Prologue

Huanhuan was the turtle’s name, given by the child—no special meaning, just that it crawled slowly, though later they discovered it ate steamed buns quite fast.

1

In the height of summer, no matter what kind of light it was, it was blinding.

The afternoon sun and the knife in the man’s hand were both deadly.

Inside the farmhouse, after a bout of fighting, the place was a mess—overturned dried vegetables and hung-out laundry scattered across the floor in a chaotic tangle of shapes and colors.

An old man of fifty or sixty lay sprawled amid the wreckage, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth as he laughed. “I know this old body of mine can’t beat you, but you should know—this blade coming down takes a human life. Do you really think this world has no law? Do you think the murderers executed by the authorities every year are all fake?” His laughter grew wilder. “Kill me, and things won’t go easy for you either.”

The man laughed too, several scars old and new rippling across his face with the motion, his eyes reflected in the gleaming blade—neither sorrowful nor pleased. His ash-gray robe hung motionless in the scorching heat, heavy as a piece of cold iron.

“Don’t you think your kind live tragic lives?” Seeing him make no move, the old man, thinking there might be room to turn things around, continued, “Bound for life to guard one place because of a surname, doing the work of killers, living like rats that can’t stand the light.” The old man forced himself upright. “You don’t have to live this way—it has nothing to do with you, really. Just look away, and everything will be fine. Don’t go back there. Go wherever you want. Look at this vast, beautiful land—scenery, beauty, delicacies, joy everywhere you turn. Just let go of this meaningless duty, and all of it can be yours. Truly, you don’t want it?”

From inside the house came the sound of frightened, muffled crying.

In the inner room, a young couple and their six- or seven-year-old child lay bound tightly with hemp rope, cloth stuffed in their mouths, eyes covered, struggling uselessly on the bed.

A boy of around ten stood calmly by the bedside, his hair shaved down to barely half an inch, sticking up like a hedgehog. His coarse cloth clothes were covered in dust, his shoes caked with mud, a worn leather satchel hanging from his waist. A white turtle the size of a fist crawled out from the half-open flap, twisting its head as if watching the excitement, but before it could look around for long, the boy pushed it back in.

The satchel had been made by his father with his own hands—could hold anything, sturdy and practical. The turtle was his, bought a few years ago from a fisherman, species unknown, ate without growing, and loved watching excitement. The bound family, he was the one who’d tied them up—he was far better with rope than with a blade.

He peeked out the window to check on the standoff outside, still ongoing. He didn’t dare speak, retreating back to keep careful watch over the people in the room.

In a corner not far from him lay a smooth bamboo pole, from which hung a strip of old banner cloth so faded its original color could no longer be told, on which was crookedly written eight characters: “Knowing Heaven, Knowing Earth, Speaking Fate with an Iron Mouth”—the kind of shabby prop a failed fortune-teller might use to scrape together a living.

He looked at the three people on the bed, thought about offering some comfort, but held back.

Outside the window, the man’s blade slowly shifted position, the reflected light forcing the old man to turn his head away.

“You paint the days ahead so nicely, I almost got tempted.” The corner of the man’s mouth lifted slightly. “But unless I change my surname, I can’t live that life.”

The old man raised a hand to block the light. “If you don’t change your surname, you’ll be a murderer your whole life.”

The man, eyes half-narrowed at the sharp edge of the blade in his hand, smiled. “Only someone who’s killed can be called a murderer. You’re not even human—so eager to claim the moral high ground?”

The old man laughed too. “How am I not human? Flesh and blood, same as you.”

His smile faded gradually. “Once you came out of there, you stopped being one.”

The blade fell, fierce and precise.

Inside the house, the boy heard the familiar sound. He didn’t dare look, tensely letting out a breath—it was over.

With a single clang, the broadsword returned to its sheath, resting against the man’s solid back as if nothing had happened.

The man turned and left, and passing by the window, tapped the frame with a bent finger.

The boy understood immediately, went over and loosened the hemp ropes on the man’s—no, the bound man’s wrists slightly, so that with a bit more struggling he’d free himself in time. Then he shouldered the bamboo pole and slipped out of the house in a flash.

About an hour later, wails erupted from the farmhouse, the crying of men, women, and children tangled together—

“Father!!”

“Grandfather!! Waaah!”

“Quick… quick, go report this to the authorities! I remember what those two looked like! We must catch them!”

The blazing sun, the restless cicadas—naturally, they couldn’t hear any of the commotion from the farmhouse.

Catch them? Not so easy. After all, the most important thing in solving a case was motive, and trying to catch a “murderer” with no connection whatsoever to the “victim”—someone who hadn’t even met him before that day—was a hundred times harder than finding a needle in the ocean.

By a nearly dried-up little river, the two of them—one tall, one small—sat resting in the shade of a tree. The man handed the boy a water flask; the boy took a sip, poured a little into his palm, and let the turtle out. The little creature sniffed at it, then turned and crawled back into his satchel. The boy clapped his hands and let it be.

“You didn’t need to cover their eyes,” the man said, capping the flask. “They already memorized our faces long ago.”

The boy wiped the sweat from his forehead. “If someone was about to cut off your head, I wouldn’t want to watch either.”

The man smiled. “So merciful, thinking of others now, are you?”

“They only know him as their father.” The boy fanned his neck with his hand. “That’s different from what you saw.”

The man smiled and reached over to tap the sword beside him, its leather sheath so old it seemed to have been buried in the earth for centuries, worn yet radiating a calm luster refined by the years, wrapped around a knot of unspoken, persistent killing intent.

“This sword will be yours eventually.” He glanced at the child. “If you don’t eat more, you won’t even be able to lift it when the time comes.”

“I can already eat five buns in one meal,” the boy protested, a little indignant.

“Your Huanhuan ate three of them.” The man leaned against the tree, letting out a long breath. “At this rate, I should’ve adopted it as my son instead.”

Huanhuan was the turtle’s name, given by the child—no special meaning, just that it crawled slowly, though later they discovered it ate steamed buns quite fast.

“You can’t adopt it as your son.” The boy leaned against the tree too, watching the fiery red horizon. “That’d make it a ‘turtle son’—isn’t that an insult? You never let me curse.”

The man laughed, ruffling the boy’s head roughly. “You’re useless at most things, but you sure know how to talk back.”

“Father…” The boy swayed under his hand. “Besides coming out to kill them, can we really not go anywhere else? Not even until we die?”

The man’s hand stilled on the boy’s slightly bristly head.

“That’s right. You can’t.” The man withdrew his hand, the deep summer evening reflected in his eyes. “Fansheng, once you became our family’s child, you can only walk our family’s path.”

The boy fell silent a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”

“The market isn’t far from here—want to go buy some new clothes, something fun?” The man asked for his opinion, his tone carrying a hint of making up for something. “How about a gift for Huoniu too? Didn’t you say he wanted a peachwood sword?”

Li Huoniu was the boy’s good friend back home, thin and dark as a monkey, doing no justice to the fine name his parents had given him.

The boy hesitated. “But… the authorities might already have our portraits posted up…”

“Just wash your face a bit.” The man waved it off. “I’ll wash mine too.”

The boy eyed him doubtfully.

“I’m serious.” The man wiped his face for effect. “You should be used to this by now, after all these years. Besides, how many times have those wanted posters actually looked like us… why are you such a coward?”

The boy thought about it, but in the end couldn’t resist the lure of all the wonderful things at the market, and stood up. “Then let’s go!”

Two hours later, laden with bags large and small, they made their way back to the riverbank under the moonlight.

The boy was happy, but also a little wistful, muttering, “Who knows when we’ll get to come out again…” Then, realizing something, he shook his head. “Better not to come out at all, though.”

Hearing this, the man patted his head again, smiling. “Oh, you know it’s better not to come out, do you? But if you never come out at all, where are you going to find a wife?”

“Why do I need a wife?” the boy asked, puzzled.

“Our family needs someone to keep doing this work.” The man counted on his fingers. “Look, our family’s been at the old home for a thousand years. By your generation, the bloodline’s carried on for over a dozen generations. If you don’t marry, where will the children come from?”

The boy thought about it, then countered, “Father, but you never married either.”

“I…” The man was momentarily at a loss, then glared at him. “Marriage is a matter of fate, can’t just have a mother drop down from the sky for you. Ah, forget it, let’s not talk about this. Let’s head back.”

The boy had known since he was young that he wasn’t his father’s biological son—he’d been picked up and raised by him. His father never hid this from him, saying that if he lied about it being blood, it would be hard to explain later why father and son looked nothing alike—his father so handsome, the boy so plain…

The boy looked at the man walking ahead, arms full of bags, and sighed. Whether his father was handsome or not was debatable—no girl had ever given him a second glance anyway. Who would like a scruffy, unshaven middle-aged man, especially one without any respectable trade to his name? In the eyes of the villagers back home, he was nothing more than a fortune-telling con man scraping by.

Barring anything unexpected, he would one day inherit not only his father’s sword but also that bamboo pole with its banner cloth, becoming the next generation’s charlatan in Qingyuan County. His father had agreed to spend money buying Huanhuan not only because he’d begged, but also because his father figured that if Huanhuan ever happened to pass away unexpectedly, its rare white shell would make an excellent divination tool—which had once made the boy quite nervous, terrified his father might arrange for something to “happen” to Huanhuan.

For as long as he could remember, his father with a sword and his father without one were two different people. One could kill an enemy from a thousand miles away, cold and decisive, never dragging out a single strike; the other set up a fortune-telling stall in a fixed spot every day, spouting nonsense while eyeing pretty girls passing by, often arguing loudly with customers over a few coins…

Except for days when there was “business” like today’s, his father and he would never set foot outside Qingyuan County.

At ten years old, he’d spent at least nine and a half years living through the sunrises and sunsets of Qingyuan County.

His family’s surname was Ying, and his name was Ying Fansheng. His father had been proud of this name for a long time, saying he’d consulted many history books to choose it, though when asked to cite its origin, he couldn’t come up with one… Still, in this small county town full of people named things like Laifu, Cuihua, and Dazhuang, Fansheng counted as a rather refined name—just think of his good friend Li Huoniu…

The last time they’d left home was the previous summer, when his father had chased someone a thousand miles away to a county government office and, in front of everyone, finished off a young scholar, landing on the wanted list once again.

This year they hadn’t traveled that far, but the old man’s home had still been five or six hundred li away.

Next summer might not bring much change either…

A warm night breeze blew past. His father stood in the moonlight, took out a copper coin, murmured a few incantations under his breath, then flicked the coin forward. The air seemed to tear open into a gap the height of a person, glowing with a faint purple light.

“Let’s go!” his father called to him.

He hurried a few steps forward. That glowing rift was something all too familiar to him—the road home.

Walking through always brought a moment of dizziness, the sight before his eyes a chaotic blur of light and shadow, but it ended quickly, and by the time his mind cleared, he’d find himself in the courtyard of their home.

If others knew his father was actually a formidable practitioner of the arts, they probably wouldn’t roll their eyes at him so much.

The Ying family ancestors had all been like this—mortal bodies cultivating techniques and observing the heavens, not seeking immortality, but keeping to the ancestral rules.

And the Ying family’s ancestral rule… was to guard a hole.

He’d known since childhood that the well in the courtyard back home wasn’t actually a well.

It was a hole disguised as a well. The well had never had a cover; looking down from the mouth, naturally there was no water, only bottomless darkness.

His father had warned him to stay away from it especially during the height of summer; other times, he could look, but must never let himself fall in.

As a young child he’d been terrified of that well, unwilling to go near it. Now he wasn’t as afraid, even walking calmly up to it, gazing down into the opening, always feeling that within that darkness—so close yet so infinite—something was drawing him in…

2

Even in the hottest summer, every corner of the Bixi Bureau stayed perpetually cool.

Being underground year-round, naturally it never got hot.

Everyone knew that Xiangguo Temple in the capital enjoyed the emperor’s deep favor, its incense thriving, worshippers coming and going endlessly. But though people saw the gods, Buddhas, and arhats above, few knew that beneath Xiangguo Temple lay a hidden prison called the “Stillness Hall,” which held prisoners from all manner of strange cases. And adjacent to the Stillness Hall, serving in the role of inspection and guardianship, was the Bixi Bureau—true to its very name: the Bixi, tiger-shaped and dignified, whose duty was to oversee matters of punishment and litigation, standing outside the prison gates, upholding justice and rooting out evil, neither wrongly convicting nor letting the guilty escape.

That day, the messenger who’d come to deliver the secret decree had just left. Qiu Wanlai tossed the imperial edict onto the table and lay back down on the couch, munching on grapes. “Every single year it’s ‘protect in secret, ensure completeness’… don’t you all think those wealthiest men and celebrated gentry of the realm are just bored out of their minds, living such comfortable lives they have nothing better to do than hold this ‘Hundred Champions Night Banquet’ year after year?” She spat out a grape seed, displeased. “It’s not even a demon or spirit banquet—they’ve already got the Imperial Guard protecting it, why do we need to make the trip too? Don’t they know the case files piling up in our bureau are already mountain-high?”

Sitting at the other end, polishing a Buddha-eye relic, Luo Xian said, “You already said it yourself—Hundred Champions Night Banquet. It’s organized by those wealthiest merchants and magnates, and the ones who get invitations are the most outstanding figures in every field across the realm. If anything went wrong, the empire’s fortunes could suffer greatly. If it’s human trouble, the Imperial Guard can handle it—but what about trouble that isn’t human? Since it’s all official duty anyway, no need to complain.”

Qiu Wanlai flung a grape skin at him. “How much extra salary did they give you? And you’re accusing me of complaining?”

“I’m not accusing you,” Luo Xian immediately explained. “You were already complaining.”

Fortunately Tao Yao wasn’t here, or she’d surely be driven mad by this straightforward fellow—and he still wanted to win a beauty’s favor this way… truly a man fated to remain single forever.

“So what if I complain?” Qiu Wanlai sat up, looking around, indignant. “Open your eyes and look—the Bixi Bureau’s Three Chiefs and Six Stars, nine positions total. Our chief’s swamped with duties and always has to attend the emperor, rarely seen—his seat here is gathering dust. Ever since the previous Broken Army died in the line of duty, that position’s been vacant, no new recruit brought in, no promotion from among us either. That’d all be fine—at least we still had Lord Tanlang, but now even he’s resigned his post. Day to day, the Bixi Bureau runs on just the six of us, already stretched too thin, and now they’re piling on extra work too, treating it like it’s just part of the job with no reward for it. Even oxen and horses get to eat grass—we’re worse off than them!”

Luo Xian, completely unable to understand her grievance, said seriously, “The Bixi Bureau’s sacred duty is to protect our realm’s people from demons and evil spirits. Everyone at that banquet is a subject of the Song empire—going is simply part of our job. Besides, this Hundred Champions Night Banquet only started last year, and what you did last year was just eat and drink your way through the party and come home safely. Such an easy assignment—why so resentful?”

That was indeed how it had gone last year—everyone from the Bixi Bureau who’d attended had spent the entire assignment posing as guests, watching the Song empire’s most outstanding figures mingle over food and drink and a grand spectacle of song and dance, eating and drinking without lifting a finger. Really, it should have counted as a plum assignment.

“You dolt, not worth explaining to.” Qiu Wanlai snorted. “Wasn’t it held in Luoyang last year? Why’s it changed to Qingyuan County this year? A thousand li from the capital, some obscure little place, coming and going is such a hassle. Aren’t those old geezers heading it worried their bones will rattle apart in the carriage?”

“Qingyuan County…” Luo Xian thought for a moment, his gaze shifting elsewhere. “He Bai, isn’t that your hometown?”

In front of a wall decorated to look like a window, a young man with silver hair and a white robe sat at his desk, holding a pair of scissors, focused on cutting yellow talisman paper. A pile of various shaped “works” already lay on the table, and he hadn’t noticed at all what the other two were discussing.

“He Bai!” Luo Xian called again, and seeing no response, raised his voice. “Lord Tiankong!”

The man finally turned slightly, saying flatly, “Qingyuan County has beautiful scenery, surrounded by mountains lush and green year-round, winding like a jade belt—hence the name Qingyuan. The climate is mild, no harsh winters or scorching summers, and many wealthy people have long built fine estates there. It is indeed my hometown.”

At this, Qiu Wanlai looked at the man too, frowning slightly. “You never go back to your hometown.”

“If it’s official duty, it doesn’t matter where I go.” His hand paused for a moment—perhaps he’d cut something wrong.

Luo Xian frowned. “Your parents…”

Before he could finish, several grapes flew across the room and landed squarely in his mouth, courtesy of Qiu Wanlai, who shot him a fierce glare and changed the subject. “Isn’t your He Chunhua back yet? Patrolling the city every night, that’s rough on it too.”

Just as she finished speaking, a voice came from behind her. “I’m back. Rare of you to care about me today.”

A large black cat leapt down soundlessly from the entrance, walking gracefully over, then jumping up onto a wooden shelf lined with a cat bed beside He Bai’s desk, gazing lazily at Qiu Wanlai.

Qiu Wanlai smiled. “Get anything good to eat today?”

The cat licked its paw. “Now that the Stone Solids are settled, the capital’s fairly peaceful. Nothing worth eating.”

“Aren’t you going to go hungry, then?” She pursed her lips, quickly hugging the remaining grapes to her chest.

“You really have no memory, woman,” the cat said coldly. “I eat demons because I don’t like them, not because I’m hungry. How many times do I have to say it before it sticks.” It tilted its chin toward Luo Xian. “Only that big fool with his eye who does nothing but stare at demons eats them out of hunger.”

Luo Xian jabbed his Buddha-eye relic hard against the floor. “It’s a member of the Bixi Bureau too, with countless achievements to its name—watch your tone.”

The cat snorted.

“Just don’t steal my grapes, that’s all I ask. This year’s grapes are especially sweet, I’m saving them to refine poison.” Qiu Wanlai gazed at the grapes in her hand like treasure. Perhaps before too long, whoever her poisoned arrows struck would die wrapped in the sweetness of grapes.

Just then, the cat spotted the imperial edict on the table, hopped over, and read through it. “Qingyuan County in ten days?”

“The decree’s already been issued, of course we’re going.” Luo Xian glanced at his two colleagues. “Only, in ten days, who knows if those other three will make it back in time. If they don’t return, it’ll just be the three of us going—the edict doesn’t specify that everyone must attend.”

He Bai, without looking up, said, “The three of us alone would be enough.” His scissors moved slowly across the paper. “Especially with Chunhua along.”

Everyone said the Bixi Bureau was full of oddballs—if Tao Yao ever found out that this cat spirit who’d caused her so much trouble was actually a “subordinate” of the Bixi Bureau’s Lord Tiankong, formally named He Chunhua, she might laugh about it until next New Year…

Qiu Wanlai smiled. “Fine, fine, you have your cat, aren’t you great. I’ll keep handling the eating, drinking, and fun this year as usual. You two keep your eyes and your cat sharp.”

“Understood.” Luo Xian answered earnestly at once, and looking at her lovely, smiling face, found himself briefly dazed. In truth, every time they went out together on assignment, whether she said anything or not, he always wished he could take on every tiring, troublesome task himself. It was just a pity she never seemed to appreciate it, treating everything he did for her as if it didn’t matter at all. But he didn’t mind—as long as she kept smiling, that was enough. Though the Bixi Bureau was buried deep underground, never seeing sunlight or warmth year-round, as long as she smiled, it was as if flowers bloomed for a thousand miles.

Luo Xian thought he’d hidden his feelings for Qiu Wanlai well, but everyone in the Bixi Bureau saw right through it. Aside from the taciturn He Bai, who never teased him about it, the other oddballs never missed a chance to joke behind his back, saying that if a man as tone-deaf and clueless about sweet talk as Luo Xian could ever win the heart of the Bixi Bureau’s number one beauty, they’d gladly hand over three years’ salary as a wedding gift, no take-backs. Yet all these years later, their salaries remained firmly in their own pockets. You see, if only Luo Xian could spare a fraction of the effort he put into training toward something else, if only his way of thinking could bend just slightly, this group of fine, considerate colleagues wouldn’t be stuck unable to give away money they were so willing to part with. Ah, what a headache.

The imperial edict still lay crookedly on the table. Qiu Wanlai looked at it, as if something important had occurred to her, and suddenly sat up straight. “Lord Tanlang… no, wait, the second young master—he got an invitation to the banquet last year too, didn’t he? He didn’t go. If they invite him again this year, will he still not come?”

Luo Xian said plainly, “The young master dislikes crowds more than anything. I imagine he won’t go this year either.”

“Makes sense. Who could ever get him to attend something like this.” Qiu Wanlai looked a little disappointed.

“The only thing that could get the young master to personally take action would be a case like Xiao Yuanxin’s,” Luo Xian said with feeling. “Not long ago, he came to the Bixi Bureau himself, handed over all the files on the Xiao Yuanxin case, and assisted us throughout in solving it. I noticed he looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot—clearly he’d poured everything he had into that case. Even though he’s resigned his post, he clearly still can’t let go of his sense of responsibility.” He said earnestly, “I keep hoping the young master will come back.”

Everyone knew of Qiu Wanlai’s admiration for Si Kuanglan; even Luo Xian, tone-deaf as he was, understood it too. Though it stung a little, there was no jealousy in his heart at all, because he could never bring himself to envy a man he genuinely admired from the bottom of his heart—especially since Si Kuanglan had done him a great kindness besides. If Qiu Wanlai and Si Kuanglan were ever truly to become a match, he would be happy for her.

Hearing his words, Qiu Wanlai grew a little dejected. “He’s not coming back. From now on he’ll only ever be the second young master of the Si estate, never our Lord Tanlang again.”

The cat had no interest in their conversation, hopping back onto He Bai’s desk instead, asking, “Same as last year, nothing extra to prepare?”

He Bai shook his head. “No need.”

“But…”

He Bai looked up. His delicate, refined face had once possessed a pair of striking, expressive eyes, but now one of them was gray, like a winter dusk over a barren field, devoid of any living color.

He had never told anyone why one of his eyes was blind.

Only the cat knew.

“You’re getting sentimental too?” He glanced at the cat, lowering his head to continue cutting paper. “It’s nothing. I’ll have to go back eventually anyway.”

Luo Xian’s probing question, Qiu Wanlai’s deflection, even the cat’s worry—all of it stemmed from the fact that He Bai’s parents had both died tragically in Qingyuan County when he was young. Afterward, relatives had taken him elsewhere to raise, and he’d never returned to his hometown since.

When He Bai had joined the Bixi Bureau, he hadn’t even brought a single piece of luggage—only this large black cat named He Chunhua at his side.

Among the Bixi Bureau’s “Six Stars,” he was the youngest, yet the most mature and reticent, spending his time completing whatever tasks were assigned to him and otherwise poring over case files—solved and unsolved alike—in the bureau, almost never joining his colleagues in the world above for food and entertainment, living a life more ascetic than a monk’s. In that way, he truly lived up to his name—pale hair, pale skin, a pale, reserved temperament. Combined with never seeing the sun year-round, he always carried a somewhat sickly frailty about him; those who didn’t know better might take him for nothing more than a frail scholar prematurely gray, never imagining he could be the Bixi Bureau’s Lord Tiankong.

He never spoke to anyone of his past. The so-called “secret” had only been uncovered by the crafty Qiu Wanlai, who’d noticed something from the case files he kept poring over—a file worn nearly to shreds from his handling concerned a bizarre case that had occurred fifteen years earlier in Qingyuan County: a married couple, with no contact with any fire source whatsoever, had inexplicably turned to ash. According to witness testimony, when found, the couple had still been in their positions from before death, but at the slightest touch, they’d crumbled into scattered dust—an utterly eerie scene. The authorities had investigated for a long time without progress, forced eventually to hand the case over to the Bixi Bureau. But even the Bixi Bureau had failed to crack it after years of effort—the culprit had left absolutely no trace.

Faced with Qiu Wanlai and the others’ curiosity, He Bai hadn’t hidden it either, admitting openly that he was the couple’s only son. When his parents had turned to ash, he’d been only four years old, standing right in front of them. He had never returned to Qingyuan County since leaving.

With such a traumatic childhood, anyone else would probably never want to set foot in that heartbreaking place again.

Now, even the cat was a little worried about this.

The world was vast, with beautiful mountains and rivers everywhere—even setting aside major cities like the capital Luoyang, there were countless other options. Yet this “Hundred Champions Night Banquet,” which they all found utterly tedious, had to be held specifically in Qingyuan County, as if some unseen force were determined to drag He Bai back to that place he could never bear to remember.

Watching He Bai focused on his paper-cutting, the cat said nothing more, lying down and narrowing its eyes.

What he’d said wasn’t wrong. He’d have to go back eventually anyway.

Besides, he wasn’t alone now. What was there to fear?

3

Swish, swish!

Another sheet of paper was crumpled into a ball and flew over Tao Yao’s shoulder to land on the floor.

The summer heat was unbearable, cicadas droning endlessly outside the window, deeply irritating—yet somehow she sat obediently at her desk, an air of calm composure about her, her brush moving and pausing across the paper, occasionally producing a flourish of “elegant” strokes. Behind her, the floor was already covered in a great heap of crumpled paper balls.

Mo Ya wiped the sweat from his forehead, watching Gungun bat one of the paper balls around like a toy, and said quietly, “Maybe we should let her stop practicing… such a waste of paper.”

Young Master Liu, leaning back in his chair, sipping cold tea while fanning himself vigorously with a palm-leaf fan, said, “Don’t you think when she’s practicing calligraphy is actually our best time? The world’s at peace.”

“But paper isn’t cheap either. If we saved it, we could exchange it for quite a bit of money.” Mo Ya, a little pained, picked up a crumpled ball, unfolded it, and handed it to Young Master Liu. “Look at this, what kind of nonsense is she scribbling?”

Young Master Liu took it and looked, his brow immediately twisting into a knot, struggling to read aloud: “Tao Capital… something something evil… something something right and wrong… something something the hearts of men… what even is this!” He tossed the paper ball onto the floor. “Can’t make out eight of every ten characters.”

Mo Ya sighed. “I think everyone should spend their time and energy on what they’re good at. I don’t mean to look down on her, it’s just—her handwriting is really that ugly…”

“See it a hundred times a day, and even ugly becomes familiar.” Young Master Liu closed his eyes to rest. As far as her calligraphy practice went, there was no point trying to save her from it anymore—as long as she was happy.

“She wasn’t like this before, though. Calligraphy practice really doesn’t seem like something she’d do.” Mo Ya still couldn’t understand it. “Didn’t she almost throw away the big red envelope the second young master gave her? How’d her whole personality change after coming back from Iron Mirror Town?”

Tao Yao’s brush suddenly stopped. She stretched, and without turning around, said, “In case it’s ever my turn to leave a will, at least it should look decent.” As she spoke, she suddenly grew indignant, slapping the table. “Even a fish writes better characters than me! How can I stand for this!”

Young Master Liu spat out the tea in his mouth, coughing without end.

Mo Ya quickly patted his back. “It’s not like this is the first day you’ve known her—her way of thinking has always been different from ordinary people’s. Just take it in stride.”

Young Master Liu glared at Tao Yao’s back. “It’s been months since that whole thing, and the one thing you can’t let go of is that someone else’s handwriting is nicer than yours?”

Tao Yao shrugged. “Besides the handwriting, I also can’t let go of that guy who’s stealing my business.”

“The physician riding in the sedan chair?” Mo Ya blurted out.

“What kind of physician, more like some vile thing come to prey on people.” Tao Yao snorted coldly, glancing sideways at Young Master Liu. “Any news on your end?”

Young Master Liu shook his head. “You haven’t found anything either, have you? Since this guy dares to eat your lunch, he’s clearly not one to underestimate. If he’s deliberately covering his tracks, we probably won’t catch him anytime soon. But I’ve already put the word out to my contacts to keep an eye out.”

“Mm.” Tao Yao picked up her brush again, focused on writing. “That fish definitely wasn’t his first patient, and won’t be his last either. Anyone with half a brain should realize no legitimate physician would coax, trick, or even threaten a patient into handing over their most precious possession as payment.”

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya said in unison at once: “You do the same thing!”

Tao Yao’s brush jerked, skidding off the page. She spun around indignantly, baring her claws. “When have I ever done that?! My patients all sign up willingly, and I always explain the consequences to them honestly first, fair and square, no deception. Besides, I only take a promise from them—I’ve never touched so much as a hair on their heads!”

Mo Ya muttered quietly, “But you’re going to use them as medicine eventually, right? Every time it’s their arm, their leg, their eyeballs…”

A paper ball hit him on the head.

“Isn’t it only right that I get repaid for saving their lives!” Tao Yao put her hands on her hips. “Even if I do take their arms, legs, and eyeballs, it’s to make medicine that saves even more people!”

“Even if it’s to save people through medicine-making, you still can’t just take people’s arms, legs, and eyeballs willy-nilly…” Mo Ya muttered under his breath.

“Provoking me in this heat, of all things…” Tao Yao rolled up her sleeves. “I notice your tongue’s pretty lively—maybe refining it into medicine could cure speechlessness. Shouldn’t let such a fine raw material go to waste.”

Mo Ya immediately shut his mouth, ducking behind Young Master Liu.

“Alright, alright, no need to make such a fuss in this heat.” Young Master Liu draped his fan over his face. “Go on practicing your calligraphy, or you really will end up worse than a fish. Imagine what your final words would look like to whoever finds them—say, the second young master. Just deciphering your chicken scratch would exhaust him so much he wouldn’t even have energy left to mourn. Tsk tsk, what a shame.”

“Ptooey! Can’t you say something auspicious for once!”

Several paper balls pelted Young Master Liu.

Young Master Liu blocked them with his fan. “You’re the one who brought up final words first!”

“Was my point about final words?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“I was clearly musing about the impermanence of life!”

“Couldn’t tell…”

Amid the flying paper balls, someone entered carrying something.

“What are you all fussing about now!” Steward Miao dodged two paper balls. “Fresh crystal fruit soup from the kitchen, cooling and refreshing—want some or not?!”

“Yes!”

The paper-ball battlefield vanished instantly; the next moment, three people and a fox sat lovingly around the table, precious scene of them all happily slurping down the sweet, cool fruit soup.

“You bunch of monkeys…” Steward Miao said, half laughing, half exasperated, sitting down. “There’s also something else.”

“What’s up?” Tao Yao looked up, a bit of fruit flesh still on the corner of her mouth. “You and the second young master heading out to cause trouble again?”

“Not that. Things have been fairly quiet lately, no calling cards coming in. Probably the heat’s got everyone too lazy to stir up mischief.” Steward Miao smiled. “It’s this—ten days from now, there’s a ‘Hundred Champions Night Banquet’ to be held in Qingyuan County, a grand gathering organized by the wealthiest and most celebrated figures of our time. Though it’s a private event, even the emperor takes it quite seriously; those invited are the finest talents from every field. Last year was the first one, held in Luoyang, but this year it’s moved to Qingyuan County. The second young master didn’t attend last year, and now they’ve sent another invitation. He says refusing again might not look good, so he asked me to come check whether you’d all like to go along to Qingyuan County for this event—think of it as a bit of a trip.”

“Yes, yes!”

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya nodded so eagerly they nearly wanted to leave right that moment.

Tao Yao, however, looked skeptical. “He’s willingly taking us out to play? Steward Miao, you’d better not be helping him trick us. Is there some ‘trouble’ in Qingyuan County he can’t handle, and he’s just recruiting the right talent for the job again?”

“Would I ever help him trick you all?” Steward Miao laughed. “This time he genuinely means well. You know him—he’s never one for crowds like this. Forget two invitations, he wouldn’t bother even after ten. These past while, you’ve all done the Si estate great service, whether with the Xiao Yuanxin matter or the Stone Solid demons—though the second young master doesn’t say it out loud, he remembers it in his heart.” He looked at Tao Yao with a smile. “Didn’t he already pay you every last coin of the three months’ wages he promised? But the second young master feels it shouldn’t just be you getting a reward—Young Master Liu and little Mo Ya put in effort too, and deserve something as well. Qingyuan County may be an ordinary place, not as lively or prosperous as elsewhere, but it’s a pleasant, mild-climate retreat, green year-round—now’s a perfect time to visit. And that night banquet is sure to have endless good food and drink, and I hear there’ll be beautiful song and dance too—practically a blessed refuge in the height of summer heat.”

Hearing Steward Miao’s account, Tao Yao was naturally quite tempted, but still wasn’t entirely at ease. “Is he really just having a change of heart?”

“Ahem, I promise, we truly haven’t received any calling cards asking for our help lately,” Steward Miao said earnestly. “The second young master genuinely means well this time.”

Hearing this, Tao Yao pursed her lips. “Well then, I suppose I’ll reluctantly accompany him, so he won’t be too lonely in that kind of setting.”

“Then it’s settled.” Steward Miao stood up, satisfied. “I’ll go report back to the second young master. If we’re definitely going, Qingyuan County is quite far—even with our fastest horses, we’d need to set off first thing the day after tomorrow at the latest. Get yourselves ready.” As he spoke, his gaze fell on Tao Yao’s pile of “calligraphy,” and, suddenly interested, he went over and picked one up to examine closely. “Tao Capital suppresses demons and evils… The Si estate resolves right and wrong… They all say spirits and demons bewitch men’s hearts, but who knows the human heart… is itself the true spirit.”

Young Master Liu exclaimed in surprise, “You can actually make out her handwriting, sir?”

“How could I not?” Steward Miao smiled. “Though it is a bit chaotic.” He asked Tao Yao, “Little Tao, was this you? I mean these lines.”

“Who else would it be.” Tao Yao waved a hand. “Just scribbled something, nothing compared to those truly talented types.”

“It’s written quite well. Worth keeping.” Steward Miao casually folded her work and tucked it into his sleeve, smiling. “So the second young master’s red envelope wasn’t wasted after all.” With that, he left, thoroughly satisfied.

Young Master Liu watched Steward Miao’s retreating figure, took a spoonful of fruit soup, and said, moved, “Steward Miao really is a saint… such a big heart!”

“Indeed, going to such lengths just to spare Tao Yao’s feelings,” Mo Ya agreed, equally touched.

“That’s enough out of you two!” Tao Yao kicked at them both. “Only someone as discerning as Steward Miao can see my true potential—what would you two blind, tasteless fools ever understand!”

“Ah, this fruit soup is so good!”

“Right, let’s ask the kitchen for two more bowls later!”

“Are you two just asking to get hit?”

“Let’s not fight yet—want another bowl first?”

“Yes…”

The day passed quickly, and no sooner had they finished dinner than Young Master Liu and Mo Ya were already deep in enthusiastic discussion about what snacks to bring along for the trip. Even Gungun was so excited it dragged out its own sleeping pillow, signaling for Mo Ya to pack it. Everyone was already immersed in the joy this upcoming gathering promised.

Tao Yao sat by the window, watching the fiery sunset outside, unusually not joining in their excitement, just counting on her fingers, as if tallying something.

For this upcoming trip, she should have been even more excited than Young Master Liu and Mo Ya. But with something else weighing on her mind, there was no extra room left to be happy about lesser matters.

She truly was someone who loved having fun, but occasionally she still had to attend to actual serious business.

4

Late at night, Tao Yao opened her eyes, listening to the snoring drifting from Young Master Liu and Mo Ya’s room, and quietly got up, tiptoeing out of the room.

The scorching heat hadn’t lessened at all with the late hour—without the sun’s direct blaze, the surroundings were still steaming like a sauna.

She easily slipped past the patrolling servants, made her way to the back gate of the Si estate, slipped out, then jogged to the bamboo grove in front of the estate, not stopping until she reached the clearing deepest within it.

A sparse night breeze passed through the bamboo leaves, the surroundings filled only with a cool rustling sound. In such an empty place, all that could be seen were countless bamboo branches swaying faintly in the darkness—despite the unbearable heat, an unavoidable chill still crept in. Anyone faint of heart wouldn’t have lasted a moment here.

Tao Yao looked around once more, and only after confirming she was truly alone did she relax.

She sat cross-legged on the ground, glanced up at the fairly decent moon overhead, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, folded her left hand flat over her right at her chest, and murmured softly: “Heaven and earth, sun and moon, the four directions bear witness—a promise worth a thousand gold, bound into pact with me.”

A faint white glow slowly rose from her left palm, not much bigger than a pigeon’s egg.

As she repeated the incantation more and more times, the egg-sized glow grew larger, its light no longer plain white but spreading with all sorts of colors like sprouting shoots, forming a slowly rotating small world within her palm.

She kept her eyes closed, concentrating intently on the incantation, a drop of sweat falling from her brow—clearly what she was doing wasn’t as effortless as it looked.

Deep within the dense bamboo grove, a pair of eyes watched her coldly from not far away, making no sound that might disturb her.

After about the time it took for an incense stick to burn, the ball of colored light in her hand, now grown to about the size of her own head, slowly floated free of her palm, hovering in midair. She opened her eyes, watching it gradually stop spinning, formed a hand seal with both hands, and exhaled sharply: “Emerge!”

A sudden gust of wind whipped up, and the ball of intense light exploded open, illuminating most of the bamboo grove in an instant, as if countless bolts of lightning had fallen within it, blinding to look at—even the birds roosting in the grove overnight were startled awake, flapping off in a scattered flurry.

Fortunately it all happened in the blink of an eye. Once the wind died down and the light vanished, what remained before Tao Yao was a tiny figure barely two inches tall—red-clothed, black-haired, eyes like crescent moons, two messy braids resting on its chest, looking oddly, naggingly familiar…

Tao Yao reached out her hand, and the little figure obediently landed on her palm. Leaning in for a closer look, she found the little figure had a pair of deer antlers on its head, a fox tail on its rear, its two hands not quite hands but more like cat paws, its feet not feet either but a length of fish tail, and a pair of wings sprouting from its back—altogether, it looked like some strange creature assembled from completely unrelated parts.

But even the most oblivious observer could see that this little monster’s face and attire were an exact match for Tao Yao’s own—as if someone had taken her likeness and crafted a miniature version of her, though not quite successfully, sprouting all sorts of odd extra parts.

“So it turned out like this…” Tao Yao stared at the little thing in astonishment. “Shouldn’t it be similar to that one…”

The little thing in her palm tilted its head, staring at Tao Yao curiously, making vague, chirping sounds.

Tao Yao shook her head. “Never mind, this’ll do for now. Once you’re complete, you’ll surely be another good-looking version of me.” She smiled, then glanced to the side. “Come on out, I can already smell the roasted chicken on you.”

Footsteps sounded from within the bamboo grove. Young Master Liu walked over expressionlessly, staring at the “other self” in her palm, and asked, “What are you doing?”

“You saw it yourself, didn’t you?” Tao Yao smiled. “Just the most ordinary pact-binding technique.” She raised her left hand a little higher. “With so many seals gathered here, I just wanted to see what would come of it.”

“Come of it?” Young Master Liu frowned. “Do you have any idea that performing a pact-binding technique with your current level of skill is like standing at the edge of a cliff—one wrong move and you’d shatter to pieces?!”

“Any technique carries a chance of failure. I can accept that.” Tao Yao pursed her lips, unconcerned. “Besides, if I can’t find the Compendium of a Hundred Demons, I’m as good as standing at a cliff’s edge anyway.”

“But doing this…” Young Master Liu’s face turned green with frustration, but then something occurred to him, and looking at the strange “result” in her hand, he said in shock, “Wait… don’t tell me you’re planning to use this to…”

“You think I’ve been this diligent lately purely out of a healer’s compassion?” Tao Yao admitted frankly. “I need more demons willing to give me their seal of promise. A promise is the greatest source of power—the more I accumulate, the more likely I am to produce something in the same lineage as the Compendium of a Hundred Demons.” She held up the little creature in her palm, smiling. “That person mentioned once that the Compendium was originally formed from a pact with a hundred demons. What I’ve got here is the same idea. I just didn’t expect it to come out looking this strange—same pact-binding with a hundred demons, yet the Compendium itself emerged as a neat, proper scroll. I figured this would turn out similar.”

Young Master Liu crouched down, staring at her like she was some kind of monster. “Do you have any idea how dangerous what you just did was?!”

“If I let ‘Sugar’ run wild in the world unchecked, that would be far more dangerous.” Tao Yao patted his shoulder. “I told you—what I lost, I’m responsible for finding again. The Compendium is clever, able to shift and transform endlessly in the mortal realm. Searching for it blindly is nearly impossible. Even if we got lucky like last time, without any preparation, you and I combined might not even be a match for it, and its power just keeps growing. So, I need one of its own kind.” She smiled again, asking him, “Remember the game we used to play back in Tao Capital? You always hid the best, no one could ever find you, we lost every time—but later you could never win anymore. Remember why?”

Young Master Liu thought about it. “You caught another snake demon and had it track my trail, then secretly told you. I accused you of cheating.”

Tao Yao laughed. “Right, to catch a cunning snake, the surest method is to bring in one of its own kind who knows its habits best, isn’t it? Might not guarantee a hundred percent win, but the odds go up considerably. Instinct is a remarkable thing, you know.”

“So… you actually used the promises your patients gave you to create another ‘Compendium of a Hundred Demons’?” Young Master Liu sat down on the ground, cold sweat beading on his forehead even more than Tao Yao’s. “What on earth is going on in that head of yours? How can you be sure this little snake will actually catch the big one?”

“At least I’ve got half a chance—no, probably better than half.” Tao Yao held the little thing up in front of his eyes. “Look, it’s got my face, clearly a formidable character. Have a little faith!”

Young Master Liu looked at the oddly-shaped “little Tao Yao” in her palm and sighed. “It doesn’t look very successful to me…”

“It’s not complete yet.” Tao Yao gently touched the little creature’s head; it tilted its head, yawned, looking drowsy and sleepy. “The reason I hadn’t gotten this far before is that most of the demons who sealed pacts with me were too weak—I worried the accumulated power wouldn’t be enough to form a pact at all. Not until I met the cat spirit.” A trace of relief crossed her face. “One seal from a cat spirit is worth a thousand ordinary little demons. If I could get a few more seals from other spirits or demons of similar level, my little Tao Yao definitely wouldn’t look this strange right now. The weather’s especially hot lately, sun and moon both at their peak—a good time for pact-binding, so I came here tonight to try it out. Didn’t expect it to actually work, even if it’s still an imperfect rough form. Give it a bit more time, gather a few more seals, and naturally it’ll be complete.”

Young Master Liu listened to her matter-of-fact explanation, then looked her up and down once more, a flicker of deep suspicion crossing his eyes.

Tao Yao’s attention was entirely on the little creature in her hand, and seeing it already curled up on her palm snoring, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Look, even sleeping it’s this cute, just like me!”

Young Master Liu thought for a moment, then frowned. “When performing a pact-binding technique, your purpose has to match the promise the demons gave you. If the pact succeeds, whatever’s formed must serve that purpose as its sole mission—once fulfilled, you dissolve the pact and free them. They sealed with you agreeing to become your medicine, but that doesn’t seem to connect to your search for the Compendium, does it?”

“You always seem so clever normally, why are you being so rigid about this, like a little monk?” Tao Yao flicked his forehead, then grinned slyly. “The purpose of my pact-binding is for them to become medicine to cure my heart’s affliction. And my heart’s affliction is finding the Compendium of a Hundred Demons back—so naturally, this little thing was born for that very purpose. How does that not connect?”

Young Master Liu held his forehead, mulling it over, his brow finally easing slightly. “That… actually sort of makes sense…”

“I’ve told you all before—you need to think more and use your brain, brute effort alone isn’t enough.” Tao Yao touched the sleeping little creature again, murmuring to herself, “Still too weak right now. Sleep, then—the more you sleep, the faster you’ll grow.” With that, she gently closed both hands, murmured a few more incantations, then opened them again—the little thing on her palm had vanished into her left hand, leaving no trace behind.

“Let’s head back.” She clapped her hands and stood up, but in that instant felt her vision darken briefly—fortunately it passed quickly.

Young Master Liu, noticing something was off, caught her in time. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe I stood up too fast, just a moment of dizziness.” She shook her head.

“You used the Heart-Linking Technique just a few months ago, and now you’re doing something as major as pact-binding here today—both techniques drain your spirit and vital essence. Do you really think you’re made of iron?” Young Master Liu sighed. “Next time you’re planning something dangerous, could you give me a heads-up beforehand?”

“Telling you wouldn’t have helped anyway.” Tao Yao bounced on the spot a few times, then spun around a couple more. “See, I can run, I can jump, nothing’s wrong.”

Young Master Liu said, resigned, “Let’s head back…” Then, thinking of something else, added, “Maybe you should try eating some thousand-year ginseng or something too. Tonic never hurts. The Si estate’s got plenty of good stuff anyway, and Steward Miao dotes on you.”

“Oh please, I’m not postpartum and weak, what am I tonic-ing for?” Tao Yao grinned, hooking her arm through his. “I know you dote on me too, though.”

“Get lost!” Young Master Liu swatted her hand away. “I’m just worried you’ll drop dead before you find the Compendium, and I won’t be able to explain it to that person when we get back.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already come up with a method like this—you think I still can’t find the Compendium?” Tao Yao’s mouth curled up confidently. “But there’s one thing I still haven’t figured out.”

“What’s that?”

“If the Compendium is a pact-bound object, then who was the one who made the pact back then? The power of a pact-bound object also varies in scale—my ‘little Tao Yao,’ impressive as it is, is still just the promise of a single demon. Without dissolving the pact, if it refuses to work hard to cure my heart’s affliction, I could threaten it in return—work hard or get ‘erased.’ If I actually erased a single snake demon, only it itself would vanish, not implicating its whole clan. But the Compendium’s ‘hundred demons’ isn’t merely a hundred individual demons—it’s over a hundred entire demon clans. Whoever could secure the promise of an entire clan, enough to forge something as formidable as the Compendium, certainly wasn’t an ordinary figure.” Tao Yao voiced the doubt in her heart, looking at Young Master Liu. “And here’s the most important point—my pact-binding is meant to find the Compendium. But when the Compendium itself was pact-bound into existence, what was it made for? Surely not just to threaten every demon clan in existence? If that were the purpose, demons aren’t stupid—who would give such a life-threatening promise for that?”

Young Master Liu thought about it, shaking his head. “The Compendium appeared far too long ago. Hardly anyone knows the full story behind it.”

“Except for that person.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “But the old fossil never explains anything to us in detail.”

“Knowing too much isn’t necessarily a good thing either.” Young Master Liu shrugged. “We’re not like those great deities up in the heavenly Kunlun who’re constantly obligated to protect heaven, earth, and all three realms. Let’s just hurry up and get the Compendium back, stuff it back in its old spot in Tao Capital, survive that person’s judgment, and everyone’s happy. No need for us to worry about the rest.”

“I was just curious in passing, that’s all.”

“Your little Tao Yao right now looks even more useless than Gungun. How many more seals do you figure you’ll need before it can actually help you with anything?”

“Hard to say. Depends on what demons I end up treating.”

“Then you’d better get a move on! Look at you, barely made a house call since coming back from Iron Mirror Town!”

“You think my patients are like field mice, available on demand? Hasn’t anyone been burning paper for me lately anyway? The few who do come by are all trivial little demons.”

“Why don’t you just scrap the paper-burning requirement altogether… I’ll go spread word for you, say you’re offering free treatment out of generosity, and I guarantee customers will come flocking.”

“Are you trying to get me killed? My energy and my medicine are both limited. If you lure in a huge crowd of demons and I can’t treat them all, have you thought about the consequences?”

“Oh, so you do know your energy is limited?”

“…”

“Don’t mention what just happened to the little monk, or he’ll fuss about it for days and we won’t get any peace even out on this trip.”

“No need to remind me. And by the way, did you sneak that leftover roast chicken back to your room again?”

“Yeah…”

“Take a bath before you go stalking people from now on.”

“…Fine.”

The two figures, one red, one blue-green, chatting about unrelated trivialities, disappeared into the swaying moonlight and bamboo leaves, as if nothing had happened at all.

5

On a still-cool morning, a carriage departed from the Si estate, and before long turned onto a mountain road thick with greenery, racing swiftly toward Qingyuan County.

Si Kuanglan still held his beloved military treatise, carving out his own separate world within the swaying carriage.

On the other side, endless idle chatter and endless snacking—any decent scenery passing by, even a strange-looking bird flying past, drew exclamations of wonder from people who’d clearly never seen much of the world, plus one thoroughly overexcited fox rolling around everywhere.

The carriage had never been this lively.

Si Kuanglan was probably already regretting bringing them along a little…

“Big!”

“Heh heh, small! You lost again!”

“Again, again!”

Amid the clattering commotion, Tao Yao, her face plastered with paper slips, shook the dice while asking, “Second young master, come play with us!”

Si Kuanglan didn’t so much as glance over. “Fine to pass the time on a trip, but you’ll keep playing even back home—you all know the Si estate’s rules.”

Tao Yao pursed her lips. “It’s not even gambling for money, just guessing big or small. It’s seven or eight days to Qingyuan County, isn’t it? Rocking around in a carriage the whole time reading books, your eyes are bound to suffer!”

“Second young master, this girl’s got a point.” Young Master Liu pulled Tao Yao to the side. “You can ignore her other nonsense, but advice about your health is worth listening to. Come play with us—look how happy little Mo Ya is.”

Mo Ya glanced up at the thick cluster of paper slips hanging from his head, looking miserable. “How am I happy? My head looks like it’s sprouting grass.”

Si Kuanglan, seemingly worn down by them, closed his book and took a deep breath, looking at them all. “If I play, I’m afraid your faces won’t have enough room left.”

“That’s not necessarily true, second young master. Dice games are about luck, not how many books you’ve read.”

“Exactly, exactly, whose face won’t have enough room remains to be seen.”

“Is that so? Heh heh.”

Half an hour later, Tao Yao, her face completely obscured, waved her hands blindly in the air. “I can’t see anything! Someone hand me the dice!!”

“Here, take it.” Young Master Liu’s face was equally buried under a dense layer of paper slips, hardly any bare spot left to stick another on.

Mo Ya had to push aside the paper slips covering his eyes, saying helplessly to the two of them, “Just admit defeat. The second young master is too good, hasn’t lost a single round.”

Si Kuanglan fanned himself leisurely with his folding fan, smiling.

Tao Yao tore the paper slips off her face, examining Si Kuanglan closely from all angles, frowning. “You must be cheating! There’s no way you’d guess right every single time!”

“Those who can’t afford to lose always have plenty of excuses,” Si Kuanglan said, shaking his head.

Young Master Liu tore the slips off his own face, saying to Tao Yao with a smile, “Some people are just naturally sharp of hearing. As a former nine-out-of-ten-losses gambler yourself, you should know full well that truly skilled people can identify dice numbers by sound alone.” Then, cupping his hands toward Si Kuanglan, “Second young master truly is second to none in everything, I’m impressed, impressed!”

Si Kuanglan said flatly, “When my father was alive, he often had us blindfolded, relying solely on sound to identify the position of things—as large as the direction of someone’s footsteps, as small as the sound of a feather falling. Get it wrong, and we’d have to hold a horse stance while balancing a basin of water on our heads for three sticks of incense.”

“Master Si really didn’t go easy on you two, did he.” Tao Yao mused, unable to help but picture him as a young child holding a horse stance with a large basin of water on his head, being punished—just imagining it was pitiful enough. Heaven knew how much hardship the two brothers had endured back then to earn today’s “extraordinary talent.”

“The martial world is treacherous—one must keep sharp ears and eyes.” Si Kuanglan’s face showed not the slightest trace of resentment toward the past, not even considering it a hardship at all. “He simply wanted to give my brother and me the best possible chance of living long lives.”

Tao Yao paused, then smiled. “I rarely hear you call the eldest young master ‘brother.'”

“Does he act like an elder brother?” Si Kuanglan sighed.

“Indeed doesn’t seem like it. Speaking of your Jingyuan…” Tao Yao calculated. “It’s been over half a year since before New Year’s until now, and he still hasn’t planned to come back? I haven’t heard Steward Miao mention any recent news of him either—are you just letting him run wild out there?”

“He sent word half a month ago, saying he’s still off gathering with close friends.” Si Kuanglan closed his fan. “Since he seems to think anywhere is better than home, when he does come back, I might as well find some excuse to send him off to sit in a cell—the Bixi Bureau should still have a private room available.”

Judging by his expression, he didn’t seem to be joking at all. This man, who was clearly always worried about his brother’s safety yet refused to show even a trace of it on his face, might genuinely resort to such a harsh punishment for his wayward brother Si Jingyuan.

“Tao Yao…” Mo Ya secretly tugged at her sleeve, whispering, “Maybe we should find a way to send word to the eldest young master, get him to hurry back and apologize to the second young master, or we might really end up delivering him prison meals.”

“I don’t even know where he is right now! Worst case, we’ll just make sure his prison meals are extra nice later.”

“This… maybe Young Master Liu, you could think of something?”

“He’s not dead, where would I even start digging up his background?”

“Amitabha, the eldest young master’s in real trouble this time.”

“It’s fine, prison isn’t execution, he’ll get out eventually.”

Si Kuanglan, who had gone back to reading, naturally heard all of this, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly. These few who’d stumbled into their lives along the way, people who had absolutely no blood connection to the Si family whatsoever, worrying so naturally about Si Jingyuan’s safety like this… All these years, aside from Steward Miao, no one else had ever done that.

He glanced at them discreetly, watching this group of always-bickering, thoroughly unserious “servants,” and found himself thinking that bringing them along on this trip really wasn’t something to regret after all.

More people meant more liveliness, and even the driest, longest journey passed quickly. Before they knew it, they’d been on the road to Qingyuan County for seven days; according to plan, they should reach their destination by tomorrow evening.

No wonder Qingyuan County stayed green year-round without harsh winters or summers—perched on high ground, its climate naturally differed from the plains below. The closer they got, the rougher the mountain roads became, the wild vegetation on either side growing thicker and denser—clearly a rare natural barrier, granting this near-utopian place the safest, most comfortable environment.

With one day’s journey left to Qingyuan County, the summer heat had already lessened considerably, the breeze along the way carrying an unusual fragrance that lifted everyone’s spirits, making them all the more eager to reach this scenic, spirited place about to host a grand gathering of the realm.

Just then, the carriage’s speed suddenly slowed. After a while, it stopped entirely.

Si Kuanglan lifted the curtain, asking the young servant driving. “Why have we stopped?”

The servant wiped the sweat from his forehead, his expression off. “Se… second young master, something doesn’t seem right.”

“Hm?”

The servant stammered, “Second young master… we’ve circled this road several times now. I clearly… clearly kept to the correct route, but somehow we keep ending up back where we started.” The servant pointed, trembling, at a headless stone statue in the roadside grass. “This is the third time I’ve seen it… identical, definitely not three separate statues placed along the way.”

Tao Yao poked her head out from behind the curtain, looked at the statue, and asked, “Have you really circled back three times now?”

The servant nodded vigorously. “I won’t boast about much else, but I’ve never once gotten a road wrong!” The more certain he grew, the more frightened he became, stammering as he asked Si Kuanglan, “Second young master, we haven’t run into something unclean, have we?”

Si Kuanglan glanced at the sky, saying calmly, “Broad daylight, blue sky, white clouds—where exactly do you think ‘unclean’ would come from?”

“But… second young master, it’s really strange!” The servant looked close to tears. “And look, there’s not a single person around, out here in the middle of nowhere…”

Tao Yao smiled. “I’ll go take a look.” With that, she jumped down from the carriage, standing before the statue, looking around.

Si Kuanglan also got down, standing on the other side of the carriage, surveying the surroundings.

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya quickly jumped down too, walking over to Tao Yao. “Found anything off?”

Tao Yao sniffed the air. “Fresh air, birds singing, flowers blooming.” She turned to ask Si Kuanglan on the other side, “Second young master, anything on your end?”

Si Kuanglan shook his head.

Nothing strange to be found.

“I’ll drive,” Si Kuanglan said to the servant.

“I’ll sit next to you.” Tao Yao hopped up onto the carriage, grinning. “Too stuffy sitting inside so long, I need some fresh air to clear my head.”

Si Kuanglan ignored her, but didn’t chase her off either.

The group set off again.

The road was still the same road—narrow and rough, but the Si estate’s horses had always been reliable, handling terrain like this as smoothly as flat ground, running steady and even.

Sitting outside offered a much better view of the mountain scenery—green trees, lush grass, wildflowers in bloom, the finest summer sights all along the way.

Si Kuanglan focused on driving; Tao Yao secretly studied his focused profile. Tsk tsk, quite nice indeed.

“Watch the road, not me,” he suddenly said.

Startled, Tao Yao quickly looked away, snorting. “What’s there to look at, there’s only this one road, not a single fork in it.”

The words had barely left her mouth when she froze slightly. Si Kuanglan wore the same expression.

That same headless statue again, unmistakably identical.

The servant poked his head out from the carriage, shouting excitedly. “See, see, I wasn’t lying! We’re back again!”

Si Kuanglan hopped down, looked at the statue, then turned to Tao Yao, who’d followed. “What do you make of it?”

Tao Yao looked around, saying with a smile, “Deep in the wild mountains, wouldn’t be strange to run into some mischievous mountain spirit or demon.”

“Could we have run into some bored troublemaker who likes to mess with passing travelers?” Young Master Liu walked over, taking a few deep breaths. “Really is fresh air and birdsong, don’t sense any demonic aura at all. Might just be some low-level mountain spirit.”

“Then why don’t you go find it for me.” Tao Yao rolled her eyes at him. “Look how big this place is, you expect me to search it inch by inch?”

“Probably just some prankster.” Mo Ya walked over, carrying Gungun. “Don’t get upset yet, why don’t I recite a passage of scripture? I’m sure once they hear it, they’ll leave on their own.”

Tao Yao and Young Master Liu said in unison: “By the time you finish reciting, it’ll be tomorrow morning!”

Mo Ya said, aggrieved, “Then what do we do? We can’t just set the whole road on fire, can we?”

Young Master Liu rubbed his chin. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Cold sweat dripped down Mo Ya’s face, and just as he was about to speak, Gungun leapt down from his arms, trotting straight over to the statue, lifted a leg, and let out a stream of urine—probably had been holding it in the carriage too long…

The fresh air and birdsong vanished from the air entirely, replaced by a pungent odor; everyone simultaneously covered their noses.

At the same moment, a translucent white shape shot out from within the statue as if fleeing for its life, vanishing into midair in the blink of an eye.

Only then did a faint trace of demonic aura drift through the air.

Mo Ya shouted, “Was that it?!”

“Probably, though it vanished before I could get a good look.” Young Master Liu peered into the grass a few more times. “Must’ve just been some minor demon releasing a burst of its power out of mischief.”

Tao Yao held back a laugh, patting Gungun’s head. “Good fox, perfectly timed pee.”

Si Kuanglan frowned, looking at Tao Yao with some disbelief.

Tao Yao patted his arm. “Let’s get back in the carriage, second young master. See if we end up back here again.”

Sure enough, this time the carriage went straight ahead without incident, and before long reached an entirely new stretch of road.

The servant was the most astonished of all, looking at Tao Yao and the others with completely different eyes now.

Inside the carriage, Gungun received the biggest piece of candy cake it had gotten in days, crying out happily.

Mo Ya was immensely proud, feeling Gungun had made him look good again—who said the fox he raised was useless? Hadn’t it just solved a major problem without any effort at all?

Only Young Master Liu earnestly told Mo Ya, “You really should feed it more heat-clearing vegetables normally. Look how foul that urine smelled.”

Mo Ya’s eyelids drooped. “Is there such a thing as fragrant urine?”

“Its urine is especially foul!”

“If you don’t think it smells foul in your heart, then naturally it won’t.”

“…”

On the other side, Si Kuanglan glanced out the window from time to time.

“Nothing to worry about.” Tao Yao, seeing his serious expression, said with a grin. “Wild mountains often have bored spirits messing with people. Just chase them off and that’s that.”

Si Kuanglan still showed no sign of relaxing. “This place might not be as peaceful as it seems. Everyone stay alert.”

“Don’t worry, with us around, nothing’s going to spoil the second young master’s mood no matter what.” Tao Yao popped a piece of candy cake in her mouth. “Lucky Gungun needed to pee urgently, didn’t waste us any time—otherwise I’d be devastated if we missed the night banquet.”

Si Kuanglan lowered the curtain, muttering to himself with a frown. “Remote location, difficult mountain roads—clearly not an ideal place to hold a grand gathering…”

“Just go with the flow and don’t worry. If anything really happens, it just means more business for the second young master.” Tao Yao smiled. “Think about it—everyone attending this night banquet is wealthy or of noble status, if something happens to them…” As she spoke, she suddenly stopped, her whole body freezing, her gaze going blank, forgetting even to chew the candy cake in her mouth.

“What if something happens to them?” Si Kuanglan turned to look, and seeing Tao Yao’s expression at that moment, asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong?”

Tao Yao closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and recovered, quickly waving it off with a smile. “Nothing… that candy cake was just a bit hard to swallow.”

Si Kuanglan studied her a moment longer, but didn’t press further.

The carriage traveled on a while longer, then Tao Yao suddenly asked, “Where are we staying tonight?”

Si Kuanglan answered, “Yanxia Grove Inn.”

“That nice?” Tao Yao blurted out.

“What’s nice about it?” Si Kuanglan asked, puzzled. “Just an ordinary inn.”

“Er… I mean, it’s already pretty close to Qingyuan County by then, right? That’s a good thing!” Tao Yao covered for herself.

No one knew that inside, she was secretly overjoyed…

6

Deep in Yanxia Grove, the night carried a slight chill, faint mist drifting through the dense forest like white gauze curling among the lush trees.

The inn at the edge of the grove was barely livable, conditions a bit rough, but at least kept reasonably clean—though due to the climate and terrain, the beds carried a fair bit of dampness.

By the time they arrived, two other carriages from other families were already parked in front of the inn—one covered in mud, looking thoroughly battered, the other with a broken wheel, a young servant busy repairing it. Both carriages were finely decorated, clearly not the vehicles of ordinary commoners—likely belonging to distinguished guests traveling from elsewhere to attend the banquet, though judging by the sorry state of their carriages, the journey had been quite the ordeal for them too.

By the time they’d gotten everything settled after disembarking, it was nearly midnight. Everyone ate a simple meal of dry provisions before retiring to their rooms to rest.

“This place is remote, behave yourself.” Before heading to his own room, Si Kuanglan glanced back at Tao Yao. “Don’t bother with anyone unrelated.”

“Huh?” Tao Yao, still holding half a piece of unfinished flatbread, hadn’t even finished asking her question before Si Kuanglan had already closed his door.

“Tch, have I ever misbehaved along the way?” She took a hard bite of the flatbread. “And unrelated people… in the middle of the night, even if I wanted to bother someone, I’d need someone to bother.” True enough—from the moment they’d gotten off the carriage to entering their rooms, aside from the young servant fixing the wheel outside and the old man managing the inn, they hadn’t seen another soul, presumably everyone else already long asleep.

“The second young master’s got a point, better to be careful.” Mo Ya, holding Gungun, looked around. “Have you forgotten what happened during the day? I still don’t feel settled about it.”

“What’s there to feel unsettled about, with us around. Besides me, who else would dare eat you?!” Young Master Liu glared at him, reaching out to push open the door. “Hurry up and sleep, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Entering the guest room, it was a space with three beds, the window half open, moonlight falling across the old wooden floor, a few mosquitoes buzzing through the hazy light.

Gungun, exhausted, snatched its pillow from Mo Ya’s arms, quickly leapt onto the bed, and soon curled up with its tail wrapped around itself, fast asleep.

Mo Ya followed suit, lying down in his clothes, but had barely settled before sitting back up, watching the swaying tree shadows outside the window. “We should still stay alert—who knows if we’ll run into something else strange.”

“Just sleep, don’t worry…” Tao Yao walked to the window, waving off a persistent mosquito, gazing out at the thick night outside.

“Know why you’re not growing any taller? It’s because you don’t sleep enough.” Young Master Liu, impatient, pushed Mo Ya back down, tugging the blanket up over his head for good measure.

Mo Ya poked his head back out from under the blanket, gripping the edge. “I still think…”

“Don’t sleep and I’ll tie you up outside for the mosquitoes.” Tao Yao, still gazing out the window, showed no sign of sleepiness, her eyes sharper now than at any point during the day.

Mo Ya immediately shrank back under the blanket.

Young Master Liu sat down at the table, pouring himself a cup of water, showing no intention of sleeping either.

Tao Yao, still standing at the window, said nothing, her unwavering gaze seeming to search intently for something.

Time passed minute by minute. Only Mo Ya couldn’t hold out, and soon the room filled with his and the fox’s overlapping snores.

The crescent moon, as if furred, slowly shifted position in the sky. Tao Yao seemed to be silently calculating something.

After a while, she walked back, checking on Mo Ya, confirming he was thoroughly asleep.

“Still sitting there?” She sat down across from Young Master Liu, pouring herself a cup of water too. “Don’t snakes need sleep in summer?”

“The bed’s damp and dirty, I can’t sleep on it,” Young Master Liu said with distaste.

“Then stay planted there. I’m off to bed.” Tao Yao stretched, standing to head toward the bed, but suddenly frowned, clutching her stomach. “No good… I need to use the outhouse first.”

Before she’d even taken a step, Young Master Liu grabbed her wrist.

“What are you doing!” She shook off his hand. “My stomach hurts!”

Young Master Liu stared coldly straight into her eyes, saying nothing at all.

A tense standoff for a moment, then Tao Yao sighed. “Fine, I won’t lie to you. My stomach’s fine. Want to come out with me?”

Young Master Liu snorted, his expression smug, as if he’d seen through her all along.

The two of them slipped quietly out of the room, down the stairs, straight to the inn’s front gate.

Before they even reached the door, they spotted two people sitting on the stone steps outside, chattering away. Going out to look, it turned out to be the servants from the other two carriages.

Seeing the two of them come out, one of the servants actually spoke up first. “You two can’t sleep either?”

Tao Yao and Young Master Liu exchanged a glance, then smiled. “Too many mosquitoes, too annoying, came out for some air.”

“You must be here for the night banquet too, right?” the other servant asked. “I saw your young master—clearly someone of standing.”

“Haha, anyone who gets a banquet invitation is someone of standing.” Tao Yao had no particular interest in prying into who their masters were, but seeing the troubled, almost fearful looks on their faces, she casually asked, “Which road did you two come by? I saw your carriages, one muddy, one damaged—did you get caught in heavy rain, or fall into a pit?”

At this question, the two men’s faces grew even more troubled. One of them lowered his voice and asked, “Did you run into anything strange on your way here?”

Young Master Liu frowned, crouching down. “You two ran into something too?”

The two men immediately perked up as if meeting kindred spirits. One of them said eagerly, “During the day, when we were still half a day’s journey from Yanxia Grove, our carriage somehow fell into a mud pit. The pit wasn’t even that deep, we figured the horses could pull us out with a bit more effort, but it wouldn’t budge at all. I had our master’s guard drive the horses while I got down into the pit to push, but who knew…” He leaned in closer, his expression growing more exaggerated. “Who knew there were two strange hands in that mud pit, gripping the wheel tight! I was scared out of my wits at the time. Told our master, but they didn’t believe me, said I was seeing things. I said I wasn’t, but when I looked again, the strange hands were gone. Either way, the carriage wouldn’t move no matter what, and in the end our guard had to hack wildly at the mud pit with his blade before we finally got free.”

“We weren’t much better off either, also about half a day’s journey from here—we were just walking along fine on the mountain road when a big section of dead wood blocked our path. We finally managed to move it, but hadn’t walked much further before another section of dead wood blocked us again. Moved that one too, and then more up ahead… it kept happening over and over, nearly wore us out completely! I told our mistress that if we run into strange things like this on a journey, heaven’s warning us not to go on. But my mistress refused to believe in such things, insisted on continuing—we ended up moving at least nine logs before finally reaching Yanxia Grove, and even damaged a wheel moving the last one. It was really rough going,” the other servant said, looking troubled. “Thinking about what happened during the day, I still feel shaken, couldn’t sleep at all. Came out for air and happened to see this fellow here also worrying, and found out we’d both run into the same kind of trouble. What about you two? Did something happen to you as well?”

“Us…” Tao Yao scratched her head, smiling. “We just got lost for a bit on the way here, but found our way again quickly.”

“See, see, there’s definitely something ghostly going on!”

“Exactly, no matter how you look at it, it’s all so bizarre! And my mistress doesn’t care at all, refuses to turn back, insists on attending the banquet.”

“Our master’s the same, doesn’t believe in this stuff either. But I do! I’m scared to death now, who knows what other strange things might happen further along! I wish I could just run away right now.” The two servants suddenly grew agitated, both complaining and afraid at once.

“Might as well make peace with it, since we’re already here.” Tao Yao smiled. “Perhaps it really was just coincidence—Qingyuan County is in such a remote area, rough roads are only to be expected. It’s cool at night, you two should get some rest.”With that, she strode off quickly toward the grove ahead.

“Right, don’t scare yourselves over nothing. There aren’t that many ghosts in this world.” Young Master Liu patted their shoulders kindly. “Get some good rest, and once you’re feeling better, you naturally won’t run into so many strange things. Farewell!”

The two timid servants, seeing them heading into the grove in the middle of the night, exchanged glances—they’d already thought their masters weren’t people to be trifled with, but hadn’t expected the attendants to be this bold too. Muttering to each other a bit more, they slunk back to their rooms, thoroughly unnerved.

With them gone, the last traces of activity around the inn faded away entirely.

The moon slipped behind the clouds, the night’s chill growing heavier.

Coda

Along the tangled forest path, Tao Yao walked slowly, carefully making out the direction.

The forest was eerily quiet too, not even the sound of insects.

Young Master Liu followed behind her, frowning. “You said someone burned paper for you during the day?”

“Yeah, arranged to meet at the broken stele east of Yanxia Grove—otherwise why would I have been so happy during the day, it’s on the way after all.” Tao Yao said calmly, though with a slight edge of uncertainty. “We’re heading east now, right?”

“Yes.” Young Master Liu scanned their surroundings warily. “What kind of demon would seek you out at a time like this?”

“A pretty big one, I’d say!” Tao Yao said, a bit excited, rubbing her hands together. “A bixi.”

“A bixi?” Young Master Liu thought about it. “Those giant turtles born big who don’t do anything but foolishly carry steles for people?”

“Mm.” Tao Yao nodded. “Though they only look like turtles. You think carrying steles is a foolish job, but for demons of their kind, carrying a stele isn’t done for nothing—especially bearing a stele for someone of great merit, or an event that will be remembered through the ages. Once the term is up and their cultivation reaches completion, they can transform into dragons and ascend straight to the heavenly realm. The Compendium says the bixi is born beneath sacred earth, turtle-shaped but massive, immensely strong, long-lived—bear a stele and become stone, and in time, transform into a dragon. See, what other demon has it this easy—find a stele to carry and you’re on your way to becoming a dragon in the heavens.”

Young Master Liu pursed his lips. “What’s so great about being a dragon… dragons in the heavens either pull carriages for various gods or get sent off to help with thunder and rain. At best they’re divine beasts, not much better off than demons. Besides, carrying a stele’s bad enough, but then you have to turn into stone too, staying motionless for thousands upon thousands of years—isn’t that just suffering?”

“Narrow-minded again, aren’t you.” Tao Yao said, scouting the path ahead. “Dragons started out as divine beasts, but cultivating in dragon form makes ascending to immortality or godhood far easier compared to other species. Look at the heavenly Kunlun—plenty of great deities have dragon as their true form. And besides the heavens, there are the Four Seas Dragon Clans in the waters too, not exactly pushovers either. But I understand your feelings—snakes have been overshadowed by dragons for millions of years, it’s only natural you’d feel sour about it.”

A ball of mud hit Tao Yao.

“Ow! Did I say something wrong?” Tao Yao slapped the mud off her back, turning to face Young Master Liu, whose face had darkened. “Actually, plenty of your snake kind cultivate into dragons too—the bigger the body, the easier it is. Put in the effort and you could too!”

“Ptooey! Who wants to be a dragon, I’d rather be a snake—free and unrestrained, able to soar the heavens and burrow the earth both. Places dragons can’t go, I can!” Young Master Liu retorted, unconvinced.

“Fine, fine, suit yourself.” Tao Yao grinned. “Though if you really did turn into a dragon, I’d hate to lose you.”

Just as she spoke, she suddenly stopped, pointing ahead. “Isn’t that a broken stele up there?”

Young Master Liu looked closely; in the dim moonlight, indeed stood a broken stele about a person’s height, wild grass tangled around it on both sides, growing into shapes like grasping claws.

“That’s it.” Young Master Liu looked around. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a big one who arranged to meet you? Where is it? Are you early?”

Tao Yao looked around too. “No, I came right on time.”

But there really didn’t seem to be any demon nearby matching what she’d imagined.

Just as she was puzzling over this, a thin voice came from ahead. “Lord Tao Yao, you’re late.”

Tao Yao startled, immediately following the sound, and finally spotted its source in a hollow atop the broken stele—a fist-sized, pure white little turtle.

Young Master Liu leaned in, pointing at this thing smaller than his own palm. “This is what counts as ‘massive’?”

Tao Yao herself was equally baffled, asking uncertainly, “Was it you who burned paper for me?”

“Naturally.” The turtle gazed calmly at the two astonished faces before it.

“You’re… a bixi?” Tao Yao gestured to indicate its size. “Are you sure your parents actually gave birth to you?”

“Bixi are all born beneath sacred earth, without father or mother,” it said, resigned. “I’m just slightly smaller than the rest of my kind. Er, and a bit different in color too—they’re usually gray-white, I’m a bit more white.” As it spoke, it grew a little irritated. “Even children born of the same parents don’t all look exactly alike! You can’t refuse to believe I’m a bixi just because of that!”

Tao Yao burst out laughing. “I’ll take your word for it, for now.” She reached out, cupping the turtle in her hand, then frowned. “Even setting aside that you’re naturally not a warm creature, this is way too cold, like a block of ice. What have you been up to, draining your demonic power like this?”

The turtle blinked, saying slowly, “It’s fine. As long as I got to see Lord Tao Yao, even if I died the next moment, I’d have no regrets.”

Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think there’s something off about the paper you burned for me?”

The turtle fell silent a moment, then said, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Tao Yao lifted it up from her palm, smiling. “You’re the first one who’s burned paper for me not asking me to cure an illness.”

“What? It’s in this state, and burning paper for you wasn’t even about treatment?” Young Master Liu asked, puzzled. “Then what did it burn paper for?”

Tao Yao looked at the weakened turtle and said, “It’s asking me to kill a demon.”

Young Master Liu froze.

The turtle, still speaking in its slow, deliberate pace, said, “Doesn’t Lord Tao Yao kill demons as well as treat them? I’m not asking too much, am I…”

Tao Yao thought about it. “Killing a demon isn’t hard. But what makes you think I’d kill one demon for the sake of another I have no connection to? You’re not naive enough to think I’m like those hired killers in the world who work for anyone who pays, are you?” She glanced at it again. “Besides, you haven’t even paid me.”

The turtle took a deep breath. “Starting several days ago, I’ve tried everything I could think of to stop those attending the banquet from entering Qingyuan County. But my power is too weak—nothing I’ve done has been enough to turn them back. So, I could only make one last effort, a final gamble, and burn paper for you.”

“The ‘ghost wall’ during the day—that was you?” Tao Yao and Young Master Liu thought they must have misheard.

“It was me,” the turtle admitted. “And what happened to those two carriages at the inn too—also me.”

“Why don’t you want them going to Qingyuan County?” Young Master Liu asked, puzzled. “Is something wrong with the night banquet?”

The turtle sighed. “These guests are all the most distinguished and accomplished figures of our time. I’m afraid that once they arrive, they won’t be able to leave.”

The surrounding air suddenly seemed to grow even colder.

Tao Yao considered for a moment, then quickly produced a pill and, without waiting for the turtle’s consent, pried its mouth open and pushed it in.

The turtle coughed violently.

“This isn’t to save your life—just to make sure you don’t die before you’ve explained everything to me clearly.” Tao Yao, finding it too cold to hold, set it back down on the broken stele, and asked, “Which demon do you want killed?”

The turtle slowly raised its head and said, “Ying Fansheng.”

Bixi. End.