Prologue

This city, it seemed, was dead set on keeping her here.

“Papa, what does ‘proud of bone, calm of heart, guard the common people’ mean? Why do you always make me copy out this line?”

“It means that as a person, you should keep righteousness in your heart, never bow to wealth or power, and when you see someone in trouble, you should do everything you can to help them—not let them be bullied by bad people.”

“Oh… so if someone bullies Little Fatty and Juaner next door, I should protect them, right?”

“Mm, that’s the idea. When you grow up, you’ll meet many more Little Fatties and Juaners, so to protect them, you need to eat well and sleep well, build up your body, and work hard to master real skill. Later on, you won’t just be able to protect your friends—if someone invades our country, you can put on armor and go to battle, kill the enemy and defend the nation. Just like the heroes I’ve told you about. If you can live up to this line, you too will be a hero.”

“Oh, are those the mighty generals you told me about?”

“Haha, yes. Qingzhu, when you grow up, maybe you’ll become a great general too!”

“Qingzhu will definitely become a great general! Papa, can I carve this line onto my wooden sword?”

“Mm, be careful with the carving knife, don’t hurt your hand.”

“I know!”

Stroke by stroke, the words appeared beneath the knife, clumsy yet resolute. With every stroke he carved, he recited it once in his heart—it was less that the words were carved into the sword than that they were carved into a young and unspoiled heart, becoming, from that day on, the very first thing a child just beginning his life wanted with all his might to achieve.

No matter how careful he was, his finger still got cut. He sucked at the wound and held back his tears, telling no one—only little girls cried, and he was going to be a great general who was proud of bone, calm of heart, and guarded the common people!

Proud of bone, calm of heart, guard the common people…

Proud of bone, calm of heart…

Guard the common people??

Even now, he still lay on the cold snow, staring blankly up at a sky flecked with scattered snowflakes, slowly raising his left hand. The wound left on his finger from carving the sword was long since gone.

“Some things aren’t gone just because you say you don’t want them anymore.” Tao Yao’s voice was colder than the weather itself. “If you’ve even forgotten this sword, how could you ever be the general who guards the common people?”

He let his hand drop, with no strength left to move. A film of gray clouded his eyes, making him look like a dead man who couldn’t close his eyes even in death.

“To gain one thing, you must trade another for it,” he said slowly. “I thought that was only fair. I thought I could fully convince myself with that reasoning.”

“Trading Huo Qingqing—and maybe some other treasured little ones—along with the lives of an entire city, for a general’s residence that doesn’t even dare hang its own plaque?” Tao Yao glanced around, sighing with something like regret. “However you count it, General Duan came out at a loss.”

He fell silent, closing his eyes. “My own life too. If I hadn’t held the city gates shut, even if the demons in the city hadn’t killed me, I’d have been charged with deceiving the emperor and dereliction of duty—dead without even a whole corpse.”

“Why lock the city and set it on fire?” Tao Yao was still curious.

“At first it was just some children breaking out in black spots, refusing to eat, wailing every day. Within a few days, the adults weren’t right either—perfectly ordinary people slowly changed, their whole bodies covered in festering black blotches, looking like fiends. The most terrifying part was that their minds went. Some grabbed scissors and stabbed themselves. Some ran mad to the tops of buildings and leapt off. Others drowned themselves in water vats. If anyone tried to save them, the moment they touched the afflicted, the rescuer suffered the same fate—turned into another monster bent only on dying. Word soon spread that a demon had appeared in the city, one that ruined people’s bodies and drove them mad, feeding on countless lives to cultivate itself.” He struggled to recall, and with every scene he retrieved, his heart sank a little further. “Just as we were at our wits’ end, someone came from the Bi’an Bureau—who was it…” He got stuck there, knocking his head, thinking for a long while and still unable to remember. “Why can’t I remember whose face it was… but I’m certain it was someone from the Bi’an Bureau. He immediately ordered me to pull out all the soldiers and seal the gates. He said… he said ‘not one person is to cross the boundary,’ and also, ‘hold the city, and you hold the Duan family bloodline, hold the glory of the rest of your life’… yes, that’s what he said.” His eyes grew scattered, his hands clawing aimlessly at the snow. “I knew Qingqing was still in the city. So many people I knew were still in the city… I thought about throwing the gates open no matter what—but if demons were running rampant inside, what about the people who hadn’t been harmed? If I didn’t let them out, what would happen to them?! My mind was in chaos, and the soldiers under me didn’t know what to do either. I knew that the moment I gave the order, they would rush out and force that heavy gate open… but in the end I didn’t do it. Especially once I saw the fires rising in the city, I gave up entirely on the idea of opening the gates to save anyone…” He laughed strangely. “I was defeated. Proud of bone, calm of heart, guard the common people… ah, I remember now. Before I moved away with my parents, I went to say goodbye to Little Fatty and the others next door. Everyone hated to see me go. Juaner cried and asked if I’d ever come back. I said I hoped to, but didn’t know if I could. So Little Fatty had an idea—he said the temple in the city was especially good for answering prayers, that I should bring my favorite thing and bury it there as a gift to the Bodhisattva, and then whatever I wished for would come true. So that day, I buried this wooden sword in the temple courtyard, and made a wish that I would surely return one day. The joke is, by the time I came back, Little Fatty had already died of illness, and Juaner had married off to some other town. As for the wooden sword buried in the temple—I’d forgotten it completely.”

Tao Yao smiled. “You came back, so the Bodhisattva’s blessing worked after all. No wonder your wooden sword managed to cultivate into an Yingyuan in such a short time—first it took in incense smoke, then it was covered over with blood-soaked earth.”

He slowly sat up, staring blankly at Tao Yao. “This Yingyuan you keep mentioning—what exactly is it?”

“I just told you, didn’t I. Everyone has once had a ‘first intention.’ We’re calling it a wooden sword, but in truth it’s the wish you made, in the purest and most untainted moment of your heart, to become a hero who protects the common people. For a human, a wish like that is especially precious.” She looked him up and down. “But it’s also the thing humans forget most easily. Can’t be helped—the longer a person spends in the mortal world, the more dust settles on them, and too much dust makes it easy to bury the memory. But it—it doesn’t forget you.” Tao Yao set the wooden sword down in front of him. “The necessary condition for becoming an Yingyuan is being buried beneath ‘blood-soaked earth.’ You never imagined that the very city you once vowed to protect would, through your own doing, be turned into a slaughterhouse of corpses and blood.”

He looked at the sword, not daring to touch it, and said haltingly, “If that’s so… shouldn’t it hate me…”

“You met it again in the ruins because you’d already reached the point where your life was in the gravest danger. The only reason an Yingyuan emerges is that it senses you’re about to die and rushes out to save you. Even if you hadn’t gone to the ruins that day, it would have found its way to you soon enough. You said all sorts of strange things happened in the residence at first—that really was the Yingyuan’s doing, because it hated that house.” Tao Yao looked around. “It resented, on some instinctual level, everything you gained by casting it aside. That resentment mixed with demonic energy and spread through the household, causing all those strange incidents. It’s a simple-minded creature, but it still has a temper—you have to let it vent somehow.”

He slowly reached toward the wooden sword, touched it, then drew his hand back, at a loss for words.

“Do you think you killed off all the Xuanyou by yourself?” Tao Yao went on. “What came out of your body was far more than what you found in that hidden chamber.” Her gaze fell on the wooden sword. “The Yingyuan knew you were being tormented by the Xuanyou, so it kept crying and crying, because it knew tears were the only thing that could deal with those monsters. You said yourself you could never find a pattern to when the Xuanyou appeared—sometimes they came out of your nightmares, sometimes not. In truth, they came out nearly every time; it’s just that most of them were killed by the Yingyuan the instant they appeared, which is why the little thing wore itself to exhaustion, covered in wounds. Now that it’s gone, that’s actually a mercy for it—it no longer has to fight to the death worrying over you.”

“You… you’re saying it cried its heart out desperately, only because it knew tears were the only way to keep me safe?” His fingers finally settled on the wooden sword; lifting it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. “It… why would it want to keep me safe?”

“Because that is the entire meaning of an Yingyuan’s existence.” Tao Yao sighed. “I don’t understand it myself, why a creature like that would spend its whole life protecting someone who abandoned it. I suppose they can’t quite let go either—always thinking that if you don’t die, there’s still a chance you’ll remember it someday. Who knows. These foolish demons often do things I find rather pointless.” A faint, mocking smile touched her lips. “From the day you refused to open the city gates, from the day you kicked away the past just so you could enjoy the rest of your glorious life with an easy conscience, it was already fated—whether you lived or died—that you would never think of it again. What did it matter that you cared for old Fan until his last day? He still hated you. What did it matter that you planted an osmanthus tree? The girl who once smiled at you beneath it is never coming back.”

He sat there blankly, cradling the wooden sword, a single tear sliding from the corner of his eye.

“Why didn’t you expose the truth in front of Luo Xian?” he asked, looking at Tao Yao. “So you could keep all the credit for yourself?”

“To be honest, the Bi’an Bureau can’t afford to feed a subordinate who eats as much as I do.” Tao Yao laughed. “What Luo Xian handled was his own official duty. What I came back to handle is my own duty. He and I are best off not interfering with each other.”

“You… you’re not from the Bi’an Bureau?” He startled. “Then who are you?”

“My hometown deals exclusively with the messy business of demons across the world. I won’t bother telling you the name—you wouldn’t know it anyway.” Tao Yao walked around behind him and, without warning, seized his collar and yanked it down hard, baring most of his back.

A line tinged with black energy was buried beneath his flesh, running up along his spine, only a few inches from reaching his cervical vertebrae.

He instinctively lurched forward, yanking his clothes closed, and roared, “What do you think you’re doing!”

“I need to see whether I should kill you now, or wait a few more days.” Her smile was disturbingly at ease.

By now dawn’s first light had touched the horizon; the piled snow gleamed white, and every ray that fell was unusually gentle.

The crisp sound of bells rang out, right on cue.

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling—white snow, gold bells, a flutter of red robes, all setting each other off beautifully in that moment.

He had, after all, once commanded troops. Even having only just recovered his past, the instincts in his body remained. This girl in front of him, always smiling and giggling, had somehow managed to carry such a heavy killing intent so perfectly.

She wasn’t joking.

The wooden sword was thrown to the ground again; what he now gripped tightly was a bright, sharp blade that had drunk human blood. But could a sword deal with someone who knew demon affairs inside and out, who could turn the tables with a single pill—someone whose origins were a complete mystery?

Or was she not even human at all?

He gritted his teeth. “Do you know I am still the Duke of Guide’s general, conferred by the former emperor? If you lay a hand on me, neither the court nor the Bi’an Bureau will let you go! Murder is already a grave crime—killing me would be a crime upon a crime!”

“I don’t kill humans,” she said seriously.

He froze.

“But I kill demons.” She smiled, a pill already between her fingers. She let it slip loose, and the moment it hit the ground, the soft snow suddenly crackled—a cluster of branch-shaped brown things burst up from beneath the snow and shot toward his feet at lightning speed, coiling around him in an instant, leaving only his head exposed.

He was stunned with terror, unable to move no matter how he struggled.

“You… why have you turned on me with killing intent! Even if I committed a grave sin years ago, if you truly mean to avenge the people of Fenghuai City, it ought to be old Fan who takes my life!” he bellowed, then froze. “Fenghuai City…” The name he’d been unable to recall for so long had finally surfaced. But it did nothing to help his current predicament.

“So that’s what the city was called—Fenghuai City.” Tao Yao nodded. “Nice name. But you still have to die.”

“You said you don’t kill humans!” he shouted furiously.

Tao Yao burst out laughing, gesturing at the walls surrounding the courtyard. “Think about it—ever since you covered these walls with the blood-binding curse, have you set foot outside this house even once?”

He froze, then argued back, “I don’t go out because I don’t want to!”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“I… just don’t want to…”

“Isn’t it that the moment you get near the courtyard wall, your whole body stings with pain, and you don’t dare take another step?”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Tao Yao looked at the walls. “The blood-binding curse is a forbidden technique back home—too vicious—but I’ll admit it’s very effective for caging demons who haven’t amounted to much. Once it’s written, every demon bound within its script can never escape.”

“That’s exactly why it was cast!” he shouted. “Without it, who could stop the Xuanyou from breaking free!”

“The Human Culvert and the Xuanyou—two demons born of the same cause and effect, inseparable as partners in crime, both wicked creatures.” Tao Yao gave him a regretful smile. “Simply put, without the Human Culvert kind of demon, there would be no Xuanyou kind of demon.”

His breath caught for a moment; he doubted his own ears.

She was calling him… a demon?

Ridiculous. What a joke! He was standing here alive, flesh and blood, warm to the touch—and she called him a demon?

Tao Yao shrugged. “In the hidden chamber I only explained the origin of the Xuanyou—I forgot to explain the Human Culvert. Let me make it up to you.” She cleared her throat. “Among men there are those who forget their first intention and can no longer endure—their souls unsettled, their spirits unstable. Placed in a wicked place and aided by wicked arts, such a one may be refined into a Human Culvert. At first it communicates with the other realm through dreams, drawing Xuanyou to it, harming others and itself. If it does not die, a black line appears on its spine; once no longer human, when the line passes the neck, the Human Culvert is complete. Whoever possesses it can reach places unreachable, summon things unsummonable—a great calamity. On sight, kill it.”

He heard every word clearly, but he still didn’t understand—or rather, he refused to understand. What demon, what Human Culvert—he was Duan Qingzhu, the Duke of Guide conferred by the late emperor, a living man of flesh and blood!

“Lies to deceive the masses!” His eyes went bloodshot as he roared with all his strength. “I thought you came to free me from my troubles, and instead you brought a demoness to torment me! Where is Lord Qingyang! Where is he!”

“Don’t bother—your Lord Qingyang is already on his way back to the capital to report. Even if he were here, you’d still have to die.” Tao Yao walked unhurriedly toward him, rose on her toes, and murmured by his ear, “General Duan, from the moment that black line first appeared on your spine, you stopped being human. You may still be flesh and blood, but…” She smiled and pointed at his chest. “Do you believe me—if I cut you open right now, there’d be nothing inside but a ball of black mist?”

“Demoness…” he ground out through clenched teeth, “I don’t believe a single word!”

“People usually only call someone a demoness if she’s good-looking. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tao Yao narrowed her eyes with a smile, bent down, and rummaged unhurriedly through her cloth pouch, muttering, “Now where’s the fastest-acting one… I remember making a few not long ago… ah, here!”

His face turned the color of ash as he watched her cheerfully pull a bottle the size of a pinky finger from her pouch. She even shook it deliberately, making sure he heard something rattle inside, before uncorking it and saying, “Compared to those who were burned alive, you’ll have it easy—you won’t even know what happened before it’s over.”

“You… you’re going to—” He didn’t finish before he suddenly remembered the pill he’d been forced to swallow earlier, and clamped his mouth shut.

“My job is simply to make sure demons like you don’t get to live.” Tao Yao raised a hand and caught his chin, the gold bell at her wrist swinging, her voice more crisp and decisive than ever before.

He thought he was certainly dead—swallowing that pill would mean his guts rotting through, and that would be the mild outcome; he might end up like the Xuanyou, not even leaving a corpse behind. Or something even more terrible…

In that brief instant, his mind, spinning out of control, conjured countless ways to die—but what finally came wasn’t the death-dealing pill at all. It was an enormous tail, covered in scarlet and blue scales, blazing so vividly it looked as though it had been steeped in poison for a thousand years. Along with it came a shower of brown fragments—the strange things binding him were swept aside effortlessly by that tail and reduced to a pile of rubbish.

The swirling wind that rose carried a foul, briny stench, utterly ruining the crisp cleanliness of the snowy dawn.

Tao Yao dodged aside just in time to see Duan Qingzhu scooped up whole by that tail and tossed back, landing precisely on a massive back—an enormous beast, armored all over, resembling a qilin but with a serpent’s tail, its huge eyes like small lanterns glaring with purple fire, its hostility fixed on Tao Yao, who to it was nothing but a tiny speck.

Facing this monstrous creature that had suddenly appeared, Tao Yao only laughed. “Tsk tsk, a Lingjiang, is it… you really don’t hold back on space—give it however much room there is, and you’ll conjure up a demon that big. Afraid you won’t be able to finish me off?”

A soft, delicate laugh drifted from atop the courtyard wall to one side. Tao Yao turned to look—a small head had appeared, unnoticed, atop the pale gray wall. Amid the laughter, the petite figure vaulted nimbly over the wall, gave a light push off the ground, and landed neatly on the beast’s huge head. The creature, now docile as a house pet, lowered its head slightly, angling itself perfectly to support its rider—Tang’er, dressed in a little floral jacket, blinked her bright, watery eyes and looked at Tao Yao with an innocent expression. “A distinguished guest like you shouldn’t be treated so carelessly.”

Tao Yao crossed her arms and laughed. “So the young and hot-blooded couldn’t sit still after all, once you saw me about to kill your Human Culvert.”

“I’ve been guessing all along whether you’d come back. Knowing your temperament, I didn’t think you’d let it go so easily.” Tang’er’s expression, at that moment, was utterly mismatched with her age—world-weary, yet carrying the confidence of one who knew her opponent well. “Whether Duan Qingzhu lives or dies doesn’t matter much. What matters is making sure I hear Peach Capital’s Ghost Healer’s gold bells ring, doesn’t it?”

Tao Yao smiled and nodded. “Coming back means coming to see you. The moment I saw the black line on Duan Qingzhu’s back nearing his neck, I knew you wouldn’t be willing to let go. If I’d come a few years earlier, at worst you’d have abandoned him and gone looking for another target—no need to risk coming out to fight me head-on.”

“Yeah, spent so many years of effort on this, just about to succeed, and you had to come ruin it.” Tang’er put on a show of disappointment, then asked, “Though I thought I’d covered everything well—from the cause and effect to pinning it on old Fan as the culprit, all arranged so neatly. How did you see through it?”

Tao Yao pointed at herself. “Remember the first thing I did when we first met at the gate?” Tang’er frowned, thinking hard. “I really don’t remember that.”

Tao Yao rubbed her nose hard. “The moment we met, I smelled the scent of Huanhun reed on you.”

“The scent?” Tang’er looked puzzled. “Even if I had the smell of that herb on me, it could easily have come from my ‘grandfather’—after all, he’s the one who’s been brewing medicine with it for so long.”

“That’s exactly the difference between a real physician and an amateur like you.” Tao Yao said mockingly. “Old Fan didn’t have that scent on him. Huanhun reed isn’t some especially rare herb, but it’s still not something native to the human realm—you only know its medicinal properties, not its temper. The moment this kind of otherworldly herb gets snapped, it gets furious, and the way it shows that fury is by spitting at whoever snapped it the instant it breaks. Even a trace of it clinging to your skin leaves a distinctive scent that won’t fade for ten years—completely different from the smell of the medicine you brew from it. It smells almost like… roasted meat! But the person doing the picking usually can’t sense it themselves. Only someone like me, who rolls around in piles of herbs all day, is sensitive to that particular smell. I suppose this hot-tempered herb uses this method to accuse whoever took its life to anyone who comes close—haha.”

“So that’s how it was.” Tang’er seemed to understand. “No wonder, when I picked it, a few drops of sap sprayed out from where it snapped. I just wiped my hands and didn’t think anything of it—turns out I left myself a problem. Learned something new today. I’ll be careful not to make the same mistake again. But my, judging the mastermind wasn’t old Fan just from the smell of an herb—Tao Yao really is Tao Yao. Looks like all you do is eat, eat, eat, but your mind never stops working even while your mouth is busy.”

“That’s not all.” Tao Yao added. “Duan Qingzhu had never even heard of the blood-binding curse by name. His exact words were something like, ‘I don’t even know what that spell is called, I just happened to see it in a damaged book on techniques.’ Now tell me, how does someone who’s never even heard the name of the blood-binding curse just happen to stumble on exactly the right method for his situation? And how does that so neatly match old Fan’s ‘accidental’ discovery of the Huanhun reed?”

Tang’er tapped her own head lightly, looking mischievous. “Ah, my mistake in handling that. At the time I only considered that if I acted too forcefully and gathered all the conditions for refining a Human Culvert too quickly, Duan Qingzhu and the others would surely resist. You know, unless it happens naturally, the refining of a Human Culvert can fail. Getting someone who’s lost their first intention and carries the weight of a killing sin, on top of a piece of prime feng shui land—I couldn’t waste such a rare opportunity, so I had to be Tang’er, had to be patient, and spend enough time guiding things along.” She counted off on her fingers regretfully. “Six-some years now. I willingly grew from a swaddled infant obediently up to now, and had to keep up the daily act of loving father and filial son with those two. Just as things were about to succeed, and even that Yingyuan that jumped out halfway through couldn’t shake the overall plan—and then you show up. Argh, so annoying!” She pouted and stamped her foot, playing the part of a sulking little girl to perfection.

“Don’t be like that, I don’t have any candy to coax you with.” Tao Yao shook her head at her. “So what were you planning to do with a Human Culvert anyway? That kind of demon is ugly and you can’t even eat it.”

“None of your business!” Tang’er turned to glance back at the unconscious Duan Qingzhu, muttering, “Just a bit more and it would’ve been done—not sure now if this affects the outcome.”

Tao Yao walked toward her, smiling. “A Human Culvert can reach unreachable places, summon unsummonable things. Where do you want to go? What are you looking for?”

The beast watched her approach warily, hot, fishy breath huffing from its nostrils.

“Secret!” Tang’er lifted her chin, stubborn as ever.

“Naughty!” Tao Yao’s eyes curved into crescents, and the hand holding her braid suddenly pulled the red cord tied at its end loose; with a slight squeeze of her fingers, the cord turned into a streak of red light and shot straight for Tang’er’s face.

Tang’er found this almost funny—was this supposed to be some kind of hidden weapon?

Quick-eyed and quick-handed, she swatted it aside like a fly the instant it reached her, and the cord tumbled back the way it came, landing right back in Tao Yao’s hand.

“Ah…” Tang’er suddenly cried out in pain. A thin wisp of pale smoke rose from the hand that had swatted the cord away. She rubbed it hard—the smoke vanished, and though there was no wound, a faint numbing pain remained. All of her cute little-girl act dropped away instantly, and she glared, furious. “What did you hit me with!”

Tao Yao tied the cord back onto her braid as she said, “Relax, it won’t hurt you badly. This cord once accidentally fell into an iron box in one of Peach Capital’s Eight Netherworld Caverns—might have picked up a bit of iron dust. Not much, but it’s still something any distinguished guest who’s ever lived in that box would hate.” She looked up, her eyes growing even brighter under the lightening sky. “I thought you’d escaped Peach Capital just to eat, drink, and play around—didn’t expect you to be building yourself a whole enterprise!” She paused. “So then, should I keep calling you Tang’er—or should I call you—the Compendium of a Hundred Demons?”

So this was what they meant by searching high and low with worn-out shoes and finding it right here after all.

Tao Yao kept her expression carefully neutral, so as not to let herself look too excited.

Tang’er sighed, still rubbing her hand. “Lying there for all those years, I really did grow sick of it. Actually, you didn’t even need to test me with that thing—I wasn’t planning to hide it from you anyway. Running into an old acquaintance in this vast human realm, who else could have this kind of fated coincidence between us? By rights we should find somewhere nice, sit down, drink and eat and catch up on old times—but look at the situation now, this isn’t easy to handle.”

“Better to catch up back in Peach Capital.” Tao Yao smiled. “You’re not planning to hide it from me—does that mean you’re confident I can’t take you away?”

Tang’er sat down cross-legged, propping up her small face with both hands, looking sympathetic. “Lady Tao Yao, your gift for medicine is unmatched, your hands work miracles healing demons, and you show no mercy killing them—but your fighting skills are just too weak. Without that big snake of yours around, do you think you could poison this Lingjiang on the spot, or poison me instead… oh wait, you can’t poison me. You need to bring me back to Peach Capital in one piece, or you’ll be guilty of dereliction of duty.” She tilted her chin toward the pouch at Tao Yao’s waist. “I know what’s in there is the skill of Peach Capital’s Ghost Healer, but same as me, you didn’t expect to run into me this soon either, so I have reason to believe that even if you’re capable of making a drug to subdue me, it’s not ready yet—you still need time. After all, I’m not like any of your other patients or criminals.” She smiled slyly. “And besides… you definitely wouldn’t dare make a fuss about losing me. Not even daring to call for backup, trying to handle it all on your own—a bit naive, don’t you think?”

Tao Yao lowered her head, dejected. “You got me completely… so what should I do now, how embarrassing…”

“Just pretend you never saw me. Only good solution there is.” Tang’er shrugged.

“That won’t do, unless I die right here.” Tao Yao looked up, her eyes suddenly turning cold, and in an instant she leapt up, stepping off the beast’s head onto its back, scattering a handful of powder that fell straight into its eyes, nose, and mouth. The creature let out a sneeze and shrank, in a whoosh, down to about the size of a cat, sending all three of them tumbling off its back. Tao Yao seized the opportunity and flung a black pill straight at Duan Qingzhu.

Sensing danger, Tang’er threw herself in front of Duan Qingzhu and kicked the pill aside; knocked off course, it landed in the bamboo grove ahead—the moment it hit, the healthy bamboo there simply collapsed, and the patch of earth beneath it turned into swirling green-black water, bubbling.

Tang’er looked down at her own right foot—just a light graze had burned a hole clean through her shoe, nearly reaching her toe. She stood blocking Duan Qingzhu, furious. “You actually meant to dissolve him!”

“This particular medicine works on everything—touch it, and it turns to water. I don’t have much other talent, so I just make a lot of this kind to carry around.” As she spoke, three more pills appeared between her fingers. “If you won’t come back with me, I’m plenty angry too, and naturally I can’t let him go back with you either. If you keep blocking for him, losing an arm or a leg wouldn’t be surprising. I’d rather you stayed whole, but given my temperament, if I really can’t guarantee that—well, better a few missing pages than letting you drift around out here longer.”

“You—” Tang’er’s expression changed sharply; she knew Tao Yao’s temperament was erratic and strange—once she said something, whether or not she followed through, she’d still try.

As the pills flew out, Tang’er pressed her palms together in a strange gesture, and a group of three-legged jade toads sprang from thin air, mouths gaping wide, swallowing the deadly pills whole before they could even hit the ground. One after another, they turned into bags of green pus and burst apart in midair, releasing a horrible, scorched stench.

Luckily Tao Yao dodged in time, or her robes would have needed thirty washes.

Before she could turn around, six golden-legged giant centipedes suddenly appeared between her and Tang’er, each easily three meters long, with dragon-horned heads and single glowing green eyes. Tao Yao recognized these as a venomous demon breed called “Huilong”—forget touching one, even a single breath from it could take half your life. The six poisonous creatures quickly surrounded Tao Yao, while at that same moment, Tang’er pulled Duan Qingzhu along and the two of them mounted a pitch-black, nine-eyed strange fish. The fish, seeming to obey Tang’er’s commands, swam swiftly to the osmanthus tree at the side of the garden; with one powerful sweep of its tail, it uprooted the tree entirely. As the tree fell, the whole residence let out an eerie cracking sound.

Meanwhile, Tao Yao was too busy fighting off the six centipedes to spare a hand, and could only watch as the strange fish, after destroying the tree, carried Tang’er and Duan Qingzhu down beneath the earth, leaving not even a trace at the spot where they sank.

“Tao Yao, you and I never had any deep grudge, yet you insist on making things hard for me. Killing you would be as easy as flipping my hand, but for old times’ sake, I’ll spare your life today—and even leave you a fine gift. Let’s see how you enjoy it, hehe.”

Tang’er’s laughter echoed across the now-empty ground.

But they’d gotten away, and there were still four Huilong left, with only one killing move remaining. She had to hold her breath, dodging and leaping through their wheel-like attacks while racing to think of a foolproof plan in the shortest possible time—otherwise she really would capsize her boat in the gutter. These mindless, low-level demons were normally the easiest to deal with, but with so many of them, plus their natural brute strength, and given that they had no awareness or fear whatsoever of the name Peach Capital’s Ghost Healer, it was all too easy for a wild punch to strike down even a master. Keep this up much longer, and even if the poison didn’t hurt her, she’d suffocate herself from sheer stress. Damn it, she should have brought more lethal medicine—bringing so much for headaches, colds, and insomnia was truly asking for trouble!

Just as her thoughts spun wildly, one of the Huilong circled behind her, spotted an opening, and lunged, jaws wide, straight for the back of her neck.

At that critical instant, a strange wind kicked up, and a huge shadow of blue-green plunged down from the sky. Amid a dizzying series of spins, sharp cracking sounds rang out one after another. By the time Tao Yao steadied herself in the gust of wind it stirred up and turned to look, the Huilong were gone without a trace, leaving only Young Master Liu in front of her, desperately wiping his mouth.

“Did another great deed for you! No—this one should count as two!” Young Master Liu let out a belch, and from the smell, something had clearly gone wrong, because he nearly gagged himself.

Tao Yao pinched her nose, nearly retching along with him. “You ate them all? All four Huilong? You can even stomach that? Your claims of being a clean freak must be fake!!”

Young Master Liu took a deep breath, rubbed his chest, and once the churning in his stomach had settled somewhat, he beat his chest and stamped his foot. “You think I wanted to eat those disgusting monstrosities? If I hadn’t seen your head about to get bitten off, would I have made such a sacrifice?! I hadn’t even had breakfast and I ate that stuff—and instead of being grateful, you mock me?!”

“When was my head about to get bitten off? Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed one sneaking up behind me? With my skills, I—” Tao Yao pointed at herself, exasperated.

“You? You what?” Young Master Liu cut her off, tilting his face up, looking down his nose at her outright.

“I… I…” Tao Yao flushed and stamped her foot hard, her momentum collapsing. “I was a little caught off guard… good thing you showed up…” Her brief deflation was instantly kicked aside by anger again, and she stamped her foot, cursing, “As the old saying goes, two fists can’t fight four hands—these Huilong demons have no shame at all, I’ve only got two hands and two feet, and look how many of them there were! I’m furious! Hmph, if I’d just brought enough medicine, why would I even need you to step in!”

Just then, a bald head poked out cautiously from beyond the garden’s arched gate, followed by a fox’s head. After confirming the scene was completely safe, Mo Ya finally led Gungun trotting in, muttering in a chant-like stream before he’d even reached them: “Tao Yao, are you trying to worry us to death? You disappeared without a word! Haven’t come home in all these days! Do you know how worried Housekeeper Miao and the rest of us have been? What if something terrible had happened? Three of us left Peach Capital together—how could I go back with just two?! Amitabha, thank goodness Gungun has a knack for finding you—if we’d been even a little later, you’d only be able to visit us on Tomb-Sweeping Day from now on!”

“Oh, alright, alright.” Seeing that Mo Ya was genuinely worried, Tao Yao felt a small warmth at being cared for, along with a bit of guilt for having caused that worry, and swallowed back the scolding she’d been about to give him for nagging, saying instead, breezily, “I came to Luoyang for an urgent case, that’s why I left in such a rush without telling you. Didn’t expect to get tangled up in something else once I got here, which is why I’ve been delayed till now.”

Mo Ya, only half convinced, looked around the garden again and saw nothing but the churned-up ground from the fight and the fallen osmanthus tree, its blood-red blossoms scattered everywhere.

“We’d just entered the city gates when we saw demonic energy shooting into the sky from this direction.” Mo Ya said, puzzled. “Weren’t you here for a house call? How did you end up provoking Huilong demons, several of them ganging up on you at once? We’ve been out of Peach Capital for so long, and I’ve never seen you look this rattled.”

“How was I rattled?” Tao Yao protested, tugging at her own hem. “Look, even my clothes are still spotless!”

Mo Ya shook his head. “I don’t mean rattled as in dirty. Think about it—we’ve run into no shortage of demons on this trip, and every one of them treats you with respect. The few bad-tempered ones still hold back out of regard for who you are, even if they secretly wish you dead. None of them would ever go this crazy on you.”

Young Master Liu gave Mo Ya’s bald head a knock. “Huilong might look fierce, but at the end of the day they’re one of the least intelligent breeds among demons—like the natural-born fools among humans. They don’t care who’s standing in front of them; once someone sets them loose on a target, they’ll attack relentlessly without end. Sure, they’re just brute force, but enough ants together can still bring down an elephant. But wait, that’s not right…” Young Master Liu blinked, looking at Tao Yao. “As I recall, Huilong usually only live in damp, humid places down south—they hate cold and avoid light, so they’re almost always underground. How did you run into so many of them on a winter morning up north?”

“It’s not just Huilong.” Tao Yao rolled her slightly sore shoulders. “If you two had gotten here a bit earlier, you’d have also seen a Lingjiang and a Youtu—both mindless brutes.”

“The one related to the qilin, the giant beast that never lets go once it bites its prey—that Lingjiang?”

“And what’s a Youtu… oh, is that the kind of nine-eyed giant fish that can move freely underground, said to be able to swim for hundreds of years without resting?”

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya went back and forth, then said in unison, “How did you run into these too?”

Mo Ya scratched his head. “I’d think Luoyang, being such a bustling place, even if there are demons around, shouldn’t have the kind that usually only show up in remote, desolate areas, rarely appearing where people gather.”

“And appearing this concentrated and frequent, all targeting you specifically…” Young Master Liu frowned. “What exactly did you get yourself mixed up in? If someone hadn’t deliberately summoned them, how could all these things possibly show up?”

“I…” Tao Yao scratched her cheek, then scratched her neck for a good while. “This… well…”

If she told the truth right now, Mo Ya would probably be the first to keel over from shock…

“Since when do you get all coy and hesitant??” Young Master Liu got worked up. “Say your medical skill is first in Peach Capital, no one would argue. Say your combat skills are an embarrassment, no one would argue with that either. Was what just happened some kind of joke to you? Do you think every demon in this world will just obediently be your patient? I don’t think you’re some indestructible bronze-headed, iron-bodied creature that can’t die—have you really never once thought about what would happen if we’d arrived a moment too late? And you still won’t tell us the truth? Like the little monk said, three of us came out together, three of us need to go back together!”

Well, complaining aside, if something really had happened to her, Young Master Liu would probably risk his own life eating every last thing that hurt her… tsk tsk, wouldn’t that just stuff him to death? But if it were reversed, if something happened to Young Master Liu or Mo Ya, would she risk her own life too? She wasn’t sure… making her eat centipedes was absolutely out of the question—at most she’d burn them a little extra paper money at their graves later. Amitabha. But then again, if she hadn’t come on this trip, she wouldn’t have really seen the difference between “one person” and “three people” either…

“Why are you so mad, I’ll remember the favor you did me today anyway.” Tao Yao glared at him, rubbing her fingers together, both awkward and a little guilty. “Demons holding a meeting turned into an absolute mess… you two have to give me time to figure out where to even start!”

While the three of them chattered on, Gungun had already wandered curiously around the garden several times, sniffing at everything that caught its interest. But just as it approached the spot where the osmanthus tree had originally been planted, the perfectly ordinary little fox suddenly puffed up all over like a startled cat, let out a sharp “yip!,” and leapt straight onto Mo Ya’s shoulder, baring its teeth at the large pit in the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Mo Ya was confused—he’d never seen Gungun react like this before.

Gungun just kept baring its teeth, as if it had encountered something it found especially repulsive and terrifying.

Young Master Liu eyed Gungun strangely, then looked over at the spot too, exchanging a glance with Tao Yao before the two of them walked over.

The fallen osmanthus tree looked especially pitiful—it had finally grown so large, only to meet with such an undeserved disaster. The scattered leaves were still fresh and vividly green, making the red blossoms among them all the more striking; stepping on them, one couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret.

But they stopped short quickly, their gazes both drawn, unbidden, to the base of the tree, and any sense of pity vanished at once—all they wanted now was to set the tree ablaze immediately. It was only once the tree’s roots had come completely free of the soil that anyone could see how strange these tangled, twisting roots really were—looking closely, at least half of them had taken on the shape of dark red tentacles, lying limp on the ground, occasionally twitching. Seeing this, Young Master Liu picked up a small clod of hard earth at his feet and flicked it with force at one of the tentacles. The dirt struck home, the tentacle snapped, and a puddle of pus and blood oozed out from the break—a thoroughly nauseating sight.

“Is it that?” He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, and glanced at Tao Yao.

Tao Yao said nothing, walking quickly to the tree pit and crouching down to peer closely into it for a moment; her expression shifted slightly, and she gave a cold laugh. “What a generous gift, truly…”

“What are you talking about?” Young Master Liu came over and looked into the pit as well, and his face immediately twisted with fury, as though he wanted to grab someone out of thin air and beat them senseless. He roared, “Which beast opened this place up!!”

The pit, roughly four or five feet wide, showed no earth at all—only a mass of gray-black currents shaped like a gaping mouth, slowly churning within.

Young Master Liu grabbed Tao Yao’s arm, desperately hoping his judgment was wrong. “Tell me this isn’t a Narrow Mouth. Is it? Did I see wrong?”

“Calm down.” Tao Yao pried his hand off, staring at that “mouth” in the pit. “Angry as you are, it’s already open regardless.” With that, she picked up a scarlet osmanthus blossom lying by her foot and muttered, “No wonder it bloomed this color… so you were the key that unlocked it all along.”

“Who did this… tell me right now!” Young Master Liu was so angry his stomach hurt.

Tao Yao didn’t answer, only pulling out a vial of shimmering orange powder and pouring it over the tree roots. In an instant, a raging fire erupted; the tentacle-like roots writhed and twitched in the flames before quickly going still, gradually turning to black ash.

“Let’s cover this pit up for now, so we don’t scare any passersby.” She gestured at the pit with her chin.

Young Master Liu frowned and waved both hands; the soil scattered around the edge of the pit gathered instantly, filling the ground in a flash, hiding that gaping mouth from view.

“Who exactly is it?” Young Master Liu blocked her path.

She scratched the back of her neck again, smiling apologetically. “The Compendium of a Hundred Demons.”

Young Master Liu’s expression froze solid. Only his eyeballs twitched unnaturally a few times; nothing else on him moved at all.

Off to the side, Mo Ya and Gungun stood watching, unsure what the other two were busy with—wondering why they’d gone and burned the tree too. Mo Ya wanted to go look, but Gungun wouldn’t let him; every time he moved, it scratched furiously at his bald head.

“Let’s go find somewhere to eat.” Tao Yao said, unbothered, stepping around Young Master Liu. “This is a long story—better not tell it on an empty stomach.”

Young Master Liu, recovering from his shock, clenched his fists and forced the words out between gritted teeth. “What sin did I commit in a past life to end up knowing you…”

Fortunately the snow had cleared and the sky was fine; the sunlight, at least, could lift one’s mood a little, or today would have been unbearable.

Before leaving the garden, Tao Yao suddenly turned back, found the now-broken wooden sword in a corner, touched it for a moment, and then burned it.

A small flame flickered briefly before burning itself out.

Heaven, it seemed, was finally showing some mercy—the generous afternoon sunlight felt almost too good to be real.

At a corner table in a restaurant, Mo Ya spat out a mouthful of hot soup, and even choking on tears, he still forced out through his coughing, “You said the Compendium of a Hun—”

Tao Yao quickly clamped his mouth shut with her chopsticks, shushing him. “Didn’t I just say absolutely no getting excited, no shouting?! Say it again and I’ll sew your mouth shut!”

Young Master Liu patted Mo Ya’s back. “I completely understand how you feel right now, and I believe you, like me, want nothing more than to tie up this careless woman and send her off to be struck dead by the Thunder God—but you need to calm down. If ‘that person’ finds out about this, given our relationship with her, do you think ‘that person’ would let us off?”

Mo Ya’s normally mild, easygoing face went through an entire year’s worth of seasons in a single instant, and with all the pent-up emotion he couldn’t express, he actually started crying, sniffling helplessly…

He pulled Tao Yao’s chopsticks down and the first thing he said was, “How am I supposed to go on living…”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, whoever lost it should be the one to find it.” Young Master Liu quickly pulled the little monk into a comforting hug, patting his bald head, while glaring viciously at Tao Yao. “Look what you’ve done, upsetting my little Mo Ya!”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes, unbothered. “If I’d known you were this useless, I wouldn’t have told you at all. Look at you, sniveling like that!”

Mo Ya pulled himself out of Young Master Liu’s arms, wanting to shout but not daring to, not even daring to slap the table hard, and wiped his tears, saying, “That’s not just some random item from Peach Capital, that’s…” He glanced around cautiously, lowering his voice even further. “That’s the Compendium of a Hundred Demons! The thing tied to the life and death of countless demons! The thing locked away in Peach Capital’s Eight Netherworld Caverns! The thing you were personally assigned to guard! Do you even understand what that means?”

“I understand just fine, and it’s gone regardless of whether I understand or not. If it were a book that couldn’t run or jump, that would actually be easier to handle.” Tao Yao was still in the mood to eat, chewing away as she said to Young Master Liu, “Didn’t I tell you before?” She swallowed her food and looked seriously at Mo Ya. “The Compendium of a Hundred Demons is itself a demon. Inside Peach Capital, it can’t do much, but once it leaves Peach Capital’s borders, it becomes an ever-changing, cunning thing. This time it’s a little girl—next time, who knows. But the good news is, the general direction is still right—now that we know it’s in the human realm and has started refining a Human Culvert, and since a Human Culvert can only be refined using a human, that means it won’t be leaving the human realm anytime soon. I still have a chance to catch it.”

“It’s a demon itself??” Mo Ya took another hit.

“And one whose full capabilities are still hard to estimate.” Tao Yao wasn’t holding back the bad news either.

“This… what are we supposed to do…” Mo Ya had no time left to cry, breaking out in a cold sweat. “You’re saying there’s still a chance to catch it? But earlier, if Young Master Liu hadn’t shown up in time, you clearly would have been eaten alive by those centipedes…”

“Don’t talk nonsense! When was I about to be eaten!” Tao Yao made as if to smack his bald head, arguing righteously, “I did consider all sorts of scenarios of running into it, but I never expected we’d come face to face this quickly! So of course there was a small slip-up in how I handled it. Next time, it won’t get that chance.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Young Master Liu snorted coldly. “Go ahead and tell me—if next time you run into it alone again, what exactly are you going to do about it?” Though his tone was mocking and scolding, the worry in his eyes was genuine. “This thing can summon and command all sorts of demons?”

“Not exactly summon.” Tao Yao shook her head. “All those demons I ran into today, it actually ‘made’ them on the spot, out of itself. They’re imitations, sure, but nearly indistinguishable from the real thing, in both appearance and nature. Or put it this way—its own body is essentially made up of countless records of demons. Those long-accumulated ‘records’ have become power it can command and use at will.” Seeing Mo Ya’s utterly confused expression, she picked up a braised chicken wing instead. “To put it even more simply, it’s like a hen with extraordinary talent—other hens can only lay eggs and hatch chicks, but this one can, all on its own, give birth to all sorts of things: pigs, cattle, horses, sheep, even steamed buns. And these pigs, cattle, sheep, and buns are basically indistinguishable from the real thing—the only real difference is that whatever it gives birth to obeys it completely.”

Put that way, Mo Ya finally understood—but looking at the plate of steamed buns in front of him, he suddenly lost his appetite.

“If that’s the case, doesn’t it mean it can have as many minions as it wants?” Young Master Liu frowned. “Frankly, if it had conjured up thousands upon thousands of Lingjiang and Huilong today, forget you, even I would have had a hard time getting out unscathed. If that’s the case, what chance do we even have?”

“It probably doesn’t have that kind of power yet.” Tao Yao wasn’t worried at all. “It’s only been out of Peach Capital for a few years, right? Even an ordinary person who’s been sitting too long gets numb legs when they stand up—it was suppressed in Peach Capital for so long, it’s wishful thinking to expect it to fully recover the moment it got out.” She took a big gulp of soup and belched. “Besides, I’m still not entirely clear on exactly how powerful it is right now. Maybe what it conjured up today was already its limit, who knows. After all, it’s much older than I am—I only know a little more about it than you two do.”

“What you’re saying does make some sense.” Young Master Liu thought it over for a moment. “First, if it really had the power to command legions, it wouldn’t need to disguise itself as a little girl and skulk around a household refining a Human Culvert. The fact that it needs a Human Culvert means there’s somewhere it wants to go but can’t, or something it wants to obtain but can’t. Second, if it truly had the ability to conjure demons with its bare hands, then a Human Culvert should be among its records too—why not just ‘birth’ one directly instead of going through all this trouble to refine one?”

“That’s exactly why I keep telling you two not to worry. Judging by everything so far, it hasn’t fully spread its wings yet and can’t cause major disaster just yet.” Tao Yao popped the last piece of braised meat into her mouth. “But it’s cunning, and it’s not bad at reading people and playing to their weaknesses. We shouldn’t underestimate it either.”

Mo Ya was still anxious, muttering, “Even like this, it’s already terrifying enough…” and then sighed again, pressing his palms together and murmuring Amitabha.

“I originally thought this thing had run off just because it got sick of being locked up for so long, coming to the human world to blow off some steam and have fun. Didn’t expect it to start refining a Human Culvert the moment it got out…” Young Master Liu really couldn’t figure it out. “What exactly does it want to use a Human Culvert to get?”

“Only the heavens know that.” Tao Yao belched again, her gaze drifting out the window. “Right now, the biggest problem is the Narrow Mouth in the Longcheng residence.”

“What did you say? A Narrow Mouth?” Mo Ya felt his already battered heart might not survive much more. “You mean that pit in the garden you two filled back in—that’s an exit from the Narrow Realm… a Narrow Mouth??”

“Why do you think Gungun puffed up like that.” Young Master Liu glanced at the fox curled up under the table, fast asleep after its meal. “A gray fox’s naturally keen sense of smell, and its instinctive sensitivity to extremely dangerous things—that’s always been pure instinct.”

Mo Ya still couldn’t quite believe it, pressing further: “Are you two certain that’s a Narrow Mouth?”

Tao Yao nodded. “Certain.”

As vast as the universe is—beyond heaven, earth, and the mortal realm, there exist countless other worlds unknown to ordinary people and outside common understanding. Among these countless large and small worlds, there exists a Narrow Realm, wedged in the cracks between them—a realm containing nothing but chaotic light and murky air, utter chaos, the final resting place for all the resentment and malice exhaled by living beings in their daily lives. This realm is sealed off and self-contained, absorbing only malicious energy and nothing else, taking in but never releasing—should there ever be a leak, disaster would surely follow. Mo Ya racked his brain, trying desperately to recall everything he knew about the Narrow Realm, growing more uneasy the more he thought about it. He grabbed Tao Yao’s arm. “Isn’t the Narrow Realm supposed to have almost no exits?”

“You said it yourself—’almost.'” Tao Yao pulled his hand off. “But it’s true that Narrow Mouths in the Narrow Realm are extremely rare, and the reason they’re called Narrow Mouths rather than simply exits is that even where a Narrow Mouth exists, unless a tree grows on top of it, the Narrow Mouth can never become an actual exit. These Narrow Mouths are already rare to begin with, and when not triggered, they remain formless, nearly impossible for outsiders to detect—unless someone happens to plant a tree exactly on top of one. And the moment a tree is planted there, it releases a trace of malicious energy—not enough to cause real trouble, though, and as long as that tree stays alive, even though it’s affected by the Narrow Mouth and turns into a strange thing that blooms red flowers and gives off a faint malicious air, it’s really no different from having a key stuck in a lock—so long as no one turns it, nothing happens. It’s only if some outside force destroys the tree that the key actually gets turned, the lock opened—and then real trouble follows.”

Hearing this, Mo Ya’s heart sank completely. “So it’s already unlocked now…” He looked anxiously out the window at the people coming and going. “What happens once it’s unlocked? Will the common people be safe?”

“How would I know what happens.” Tao Yao looked in the same direction; the street scene outside was as lively as ever, the passersby carrying a bit more cheer and bustle than usual, since the New Year was approaching. “Living beings’ resentment and malice come in all forms—someone gets angry because they didn’t get something delicious to eat, someone else grows furious because their beloved possession was taken, someone else throws a tantrum because they tried to become more beautiful and failed. All of this falls under the category of resentment and malice. Sealed within the Narrow Realm, it’s harmless enough, but once it leaks out, even I don’t know what kind of consequences it could cause. It might drive innocent people mad, make them kill and set fires, or it might summon monstrosities that shouldn’t exist in the human world, causing countless deaths and injuries. All sorts of possibilities… by then, this whole city would be like it’s fallen ill.” She sighed, pressing her palms together in imitation of Mo Ya, murmuring Amitabha as well. “So I’m always telling you two not to lose your temper so easily—you think it’s just venting some emotion, but it gets preserved permanently in another world, and if you’re unlucky, it ends up like this. Trouble, in short.”

Young Master Liu frowned deeply, gritting his teeth. “Completely unaware, and by pure coincidence, planting an osmanthus tree exactly on a Narrow Mouth—that’s a coincidence that might not happen once in millions of years. This Duan Qingzhu you mentioned—was he really just an ordinary human?”

“He used to be.” Tao Yao thought back over everything she knew about the man, smiling with a hint of meaning. “If he hadn’t made that decision back in Fenghuai City, he wouldn’t have received high office and been granted the Longcheng residence, and he wouldn’t have sought out medicine to erase his past, only to wake up and, for no clear reason, buy an osmanthus tree to plant in the garden. If he hadn’t planted the tree, the Narrow Mouth’s presence wouldn’t have leaked out, and it never would have caught our ‘Tang’er’s’ attention. I doubt even she expected, at first, that a single Longcheng residence would give her both a Narrow Mouth with a key already inserted—making refining any demon twice as effective—and a Duan Qingzhu carrying an unbearable past, ready to use. I can just imagine how thrilled and delighted she must have been, realizing she’d gotten not just a prime piece of feng shui land, but a usable ‘person’ as well. No wonder she was so furious when I showed up—from infancy to girlhood, she’d been lying low here scheming for six or seven years, and just as the Human Culvert was nearly complete, I went and interrupted it.”

“If you hadn’t stepped in, Duan Qingzhu probably would have died without ever knowing he’d become a demon.” Young Master Liu sneered coldly. “When I arrived, I saw the blood-binding curse on the walls of the Longcheng residence—that was also our ‘Tang’er’s’ arrangement, wasn’t it?”

“The blood-binding curse was the final step in refining the Human Culvert. I’d guess our little Tang’er spent quite a lot of time tracking down the Huanhun reed too—that herb isn’t especially rare, but finding it isn’t something you can do overnight either, otherwise she wouldn’t have waited until two years ago to really make her move on Duan Qingzhu. It took that much effort just to outmaneuver the Bi’an Bureau’s medicine, and two full years to finally refine Duan Qingzhu’s demonic nature. Once the timing was right, she cast the blood-binding curse—first, to restrict Duan Qingzhu’s movements, so that no matter how mad he became during the process of being fully refined into a Human Culvert, he could never step outside the Longcheng residence; and second, the malicious energy that the osmanthus tree had been giving off year-round, which normally would have posed no threat as it dispersed and dissipated harmlessly, was instead gathered and trapped within the residence once the blood-binding curse was cast, becoming the final condition needed to complete the Human Culvert.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “Just like you both said, our General Duan never knew, right up to his death, that as long as that unbearable memory returned to him and became a demon in his heart he could never overcome, he was the perfect ‘raw material,’ meeting every single condition needed to become a Human Culvert. Ah, what luck—landing right in our Tang’er’s lap, of all the perfect timing and circumstances. No wonder, coming from Peach Capital and all.”

She said it so lightly, even teasingly, but no one else at the table could bring themselves to laugh. The table fell into silence.

Mo Ya looked deeply saddened. “Such a shame about the poor Yingyuan—such a good child, and even giving its life couldn’t save the situation in the end.”

“No use dwelling on the ones already gone.” Tao Yao rapped him on the head. “And no need to worry about the one that got away for now either.” She tilted her chin toward the window. “The ones still alive—those are what matter right now.”

“Knowing you, I’d have thought you’d go after the one that got away first.” Young Master Liu glanced at her, still not entirely convinced.

“That should be the case. But it knows me as well as you do.” Tao Yao winked at Young Master Liu. “At first glance, destroying the tree and opening the Narrow Mouth looks like nothing more than an act of spite. But the truth is, if I ignored this and went chasing after it instead, Luoyang would inevitably fall into chaos, and people would die sooner or later. It knows that ‘that person’ hates nothing more than me causing casualties—even if I’m not the one directly killing anyone, I still can’t escape responsibility for it. Given that, there’s no way I could just stand by and do nothing. Every extra day I stay in Luoyang is one more day it gets to slip further away from me.”

Mo Ya asked hurriedly, “Since the Narrow Mouth is already open, we really can’t leave now. But how do we go about locking it back up?”

“That malicious energy won’t come pouring out all at once when the mouth first opens, but the amount will grow with each passing day—meaning Luoyang should still be safe for these next three or four days.” Tao Yao calculated carefully, then continued, “There’s only one way to seal the Narrow Mouth. The very first trace of malicious energy that leaked out when the tree was planted—if we can find it within these three or four days and lead it back into the Narrow Mouth, the mouth can be closed.”

Young Master Liu’s eyes went wide. “Find a trace of… malicious energy, within three or four days? You just said yourself it’s formless—how are we supposed to find it!”

“Yeah, how do you even search for something so intangible?” Mo Ya scooped up Gungun. “Are we supposed to have Gungun sniff its way across heaven and earth?” Gungun yawned, letting out a couple of displeased chirps.

“It? It can just about find me, that’s it.” Tao Yao poked Gungun’s soft belly and got kicked in return.

“Then how do we find it? Using our own spiritual power to search bit by bit?” Young Master Liu racked his brain for a solution. He’d been happily making steamed buns back at the Bureau, and now suddenly had to deal with an imminent crisis—what a headache.

“Do it your way, and none of us will make it out alive.” She shot Young Master Liu a look, then held up her fingers to count it out for him. “Think about it—this tree was planted around fourteen or fifteen years ago. Things from the Narrow Realm naturally come with their own thoughts and emotions, so when that first trace of malicious energy escaped, it would naturally seek out a living creature it liked to attach itself to. And that creature had to meet two conditions—first, it couldn’t be too far from the Narrow Mouth, because the farther the malicious energy travels from it, the weaker it becomes. Second, it had to be a newborn, because only a newborn has no ability to resist, allowing for a perfect merging. A newborn possessed by this malicious energy—whether human or another species—because of the innate deficiency caused by the entangled malice, can never be exposed to sunlight at noon; if they are, they suffer agony as though their heart is being carved with a knife.” Having said all this in one breath, Tao Yao looked at the two of them and lowered her voice. “So right now, all we need to do is find a fourteen or fifteen-year-old boy or girl, or some other living creature, who especially shuts their doors and refuses to come out around noon every day—and that’s very likely our target.”

Mo Ya thought about it for a long while, still troubled. “But what if this creature isn’t even in Luoyang anymore?”

“Idiot!” Young Master Liu knocked him on the head. “Didn’t I just say the farther it gets from the Narrow Mouth, the weaker it becomes? It won’t have strayed far from the Longcheng residence. It should still be in Luoyang.”

“But Luoyang is such a big city, with so many people! Are we really supposed to go door to door checking every fourteen or fifteen-year-old who doesn’t go out at noon?” Mo Ya was practically in tears. “What if it picked a rat as its host?”

“Then Luoyang’s just out of luck.” Tao Yao threw up her hands. “I did my best, anyway.”

“We’ll just have to gamble on our luck.” Young Master Liu said, then glanced at Tao Yao awkwardly. “Except with your track record of always losing every bet…”

Tao Yao glared back fiercely. “I’m not gambling! I’ve been analyzing the best possibilities for you this whole time, start to finish! Do you understand analysis?!”

“But even if we start with fourteen or fifteen-year-old humans, that’s still hard to narrow down.” Mo Ya scratched his head with both hands. “There are too many people! A few days won’t be enough!”

“If I were you, I might as well not even bother having a head.” Tao Yao waved them closer, gesturing for them to lean in. “If we start by checking humans, think about it—if a child can’t be exposed to sunlight at noon, the parents would surely assume it’s some kind of illness, and nine times out of ten they’d take the child to see a doctor! Starting from the Longcheng residence and expanding outward, the number of doctors is far smaller than the general population. If any of them happened to treat such a case, a symptom like that would definitely leave a strong impression.” Finishing this in one breath, she gave herself a satisfied thumbs-up. “Smart!”

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya exchanged a glance.

“Not the greatest plan, but it’s worth a shot at least.”

“Honestly, I was thinking the same thing, just didn’t say it out loud.”

“What are you two muttering about! Do you think I’m deaf? If you’re so clever, why don’t you handle it yourselves!”

“It’s not like I’m the one who caused this mess.”

“Amitabha, Tao Yao, didn’t you just say not to lose your temper!”

“When did I ever say that!”

Just then, Young Master Liu seemed to recall something else and grabbed Tao Yao. “Wait, I remember the first time you told me the Compendium of a Hundred Demons had gone missing, you clearly said it went missing ‘before the New Year.’ But this Tang’er’s been in the human realm for at least six or seven years, so you—”

“I might have misremembered the timing.” Tao Yao laughed sheepishly. “Come on, let’s go, we still need to find an inn to stay at!”

“You went out looking for it on your own before, didn’t you? Only dragged us into it when you couldn’t find it yourself!”

“What are you talking about? When did I drag you into anything? Wasn’t I just accompanying the little monk on his training trip, and looking around while we’re at it?”

“Tao Yao! What did I ever do to end up stuck with someone as unlucky as you!”

“You’re the unlucky one, your whole family’s unlucky!”

“Amitabha, whether it’s been missing a year or a hundred years doesn’t matter anymore—what matters is that you two stop fighting and focus on what needs doing!”

“Shut up! If it really has been a hundred years, do you think eating a few centipedes today was the worst of it?!”

“Don’t mention centipedes again… ugh…”

There was no going back to the Bureau’s residence for now.

Tao Yao sat alone on the inn’s rooftop. Cold as it was, tonight’s sky was remarkably clear and clean, deep and shallow shades of blue drifting slowly by, a few stars flickering faintly in and out of view.

Below, Luoyang City glowed with lantern light, taverns and teahouses still open for business, vendors still hawking New Year’s goods, none of them showing any sign of packing up to go home—business was good, people coming and going, laughter and smiles all around. Every corner still had its own kind of liveliness; somewhere, unseen, the sound of a zither and singing drifted through the air, gently stirring the listener’s mood. The air carried the faint scent of wine mixed with the cold sweetness of plum blossoms—breathing it in deeply felt wonderfully comforting.

One street in particular stood out from the rest, strung end to end with colorful lanterns; though only half of them were lit so far, the effect was already dazzling and full of promise—once all of them were lit, it would surely be a sight beyond words, like something out of a fairyland.

She remembered that street; she’d passed through it just yesterday.

When they’d checked into the inn, the innkeeper, seeing they weren’t locals, had mentioned that they’d arrived in Luoyang at just the right time—tomorrow was the city’s annual “Immortals’ Fair.” The whole street would be lovely with lanterns, and there’d be poetry and painting contests, all sorts of interesting performances and games to watch or join, along with unusual and clever wares for sale, plenty of good food too, running for a full seven days. Every year, this was the time the city’s people looked forward to most. Watching him talk animatedly, spit flying, Tao Yao had felt genuinely tempted—if only this trip were purely for pleasure, how nice that would be. But alas, there probably wouldn’t be time to join in the festivities after all.

She quietly gazed down over Luoyang’s nighttime scenery, her hair drifting in the cold wind, her mood as unsettled as the moment itself.

Thinking again of how, at this very moment, somewhere beyond her sight, the Compendium of a Hundred Demons—having escaped with such ease—might already have taken on yet another form, walking up to some other unsuspecting person to begin a new “life,” she knew all the more that she mustn’t panic or let herself get angry. Catching a big fish always took effort, and since she was the one who’d let it slip away in the first place, there was no one else to blame.

In any case, this trip to Luoyang had brought one surprise after another, leaving her scarcely able to catch her breath—this city, it seemed, was truly dead set on keeping her here.

Her gaze turned toward the direction of the Longcheng residence. Amid the whole city’s splendor, only that one house lingered on, lifeless and gray, with nothing but a current of energy, imperceptible to ordinary people, stirring furtively within.

Three days, or four—would this city still be as peaceful and joyful as it was tonight?

No one knew.