Prologue

Wherever its light shines, demons and ghosts have no place to hide. It is called the Buddha Eye.

Fire, screaming, the smell of blood and rot tangled together with every despairing sound and color in the world, seeking an outlet and finding none, hovering over the city, fermenting.

Boom, boom, boom, boom!

Countless hands pounded frantically behind the heavy city gate. Some, perhaps feeling their hands weren’t enough, threw their bodies against it. The will to survive propelled countless dying bodies to burst out with the greatest strength of their lives.

Fortunately the gate was sturdy and stable enough that even a thousand pounds of force couldn’t budge it, but the tremors from within never stopped for a moment, and every sound tightened the hearts of those outside, unable to fully trust the gate’s strength, always fearing it might collapse the next instant.

He couldn’t show any emotion besides courage and resolve, could only grip the sword in his hand as tightly as possible, so hard his whole arm, even his whole body, trembled slightly.

The firelight dancing before everyone’s eyes grew brighter, redder, an unstoppable malevolence in which no one dared imagine life or hope.

Boom, boom, boom, boom!

Those inside refused to give up—even if it was only a fantasy, they had to imagine a way out.

But there was still time to decide whether that path was fantasy or reality.

The hard sword hilt seemed almost to melt in his burning palm; his body in that moment felt heavier than the gate before him.

“My lord…” A subordinate beside him looked at him in confusion. “There must still be innocent people in the city… will we really not open the gate?”

He said nothing, only felt his mind buzzing.

Lord Duan, hold the city and you hold the Duan bloodline, hold the glory of the rest of your life—act wisely. Only these words remained clear, each one like a blade cutting through his mind, over and over, tyrannical.

He wasn’t particularly afraid of death, only of dying badly, of dying in a way that dragged others down with him.

A thunderous crash! Another explosion sounded within the city—who knew what the fire had ignited this time, how many more lives torn apart.

He shuddered.

“My lord! Over there!!” Someone beside him pointed at the city wall and shouted.

Someone had climbed halfway up over the towering wall, their face and head covered in wounds and blood, lit clearly by the firelight—heaven only knew how much effort it had taken to climb that far.

He looked up but couldn’t tell if the figure on the wall was male or female, young or old—only that in another moment, they’d make it over.

Lord Duan, let no one cross the boundary—another voice spoke in his mind, cold and low, brooking no defiance.

The words chilled every vein in his body, jolting him from his brief daze.

He suddenly seized a spear from the soldier beside him, wrenched it free, steadied his breath, aimed, and released in an instant—the spear flew true and struck the person about to break through on the wall.

One person’s death cry was nothing against the wailing of an entire city. He watched as the one who’d been a single step from success fell like the last leaf on a bare branch, drifting down without a ripple, losing everything without a sound.

“All officers, hear my command!”

“Yes!”

“Anyone who crosses the city walls—kill them on sight!”

“Yes!”

He finally spoke the loudest words of the night.

Those inside the city had no way out. Neither did those outside.

The fire grew fiercer; the cries within the city grew fainter.

He clenched his fists, sweat trickling slowly down from beneath his helmet.

Since childhood, he’d imagined more than once the scene of one man holding the pass against ten thousand—armor stained with blood, sword raised astride his horse, a hero’s face he’d imagined as his own countless times. He’d longed, more than anyone, for that sense of dying without regret. But now that the day had truly come, he had everything except happiness.

“My lord… how much longer… must we hold?” The subordinate asking had to swallow nervously every few words. It was the question on everyone’s mind—if he said even now, he believed every soldier outside the city, new and old alike, whether their hands were stained with blood or not, would immediately throw down their weapons and flee. Everyone had reached their limit; the string pulled taut within them was on the verge of snapping.

He took a deep breath. “Only when the fire dies and the city falls silent will the gate open. Those who distinguish themselves will be richly rewarded; those who desert in the face of the enemy will have their families executed to the third generation!”

“Yes!”

The soldiers roared their response as one.

Inside the city and out, everyone fought with everything they had.

He didn’t remember how long that all-consuming fire burned—only that day or night, the sky above the city stayed black, the air thick with a choking stench that stung the throat with every breath.

When there was nothing left to burn, the fire finally died.

They poured water over the gate and waited a good while longer.

“Shall we open it… my lord?” A subordinate asked for his final decision.

He looked at the gate, discolored by the intense heat, hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Open it.”

He knew, deep down, that even if they tore the gate down and melted it now, it would still be there—it could never truly open again.

The gate, pushed open slowly, let out a deep, groaning creak, like the last moan of someone dying.

He stood at the front of the formation, still gripping his sword tightly.

A sudden, swelling tension seized every heart present. They knew there was nothing left behind that door, and yet still feared something might suddenly burst out.

Deep black ash, stirred by the morning wind, surged provocatively through the widening gap in the gate, clawing and dancing in the air as if in defiance of them all. Behind it, only ruins and a silence like death.

He was silent a long while. What next—time to clear the battlefield, he supposed. Almost laughable—a battlefield where no battle had been fought, what kind of battlefield was that?

He gave a bitter smile and raised a hand in signal. “Go in.”

“Yes!” Everyone in the formation shouted at the top of their lungs to mask the unease that wouldn’t leave them.

He was their leader; it was only right he walk at the front.

The fire was out, the city silent—nothing left to fear. He should be glad; the honor of having served with distinction was assured. The blackened path underfoot was unpleasant to walk, certainly, but if what lay at the end was light and prosperity, then surely it would all be worth it.

A thread of hope crept into his unease.

Soon, his foot crossed the threshold, and the city beyond the gate—one he’d passed through countless times before—waited for him now in the most wretched, hopeless state of its existence.

The soldiers behind him trembled more and more violently, and once they saw the scene within the city clearly in the daylight, they actually began to vomit.

Ah, Lord Duan’s here! Take this basket of fruit back and share it with the men—such hot weather, and you still have to patrol the walls.

Lord Duan, Lord Duan, a word if I may—I hear you’re still unmarried? I have a niece, gentle-natured and pretty besides. Would Lord Duan care to meet her? Hey, hey, don’t walk away!

Brother Duan, the whetstone you asked for is ready—come see if it’s to your liking!

Brother Duan, Mother asked me to give you this sachet, says wearing it keeps mosquitoes away. She says we’re not wealthy, can’t afford anything better, so this is our thanks for you carrying Father home yesterday.

Lord Duan… Lord Duan…

He instinctively clapped his hands over his ears—where were these jumbled voices coming from? Whose faces were those, laughing and scowling through all those seasons of light?

Not until his gaze fell from the empty air back down to the ground, to the layers of lifeless husks piled there, did his scattered mind snap awake, as if pricked by a needle.

That was Uncle Huang who sold fruit. That was Granny Jiang, always eager to arrange matches. That was Xiao Fei from the blacksmith’s shop in the east of the city. That was the plump girl Bao’er from old Xu’s family in the west… and others. But now, how was he supposed to recognize these people who’d walked through his life so ordinarily until just recently? Though they were right here—every charred body could have been any one of them.

He lowered his head, not daring to let his eyes wander any further.

Many people wondered what hell looked like—endless darkness, or scorching flame. He thought they were all wrong. Hell, it turned out, was simply having everything in your life destroyed while you alone were left behind.

He still didn’t dare look up, only felt the light falling on him from above swaying violently, as if about to knock him down for good.

There was a clatter—his sword slipped from his hand—and he fell to his knees, kneeling hard before this now-dead city.

“My lord!” The soldiers behind him rushed to help him up.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Someone gripped his arm tightly.

“I’m fine… don’t help me up.” He shook his head but still refused to look up.

“You’re fine, but we’re not.” The voice beside his ear suddenly turned sharp and strange.

Startled, he snapped his head up—the one beside him was no longer his soldier, but a pitch-black humanoid monster, steam rising from its body, only a pair of red-glowing eyes fixed on him from its face.

Terrified, he kicked it away, raised his sword, and pointed it at the creature rolling aside, shouting furiously, “What manner of demon are you!”

The monster slowly climbed back up, saying nothing, only grinning like a duck with its neck wrung.

Cold sweat soaked his clothes; a gust of wind blew past, and his spine grew even colder.

He suddenly sensed something wrong behind him and turned—nearly dropping his sword again.

Countless black humanoid shapes rose one by one from the ground, all bearing the same glowing red eyes, all fixed on him, all speaking in unison: “Lord Duan, why didn’t you open the gate? Why didn’t you open the gate?”

His body shook violently; he didn’t know whether to face forward or behind him, all his terror and fury concentrated into the gleaming point of his sword. “You… you dare be so insolent!”

“Why didn’t you open the gate? Why didn’t you open the gate?”

More and more black shapes swayed toward him, countless mouths repeating the same question over and over.

“Why didn’t you open the gate? Why didn’t you open the gate?”

The voices were like a curse, throwing his mind into chaos, his head splitting with pain.

“Get back!” he roared, drawing on everything he’d ever learned, raising his sword to fight.

But his sword did nothing against them—cut one down, and another rose in its place. However hard he fought in that sea of enemies, he could never gain the upper hand.

After thousands of strikes, even an iron-willed man ran out of strength. He knelt half-collapsed, gasping, watching the enemies surge toward him like a tide, every blood-red eye burning with the hunger of vengeance about to be fulfilled.

He gritted his teeth, summoned his last shred of strength to stand, raised his sword in a final, desperate stance—but then, for some reason, the fight suddenly drained out of him. There was a clatter as he let his hand fall, releasing the sword, and he stood up straight, smiling at the enemies closing in around him, raising a hand to point at himself.

Almost instantly, all color vanished from heaven and earth; surging blackness sealed every gap through which he might have breathed, and he felt himself crushed into the deepest reaches of the void, layer upon layer of force pressing down on him without end, crushing him past the point of wishing for death, all his agony gathering in his throat and bursting out as a hoarse cry—”Ahh…!”

Every bone in his body must have been ground to dust…

It hurt…

It hurt so much…

He drew a sharp breath and slowly opened his eyes, throat parched and raw. What came into view wasn’t a monster or scorched earth, but a book, a fan, and a lamp burning quietly on the corner of his desk.

The agony he’d thought so real had only been a thought after all…

He sat up, looked around, his wildly pounding heart gradually calming. No fire, no city, no endless swarm of monsters—this was his study; he’d simply fallen asleep with his head on a book. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, shaking his head with a bitter smile. Not his first nightmare either—they’d grown more frequent since summer began. Perhaps the heat had unsettled his mind.

A cool breeze drifted in through the half-open window. He rose and looked outside; the quiet courtyard was bathed in moonlight, the air carrying a faint sweet scent of osmanthus. Every breath in that moment was refreshing. He stretched, then heard his stomach growl—he remembered he hadn’t eaten dinner yet; the maid must have seen him asleep and not dared wake him.

He rubbed his face hard, drew several deep breaths facing the window, and finally felt fully awake.

Time to eat, he thought.

Knock knock knock!

Someone was at the door.

He frowned and called toward it, “I’ll be right out—tell the kitchen to have dinner ready.”

Knock knock knock!

He grew annoyed. “What are you still knocking for? Didn’t I say I’m coming right out?”

Knock knock knock!

Flaring with irritation, he strode to the door and yanked it open. “I said I’m—”

He didn’t finish. He stumbled back three steps—the one at the door was neither family nor maid, but a charred humanoid figure, eyes glowing red, mouth stretched wide in a shrill grin: “Why didn’t you open the gate?”

He sucked in a sharp breath and lunged to the wall, tearing the sword from where it hung.

“Demon!”

A roar in the night, furious and desperate.

Tao Yao’s hand reached toward her medicine pouch several times, but in the end she never drew out a single pill.

From the bustling streets of the city market to this desolate, cold stretch of open country, the monster that had swallowed Xian Shu had stayed within her sight the entire way. Several times along the way she’d nearly acted, but held herself back each time, simply because the creature was truly unlike anything she’d seen. At first glimpse it had looked like a transparent snake gliding through the air, but once it reached the crowded market, it had landed and taken on a wildly crude humanoid shape—so crude it looked like something a child might scribble, a circle stuck atop the character for “big.” Still transparent, but moving just like an ordinary person, swaying its head and tail with obvious delight, pausing at fruit stalls to sniff, mischievously blowing at pinwheels for sale. The very picture of someone with a full belly and nothing better to do than wander around. Most puzzling of all was that this creature—one any ordinary eye could tell was a demon—had given off not a trace of demonic energy the entire way, only occasionally letting slip a scent that wasn’t its own with a belch. Xian Shu must still be inside it; if the demonic energy hadn’t dissipated, it meant he wasn’t fully dead yet. If she killed it out of anger now, she might lose any chance of saving him. Better to keep following and see where it settled before deciding what to do. As for Xian Shu, honestly, she was thoroughly sick of that useless little thing—causing her nothing but trouble the whole way, and now here she was, the great Ghost Physician of Peach Capital, running herself ragged trying to save him. Well, she’d already decided—if she couldn’t save him, she wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty; it was an act of extra grace on her part to begin with. And if she did manage to save him… she’d just let Young Master Liu eat him. Didn’t he like eating rats anyway?!

Following along the whole way, the monster’s behavior only confirmed it wasn’t very bright—could its sole purpose today really have been just to swallow another demon whole?

Dusk had thickened by now, fewer and fewer people passing by, and she watched the creature swagger onto a winding mountain path, walking deeper into the night amid the rustling wild groves on either side.

The colder it grew, the more the damp night air felt like icy hands pressing uncomfortably against her everywhere, and she had to stay alert for any hungry creature lurking in the darkness of the wild hills. This mountain road wasn’t one an ordinary person could manage—even Tao Yao felt a slight chill of unease, unused as she was to walking alone at night these days. In the past, Young Master Liu and Mo Ya had always been beside her—not just for safety in numbers, but Young Master Liu alone, an ancient serpent-spirit who barely needed to reveal his true form, could scare off any lesser troublemaker with nothing but his aura of menace. Any danger solvable by force along their travels since leaving Peach Capital, credit went to him—just don’t be fooled by his ridiculous devotion to cooking; in the kitchen, he could only be explained by “everyone has their blind spots in life,” and old demons were no exception. But… right now, she found herself missing him a little.

A cold wind swept past; Tao Yao felt even her braid might freeze stiff, and combined with the strange cries from the wild groves, it was genuinely unnerving.

Before long, a faint light began to appear in the gloom, and the outline of a building gradually came into focus.

The creature truly wasn’t very bright—it hadn’t noticed the tail that had picked up behind it at all.

As for Tao Yao, she had to be extremely careful not to trip over the stones underfoot. Following the creature’s path while minding her own feet, she silently cursed whichever bored fool had scattered so many random stones across otherwise flat ground—but before she could finish cursing, her gaze snagged on one of the stones. By the faint light ahead, she suddenly realized that what covered this sizable stretch of wasteland weren’t ordinary stones at all—the haphazardly arranged objects were gravestones.

Good thing she was Tao Yao and not some other surname-Yao, or she might have been scared out of her wits—this wretched creature had led her straight into what was almost certainly an abandoned, ownerless graveyard.

Why here, of all places?

The building drew closer, close enough now to make out its dilapidated roof and walls—it didn’t look inhabited, probably some old shelter left behind for grave-keepers long ago. But wait—what was that sound of fighting, those shadows grappling in front of the house?

The creature suddenly sped up, trotting toward the building, and as it ran, it left the ground entirely, transforming into a streak of bright white light. Tao Yao wasn’t about to let it slip away and followed close behind, finally crouching low behind a mound of earth diagonally across from the building. The white light the creature had become came to a stop too, darting straight into a rod planted in the dirt before the house. By the light of a battered lantern hanging under the eaves, Tao Yao looked closely and realized the rod, over three feet long, was no ordinary object—it seemed forged of bronze, wrapped in ancient, dignified dragon patterns, glowing faintly blue-green in the night and lamplight, giving off no sinister air at all—if anything, it carried a certain power to suppress evil spirits.

A demon living inside a rod?

But… the demon gave off no demonic aura, and neither did the rod… Tao Yao ran through her memory several times—had her memory really failed her so badly that she’d completely forgotten such a demon existed in the world?

But the matter of the rod and the demon could wait, because the scene on the other side was even more remarkable—a man, it seemed, somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties, tall and solidly built, the shift of muscle with his every movement visible even through his black robes. Young Master Liu would look slight beside him. Clearly someone who’d trained in martial arts for years, and trained well. His features weren’t fierce, though his bearing carried a sharp, heroic quality without losing its elegance—even with single-fold eyelids, his features fell into place with remarkable precision, as if some master portraitist had used his finest brush to trace out the most successful lines of a lifetime. Even in such poor lighting, there was a hidden brilliance in his gaze, sharp and perceptive.

Sizing up people’s looks at a glance, especially young men, and passing judgment on them—that had always been one of Tao Yao’s favorite pastimes. But right now she was hung up on one question: with a physique and looks that good, why on earth was he spending his night fighting a skeleton in a graveyard??

Truly—cold weather made people hungry, but she definitely wasn’t hungry enough to be seeing things. The man of unknown origin before her was, indeed, occupied with a stark white skeleton, still draped in the tattered, faded remains of clothing.

The two of them fought quite splendidly, too—no telling who’d trained him, but every strike and stance flowed like water, yet landed with tremendous, bone-jarring force. Combined with the gleaming silver-white wristguard on his right wrist, each blow against the skeleton rang out with a series of clangs. The skeleton, too, was clearly no pushover—rather than falling apart under the onslaught, it found openings to strike back, its movements so similar to his that, were it a living person of flesh and blood, one might have mistaken them for martial siblings from the same school.

After a dozen or so exchanges, anyone watching this rare sight would surely have assumed it was a master battling some demon. Tao Yao had thought so too at first, but the longer she watched, the stranger it seemed—strangest of all, she suddenly noticed something odd about his wristguard. It looked solid and hard, yet not so hard that it could take countless blows without a single scratch or dent. Clearly it wasn’t forged from ordinary metal, and its smooth, mirror-bright surface reflected dazzling streaks of light with every swing of his arm. She squinted for a closer look and saw, faintly visible within the wristguard as it flashed back and forth, a row of crimson runic symbols—not carved into its surface, but seeming to float up from within. More curious still, no matter what angle the skeleton stood at, the wristguard always reflected its image.

Tao Yao suddenly understood—this man was using “Mirror Arts”!

She remembered an ancient text in Peach Capital’s collection devoted entirely to this technique—memorable to her, who never much cared for burying herself in books, precisely because it had taken an entire volume to cover. Clearly Mirror Arts was a vast discipline with countless branches. She recalled, from a cursory read, that even the common “Puppetry Arts” fell under this category—and one branch of puppetry used reflective objects imbued with binding spells, projecting the caster’s will through the target’s reflection to control them completely, leaving the affected—living or dead—utterly unable to resist. She’d heard of unscrupulous practitioners using this technique on people, turning them to stone and sinking them to the bottom of lakes, or using it to make solid rocks rise into the air, flowering trees dance—”stone can become man, man can dance”—that was the power of this art.

Made sense, then—how could a mere skeleton fight a living man without some outside force pulling its strings? Its reflection in his wristguard was proof enough. Looking more closely at how the two sparred, it looked less like a brawl and more like a practice bout—the skeleton’s movements and technique mirrored his own, almost like another version of himself!

Watching from her hiding spot, Tao Yao’s expression grew complicated. So the world’s most boring people weren’t a myth after all—here was someone bored enough, on a cold, silent night, to dig up a skeleton in a graveyard just to spar with it… And that bronze rod was probably his weapon, given how well-suited the two of them seemed to each other. If that were true, then the monster must be something he’d raised—what should she do now? Charge out and subdue him by force? Not much chance of that—never mind whatever strange arts he might know, his raw physical strength alone could probably kill her with half a punch… Or should she gamble that he wasn’t heartless, and go out there crying and begging him to release Xian Shu? If Xian Shu was even still alive… ugh, what a dilemma! Tao Yao’s eyes darted about—might as well use medicine. She still had leftover powder from dealing with those two old thieves at Heavenly Immortal Tower last time; if she used it all on him, even this fellow probably couldn’t withstand that maddening, thousand-insects-crawling itch. That would make things much simpler.

Decided! Use the medicine—itch him to death!

She lowered herself further and was reaching for her pouch when something white and gleaming suddenly flew down from the sky…

Thunk!

“Ow!”

The unidentified object landed squarely on Tao Yao’s head; she couldn’t hold back a pained yelp, clutched her head, and turned to look—a disturbingly familiar skull lay behind her, grinning as if smiling at her. At the same moment, a great clattering sound came from ahead, and the headless white skeleton before the man suddenly collapsed into a heap.

Training session over? And he’d knocked its head clean off?

Tao Yao watched, drawing a deep breath, as the man turned around, unbothered, as if nothing unusual had happened, picked up the black cloak resting on the doorsill, shook it out, and calmly draped it over his shoulders, tying the sash as he asked, “Had your fill today?”

No sooner had he spoken than the tip of the bronze rod suddenly lit with a small but brilliant white glow. Within that glow, a mass of reddish-gold light appeared, shaped like an open human eye, both ghostly and solid, floating within the radiance, full of life.

At his question, the eye blinked several times.

Seeing this, he smiled. “Good. Now that you’ve eaten, we can be on our way.”

By now Tao Yao had entirely forgotten the throbbing lump on her head, mouth agape, staring in astonishment at the eye atop the bronze rod, nearly ready to leap out and snatch it away.

With her eye for such things, she couldn’t possibly be mistaken. Never mind the rod—but that glowing eye was without doubt one of the rarest demons to be found anywhere in heaven or earth. As the old texts said: when heaven and earth first formed, an ancient god was said to have perished, its body dissolving into formlessness, leaving behind only its eyes, which fell to earth and gained demonic nature, becoming a pair of “snow-grass” spirits, one male and one female, translucent through and through, shaped like human eyes, understanding human intent and speech, with the mind of a small child, unable to distinguish good from evil, feeding on demons—brightening when fed, fading when hungry. Wherever its light shines, demons and ghosts have no place to hide. It is called the Buddha Eye.

Buddha Eye! It really was a Buddha Eye! A creature so rare there was only ever one pair in existence, in heaven or on earth!

This kind of demon really was an oddity even among demons—though descended from some ancient, world-forming god, in the end it had become a demon all the same. Yet despite being a demon, its greatest power was to strip away the concealment of demons who, for whatever reason, wished to hide from the world—and it fed only on demons. So for a long stretch of time, the pair of Buddha Eyes had lived rather precarious lives; many of their own kind refused to acknowledge them as fellow demons, believing them nothing more than a spiteful god’s weapon left behind to continue hunting demons. Some demons had even wished them dead outright. And since they couldn’t speak, with the mind of a small child, whenever attacked they could only shift their bodies into different shapes—either flee or swallow the enemy whole. That worked well enough against minor demons, but against anything powerful, it was a matter of life and death nine times out of ten. It was said that once, while wandering the mortal world, this pair of Buddha Eyes encountered a vicious demon and were on the verge of becoming its meal when someone from Kunlun happened to pass by and rescued them just in time, bringing them back to Kunlun. When the Heavenly Realm and Peach Capital heard of this, both expressed interest in taking the pair in, but Kunlun flatly refused, declaring that guiding demons toward ascension was Kunlun’s long-standing tradition and mercy—and taking the opportunity to mock their old rival the Heavenly Realm, saying they only ever considered humans and gods to be true orthodoxy, always looking down on demons as lesser, narrow-minded in both vision and heart. The Buddha Eyes wouldn’t have had an easy time in the Heavenly Realm either, and the envoy sent by Heaven had turned green with fury at the insult. As for Peach Capital, their reason for refusing was even simpler—just one line: Peach Capital already had more than enough demons. In the end, the Buddha Eyes settled temporarily in Kunlun, but at some point after that, word came that the pair had left Kunlun for the mortal realm, and after that, no news of them at all—whether alive or dead, no one knew.

She truly hadn’t expected to encounter one right here in this desolate graveyard! By the looks of it, some master had bound it, still living, into a weapon—a method that both protected its true form from harm and preserved its demon-revealing ability. This “living forging” was said to be a difficult and cultivation-costly process, though the demon itself suffered no pain during it. Anyone capable of such a feat was clearly far above those who carelessly used demons’ lives to refine medicines or talismans—even Tao Yao had to respect a master of that caliber. Surely this man hadn’t forged it himself, though—he looked too young for that kind of skill… Well, no matter who’d done it—regardless, this Buddha Eye could hardly be called a pure demon anymore; it was practically a divine weapon now, though its nature of feeding on demons clearly hadn’t changed. Still, the bronze rod held only one Buddha Eye—where was the other? If she could get her hands on the pair, that would add a formidable ingredient to her medicine stores. But even just the one would do nicely for now, Tao Yao thought, already scheming.

Wait, hold on—wasn’t the whole point of following him here today about Xian Shu? How had she managed to forget him the moment she laid eyes on the Buddha Eye? This was bad—the Buddha Eye’s glow was fueled by the food in its belly, and it had just eaten Xian Shu. By her estimate, the longer it glowed, the faster Xian Shu would be digested; by the time it grew hungry again and its light faded, there’d be nothing left of him at all.

No more delay. Right now, all Tao Yao could see was that gleaming eye. Throwing caution to the wind, she leapt out and lunged straight for the rod, meaning to seize it in her hands—only to grasp at empty air, as expected.

The man, rod in hand, looked at her with considerable confusion. “Still haven’t left? Head not hurting enough yet?”

“You hit me with a dead man’s skull on purpose?” Tao Yao flared up at once.

He looked at this girl, so much weaker than himself, and shook his head. “Why do you people always think a little mound of earth or a single tree is enough to hide you from view?” With that, he studied her face seriously. “It’s late. You should go. You’ve learned your lesson today—act this recklessly again, and you might not come back with your life.”

He didn’t even bother asking who she was… Seeing him turn to leave, Tao Yao darted in front of him, blocking his path, and pointed at the bronze rod without further preamble. “You’re not planning to use that as a candle to light your way, are you? Such a waste—put it out, put it out, put it out right now!”

“Whether it’s a waste is none of your concern. Worry about yourself.” He looked at her as if looking at a fool.

“No! You put out that Buddha Eye in your hand this instant!” Tao Yao, anxious, gave up on being diplomatic and said outright, “Since the Buddha Eye’s been living-forged into a divine weapon, it surely obeys only its master. Threats won’t work, begging won’t work—I have no choice but to ask you for this favor!” Sigh, she’d even managed the word “ask” without choking on it. The itching powder she’d planned to use was off the table now—someone with skill like this, commanding a divine weapon besides, was hardly on the level of that vulgar innkeeper at Heavenly Immortal Tower; threatening him wrongly might only bring trouble down on her own head, which still ached from that skull.

Hearing this, he frowned slightly, and seeing her clearly frantic expression, considered a moment, then flicked his fingers as if gesturing to the Buddha Eye to “step down for now.” In an instant, the eye closed, and the entire glow vanished.

Tao Yao let out a huge breath of relief. Good—he wasn’t entirely unreasonable after all. Much easier to negotiate with than she’d feared.

“You followed the Buddha Eye here alone, and you know the origins of the weapon in my hand—no ordinary person, clearly. Yet you couldn’t even dodge a single skull…” He looked at her with even greater confusion. “What exactly are you after?”

Ignore the earlier mockery—patience was its own reward! Tao Yao took a deep breath and pointed at the bronze rod. “It went out hunting today, didn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Then hurry up and make it spit out whatever demon it ate today! Right now! Every last hair of it, spit it out!” Tao Yao shouted every word.

“No.” He refused flatly.

And here she’d thought he was reasonable…

“No, wait, listen to me.” Tao Yao held her temper, trying not to explode. “The species of demon doesn’t affect its glow—it doesn’t have to be today’s meal specifically!” She struggled to stay patient. “If it doesn’t mind, come with me—I know where there’s a huge snake demon, one who even cooks for himself! Eat that and it’ll never go hungry again for a hundred years!” (Far away, Young Master Liu suddenly sneezed loudly.)

He frowned slightly. “No need. The Buddha Eye has always hunted for itself, requiring no help from others. I have business to attend to. Farewell.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Tao Yao grabbed hold of his cloak. “You have to make it spit that demon out for me today! Or else I—”

He turned back, puzzled. “Or else what?”

“Or else… or else you’ll never shake me off for the rest of your life!” Tao Yao plopped down on the ground, wrapped both arms around his leg, and began wailing loudly. “Either you make it spit him out, or kill me right here! If you kill me, I’ll become a ghost and follow you anyway! I’ll show up at your bedside every single night to wake you up!”

He looked down at her, utterly baffled—probably never in his life had he faced such a “ferocious” threat backed by such an enormous “accessory.”

Barely any tears actually came, but her wailing was heartrending regardless. “Give him back to me! If you won’t, then eat me too! I haven’t bathed in days anyway!”

He reached out as if to pull her off, then stopped halfway, sighing instead. “Do you think I wouldn’t dare kill you?”

Tao Yao choked, looked up, sniffled from the cold, and stared at him wide-eyed without a word.

“Since you’re afraid, let go.” He assumed she was frightened. “I won’t hold your recklessness against you. Don’t pester me further.”

Tao Yao sniffled again, her performance of misery vanishing instantly, and simply asked, “You won’t let go?”

“Food already swallowed—how could it be spat back out?” he said, perfectly reasonable.

“Ugh, all that crying for nothing.” She released his leg and scrambled up briskly. “But you’re still not leaving today.” As she spoke, all trace of her earlier tantrum vanished from her face; she narrowed her eyes, a cool, cunning smile spreading across her lips—an entirely different person from moments before.

He blinked, slightly taken aback. “How do you mean?”

She stepped back, pointing at the bronze rod in his hand. “Your divine weapon may recognize only you as master and obey only your commands—but if you die by my hand today, then I become the one the Buddha Eye must obey.”

He gave a short laugh, all his contempt for such wild talk contained in that quiet chuckle.

Tao Yao knew exactly what he was laughing at, but she didn’t think her words were so wild—just a matter of spending a few more pills. Of course, there was also the risk of punishment from “that person.” As the Tao Yao of Peach Capital, her rule was to treat demons, not people—but there was another clause added by that person: not treating people also meant not harming people without cause, and especially not using her mastery of medicine and poison for reckless violence. Violation meant punishment.

She hadn’t been without misgivings, but with Xian Shu’s life on the line, and as a physician saving her own patient, this hardly counted as “harming someone without cause.” Besides, the medicine she planned to use on him would only put him in a state of false death for two or three days at most—his build could easily survive that long without food or water. She hoped to fool the Buddha Eye into believing its master was dead, and with some clever persuasion afterward, not only save Xian Shu but claim the Buddha Eye for herself besides. Best of both worlds.

“We’ll see who laughs last.” Tao Yao rose on her toes, deliberately closing the distance between them. “Let’s settle this the way you brutes always do—a duel. If I lose, you kill me. If you lose, you make the Buddha Eye spit out its food!”

He looked somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You’re awfully persistent.”

“Just agree already, give me a straight answer!” Tao Yao needled him. “Don’t be coy about it like some shrinking maiden.”

He was silent a moment, then nodded. “Fine.” With that, he tossed the bronze rod aside; it planted itself firmly in the dirt once more. “I’ll fight barehanded. You may use whatever weapon you can find.”

Tao Yao gave a cold smile—playing the gentleman now, was he? If a single word could’ve made the Buddha Eye spit Xian Shu out, none of this would’ve been necessary in the first place!

The more she thought about it, the more it rankled her. She snorted, struck an especially flashy pose, and leapt gracefully up onto the rooftop—not for any particular reason, just wanting to show off a bit of skill in front of him. After all, if he fell unconscious for a few days and later woke up, she didn’t want the only memory he had of her to be some pathetic display of her sobbing and clinging to his leg. No, no—she had her pride too!

He looked up at her, perched smugly on the roof, puzzled. “What are you doing up there?”

“Getting the high ground to deal with you, obviously!” Tao Yao made a show of rolling up her sleeves, as if preparing some formidable technique—though in truth, she was carefully calculating his height, weight, and strength combined, trying to figure out exactly how much medicine would be effective without wasting any, and without endangering his life.

He kept watching her. “Even if you mean to show off some skill at flying leaps, if I were you, I wouldn’t jump up there.”

“Pah! Skill or no showing off, I’ve got plenty of it! You only managed that sneak attack earlier because I let you!” Caught out and refusing to admit it, she grew even more flustered, stamping her foot. “You want to bet you won’t live to see tomorrow’s sunrise!”

Before she’d even finished speaking, she felt something wrong beneath her feet—a strange shifting and a cracking sound spread out at once. She looked down to see the weed-covered old roof tiles trembling violently like something seizing, cracks spreading rapidly in every direction. Tao Yao’s heart lurched; she didn’t even have time to say “uh-oh” before, with a thunderous crash, she disappeared, humiliatingly, into the collapsing building and the dust that surged up around it.

The man stood calmly before the still-settling little disaster, muttering to himself, “I did say if I were you, I wouldn’t have jumped up there.”

After a good while, the choking dust finally began to settle, and the old house, which had stood who knew how many years, had finally become nothing but a pile of rubble—rotten timber and broken tile and stone crowded together in a heap that looked ready to weep with nowhere to turn.

The surroundings grew even quieter.

The man remained where he stood, neither advancing nor leaving, only glancing at the bronze rod now back in his hand—he hadn’t noticed when he’d retrieved it—then at the pile of rubble, shaking his head. “First time I’ve seen someone dig their own grave and bury themselves in it.”

He assumed she was probably dead. Even an old house, if built with real materials, would still bring down beams, walls, and roof tiles with far more weight than a single skull. But what if she’d gotten lucky and survived—should he dig her out as an act of chivalry?

Never mind. This girl was strange enough that, having dared to challenge him to a duel in the first place, she should climb out under her own power—assuming she was even still alive.

He was about to leave when the rubble suddenly stirred. Amid a clattering racket, a hand burst up through the jumbled tiles and broken bricks, followed by a head covered head to toe in dust. Tao Yao spat grit from her mouth even as she screamed at him, “Quick, quick, come pull me out! I think I’m stuck! Ptooey, ptooey!”

He finally understood the feeling ordinary people described as having seen a ghost—she’d shown up uninvited, made unreasonable demands, tried to tear the roof off his house, and now had the nerve to ask for his help?

“But didn’t you just say you were going to deal with me? Would you really save someone who was about to attack you?” he said frankly. “I can see you’re no ordinary girl either. Sort out the trouble you made yourself. Farewell.”

He turned to leave, fully expecting her to curse him out until he was out of earshot.

“Fine, I was wrong, all right?! Are you really going to hold a grudge against a little girl like me, a grown man like you?” Tao Yao wailed at the top of her lungs.

Was that an admission of defeat? Unexpected—he’d already braced himself for an unbroken stream of insults.

He stopped. “If I really held it against you, your parents would have no daughter left.” He turned back and looked her over again. “Your voice is plenty strong—you’ve likely got no internal injuries. Give yourself time and you’ll dig yourself out eventually.”

“Try walking away and see what happens! I remember your face! I remember exactly how many eyebrow hairs you have! If you just stand there and watch, I’ll draw your portrait and paste it all over the city of Luoyang, not even sparing the outhouse doors, and I’ll write eight big characters under it: ‘Beast in human skin, defiler of young maidens’!” As she spoke, Tao Yao struggled hard, only to find that brute force alone wasn’t going to free her—most of her body was buried in brick, stone, and sand, a thick section of beam pressing across in front of her. A terrified rat, having narrowly escaped death, scurried past squeaking, its tail nearly brushing her face.

Hearing this, he considered it a moment, then, to her surprise, changed his mind and walked toward her, stopping a step away. The bronze rod in his hand suddenly swung around without ceremony, pointing coldly at the top of her head. “If you don’t want to climb out yourself, then don’t—save yourself the trouble of drawing my portrait later.”

Did this fool actually believe her nonsense? What else could explain this sudden killing intent… Some people really couldn’t take a joke…

“You want to silence me for good?” She raised her hand, finally freed, and pointed at his face. “You’d actually kill such a weak, pitiful, helpless girl?”

“A truly weak girl couldn’t possibly bring down an entire house by herself,” he said, expressionless, unmoved.

The only person in the world capable of infuriating her half to death with a single sentence, she’d thought, was Si Kuanglan. Unlike Si Kuanglan’s cold, biting sarcasm, this man’s every word was matter-of-fact and utterly sincere—yet no less devastating.

“You mean I’m too heavy?” Tao Yao craned her neck up furiously. “That rickety old shack would’ve collapsed if you’d put a rat on it!”

“Not quite. Old as this building was, it wasn’t so fragile as that. I assumed you’d jump up there and at most punch a hole in the roof.” He remained perfectly serious, no trace of teasing in his tone. “If you hadn’t caused me so much trouble and annoyance repeatedly, I’d have complimented you on your remarkable natural strength.”

Watching him lecture her with such a straight face, Tao Yao’s hands curled into fists, forcing down her anger, before flashing him a grin instead. “You’re definitely not married yet, are you?”

He blinked. “What of it?”

“Want to know why?” Tao Yao kept smiling sweetly.

He frowned. “Why would I need to know?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve complimented a girl by calling her ‘naturally strong,’ is it?” Tao Yao looked at him with pity.

He looked utterly blank, not understanding a word she was saying.

“Talking nonsense besides—you really do need to be taught a lesson.” His expression turned suddenly cold, and he swung the rod down—the beam in front of Tao Yao shattered instantly into splinters, flying in every direction.

Tao Yao broke out in a cold sweat from the sudden strike, instinctively raising her hand to shield her eyes from the flying debris.

Just then, his gaze suddenly fixed on her arm.

“You actually hit me!” Tao Yao shouted, lowering her hand and spitting out the wood chips that had flown into her mouth—truly not her day, missed dinner and now had a mouthful of dirt and splinters instead.

He seized her wrist.

“You dare take liberties with me?” Tao Yao snapped angrily.

He paid her no mind, turning her arm over and staring at the crook of her elbow. “Are you from the Si Estate at Clear Dream River?”

Tao Yao blinked, her gaze following his to her own elbow, where a small, dark red character—Si—lay marked on her skin.

Had he not asked, Tao Yao would have almost forgotten the unremarkable little mark on her arm entirely—from the day she’d officially been taken on as a servant of the Si Estate, Steward Miao had used a special pigment to write it there himself, explaining that once someone belonged to the Si Estate, this small character had to be marked on the inner elbow, both as identification and as proof of belonging to the Si household. This particular pigment was famously stubborn—once applied, nothing but a specially formulated solution could remove it. Within the Si household, not just servants but even the horses in the stable bore this mark… in short, the moment you truly left the Si Estate for good, the character would be washed away, signaling you had no further connection to the household, for better or worse, sink or swim on your own thereafter. Tao Yao had resisted at first—wasn’t this just another form of “branding”? Mark her with the Si family’s seal and she became their private property, no different from how she herself branded demons—only she was always the one doing the branding, never the one branded! But Steward Miao had worn her down with endless persuasion, and one line in particular—”Without this mark, you’ll never truly count as one of us, and if your wages happen to go missing one month, you’d have no grounds to complain”—had hit her exactly where it hurt. Besides, it was just a character in an inconspicuous spot, hardly noticeable, so she’d finally agreed. Young Master Liu and Mo Ya, even Gungun’s paw pads, all bore the mark too—one big happy family from then on…

“You recognize it?” Tao Yao glared at him.

“The King of Hell judges life and death; the Si Estate resolves disputes. Of course I recognize it.” He released her hand, looking at her grimy face. “Are you… a maid of the Si Estate?” No sooner had he asked than he immediately dismissed the idea. “No, that can’t be right—given the Si family’s standards, how could they tolerate someone as unrefined and unladylike as you…”

Unrefined and unladylike… unrefined??

“A monster like Si Kuanglan—what normal household’s daughter could possibly handle serving him!” The words burst out of her. “Only someone as broad-minded and uncomplaining as me—a veritable earthly immortal—could manage him!”

“By temperament or by looks, you’re no immortal.” He grabbed her arm again, rubbing his thumb hard over the mark several times to make sure it wasn’t faded or fake, then finally let go. “So it’s true, then.”

“Of course it’s true!” Tao Yao winced at her now-red, chafed skin, tempted to spit on him out of spite. “No wonder no girl likes you!”

“Whether any girl likes me is of no concern to me.” He studied her sulking face. “You address him by name without any honorific—clearly no manners at home. What exactly is your position at the Si Estate?”

At the word “my lord,” Tao Yao’s eyes lit up with an idea. “People who know him well call him Second Young Master, or the Living King of Hell. You call him ‘my lord’ outright—I’ve only ever met one other person who addresses him that way.” She thought for a moment. “That… yes, Qiu Wanlai, is he a companion of yours?”

He blinked, startled. “You know Wanlai?”

“Ha, I also know about the Bi’an Division, and that Si Kuanglan used to be your—what was it—Greedy Wolf lord.” Tao Yao swayed her head with some pride, then glanced pointedly down at her current predicament. “Do you want me to keep chatting with you happily while buried here?”

He hesitated slightly, then suddenly raised the bronze rod and struck it hard into the gap between them and the rubble. The instant it hit the ground, a series of sharp cracks rang out nonstop, and Tao Yao immediately felt the debris trapping her loosen considerably—the next moment, he’d gripped her wrist and hauled her out of the ground like a chick by the scruff of its neck.

Back on solid ground, Tao Yao let out a huge breath, spitting out debris from her mouth while frantically brushing dust off her head and body, muttering “bad luck, bad luck” and spitting the whole time.

He kept a distance of more than three steps from her, looking her over from head to toe several more times, still struggling to reconcile this dust-covered figure with what he’d imagined of the Si Estate.

Choking on the dust she’d kicked up herself, she coughed, caught his doubtful look, and cleared her throat. “Stop staring at me like that. Since you did pull me out, I’ll spare you the guessing—I’m a servant of the Si Estate, mainly responsible for feeding Si Kuanglan’s horses.”

He nodded, understanding dawning. “That would explain it.”

His honest bluntness striking again—did her current state only suit her for tending horses?

“Don’t you dare look down on it. You think it’s as easy as sweeping floors and fetching water?” Tao Yao shot him a look. “Do you know how much harder it is to keep the Si Estate’s horses than to keep you?”

He shook his head. “Not looking down on it at all. That he lets you tend his horses shows your standing in the household isn’t low—he values his horses’ lives as much as human lives, so entrusting them to your care shows real trust… No wonder you know about the Bi’an Division, and even his other identity.”

“You worked that out already?” Her anger dissolved into pleased surprise—finally, something halfway agreeable out of his mouth. She sniffed. “Now you see who you were dealing with! I may just be a servant, but I’m extremely important to Si Kuanglan—even his brother Si Jingyuan treats me like a sister. And you, you wild man, tried to bury me alive!”

“Wild man?” He was thoroughly confused by the term, glancing down at himself. “My hair isn’t unkempt, my clothes aren’t dirty—how am I a wild man? And I never intended to bury you alive. Didn’t you bury yourself?”

“Fine, fine, it’s all my fault, is that better? I’m the one who caused you trouble!” Tao Yao cut him off quickly—no point arguing with someone whose mind and mouth refused to bend. “So who exactly are you, anyway?”

Having apparently confirmed her status as a member of the Si household, and sensing that her relationship with the Si brothers went beyond ordinary master and servant, he stepped back half a pace and clasped his hands toward her. “This one is Luo Xian, serving the Bi’an Division as Qing Yang.”

“Oh…” Tao Yao reassessed him, then suddenly broke into a beaming smile and bounded over, seizing his hand and shaking it vigorously. “So you’re Lord Qing Yang! A pleasure, a pleasure—what a small world today!”

Luo Xian pulled his hand back with some effort and said seriously, “You and I are hardly family. Strictly speaking, since my lord has resigned his post, even he isn’t family anymore.”

“No deal, but there’s still goodwill!” Tao Yao grinned. “See, you still can’t help calling him ‘my lord’—shows you still think of him as family in your heart.” Her tone shifted, gaze immediately sliding back to the bronze rod. “Since we’re practically family, hurry up and make the Buddha Eye spit out today’s meal—do me this favor, and I’ll treat you to dinner sometime! I’ll even introduce you to some nice girls!”

“My lord did me a great kindness. Naturally I’ll show some courtesy to people of his household,” he admitted frankly.

Tao Yao was moved nearly to tears—first time she’d realized just how useful being “one of the Si household” could be. If she’d known, she’d have played that card from the start!

“But not right now.” His next words doused her hopes in cold water.

“Not right now?” Tao Yao’s voice climbed several octaves.

Luo Xian looked at the bronze rod, perfectly serious. “I’ve come to Luoyang this time on official business. If the Buddha Eye isn’t fed, it can’t be of much use to me. Since you’re asking a favor of me, you’ll have to wait until I’ve finished this matter before I help you.”

Tao Yao’s whole body sagged, her voice going flat. “How long will your business take? If it’s more than three days, then you and I still aren’t finished today.”

Luo Xian considered. “No more than two days, I’d think.”

“You’re sure? You promise?” Tao Yao’s eyes went wide.

Luo Xian nodded. “I don’t like to delay in my work. If not for you holding me up tonight, I’d likely have reached my destination already.” He glanced up at the night sky, where a sliver of moon reluctantly emerged, its light cold as snow. “Since we’ve settled that, let’s meet back here in two days. I’ll go on ahead.”

Tao Yao grabbed hold of him immediately. “No way! What if you break your word and run off?”

He sighed, exasperated. “Luo Xian never breaks his word.”

“I don’t even know you that well!” Tao Yao blurted out. “I don’t care, wherever you go, I need to come along to feel at ease.”

“I’m on official business—how can I have some random hanger-on tagging along!” He frowned. “You know of the Bi’an Division, so you should know we act on confidential orders. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re of the Si household, given how many times you’ve already obstructed my work tonight, it wouldn’t be excessive to execute you on the spot.”

Tao Yao wasn’t afraid in the slightest—if anything, she smiled with total confidence. “Killing me would be a small thing. But bruising the pride of two living Kings of Hell from the Si family—now that’s a consequence you really don’t want to imagine.”

“I only said it to make you understand the seriousness of this.” Luo Xian sighed. “The Si Estate has always valued its own, whether you tend horses or sweep floors—so long as you belong to the household, outsiders have no right to mistreat you as they please. Even if you’d committed a crime worthy of death, it would fall to them to carry it out, not some outsider.”

Tao Yao smiled. “Sounds like you all really do respect the Si Estate quite a lot.”

“It’s respect,” Luo Xian corrected, then eyed the hand still gripping his. “You should let go now. Stop obstructing me. Any further delay is on you.”

Tao Yao shook her head. “I still have to come with you—but I promise I won’t be a bother. You go handle your business, just think of me as an extra walking stick that happens to breathe.”

“You—” Luo Xian’s grip on the bronze rod tightened; knocking her out cold was starting to seem like the simplest solution.

“Don’t even think about knocking me out.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “You said you need the Buddha Eye’s help—and you and I both know exactly what its greatest talent is. If you need its help, that means your business involves something not quite human.”

He paused. “And so?”

Tao Yao pointed at herself. “Maybe I can lend a hand too, hm? Possibly two hands, even three!”

He said nothing, his face full of suspicion.

“Bringing me along won’t cost you a thing, I promise.” Tao Yao thumped her chest solemnly. “It’s not that I particularly want to help you—I just want you to finish your task quickly so I can get that wretched demon back sooner! Our goals may differ, but our direction’s the same, so you’ve no reason to doubt me.”

He thought it over a moment, then nodded. “Then you must promise—no reckless talk, no reckless action. You follow my orders the entire way.” He paused, then added, “And you must promise not to speak of this matter to anyone once it’s over.”

“Promise!” Tao Yao nodded like a woodpecker.

Luo Xian took a deep breath. “Let’s go, then.”

“Where to?” she asked, curious.

“General Guide’s residence.” He named a place she’d never heard of.

“A general’s residence?” Her curiosity spiked instantly—had she really not visited anywhere so grand since arriving in the mortal realm?

On the moonlit mountain path, two figures ran—one tall, one short.

“Question—why practice Mirror Arts on a skeleton?”

“A martial artist can’t afford a single day of idleness. Making do with whatever’s at hand, treating all things as opponents—it’s a habit of mine for years.”

“Isn’t it a bit much, treating everything in the world as a punching bag to practice on?”

“A real enemy coming to take your head will be far worse.”

“You… slow down… I can’t breathe!”

“No more delays.”

“Why don’t you ever… ride a horse!!”

“I don’t know how.”

“…So you always run everywhere?”

“A horse probably couldn’t outrun me anyway.”

“Then can’t you… can’t you carry me on your back?”

“No.”

“…Is everyone in your… Bi’an Division… some kind of monster?”

“Hardly ordinary, true, but no one strange enough to bury themselves alive.”

“You—”

“I’d advise you to stop talking and focus on moving forward.”

“What exactly… are you doing at the general’s residence… official business?”

“Delivering medicine.”

“Huh??”