiao Yuanxin had forgotten something, it was determined to make him remember.

Unfortunately, its power was too weak, able only to manage a slight alteration on the young child—even the face it had conjured resembled the original by only sixty or seventy percent. If it had possessed the power of a great demon, it would have made Xiao Yuanxin experience the “surprise” of a changed face for himself.

It couldn’t quite explain even to itself why it had chosen to do this. It didn’t feel it was truly angry, only somewhat wronged, somewhere deep inside.

Besides, though the spell it had cast on his son would dissolve on its own once its blooming period ended, perhaps an incident like this would finally bring Xiao Yuanxin some measure of remorse.

Unfortunately, it had thought too simply, once again.

That night, deep in the darkness, it watched two servants carry out a wooden chest, sneaking out of the Xiao residence, loading it onto a carriage waiting at the back gate, and rushing off toward the city gates.

Uneasy, it followed along, discovering the carriage was headed straight for the wild mountains outside the city. Once in the mountains, the carriage stopped, and besides the two men who’d carried the chest, Xiao Yuanxin himself was there too.

Then, under Xiao Yuanxin’s direction, the two men dug a deep pit in a secluded spot on the mountainside and buried the chest within it. Once the earth was filled back in, Xiao Yuanxin didn’t even glance at it once more, turning to leave resolutely.

Once they’d walked far enough away, it hurried to the spot where they’d buried the thing, and without stopping to think, immediately began digging at the earth. Its strength wasn’t enough, and it took a long while before it finally uncovered the locked chest. It searched for a rock to smash the lock, but couldn’t break it open, and finally, taking a desperate gamble, used what little demonic power it had left to force the copper lock apart.

Gasping for breath, it pried open the chest, and its mind buzzed with shock once more. Sure enough… it was the most impossible, and the worst, of its suspicions. It instinctively clenched its fists, trembling all over.

That night was, without question, the most chaotic night of its entire existence.

It knew it no longer had enough strength left to properly control this body, but it forced itself to run as far and as fast as it could regardless. As long as it was fast enough, perhaps the little one in its arms could still survive.

It tried its absolute hardest. Truly.

But after leaving the physician’s home, it suddenly lost all sense of direction, unsure which way to go. All it had wanted was to give Xiao Yuanxin a warning—it had never intended to cost a life.

What now, it had killed someone.

A demon harming a human life—wherever you went, that was a capital offense.

Before dawn, it wandered aimlessly, eventually arriving before a small earth god shrine. It stood at the shrine’s entrance for a while, and finally stepped inside.

It knelt before the earth god’s statue and slowly said, I am a human-face demon. Today I have taken a human life. I beg the Earth God to relay this to the heavens on my behalf—I will accept any punishment, and will not flee.

It had heard that the various earth gods scattered throughout the mortal realm actually served as the eyes and ears the heavenly gods placed specifically in the human world, that everything happening in the mortal realm could be relayed through them to the deities above. Whether this was true or not, it didn’t know, but it was willing to try. A wrongdoing deserved punishment—human or demon, it made no difference.

But it waited until the following evening, and the Earth God remained nothing but a clay statue, no sign of any divine response, no one coming to seize it.

It sighed and slowly made its way back to the Xiao residence—this child’s body, at the very least, needed to be properly returned.

Only now, with nothing left to anchor it, in its current weakened state, it might not even have the strength to make it back to Cloud Beyond Valley. And if it couldn’t return to its true body before its blooming period ended, there’d be no need to wait for the heavenly gods to come catch it at all…

After leaving the Xiao residence, it drifted weakly through the streets, thinking, let it just walk on like this—no longer borrowing anyone’s body, returning if it could, and if it couldn’t, so be it.

It couldn’t remember how many days it took to drift, barely, to that hillside, Old Feng’s grave swaying unsteadily ahead. Truly, it had no strength left… it sank to the ground, unable to drift any further, even with that familiar courtyard so close it could almost reach out and touch it.

It lay prone on the icy soil, quietly awaiting its final moment.

In its hazy state, it felt as though it were flying again, drifting forward effortlessly.

It snapped its eyes open, only to find this wasn’t an illusion—some invisible presence was carrying it, bringing it safely back to the courtyard of Cloud Beyond Valley, then kicking it firmly back into its true body.

“Is… is that you?” It came to its senses, asking in astonishment, “Did you really come back to see me?”

“Well, obviously—if I hadn’t come back to check on you, you’d already be dead in the road by now,” a familiar voice answered before it, its tone full of complaint. “Came back and didn’t see you anywhere, figured you’d taken the chance to sneak off and have some fun, but I had no idea where you’d gone, so I just had to wait here.”

Its nose suddenly ached, but it held itself together and didn’t cry.

After a long while, it suddenly said, “Yinyin, I killed someone.”

“What?!” Yinyin was utterly shocked. “Impossible, where would you get that kind of ability!”

“Truly…”

It spent the entire night recounting ten years’ worth of story.

When it finished, Yinyin remained silent for a very long time, so long that it began to think it had left without a word.

“You left?” it tried asking, then sighed. “Better that you did, really. If what they say is true, I’ve already confessed everything to the Earth God—perhaps before long, I’ll be taken away. If you stayed, you’d only be dragged into it with me.”

After another long while, Yinyin finally spoke. “No. You’re going to see another ten years, at least.”

It froze. “You…”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Yinyin said seriously. “If anyone really comes looking for you, I guarantee they won’t find you.”

Hearing this, it fell silent for a long moment, then said, “I always thought of myself as a very honest, well-behaved demon. But this time, I truly did wrong. You…”

“I don’t care.” Yinyin cut it off. “If a man like that gets to keep living in luxury and comfort, what right do they have to come after you?”

It seemed unable to answer that.

In the courtyard, only the sound of branches and leaves rustling in the north wind remained; neither of them spoke another word.

The weight of everything from these ten years, accumulated all at once, was simply too heavy.

Even a demon that had always tried to convince itself to stay uninvolved had, in the end, been dragged unwillingly into the grudges and life-and-death struggles of others.

One day, three days, a month, three months, winter passed into spring, and no one came seeking trouble.

During this time, the two of them seemed to reach a silent agreement never to speak of anything related to Xiao Yuanxin again. Yinyin returned to its old playful self, occasionally teasing it mischievously, or recounting with great relish some interesting thing it had come across in these ten years.

With company, time passed by much more quickly. But whenever it thought of that child’s face, its heart felt weighed down as though blocked by a stone.

In the blink of an eye, another year passed, and Xiao Yuanxin returned again, bringing his usual entourage of family and servants, along with lavish offerings.

It watched this man, so unaffected, as if nothing that had happened before had touched him in the slightest. From Fang Heyu, to his mother, to his own child… had he truly never regretted, even for a single moment?

Probably not.

The restless Yinyin would occasionally bring back news of Xiao Yuanxin too.

In the years that followed, his business grew ever larger, and the people admiring, envying, and currying favor with him grew ever more numerous. But ever since the death of his only son, the Xiao family had no more children, and Xiao Yuanxin never took a third wife, seeming determined not to have any more heirs.

He showed no remorse, but perhaps he was afraid, it thought—the only reason it could imagine for Xiao Yuanxin refusing to remarry and have more children was fear of seeing that terrifying “face” again. He had taken everything that rightfully belonged to that face—his life, his mother, his future… yes, he should be afraid, and that fear should stay with him for as long, and as thoroughly, as possible—ideally, for the rest of his life.

One year, two years, five years… Xiao Yuanxin returned every year, punctually, to pay his respects to Old Feng. Every year it hoped to see even the smallest trace of remorse for his past in him, but truly, there was none. He remained forever triumphant, forever arrogant.

This year, on some night before its blooming period arrived, it—rarely one to dream—had a dream. In the dream, Old Feng once again held a switch, scolding his two disciples, while Xiao Yuanxin shielded Fang Heyu, grinning mischievously, urging his junior brother to hurry and flee. Fang Heyu laughed and ran out the door, shouting that his mother had come to visit him today, that he was going to greet her!

In this dream, there was no wind or snow, only lush flowers and plants, and a courtyard full of good cheer.

When it woke, it stayed dazed for a long while, feeling that its long-since-calmed heart had suddenly cracked open, shattered into pieces scattered everywhere. It wanted to gather them back up, but couldn’t find a single piece.

Something was wrong. The world shouldn’t be like this.

“Yinyin…” It suddenly called out.

“What?”

“I want to do something.”

7

“Two useless things put together, and somehow they become just a little bit useful,” Tao Yao said, looking at the human-face in her hand, then at the dejected Yinyin on the ground. “You spent ten years watching over it just to keep it from being caught and executed by the heavenly gods? Once it decided to use this method against Xiao Yuanxin, you must have known there was no turning back. That other half of Fang Heyu’s face—that’s its life. Once the blooming period ends, Xiao Yuanxin will be permanently turned into a monster, and it will burn through the last of its power and vanish entirely, body and soul. And you just let it happen?”

“At first, I wouldn’t allow it,” Yinyin admitted honestly. “I said if it truly couldn’t let this go, I could help—taking Xiao Yuanxin’s life myself wasn’t necessarily beyond me, if I put in the effort.” It paused, looking at the human-face. “But it refused, saying this was something it needed to do itself. It never wanted Xiao Yuanxin’s life—it only wanted him to remember, to remember forever what he’d done, to remember the people he shouldn’t have trampled underfoot.”

Tao Yao said nothing, and Si Kuanglan too fell silent.

“It only asked that I protect it, during these days, from being discovered by anyone powerful who might happen to be around,” Yinyin continued. “We knew Xiao Yuanxin was quite superstitious, often keeping company with wandering practitioners—not all of them frauds, some genuinely accomplished. It was afraid that if it revealed its presence, the plan would fail.” It looked up at Tao Yao. “I agreed. So you saw those three masters from the Dragon Tiger Sect making a fuss at the Xiao residence for so many days, completely unable to detect the two demons hidden right under their noses, on Little Fu, day after day, while Old Master Xiao, right before their very eyes, was slowly consumed by its demonic aura, his condition worsening day by day. Since I still had some strength left anyway, I was happy to help the human-face further. With the two of us working together, not only would Xiao Yuanxin have to see that unwanted face every single day, I could also make certain other people he no longer wished to see come back to visit him, night after night.”

“For demons at your level, creating illusions comes at real cost to yourselves,” Tao Yao said, shaking her head. “And you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation as a fugitive—doing something like this only makes it far easier to expose your whereabouts. If you’d had the bad luck to run into one of the Thunder God’s watchers nearby these past few days…”

“I’m not afraid,” it said flatly. “If it truly came to that, I’d have a question for the Thunder God myself—why hasn’t a man like Xiao Yuanxin been struck dead by his heavenly thunder yet?”

At the mention of “Thunder God,” Si Kuanglan seemed to recall something, glancing sideways at Tao Yao.

“Well then, no body at all, and still such nerve.” Tao Yao considered for a moment. “Looking at it this way, if Madam Xiao hadn’t swallowed her pride and come to the Si household begging for help, your grand plan would have succeeded.” She couldn’t help but smile, murmuring, “Now I almost wish we’d arrived a few days later…”

Hearing this, Si Kuanglan glanced expressionlessly toward the room. Before Little Fu had come in, they’d already knocked Xiao Yuanxin unconscious and hidden him in the wardrobe. Thinking on it now, Tao Yao’s words weren’t entirely wrong—had they arrived a few days later, it might not necessarily have been a bad thing.

“Yinyin knows how formidable you two are, and urged me to leave, but I don’t want to leave,” the human-face in Tao Yao’s hand suddenly spoke up. “I don’t want to go anywhere until this matter is finished.”

“You said you had no particular bond with either Xiao Yuanxin or Fang Heyu,” Tao Yao said, holding it up before her eyes. “Risking everything for people you have no real connection to—that doesn’t add up.”

“Our lives never truly intersected. I never even exchanged a single word with either of them—what bond could there possibly be?” it said earnestly. “For those of us who are the most insignificant, unremarkable little demons, the highest ideal most of us hold is simply to attain human form someday. We’re willing to spend a hundred years, a thousand years, cultivating painstakingly, just for the chance to become part of this human world.” It looked into Tao Yao’s eyes. “But what I don’t understand is—if Xiao Yuanxin can live out his days in happiness and comfort, why did someone who lived his whole life honestly and dutifully meet such an unbearable end instead? If this is what it means to be human, if this is what the human world truly is, then I truly don’t know what all our centuries of painstaking cultivation were even for.”

The cold wind blew past. The golden bell on Tao Yao’s wrist swayed gently, but never made a sound.

“Things have come to this point. I have nothing more to say about however you choose to deal with me, only I hope you’ll spare Yinyin. From beginning to end, it only ever wanted to help me,” the human-face said, struggling to crawl up from her palm. “You may call it a fugitive, but I call it a wandering knight among demons—the best friend I have ever had in this life.”

Yinyin froze for a moment, then hastily said to Tao Yao, “Don’t listen to its nonsense. If you must kill someone, kill me, spare this ignorant, inexperienced thing—it’s already lost most of its life force, who knows if it can even survive at this point!”

“Who said anything about killing either of you?” Tao Yao glared at it. “I haven’t even decided what to do with you two troublemakers yet.”

Hearing this, both demons startled, speaking in unison. “You’re not going to kill us?”

Tao Yao let her eyelids droop. “Not necessarily…”

Both demons’ hearts sank, thoroughly confused by her now.

Watching the way she handled demons, Si Kuanglan wore a half-smile. This unreliable girl hadn’t lied to him after all—she truly did come from a place called Taodu, and she truly was a physician, one that demons both feared and resented, though perhaps occasionally grew fond of too.

He glanced at the sky and said to Tao Yao, “If you keep chatting away, it’ll be dawn soon.”

Tao Yao looked up too, quickly brushed herself off and stood up, saying to the two demons, “Come with me for now. We’ll settle the rest of our accounts later.” With that, she pulled a thumb-sized transparent vial from her cloth pouch and threw it hard against the ground. The moment it shattered, she called out, “Contain!” Instantly, the shards transformed into streams of flowing light, wrapping around the two bewildered little demons, then shrinking with a whoosh into a compact ball of colorful light that returned to Tao Yao’s palm. Looking again, it was a complete, unbroken vial once more, except now it held two shrunken figures within.

“Sigh, what a waste… wasting one of my treasures on these two useless demons.” Tao Yao grumbled, carefully tucking the vial back into her cloth pouch, then turned around, looking at Si Kuanglan with great anticipation. “Second Young Master, we can wrap up here! Time to go collect our payment!!”

Si Kuanglan considered for a moment, then turned and walked back into the room.

Tao Yao hurried in after him.

They dragged Xiao Yuanxin out of the wardrobe and laid him back in bed. Si Kuanglan examined his face, then checked his breathing. “Seems to have recovered. No more medicine needed?”

Tao Yao looked at the face, now mostly restored, and said, “To permanently turn him into a monster, the demonic aura would have needed to remain unbroken for all fourteen days. Now that the human-face’s plan has failed, the demonic aura that had already invaded his body will disperse on its own within seven days. No medicine required.”

Si Kuanglan nodded. “Very good.”

“Very good?” Tao Yao frowned, then suddenly reached out and clamped her hand around Xiao Yuanxin’s throat.

“Planning to murder our client?” Si Kuanglan seized her wrist swiftly, though not too hard, careful not to hurt her.

“Relax, I do think he deserves to die, but I won’t kill him.” Tao Yao suddenly laughed and released her grip. “We of Taodu have rules to follow. Besides, if he dies, Madam Xiao won’t pay us.”

“I know exactly what’s on your mind.” Si Kuanglan released her.

Tao Yao said nothing, walking sullenly out of the room to stand under the eaves, taking a deep breath of the icy air.

“The Fang Heyu case is twenty years old now, and the only witness is a demon. Bringing Xiao Yuanxin to justice before the authorities is now practically impossible,” Si Kuanglan said, standing beside her, calm as ever. “As for the crime he committed against his own son, given his usual methods, anyone involved in that affair has likely long since left this world. Madam Xiao, though still alive, though her heart may suspect the truth, never witnessed it herself, and would find it difficult to testify against her own husband.”

“Even if she had proof, she’d never come forward as a witness.” Tao Yao sounded somewhat disappointed. “If she had that kind of resolve in her, she never would have covered for Xiao Yuanxin’s decade of wrongdoing, and certainly wouldn’t be so desperately trying to save him now. Sigh, Xiao Yuanxin’s counting entirely on the fact that mortal law can’t touch him. If this were happening in Taodu, there’s no way he’d still be alive today. So infuriating!”

“It’s not entirely without recourse, though.” Si Kuanglan smiled. “If the authorities can’t handle it properly, then we simply hand it off to another place entirely.”

“Another place?”

“The Bureau of Bi’an.”

“Huh?!” Tao Yao blurted out. “Didn’t you already resign and leave that place?”

“Just because I left doesn’t mean there’s no one left at the Bureau of Bi’an.” Si Kuanglan glanced sideways at her. “Don’t underestimate my former colleagues.”

“But… how would that even work? Do we need to go beat a drum to file a grievance or something?”

“…No need for that.”

“Then how do we—”

“Enough. You don’t need to worry about this. I have my own plans.”

So he hadn’t agreed to simply let the matter drop after all.

Tao Yao’s mood suddenly brightened a little. She smiled and nudged Si Kuanglan. “I get it now—clever of you, Second Young Master, collecting our payment first, then sending him off to be dealt with.”

Si Kuanglan sighed helplessly. “Why is it that whenever a perfectly good deed passes through your mouth, it comes out sounding so shady?”

“Am I wrong about anything I said?”

“Enough chatter. Go fetch Madam Xiao.”

“Alright.” Tao Yao was about to leave, then turned back and said, out of nowhere, “Si Kuanglan, let’s go eat at that Little Zhao’s soup stall at the market later! I want something hot to drink, with plenty of meat and vegetables in it.”

Si Kuanglan paused briefly in surprise, then nodded. “Alright.”

Surprised he hadn’t refused, Tao Yao ran off, quite satisfied.

In truth, she wasn’t afraid of the cold—no amount of freezing weather could kill her—but right now, she simply wanted something hot to eat, otherwise her heart would stay cold no matter what.

As she stepped out of the courtyard, she looked back once at this place that had cost her so much time.

If this is what it means to be human, if this is what the human world truly is, then I truly don’t know what all our centuries of painstaking cultivation were even for—the human-face’s words echoed in her ears once more.

No. The human world couldn’t be like this.

It wasn’t really any of her business, perhaps, but she, Tao Yao, simply refused to accept it.

End

“Quickly, inform the Divine Lord—we’ve found traces of the fugitive Yinyin!”

“Where?”

“Inside the Xiao residence, in the imperial capital.”

“Why not simply capture it directly?”

“This… cough, that vicious woman from Taodu, Tao Yao, is there too. Yinyin’s in her hands! Last time we went to capture Jiangjun, she interfered too, and even threatened us outright—I fear she truly means what she says…”

“Tao Yao?! This… perhaps we’d best inform the Divine Lord first.”