Prologue

Born at dawn, dead by dusk.

All living things are the same. Can we live without wasting it?

A corner of the marketplace, gray walls behind, green trees casting shade, spring sunlight and scattered willow catkins falling gently everywhere together.

“Place your bets! The more you wager, the more you win!!”

“Roll it, roll it!!”

“Result’s in! One-two-two, small!”

“Come on! Five small rolls in a row, are you kidding me!”

In front of a small gambling stall, Tao Yao stomped her feet, cursing with fury and shame. Mo Ya stood beside her, clutching Gungun tight, wearing an expression fit for a funeral.

“Heh heh, little miss, that’s just how luck goes.” The stall owner cheerfully swept every last coin off the table, two gold front teeth gleaming. “No shame in gambling till you lose it all. Want to try again?”

Tao Yao looked down, pinching her now-empty coin purse, then suddenly pointed at Mo Ya. “Boss, do you take monks?” Mo Ya’s face went pale and he spun to flee, but she seized him by the collar. “Vegetarian, easy to keep!”

The owner’s face filled with awkward embarrassment. “I don’t chant sutras, what would I want with a monk…”

Tao Yao then pointed at Gungun. “Then how about a fox, boss? Also vegetarian, easy to keep!”

The owner’s mouth fell open, and after a long moment he said, “Little miss, if you’re out of money, go on home. I run a gambling stall, not a trade in live creatures.”

The crowd snickered. Tao Yao, pouting, was about to slink away when someone tossed a string of coins onto the table. “Roll again. Small. Consider it my bet on the young lady’s behalf.”

Tao Yao turned to look—it was a young person about her own age, a wild blade of grass held carelessly between the teeth, looking like a boy at first glance, yet speaking in a voice as delicate as a girl’s.

“Tsk tsk, Little Seven, out here spending your own coin to right a wrong?” the owner chuckled. “Got the leisure to come play, does that mean all your chores are done?”

The other rolled their eyes. “Enough chatter, hurry up!”

So it was a girl of indeterminate appearance after all… Tao Yao looked her over, then pointed at herself. “You know me?”

The girl called Little Seven spat out the blade of grass and shook her head. “Never met you.”

“Then why give me money!” Tao Yao decided this boyish-looking girl was, without question, the most beautiful person in all of Liting Town.

Little Seven fixed her eyes on the dice cup. “Not for free. If this roll wins, I take back my stake and we split the rest evenly. If it loses, you don’t owe me anything—just do three days’ work for me instead.”

This fake boy wasn’t beautiful at all anymore! Tao Yao’s eyes rolled. “Murder, arson, highway robbery?”

Little Seven looked her up and down. “Have you suffered some kind of trauma?”

Tao Yao blinked, not understanding.

Little Seven’s eyelids drooped. “You think our Liting Town is some den of bandits? Who’d make you do things like that! Look at you, perfectly presentable, and your head’s full of such dark thoughts.”

Tao Yao wasn’t offended in the least—she found this girl quite entertaining, and grinned. “So what do you want me to do for you?”

“I’ll tell you once you’ve lost.” Little Seven turned away, then shouted impatiently at the owner, “Why haven’t you rolled yet, waiting for dinner or something?”

“All right, all right.” The owner picked up the dice cup, shook it more than a dozen times, and slammed it down with a crack. He lifted it, gold teeth flashing again. “Seven-eight-nine, big!”

Tao Yao, furious, jabbed a finger at his nose. “You… you…”

“A bet’s a bet, little miss.” The owner happily gathered up the coins, then winked at Little Seven. “Care to lend her a hand again?”

Little Seven laughed. “Hehe, you think I’m a fool? Losing six rounds straight just means she’s cursed with bad luck today. However much I throw in, she’ll drag it all down with her.”

The dignified Ghost Doctor of Peach Capital, cursed with bad luck by some little scrap of a girl—either way it stung. Tao Yao swallowed her irritation and glared at Little Seven. “If you’re so sure I’m cursed with bad luck, why waste your own money? If you’re sick, go see a doctor.”

“If you don’t have bad luck, who’s going to wash my dishes for me!” Little Seven crossed her arms like some local tough. “You already agreed just now, you’re not backing out on me are you!”

Tao Yao frowned. “Wash dishes? That’s what you want me to do?”

Little Seven held up three fingers. “Three days! Wash dishes for three days at the Delicious House by Youqing Lake, and once I’m back, you’re free to go.”

“Youqing Lake? The Delicious House?” Tao Yao’s frown instantly smoothed away. “Just washing dishes?”

Little Seven said impatiently, “If the old man at the Delicious House asks you to water the flowers or sweep the floor too, just go along with it, don’t nickel-and-dime with the old geezer. That settles it, I’m off.”

She’d only taken a few steps before she stopped and turned back with a smile at Tao Yao. “Don’t you dare go back on your word, or I might just get angry enough to eat someone!” With that, she pulled a fierce, monstrous face at her, deliberately opening her mouth wide to show off two small canine teeth.

Tao Yao grinned back and waved at her. “I always keep my word. Off you go.”

Little Seven quickly disappeared from view. A wild little tomboy like that—her parents must have quite the headache. Human children were hard enough to manage, let alone one with demon blood running through her veins, though not much of it, all told; she was quite thoroughly human-looking overall. From the moment Little Seven had stood before her, Tao Yao had clearly seen the faint black energy forming a hazy outline, drifting lazily around the girl’s body. For any demon disguised in human form, the “purer” the bloodline, the more clearly visible the demon shape lurking beneath the human guise. Seeing through such disguises was an instinct of Tao Yao’s—though it sometimes failed her, when the creature in question was either extremely weak, or extremely powerful.

Little Seven fell into the former category. What exactly she was, Tao Yao couldn’t say.

“Does Little Seven work at the Delicious House?” she asked, turning to the stall owner.

The owner, busy counting his coins, didn’t even look up. “Where else? The Delicious House is her family’s place, her great-grandfather’s the owner. Little Seven’s famous around here as the wild one—all she thinks about is playing, never once lends a hand at the shop. If I were her family, I’d have died of anger by now.” As he spoke, something seemed to occur to him, and he looked up at her. “Since you’ve agreed to help out at the Delicious House, don’t forget to ask her great-grandfather for wages. Once you’ve got money, come back and win it all back!”

A gleam lit up Tao Yao’s eyes. “Right!”

Mo Ya quickly dragged Tao Yao away, lecturing her earnestly as they walked. “Wake up. Keep gambling like this and sooner or later you’ll gamble yourself away too. It’s one thing for a woman to not be pretty, but quite another to not be pretty and pick up vices besides! Benefactor Tao Yao, the sea of gambling has no shore—turn back before it’s too late.”

Tao Yao exploded at that, reaching out to flick his bald head twice, hard, scolding him. “You’re a monk—is it really appropriate for you to spend your days judging whether a woman is pretty or not! And since when am I not pretty? I’ve held the title of Peach Capital’s number one beauty this whole time—are you blind? Should I get you some eye medicine?”

Tears of pain welled in Mo Ya’s eyes as he clutched his head, muttering, “When there’s no tiger in the mountains, the monkey calls himself king… everyone in Peach Capital is a crooked melon or a cracked jujube, of course you’re the number one beauty…”

“Say that again, louder!”

“I won’t.”

Gungun, sprawled on Mo Ya’s shoulder, yawned in boredom.

Tao Yao huffed. “If I weren’t traveling around with you, would I need to work this hard to earn money? Leave it to you begging for food and we’d starve to death in the street sooner or later.”

“Amitabha, I’ve told you many times, that’s called seeking alms, not begging for food,” Mo Ya said righteously. “Besides, this journey is meant to temper myself. Soft beds, warm quilts, fine clothes and rich food—all poison to me. Walking a thousand miles, drinking the morning dew, sleeping in the wilderness, aiding all living beings—that is the true meaning of pilgrimage.”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes. “In other words, self-inflicted suffering.”

Mo Ya sighed, then finally worked up the courage to say, “Truthfully, you don’t need to accompany me on this journey at all. You could stay comfortably in Peach Capital as its Ghost Doctor, eat when you want, sleep when you want, heal or kill as you please—why suffer alongside me?”

“You know what?” Tao Yao sighed too. “What I regret most is ever rescuing you from Golden Buddha Temple all those years ago, raising you from nothing into the ungrateful wretch you’ve become. But don’t worry, I have an arrangement with Young Master Liu—once he’s done a hundred favors for me, I’ll hand you over for him to eat, and then neither of us will need to accompany the other anymore. But until that day comes, I have to keep you alive. Your life belongs to me now, and to Young Master Liu later—no one else gets to touch you. So while I don’t particularly enjoy your pointless wandering, I will absolutely see it through with you, or else you wouldn’t have nearly enough lives for all the demons out there wanting to eat you. Say one more word about parting ways with me and I’ll shave Gungun bald and sell him to the butcher!”

Gungun shuddered, nearly sliding right off Mo Ya’s shoulder, his eyes carrying only one thought: what in the world does this have to do with me?!

Young Master Liu’s voice drifted through the air. “That’s the gist of it. Little monk, focus on your travels, do what you want to do—otherwise you’ll have regrets when the time comes to be eaten, heh heh heh.”

Mo Ya gripped his prayer beads, mouth twisted. “What I most want to do in this life is deliver the two of you from your sins. After all these years of friendship, such close acquaintance, and still you’d sink your teeth into me! Amitabha, if it would rid you both of your violent tendencies, I’d gladly go to hell myself for it.”

Mo Ya’s head took another blow, and Tao Yao snapped, “No one’s sending you to hell right now—right now you’re going to shut your mouth and get to the Delicious House!”

“You… you’re really going to that Delicious House place?” Mo Ya said, wincing and rubbing the back of his head. “And—you’re actually going to wash dishes? Just now I was worried you’d secretly murder that girl who tricked you…”

“The demon I need to treat—it’s at the Delicious House.”

“What?!”

The scenery around Youqing Lake was neither especially beautiful nor especially plain. The lake wasn’t large; the occasional fishing boat drifted across it, green trees clustered along the banks, gray stones lining the shore, and girls of all ages washed clothes there, beating the fabric against the stones while singing local folk tunes.

The Delicious House stood right by the lakeside, a modest eatery, neither large nor small, famous for its lotus-leaf rice—glutinous rice wrapped with a secret blend of spices and steamed, so that when the lotus leaf was unwrapped, fragrance filled the whole room. There was no meat in it at all, and yet it tasted better than if there had been.

Mo Ya and Gungun each polished off three servings in one sitting, both man and fox bellies stretched round and full, unable to walk another step, slumped in their chairs belching contentedly. Gungun, still every bit a fox despite everything, somehow managed to struggle up and dash outside, returning with a cloth sack clamped in his mouth, then crouched panting in front of Mo Ya, pointing at the leftover rice on the table, then at the sack—eating and hoarding at once, utterly shameless.

Boss Lang, the owner of the Delicious House, was thoroughly amused by Gungun’s antics, laughing heartily and telling them not to be shy, eat as much as they wanted, and take as much as they wanted when they left—not the least bit stingy, warm and welcoming in every way. This old man, withered skin and crane-white hair, past ninety years old, had every part of him still in reasonably good health except for a lame left leg—even his weathered old face still carried a healthy flush of red.

But it was also he who had burned paper to summon Tao Yao.

By the time they’d eaten and drunk their fill, dusk had already fallen, the last traces of sunset glow settling on the gently rippling lake, a few weary birds skimming across the water, leaving trails of chirping cries behind them.

Tao Yao sat leaning against the railing, legs crossed, picking at her teeth, a cup of fine Biluochun tea set on the small table before her—though sadly, Tao Yao had no talent for savoring tea, and simply gulped it down like water, downing half the cup in one go.

“They say drinking tea after a meal helps keep the weight off,” Tao Yao said, wiping her mouth and smiling. “Not a bad little life you’ve got here—mountains and water together, birdsong and fragrant flowers.” She looked Boss Lang up and down again. “You don’t look like someone at death’s door, either.”

Boss Lang smiled. “My days are numbered.”

Tao Yao frowned, stating flatly, “You’re not sick.”

“I once imagined the Ghost Doctor of Peach Capital to be some weathered old man, and never expected such an amusing little girl instead,” Boss Lang said, looking at her the way an elder might regard a mischievous junior. “The stories out there make you sound far too fierce.”

“How do you know I’m not fierce?” Tao Yao stood up briskly. “If you’re not actually sick, don’t waste my time. Mo Ya, let’s go.”

“Stop right there!” Boss Lang’s expression changed abruptly, and he sprang up to block her path, tilting his head back and letting out a long howl. His entire head transformed in an instant into that of a wolf—pointed ears, a long snout, red eyes and sharp teeth, every strand of black fur covering it standing stiff as a needle, sharp enough that pulling out just one could kill a man.

The wolf-headed, human-bodied creature towered a full head above Tao Yao, its blood-red eyes fixed on her unblinking. “Leaving without a proper examination?”

“Ah, what a huge wolf!” Mo Ya shrieked, plopping down onto the ground in fright, accidentally crushing Gungun beneath him, who yelped and squealed in protest.

Before Tao Yao could reply, a broom came sweeping down out of nowhere, striking the wolf head hard. Behind it stood an old woman, easily eighty years old, hands on her hips, scolding furiously. “You old fool, ignoring your real work! That dead girl Little Seven still hasn’t come back! There’s a pile of dishes in the kitchen unwashed, and instead of looking for her, you’re here causing trouble!”

The wolf head shifted back into a human one, and Boss Lang, cradling his skull, said to the old woman with a wounded expression, “I was just trying to scare them a little…”

“Scare them, my foot! Everyone already says you’re not sick, what more do you want!” The old woman tossed the broom aside and reached up to twist Boss Lang’s ear, then turned an apologetic face to Tao Yao. “Don’t mind him, girl, he’s just soft in the head.”

The threatening atmosphere popped like a soap bubble.

“And this heroic lady would be…?” Tao Yao looked over the short, stout, barrel-waisted old woman.

“My wife. Chunhua,” Boss Lang said, still clutching his ear.

The old woman released her grip, but couldn’t resist giving one more sharp yank, scolding, “If anyone else saw you like this, what would you do then!”

Tao Yao looked from her to Boss Lang, curious. “Madam Lang, you know he’s…”

“I know he’s a demon. Half man, half wolf,” Madam Lang said frankly.

Tao Yao blinked in mild surprise, then smiled. “Just now I heard Madam Lang complaining about Little Seven going missing, no one to wash the dishes?”

“That’s exactly it. That girl never takes anything seriously, just like this dead husband of mine.” Madam Lang sighed. “Our children and grandchildren all have their own lives, mostly living far away, leaving just this monkey of a girl, Little Seven, to cause trouble for the two of us old folks. Can’t even get her to properly wash dishes, ai, ai.”

Tao Yao spoke up quickly. “Don’t fret, ma’am. It so happens I ran into Little Seven in town during the day—she helped me out, and I promised to come wash dishes at the Delicious House for three days in exchange.”

“Oh?” Madam Lang waved her hands at once. “No, no, that won’t do. Whoever you are, we old folks may not know—but we can tell you’re no ordinary person! How could we let you stoop to such work!”

“No, no, the dishes still need washing.” Tao Yao’s gaze shifted to Mo Ya, smiling. “Isn’t that right, Little Master Mo Ya?”

After a rapid succession of expressions crossed his face, the little monk finally nodded, defeated. “Right. I’ll wash them.”

In any case, when it came to Tao Yao, refusal was never actually an option available to him.

“Oh, and who might this little master be?” Madam Lang’s expression softened at once. “Let me find you an apron, so the water won’t splash on your robes. Come, come, I’ll take you to the kitchen.”

She really doesn’t treat him like an outsider at all… Mo Ya trudged along after her, dejected, wondering if there wasn’t some invisible sign on his forehead reading “please, feel free to take advantage of me.”

Madam Lang walked a few steps, then came back and pulled Tao Yao aside, whispering, “Miss Tao Yao, I know you have real ability—it wasn’t easy for my husband to find you. He’s sick, all right, but it’s a sickness of the heart. Seeing as you’ve eaten so much of our lotus-leaf rice, please help him.” She patted Tao Yao’s hand. “We’ve been married so long—who doesn’t wish the best for their partner?”

Watching the plain-looking old woman’s brisk, bustling figure retreat, Tao Yao sat back down and said to Boss Lang, “You got lucky. She’s not afraid of you, and she certainly doesn’t wish you harm.”

Boss Lang smiled, a little embarrassed. “Why not say she got lucky instead—I was quite handsome in my youth, you know.”

Tao Yao laughed. “Fine, since you were just complaining that I skipped the examination, and seeing as I’ve eaten so much lotus-leaf rice, I’ll take a look at you now.”

Boss Lang sat back down too, looking a bit shaken. “I was only joking with you just now, but I truly was afraid you’d leave right then and there. I know full well that in this whole world, no one but Miss Tao Yao of Peach Capital can help me.”

Tao Yao thought a moment, then asked, “Do you know the rules of my healing?”

“I know, I know. From now on I’ll be your ‘medicine,'” Boss Lang said, nodding vigorously, then added, troubled, “Though I fear these old bones of mine won’t be much use to you.”

“Rules are rules. Whether you’re useful or not is for me to decide.” Tao Yao gave him a sidelong glance. “Now tell me. What’s your condition?”

Boss Lang fell silent, his silver hair blazing white in the night.

After a long while, he asked, “Miss Tao Yao, have you ever been through a particularly difficult stretch of time?”

It was raining that morning. The river had swollen and overflowed its banks, and the corpses of drowned small animals kept washing up and out.

He crouched at the mouth of the cave, holding up a banana leaf against the rain, nothing before him but gray, jumbled rocks, and behind him nothing but empty, deathly silence.

He had been abandoned.

Just yesterday, the cave had still held his kin—parents, brothers, sisters. This morning, he had woken to find himself entirely alone.

They had left cleanly, thoroughly, taking even the cooking pot they used every day…

He supposed, in the end, he’d mattered less than a cooking pot.

The rain grew heavier, but he had no wish to return to the cave; he’d rather let the rain pool into a little stream on the banana leaf and trickle down onto his feet.

As a werewolf, speed and strength were his birthright, the very means by which his kind survived—but… he looked down at his own left leg, striking it hard with his fist—no pain. No pain at all. Completely without feeling.

He had been born with a lame left leg, without sensation, without strength. When the others of his kind ran and leaped, he could only watch with envy—likely his arms had been affected too, since even those much younger than him could shatter a stone with a single punch, while he struggled just to carry a bucket of water.

Werewolves existed half as demon, half as man, and their ferocious nature meant they fought their whole lives—mountain-dwelling tigers and giant serpents claiming territory, demon-hunters who prided themselves on capturing or killing them, harsh weather, disease—all of it their enemy. Werewolves were human, yet never received the treatment humans deserved; werewolves were demons, yet lacked the lifespan a demon should have. In the eyes of demons, they were human; in the eyes of humans, they were demons. With a lifespan of scarcely a hundred years, they lived a life more awkward, more difficult, than anyone else’s.

So he felt no particular resentment about being abandoned. A creature like him was destined to be a burden on the whole clan. Truth be told, even his hearing wasn’t as sharp as the rest of his kin—he hadn’t even noticed when a demon-hunter had been tracking him; if his elder brother hadn’t happened to spot the tail while out on patrol, who knew what might have happened.

A useless thing ought to be thrown away, naturally.

And yet, he still wanted to wait a little longer. Just in case—just in case his mother, or his brother, might come back after all.

The rain lightened, then stopped. Outside the cave, still nothing but rocks—no family.

The rain grew heavy again, night fell, and still all he saw was rock.

He waited seven days. Aside from one wild boar and two rabbits passing through, no other living creature came.

Mm. They weren’t coming back.

This wasn’t his first time venturing toward where humans gathered. Werewolves weren’t wild beasts—living in the mountain forests didn’t mean total isolation. On the contrary, they sometimes walked among the mortal world wearing human faces, trading their own kind of goods for human wares. Some of his kin had even chosen to leave the deep mountains altogether, drifting through the human world under false names ever after. But most werewolves stayed where they were, because, as they said, life in the mountains meant struggling against heaven, while life outside the mountains meant struggling against men—and they feared not natural disaster, but human calamity.

In the past, he had always accompanied his elder brother into the human world, trading game meat or animal pelts for rice and flour. Werewolves didn’t live on meat alone—the grain humans grew was fragrant too, though they never learned to cultivate it themselves; their diet consisted only of raw and roasted meat. Any little shop’s menu in the marketplace was, to him, a vast and wondrous world—the same ingredients, yet humans conjured so many different dishes from them.

His brother had never been able to answer his questions, and now he’d never have the chance to ask again. The world stretched vast and endless before him, and from now on, he would face it alone.

That day, he sat in a corner of the bustling marketplace from sunrise to sunset, until dizzy with hunger he finally made his decision—he wouldn’t return to the mountains. He couldn’t even beat a boar that hadn’t yet reached adulthood. Perhaps, blending into the crowd, living as an ordinary person, he might find a way to survive.

First, he needed to fill his stomach. And to fill his stomach among humans, he needed money.

He gathered his courage and chose a restaurant with a kindly-looking proprietor, telling him he could do anything asked of him. The owner said he happened to be short a handyman—come on in, then.

He thought this was a wonderful start. Even with endless dishes to wash, endless floors to scrub, endless firewood to chop, even with only two meals a day, the buns too small, the pickled vegetables too salty, the porridge nearly indistinguishable from plain water, he still ate with relish. Here, he was no one’s burden—he was simply Little Lang, the handyman, and he felt settled.

A month later, on payday, the owner threw him out—claiming his daughter had lost a pearl earring, and that he was the only one who’d entered her room that day. He protested, clumsily but firmly, saying he’d only delivered the laundry she’d asked him to wash, set it down, and left. Let alone stealing, he’d never even laid eyes on any pearl earring. But both the owner and his daughter grew furious, shoving and pushing the lame boy out through the front door, spitting curses at him to get lost, threatening to report him to the authorities if he didn’t.

He was afraid of being caught—he’d heard that those hauled off to the authorities got beaten until their skin split open, that guilt didn’t always bring punishment and innocence didn’t always bring pardon. Truth be told, he still didn’t understand human rules very well.

As he was thrown out, a crowd gathered to watch, every face wearing the eager look of spectators enjoying a show. He crawled up, humiliated, and as he left, someone snickered behind his back: “That Old Liu’s a tightwad, never pays his hired hands a cent… how many’s that now, the poor sap getting driven off, ha ha?”

No one cared where he went, or what became of him. Just as when he’d first arrived, he limped off alone into the night. Turns out, appearance and kindness had no necessary connection, he thought, his stomach growling.

He gave up looking for work at restaurants and went instead to an inn, his main task being to clear out all the trash, including the chamber pots. The garbage he hauled out couldn’t be thrown away right away either—he had to sift through the reeking piles for anything still usable. The innkeeper said what mattered most was checking whether some careless guest had thrown out a purse or other valuable along with the trash. It didn’t happen often, but he could never afford to stop looking, not for a single day. He found silver bracelets, silk handkerchiefs, seals among the rubbish—turned out careless people really were common. Everything he found, he handed over to the innkeeper; even a simple bracelet was enough to make him grin with joy, even though he already had more than enough money by then.

Even so, within a month he was thrown out again—this time because he’d returned a silver ingot wrapped in oiled paper to a woman traveling to the capital to seek medical treatment for her sick child.

His stomach was empty and he needed to eat, but there were so many people who needed to eat, and any place that so much as posted a “help wanted” sign was flooded with applicants in no time. He was pushed out again and again. In the end, he took the job no one else wanted—helping an old man, thin and dried out like preserved bacon, transport corpses through the marketplace streets. People died every day, so there was never a shortage of business. But he lasted less than seven days before fear drove him off. That night the old man had sent him to deliver a body to the unmarked pauper’s graveyard in the dead of night; the path there was so narrow that in places even a handcart couldn’t pass, forcing him to carry the corpse on his own back. He’d only taken a few steps when he stumbled and fell, the heavy body pinning him down, and just then a chill wind swept past, as if someone were breathing on the back of his neck. His hair stood on end, and he thrashed his way free and fled. But the next day he regretted it—the old man had never treated him unfairly, paying him for every delivery. He went to beg the old man to let him keep the job, but the old man merely glanced sideways at him, gestured to a short, stout young man nearby, and said slowly, “Already got someone in your place.”

When had even this line of work become so sought-after…

The little money he’d had ran out quickly. He wandered blankly through the bustling crowds, no wonder werewolves lived deep in the mountains—surviving in the human world was simply too hard.

He stole a roast chicken, and before he could even take a bite, the owner had caught up with him and dragged him straight before the magistrate. The drowsy official demanded he pay for it; he had no money, and so received thirty strokes of the cane.

In a leaking, ruined temple, he lay curled up for three days, reflecting through the pain in his backside on his own miserable existence, and reached one conclusion—there was no reason left to keep living.

Left was wrong. Right was wrong. Whatever he did, it ended in failure.

Just before he passed out from hunger, he spotted a length of hemp rope.

He didn’t know whether hanging would hurt, but compared to going back to the deep mountains and being torn apart by wolves and tigers, this way of dying might be a little more comfortable.

So he went to hang himself—but the rafter of the ruined temple collapsed under his weight. Even starving, he was apparently still too heavy; there was really nothing to say to that.

Having survived, he suddenly found a new goal in life—how to end his own existence without suffering.

Slit his wrists? Too painful, surely…

Jump from a cliff? What if he didn’t die on impact…

Poison? He couldn’t even afford arsenic…

Or should he just lie quietly here and wait to die? But the agony of hunger was too much to bear…

He recalled there was a lake nearby—why not drown himself! One splash, and it would all be over.

That settled it!

He struggled up and limped his way out of the ruined temple.

He lay on the grass, soaked through, coughing violently from a lungful of lake water.

Beside him, a girl in a pale green dress pressed a hand to a fresh bump forming on her forehead, complaining, “If you’re going to die, do it somewhere else! Getting hit by you really hurts!”

He hadn’t even managed to die properly this time—he’d leaped in only to crash straight into this girl, who’d apparently been swimming in the lake…

His head rang with a dull buzz. He sat up, pressing a hand to his still-bleeding, reddened nose, muttering under his breath, “Who goes swimming before the sun’s even up…”

“It’s hot!” the girl exclaimed dramatically, fanning herself with her hand. “This summer’s been so scorching, not a hint of cool air even at night. I hate the heat, so what’s wrong with cooling off in the lake!”

“Is it hot?” He looked up, dazed. The air was indeed damp and warm, but not unbearably so—so there really were people out there so heat-averse they’d go swimming in the dark before dawn…

The girl’s round eyes rolled as she looked him over from head to toe, nudging him with her elbow. “You really tried to drown yourself? I saw the whole thing—eyes shut, stamped your foot, and jumped right in.”

Did he need to deny it? He’d already given up his own life—what use was there in saving face now?

“That’s right. I came here to end it,” he said, lake water dripping from his hair. “So you shouldn’t have pulled me out.”

The girl stared at him, incredulous. “Why don’t you want to live?”

“Because every single day is superfluous to me,” he said with a bitter smile. “I’ve had enough.”

The girl frowned, cheek resting on her hand, tilting her head to think for a moment. Then she abruptly stood, grabbing his arm. “Well then, before you die, come have breakfast with me first! I want clear soup wontons, the kind with scallions in the broth. You must know somewhere that serves those!”

He stared at her in bewilderment. “Miss, I’m a man about to drown himself…”

“I never said you couldn’t drown yourself,” she said, stubbornly shaking his arm, grinning as she called out. “Up, up! Come play with me first, you can jump back in the lake tonight, it won’t delay anything.”

Who behaved like this… She hauled him bodily off the ground, and he stumbled forward after her, off-balance.

Her grip wasn’t especially strong, but some strange power seemed to seep out from her palm, inexplicably dulling his urge to pull free.

Under an arched bridge on the east side of the market stood a small wonton stall that did business from midnight straight through to dawn.

She ate three bowls of wontons in one sitting. She ate with such gusto that even someone who wasn’t hungry might feel their appetite stir just watching her—let alone him, who hadn’t eaten in days. And yet, strangely, at that moment he couldn’t manage to swallow even half a wonton. Did extreme hunger somehow kill the appetite instead? Or was this simply the inevitable result of no longer wanting to live?

She belched, glanced at the wontons still sitting in his bowl, and said, “No scallions, no good!” With that, she casually grabbed a pinch of white-and-green scallion bits and sprinkled them over his bowl, then picked up the little soy sauce jar and added exactly three drops, saying, “Eat now.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said helplessly.

“Eat!” She grabbed his arm again, shaking it. “Just try it! How would you know you don’t want it if you don’t eat it?”

That reluctance to be let go by her rose in him again, and he finally nodded.

He’d eaten wontons exactly once before, back when he’d worked at the inn—there’d been some festival, and to celebrate, the innkeeper had ordered the kitchen to boil up a pot of wontons with almost no filling for everyone to share. All he remembered was the bland, flavorless dough rolling around in his mouth, difficult to swallow.

He dipped his chopsticks into the rich broth simmered from pork bones, lifting out a wonton flecked with bright green scallion, and put it in his mouth. Warm, sweet meat juice burst from the broken skin, and with the scallion and soy sauce lending their support, a wonderful flavor he’d never experienced before struck his long-dulled tastebuds.

After that first bite, there was no stopping him.

Between the two of them, they finished seven bowls of wontons for breakfast. She paid.

The happiest person of all was the wonton vendor, who pocketed the coins and told them to come back anytime, that he set up his stall here every single day.

Walking across the arched bridge, she belched, her face wearing an expression as satisfied as if she’d just won the entire world.

Just a few bowls of wontons.

“You… whose daughter are you, exactly?” He rubbed his bloated, aching stomach. “You’ve run off on your own—won’t your family be worried?”

She stopped, standing in the middle of the bridge, hands on the railing, gazing with great interest at the gurgling water below and at the town that hadn’t yet fully roused itself from dawn.

“It’s just one day. No hurry.” She pulled him over beside her, pointing east. “The sun will rise from over there.”

“The sun rises from there every day,” he said, looking where she pointed.

The sky gradually brightened, clouds trimmed with gold, and as the sun slowly climbed, it cast a gently shifting pattern of light across the river’s surface. The thin morning mist dispersed, and people emerged from their homes, waking to the day—a man stretching, a woman humming a tune, a girl carrying buckets to fetch water. Everyone, young or old, beautiful or plain, basked in the favor of the morning sun, faces and bodies alike touched with radiance.

“So beautiful,” she said, resting her chin on her hand as usual, gazing at this utterly ordinary morning along the riverbanks. “Like a painting.”

He saw this same scene every single day—where was the beauty in it, like a painting?

And yet, hearing her say it, somehow it really did look more pleasing to the eye than usual. Perhaps it was simply because they were standing on the bridge now, the angle just right?

The wind blowing across the river carried a chill, mixed with the scent of earth and flowers, and as it stirred the hair at his temples, it seemed to gently slip into some crack in his heart as well.

This morning was unlike any other, because he had never before been dragged off by someone to sing for a stranger. Yes—sing.

She pulled him from the bridge down to the street below, where an old woman sat sorting vegetables at her doorstep.

“Grandma, picking vegetables?” She crouched cheerfully in front of the woman.

The girl wasn’t unattractive, and when she smiled, it was like a freshly bloomed flower—which made even her more brazen behavior easier to forgive.

The old woman looked at her, this girl asking an obviously rhetorical question, and nodded. “That’s right, picking vegetables.”

“Must be boring, picking vegetables alone. Let me sing you a song.” She blinked her big eyes, perfectly earnest.

The old woman looked a little dazed. “Sing? Ah—go ahead, then.”

“Great!” She sprang up happily, then dashed off to the riverbank and came back with two smooth pebbles, stuffing them into his hands. “Accompany me!”

He clutched the two smooth stones, protesting quickly, “I don’t know how!”

“You can’t even keep a simple beat?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Stop fussing, just do it.”

With that, she stood beside the still-bewildered old woman, cleared her throat, and began to sing—a gentle melody about a river winding clear and long, a young woman washing clothes by the water’s edge, a breeze curling past white clouds, birds carrying the fragrance of spring flowers, morning glow giving way to sunset, and a reunion found only in dreams.

He’d never heard a song quite like it, and yet it was surprisingly lovely—her voice bright and clear, touched with a faint sweetness. He found himself, without meaning to, tapping the stones together softly in time with her rhythm.

When the song ended, the old woman had entirely forgotten her vegetables, saying only how lovely the girl’s voice was, and that the young man beside her had kept perfect time too—were the two of them from some traveling opera troupe?

Kept perfect time? Was that a compliment? He fumbled, unsure what to say, gripping the two stones, at a complete loss. It was the first time anyone had ever praised him, and the feeling inside him was strangely complicated.

“We’re just passing through,” she said to the old woman with a smile. “I just wanted to sing for someone to hear. Getting praised for it is a nice bonus. Thank you.”

With that, she took his hand again and led him away, overjoyed.

He followed her at a light jog, the sunlight growing brighter and brighter. No day had ever begun quite like this, in this manner, with this feeling.

She never seemed to want to rest for even a moment. At the marketplace, she helped an uncle selling fruit hawk his wares, went to a blacksmith’s shop demanding to be taught how to forge iron and got chased out for her trouble, then ran to a stall selling rouge and powder and tried every sample available until her face looked like a monkey’s backside, finally buying a packet of fragrant powder—half of which she dumped on herself, and the other half, ignoring his protests entirely, dumped on him too. Then, trailing a thick cloud of perfume, she darted into a tailor’s shop, chattering excitedly about what kind of dress she wanted made, only falling silent when the tailor came to take her measurements, sucking in her stomach with all her might. At midday, she chose the most crowded restaurant and ordered her way through nearly every dish on the menu, piling the table high, then wrapped up the leftovers to give to a beggar at the street corner. On the way, they passed a bookshop, and once well-fed and satisfied, she dashed in and flipped through every book in the place, then walked out cradling a collection of Li Bai’s poetry, swaying her head as she recited lines about how life’s brief joys must be seized to the full, how gold cups should never sit empty beneath the moon, how heaven surely made each of us useful for something, and that scattered fortunes always return again. He stood at the shop door, torn between laughter and exasperation, watching her ridiculous performance.

That wasn’t all. She also climbed a wall to peek into the courtesans’ quarters at Wanhua Tower, and was chased out by the enforcers inside, shouting curses after her, terrifying him so badly he grabbed her hand and ran, finally managing to hide the two of them behind a pile of clutter by the wall to escape their pursuers. He’d been scared half to death; she’d laughed herself half to death, saying it was only girls in there, no harm done from looking. Before his racing heart could even settle, this reckless girl went off, fearless of death, to try to calm down two fierce women brawling in the street, and got herself punched squarely in the right eye for her trouble, retreating in defeat. Her behavior struck him as utterly alarming; if he hadn’t stepped in to intervene in time, she surely would have become the shrews’ next target.

“You’re too reckless,” he said, leaning against a large tree, breathless, watching her. “What exactly are you doing?”

She was still smiling, easy as ever. “I’m doing whatever I want to do.”

“This world doesn’t work the way you want it to,” he said, his expression darkening. “The dangers and hardships here are far more than a girl like you could bear.”

She scratched her head. “It’s you who can’t bear it. Not me.”

He was startled into silence.

“Otherwise you wouldn’t have tried to drown yourself, would you?” she said, smiling. “I’d wager you tried other ways to end your life before that too.”

He frowned and said nothing.

She leaned in close, rising on her toes to whisper by his ear. “Let me tell you something. However you try to end your life, the moment before your breath stops is always agony. But if you truly don’t want to live anymore, I happen to have a way to let you go painlessly, comfortably.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

She smiled slyly. “Of course. My family has been apothecaries for generations. Brewing a poison like that? Child’s play.”

“You… you’re an apothecary?” he said, astonished, then, as if he’d finally grasped the one point of light in the darkness, seized her hand. “You could give me something like that?”

“I could,” she agreed at once. “But I have a condition.”

“I have no money…”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Just spend the rest of today with me, and I’ll give you the drug.”

“You mean it?”

“Let’s go, then! I’ve still got so much to do! I heard there’s someone performing magic tricks in the marketplace? Take me there! Oh, and cats—I want to hold a nice fat cat. A dog works too.”

“…”

From the day he was born up until yesterday, everything he’d ever done put together didn’t seem to add up to as much as this one day.

This girl approached everything with the same relentless enthusiasm, even crouching in some corner just to watch ants carrying food.

But no matter how much they did, night, unstoppable, still arrived.

She looped her arm through his as they walked out of a puppet-show pavilion, making a huge fuss over how wonderful the performance had been, complaining about how foolish Chang’e was—what was so great about living alone in the Moon Palace, she couldn’t even get a bowl of hot wontons up there. He had no idea how to respond, and simply listened to her in silence.

As they left the pavilion, while no one was looking, she reached up and tore the red silk ribbon off the sign the troupe had posted at the entrance, tucking it up her sleeve.

The small town was drifting toward sleep now, only crickets still chirping noisily in the surrounding darkness. It wasn’t the fifteenth of the month, so the moon hung half-full, lazily suspended amid the lingering summer heat.

She grew steadily quieter, walking now in the direction of the lake.

When the faintly shimmering water finally came into view far ahead, she said, “I need to go back now.”

He blinked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “There aren’t any homes near here.”

She burst out laughing. “Who told you my home was by the lake? Come do one more thing with me.”

“What now?” he said, nearly leaping up despite his exhaustion. “You’re not asking me to swim with you, are you? I can’t!”

She tugged at his sleeve, pulling him forward. “You’ll see once we get there.”

Before long, they stood once more at the very spot where they’d first met, the muddy ground by the lake still bearing the imprint of where he’d lain.

She pulled out the red silk ribbon and draped it over her own head.

“Let’s bow to heaven and earth!”

The moment the words left her mouth, he was so startled he sat straight down on the ground. Bow to heaven and earth? That was a rite reserved for married couples! He’d known her less than a full day—he didn’t even know her name…

He waved his hands frantically. “Anything else, I’ll do—but not this! You’re meant to marry someone one day, how could you bow to heaven and earth with me!”

“Can’t I marry you?” She lifted a corner of the red silk, pouting as she looked at him.

“Of course not!” He felt he was being made a fool of, and, a little angry, turned to walk away.

“Stop right there!” she called after him. “Bow with me, and I’ll give you the poison.”

He stopped, turning back. “Maybe you’re not really an apothecary at all. Maybe you’re just a madwoman.”

“Are you agreeing or not?” She stamped her foot. “You’re not even afraid of death, and yet you’re afraid of bowing with me? I told you I’d give you the drug, and I always keep my word!”

He wanted to leave, but hesitated. What if she truly did have such a drug—one that could swiftly end all his suffering…

In the end, he walked back to her side.

After all, no one was watching. If she didn’t tell anyone, surely it wouldn’t affect her chances of marrying someone else later.

Delighted, she lowered the red silk, pulled him down to kneel facing the lake with her, and drew out her voice grandly. “First bow to heaven and earth!”

He gritted his teeth and bowed along with her.

“Second bow to our parents… oh, there are no parents here. Let’s bow to the lake instead.” She giggled. “Second bow to the lake!”

He bowed, torn between laughing and crying.

“Husband and wife bow to each other!”

The two of them stood facing one another and bowed.

“Lift the veil, lift the veil!” she said, unable to wait.

He sighed inwardly, hesitated a moment, then finally lifted the red silk from her head.

Beneath the moonlight and the glow of the lake, her face looked even lovelier than it had in daylight, happiness nearly spilling out of her eyes.

He found himself lost, gazing at her face.

“So happy…” She smiled, tugging and shaking his arm just as she had before. “Thank you.”

For one fleeting moment, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the mood she was in—or more precisely, the mood the two of them shared. But…

He took a deep breath and held out his hand. “The medicine!”

She laughed, prying his hand back open. “Making the drug takes time. Come find me here in a year. I promise you’ll die comfortably.”

“A year?” His eyes went wide.

“That’s fast, all things considered.” She shrugged, then sat down, patting the space beside her. “Sit. You’re free anyway, aren’t you? Let me tell you a secret.”

Half-doubting, he sat down beside her. “What secret?”

She looked out at the lake before them. “This lake has a name—Weiqing Lake. But it has no real fame, and the scenery’s nothing special, so hardly anyone comes here. Still, I dare say Weiqing Lake is the most beautiful lake in the world.”

He looked around; nothing about this lake stood out to him at all.

She held out her hand. “Take my hand and close your eyes.”

Suspicious, he did as she asked.

Her hand still carried that same strange power, wrapping around his in a way that made him reluctant to let go.

He closed his eyes, and after a brief moment of darkness, scattered points of light began to bloom, one after another, until all of Weiqing Lake appeared clearly before his closed eyes—except now, the gently rippling surface was covered in patches of firefly-like glow, soft and enchanting, as though someone had transplanted an entire galaxy down onto the water, both real and dreamlike, like something out of a fairy realm.

Was this the secret she’d meant? That Weiqing Lake’s true beauty could only be seen with the eyes closed? How wondrous…

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” her voice drifted over softly.

“Beautiful!” he said, meaning it completely.

“Hehe, remember, come find me here in a year.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!”

“Are you tired?”

“A little.”

“Then sleep a while. Don’t open your eyes—not everyone gets to see the true face of Weiqing Lake. So you see, the longer you live, the more you get to see!”

“Oh.”

He kept talking to her with his eyes still shut, growing wearier and wearier, his eyelids so heavy he could barely keep them from closing entirely.

Half-asleep, her singing voice echoed faintly in his mind—the river winding clear and long, a young woman washing clothes by the water’s edge, a breeze curling past white clouds, birds carrying the fragrance of spring flowers, morning glow giving way to sunset, and a reunion found only in dreams.

That night, he slept better than he ever had.

The next morning, he was woken by birds flying overhead.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. There was no one beside him—only the red silk ribbon still clutched in his hand. That girl… He scrambled to his feet, searching around anxiously, but found nothing at all.

He stood there in the morning light, clutching the ribbon, dazed.

She hadn’t even told him her name…

“So she really did trick you,” Tao Yao said, looking at Boss Lang across from her with sympathy.

Boss Lang sighed. “A year later, I came to Weiqing Lake as promised, to look for her. She never came. I couldn’t accept it, so I waited another year. She still didn’t come. By the third year, I still hadn’t found her. Then, in the fourth year, standing by Weiqing Lake, I suddenly realized—I had already walked through four full years in this mortal world. All those years, waiting for a poison that would let me end my life painlessly, I had somehow, instead, found something to look forward to. I fought hard against my own fear and despair, forcing myself to keep living. Along the way I was mistreated at times, but I also found help. Slowly I came to understand that things in this world weren’t so absolute—not every restaurant owner, for instance, was like my very first one. In the second year after she left, I took a job at a restaurant, apprenticed to a stout chef. My master was fat and short-tempered, and often lost at dice games with me without ever admitting it—but he taught me everything he knew, sincerely, holding nothing back.” He suddenly burst out laughing. “And it wasn’t just his skills he handed over to me—he handed over his daughter as well. This shrew of a wife I have now—back then, she was already so rough and fierce, could eat like a horse and fight like one too. To sew me a new outfit for the New Year, though she didn’t know a stitch of needlework, she stubbornly went and learned it from the neighborhood matchmakers and gossiping aunties, staying up night after night, her fingers pricked into a mess like a hornet’s nest, and somehow the finished garment actually turned out decent. At first, I didn’t dare marry her—I was a werewolf, after all. Even though I wore a human face, I feared that one day I might accidentally reveal my wolf form and frighten her half to death. So I invented every excuse I could think of to turn her down, but she wouldn’t hear any of it. Eventually I couldn’t hold out any longer, and I brought her to a quiet, secluded spot, and told her the whole truth about who I really was—even showed her my wolf head, putting on my fiercest expression. And you know… this shrew of mine just blinked, and asked, are you going to eat me? I told her, of course not, I eat food, not people. And she let out a sigh of relief, hopped over, looped her arm through mine, and said even if I was only half human, she still wasn’t going to leave my side.”

Tao Yao laughed. “Your wife really wasn’t thinking straight back then, ha ha ha.”

“I told you, I wasn’t bad-looking in my youth,” he said with a snort. “Anyway. Life gradually settled down after that. I’ve never had great wealth or high status in this life, but I’ve had children and grandchildren aplenty, no sickness, no disaster.”

“No sickness, no disaster…” Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “So what illness did you come to me for, then?”

“Werewolves are half human, and our lifespans match those of humans—I’m ninety years old now,” he said, coughing a few times. “These past few months, I’ve had a constant feeling that my time is drawing near. After all, I still carry demon blood in me, and you know demon senses are usually sharp and accurate.”

Tao Yao considered this, then said bluntly, “You want me to extend your life? Or heal this sickness of the heart of yours?”

“All these years, I never once gave up searching for her,” he said, turning to gaze at Weiqing Lake beneath the moonlight. “But it’s as if she vanished from this world entirely. That galaxy over Weiqing Lake—I only ever saw it that one time. I’ve asked around nearly every household in Liting Town, and not one family has a daughter matching her description. My own demon power is quite limited too, practically decorative—aside from turning into a wolf head to scare people, I have none of the world-spanning abilities other great demons possess.” He paused, then continued. “I built the Delicious House here by Weiqing Lake, hoping that one day, should she ever return, I’d be there to see her. But now, I fear I’ll die without ever learning even the smallest scrap of news about her. This sickness of the heart—I cannot cure it myself.”

Tao Yao fell silent for a moment, gazing at the lake as well. “If she was human, she’s likely long gone from this world by now.”

“Even finding where she’s buried would be enough—I only want to bow before her grave. And return this to her.” He drew from his sleeve a piece of red silk, its color still as vivid as the day it was made.

“The one she wore when she bowed with you?” Tao Yao looked at the red silk.

“Mm.”

“Let me have a look.”

She held the ribbon, decades old by now, its surface still smooth and gentle to the touch, just like the hands of a young girl.

On the silk, there lingered a trace of something only she could sense—the faintest, barely perceptible wisp of demon energy.

She closed her eyes, “looking” toward Weiqing Lake.

So beautiful. Those tiny creatures gathered together, forming something as brilliant as a galaxy. What a shame that ordinary people could never witness such a sight; even this half-demon werewolf had only ever glimpsed it thanks to “her” power.

Tao Yao slowly opened her eyes and said, “All right. Before I leave, I’ll write you a prescription.”

Three days later, at dusk, the runaway Little Seven returned to the Delicious House exactly as promised.

“Not bad, quite reliable of you,” Little Seven said, setting down the bundle slung over her shoulder, patting Tao Yao’s shoulder with satisfaction. “Enjoyed washing the dishes, did you?”

“Amitabha, the dishes were washed by me,” Mo Ya said, pressing his palms together.

Little Seven laughed. “Whatever, as long as someone washed them.”

Before the words had fully left her mouth, Madam Lang came rushing out from the inner room, seizing Little Seven’s ear. “Where in the world have you been running off to, you wretched child! You’re going to be the death of me!”

“Ow, ow, ow, it hurts!” Little Seven pointed at the bundle on the table. “The old man’s been coughing so much lately, hasn’t he? I spent three days combing through Feiyun Mountain and finally found some frost vine. I heard from Physician Zhang it works wonders for soothing coughs and clearing the lungs!”

Madam Lang froze, instinctively letting go. “You went to gather herbs?”

“What else would I be doing!” Little Seven pouted. “As it happened, on my way there I ran into this silly girl gambling her money away, and thought, rather than watch her waste her time losing money, I might as well drag her here to wash dishes for me instead.”

Silly girl?!

Tao Yao’s face flushed red, then pale. She had the distinct feeling that if she stayed here any longer, Little Seven might suffer some form of bodily harm.

While the grandmother and granddaughter were caught up in conversation, she signaled to Mo Ya, and the pair, along with the fox, slipped quietly away.

The night before, when Madam Lang had come to bring her a late-night snack, Tao Yao had cautiously asked whether she knew about her husband’s past. Madam Lang said she knew everything—including the matter of their bowing to heaven and earth.

Didn’t it bother her? Tao Yao had asked.

Madam Lang shook her head—why would it bother her? Without that girl, the old man would have drowned long ago, and where would their family be now, if not for her? People ought to have a conscience—she owed that girl her gratitude, not resentment.

Tao Yao thought to herself that the old saying about a generous heart making for a plump, easy body had certainly proven true in this old woman’s case.

Standing at the entrance to the Delicious House, Tao Yao took one last look at Weiqing Lake.

She’d already written the prescription the night before, leaving it on the table in Boss Lang’s bedroom—

“There exists in this world an insect that, in its youth, hides beneath the water. Once grown, it emerges from the water, its life terribly short—born at dawn, dead by dusk—and is called the mayfly. Yet all things in creation, born and perishing, leave behind a trace of clear spirit-energy that does not disperse; these gather together and drift, settling near sacred mountains and beautiful waters, drawing in the essence of sun and moon, and through chance and circumstance, may become demons. Such a demon, upon first taking form, appears as a human, graceful and lovely, clever and quick-witted, knowing all manner of things—yet its lifespan as a demon lasts only a single day. Thus, regardless of what its original form may have been, such a creature is collectively known as the mayfly. When a mayfly’s life ends, its body transforms into light that lingers over the place of its transformation, visible only to those attuned to demon power. Understanding this, the sickness of the heart may be resolved.”

That was that.

A mayfly’s one day was its entire life—every single “today” that you and I might dismiss as unnecessary is a tomorrow they will never, ever get to see.

Born at dawn, dead by dusk.

All living things are the same. Can we live without wasting it?

She turned to look back at the Delicious House, bathed in the setting sun, smiled, and with her back to Weiqing Lake, waved a hand, murmuring to herself, “Well, you did one good deed, at least. Farewell, and may we never meet again.”

With that, she walked away without a backward glance. Mo Ya, carrying a sack of lotus-leaf rice on his back, followed after her, Gungun trotting along with a smaller sack of his own, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Enjoyed washing dishes, did you?” On the wildflower-lined path, she asked Mo Ya offhandedly.

“Exhausting,” Mo Ya said, pressing his palms together. “Fortunately, Gungun helped.”

“He can wash dishes?” Tao Yao said, startled.

“No—he used his tail to help me dry the bowls and plates.”

“Wait. Are you telling me every bowl and plate we used these past few days was dried off with his backside?”

“His tail.”

“The tail’s attached to the backside, isn’t it! You’re a monk—how could you do something so depraved! Foxes shed fur, you know!”

“Gungun doesn’t shed.”

“…”

Coda

“Boss Lang clearly wasn’t actually sick—so why did you pick him?” On a small boat drifting downstream, Mo Ya asked her between mouthfuls of food.

Tao Yao gazed quietly at her fishing rod propped at the bow. “His family runs a restaurant. Relying on your alms alone, we’d have nothing but wind to drink.”

“It’s called seeking alms…” Mo Ya sighed, then asked, “Mayflies must be rare demons, aren’t they?”

Tao Yao shook her head. “Quite the opposite, actually. There are plenty of them—common enough around sacred mountains and beautiful waters. All living things carry spirit-energy; who knows, perhaps after you pass into nirvana, you too will leave behind a wisp of clear energy, drifting off to rest by some lake or deep in some mountain, and when the right conditions align, it might transform into a beautiful young man or woman, living out an entire lifetime in a single day. Remember this—treasure that day well, and don’t waste it all on begging for alms.”

Mo Ya murmured “Amitabha” three times in a row. “I only wish for the Buddha’s teachings to remain with all beings across the three realms. As for myself—I came into this world with nothing, and I’ll leave it the same way.” Then he asked, “If mayflies are so common, why does so little seem to be known about them?”

“Because their lives are so short. A creature that lives only a single day—how many people could possibly remember it?” She stared off at her fishing rod, lost in thought. “Though there are exceptions. After all, they’re harmless little demons—hold their hand, and you’ll feel a strange kind of power. Anyone fortunate enough to feel it once will never forget it.”

“A strange power?”

“Probably the kind of power only someone who truly wants to live can have.”

“Oh. How wondrous.”

The river flowed on with a soft rush, fresh green layered along both banks, and on the little boat there was nothing but the sound of the little monk and the fox chewing their food contentedly—spring really was a season made for eating and sleeping.

“Mo Ya,” Tao Yao said, suddenly turning her head, “if you only had one day left to live, what would you most want to do?”

Before Mo Ya could answer, Young Master Liu’s voice cut in first. “First, hold a poetry recital, reading nothing but my own verses. Second, wash the little monk thoroughly, place him in the finest earthen jar, add the best spices available, and simmer him slowly over a low flame.”

“You should use a high flame instead. Low flame, you won’t have enough time,” Tao Yao said, perfectly serious.

“Fair point…” Young Master Liu, for once, actually agreed with her.

Mo Ya, by now thoroughly resigned to the topic of exactly how he’d eventually be eaten, considered the question earnestly and said, “If I only had one day left to live, I think what I’d most want to do is rebuild Golden Buddha Temple.”

Though he spoke of a wish, a faint, barely noticeable shadow of sorrow lingered behind the hope in the little monk’s eyes.

So many years had passed, and still he couldn’t forget that night when blood had flowed like rivers, the scene straight out of hell itself; couldn’t forget his senior brother who had shielded him with his own body; couldn’t forget Tao Yao’s hands, pulling him free from the pile of corpses.

The one thing he had forgotten was his own age. Ever since Tao Yao had carried him away from the ruins of Golden Buddha Temple, his appearance had never changed. Everyone called him “little monk” without a second thought—never realizing that even he himself no longer knew exactly how many years he’d lived.

The mood turned suddenly heavy with silence.

After a long while, Tao Yao said, “As long as the Buddha lives in your heart, what does it matter whether there’s a temple or not.”

“You’re the one who asked me. I simply answered honestly,” Mo Ya said. “I know it’s impossible too—the two of us can barely afford to eat, let alone rebuild a temple.”

“You’ve got a good heart for this,” Tao Yao said, patting his shoulder.

“What about you?” Mo Ya asked her in return. “If you only had one day left to live, what would you most want to do?”

Tao Yao smiled. “Haven’t decided yet. I’ll tell you when that day actually comes.”

Would such a day ever come?

Mo Ya looked at her fishing rod and said, “How do you expect to catch anything, holding it like that? The line’s not even still, and there’s no bait on the hook.”

“You never know!” Tao Yao rolled her eyes at him. “As long as you’re not dead yet, life holds endless possibilities.”

Before the words had even finished leaving her mouth, the fishing line suddenly jerked.

Tao Yao shot Mo Ya a triumphant glance.

She pulled at the rod with all her strength—that, in the end, was the way of survival: you had to be alive first, before you could ever catch a fish!

Miss Tao Yao, have you ever been through a particularly difficult stretch of time—

Boss Lang’s question. She never did answer it, not even by the time she left.

However difficult it had been, it was all in the past now, wasn’t it.

The sun broke free from behind the clouds, and on the shimmering surface of the river, Tao Yao’s face reflected back, bright with the excitement of a girl who felt certain she was about to reel in a very big fish.