Prologue

Some creatures forget easily—the passion of their youth eventually diluted by the years into dishwater.

Some creatures are too foolish—the smallest kindness from another, and they remember it for a lifetime.

Pfft!

A mouthful of what was supposedly a fresh fish soup with old ginger sprayed out of Si Jingyuan’s mouth. The young servant attending nearby couldn’t dodge in time, wiping his face and clothes, on the verge of tears.

“Steward Miao!” Si Jingyuan clutched his own throat, his other hand desperately grabbing at Steward Miao seated beside him.

Steward Miao, cradling a bowl of plain white rice, said awkwardly, “Eldest young master, if the food doesn’t suit your taste, simply don’t eat it.”

Si Jingyuan immediately sprang back to life, pounding the table. “You call this food? This is a table full of poison! Does Old Zhang have some grudge against our household?”

“Eldest young master, Old Zhang has already resigned,” Steward Miao said quietly. “The kitchen has been temporarily left in Young Master Liu’s hands. You’d only just been released, so there wasn’t time to inform you.”

“Old Zhang left?” Si Jingyuan pounded the table again. “The kitchen is a battlefield—how could you hand it over so carelessly to someone untrustworthy! How am I supposed to live from now on? What am I supposed to eat and drink? If this keeps up, I’ll never come home for meals again, and you can all sit at home waiting like widows!”

“Eldest young master… there are servants present, best not to use such language,” Steward Miao said, forcing down a mouthful of rice with effort.

Si Kuanglan offered no opinion whatsoever throughout, taking a sip of the soup and frowning, then a bite of the vegetables and frowning again, before setting down his chopsticks, wiping his mouth, and leaving the table.

In the kitchen, Young Master Liu hummed a little tune as he portioned dishes into bowls, occasionally muttering to himself, “This one’s for Tao Yao, this one’s for the little monk, this one’s for Gungun…”

Suddenly, someone appeared behind him.

Si Kuanglan glanced around briefly, then swiftly retrieved fresh vegetables that hadn’t yet been washed, along with a few pieces of leftover pork and mutton, and began washing and cutting them as if no one else were present.

Young Master Liu stood there with his mouth open, watching for quite a while, but Si Kuanglan never once acknowledged him. He finally grabbed a boning knife and struck it down into the cutting board with a clang, splitting in half the leafy green he’d been cutting.

Si Kuanglan stopped, turned around without the slightest hint of surprise, and said, “Something you need?”

“Second Young Master, this is my kitchen.” Young Master Liu smiled.

“I know.” Si Kuanglan turned back around, continuing to wield the cleaver with practiced skill.

Just looking at the vegetables he’d cut—uniform thickness, perfectly intact shapes—was nothing like Young Master Liu’s own knife work, which looked more like something gnawed by a dog than sliced by a blade.

“This is my kitchen! My territory!” Young Master Liu raised his voice.

“There’s no need to trouble yourself today.” Si Kuanglan’s wrist turned smoothly, scooping the cut vegetables into a bowl with a single motion of the blade, not a single piece left behind. “I’ll be handling the cooking.”

Young Master Liu stared, dumbfounded. “You?”

“If you wish to observe, it’s best you watch quietly and say nothing.” He deftly gathered the vegetables and shook off the excess water. “Otherwise, stay out of my way.”

Young Master Liu’s eyebrows shot up, and he sneered. “I refuse to leave. I’ll stand right here and watch.”

Si Kuanglan smiled, set the drained vegetables aside, and picked up a piece of pork still attached to the bone, cleanly deboning it with just two precise cuts. “Food is the foundation of life for the common people. Happy or not, one still eats. Those who can sit down and share a joyful meal together are either family or friends—so food deserves to be handled with the same care as someone dearly loved.”

Young Master Liu snorted through his nose.

The stove fire roared, and Si Kuanglan poured oil, added the vegetables, and stir-fried in one smooth, continuous motion, with none of the pampered-young-master ignorance of oil, salt, firewood, and rice one might expect. As he cooked, he glanced at the vegetables Young Master Liu had portioned earlier, shook his head, and sighed. “Anyone capable of making food this poorly must never have truly loved anyone.”

Young Master Liu, who’d been watching intently, was suddenly caught off guard by this jab…

“I’ll have you know, I’ve had a first love,” he retorted, suppressing the urge to shove Si Kuanglan’s head into the oil pan, countering with a wicked grin instead. “As for you, Second Young Master, I hear you’re fated to die alone and unmarried?”

“Heh. Your first love, could it perhaps be Tao Yao, who drools every time she looks at me?”

“Oh, in my eyes, she doesn’t even count as a woman. If the Second Young Master has any interest in her, I’d be happy to play matchmaker, and save you from your bachelor’s fate.”

“Heh heh.”

“Heh heh heh heh heh!”

Amid this exchange of hollow chuckles between the two men, the Si household’s kitchen finally began to fill with a mouthwatering aroma.

“Ugh, I’m starving, why hasn’t dinner been served yet?!” Just then, Tao Yao burst in, full of urgency, and upon spotting the person busy at the stove, exclaimed in astonishment, “Second Young Master?!”

“Perfect timing—help carry the dishes out, the eldest young master is still waiting.” Si Kuanglan’s left hand turned, and a steaming hot dish landed neatly in Tao Yao’s hands.

Tao Yao, holding the plate, leaned toward Young Master Liu. “Didn’t you claim to be the kitchen’s rightful king? How’d you get chased off from the stove?”

Young Master Liu pursed his lips and shot back, “What are you doing here?”

“Eating, obviously, what else! You never bring the food out, am I supposed to eat dirt?!” Tao Yao rolled her eyes at him. “Also, have you seen Mo Ya? I haven’t spotted him all afternoon. Gungun’s missing too.”

“Who knows, probably out having fun somewhere.”

“After drinking that porridge you made at lunch, I swear Gungun ran off crying. Hmm, probably pestered Mo Ya into taking it out to buy something good to eat.”

“…”

“So pretty.” Mo Ya gazed around at the marketplace beneath the setting sun, lanterns gradually lighting up, the crowds weaving like threads through fabric—the bustling prosperity right under the Emperor’s feet never seemed bound by time.

Gungun perched on his shoulder, gazing eagerly at this city it hadn’t quite fully gotten to know yet. All around them, the chatter of voices rose and fell, and passersby couldn’t help but glance their way now and then, curious but not particularly startled. In the heart of the empire, strange and unusual sights weren’t in short supply; having seen so much, a little monk with a small fox on his shoulder hardly counted as anything remarkable.

Mo Ya turned his head slightly, patting Gungun’s head as he walked, saying, “Tao Yao told me that back then, the last thing you said to her was… still wanting to live, still wanting to see this glorious age.”

Gungun’s eyes and head rolled about lazily, not paying him much attention, seemingly unable to get enough of everything before it.

“Ah, right, I forgot you don’t remember anymore.” Mo Ya smiled. “Go on, look all you want. You’ve got plenty of time ahead to relearn this world all over again.”

Suddenly, Gungun stopped darting its gaze about, its eyes locking onto a small stall to the right, whimpering and swatting at Mo Ya’s bald head with its paw.

It was a steamed bun stall, steam rising, fragrance filling the air.

“All right, all right, I get it, stop hitting me!” Mo Ya hunched his shoulders and headed that way, saying, “Just one, though—we need to save money.”

The bun vendor was extremely enthusiastic, lifting the lid off the steamer basket before they’d even fully approached, asking with a warm smile, “Little master would like vegetable buns?”

“Yes, two vegetable buns, please.” Mo Ya carefully fished out the money, counting it twice before handing it over.

“Coming right up.” The vendor took the money, pulled out a piece of oil paper, and placed two soft, plump white buns onto it, casually asking, “Which temple is the little master from? Not enough vegetarian meals there?”

Mo Ya accepted the buns, saying awkwardly, “Uh, a temple quite far from here… haha, thank you very much, I’ll be on my way.”

“Take care! Come back again, my buns at Liu’s are so good you won’t be able to stop eating them!” the vendor called after him loudly.

“Sure, sure!” Mo Ya turned back and waved at him, a bit unaccustomed to such enthusiasm.

Walking a bit further, Mo Ya found an empty spot along the street with no one around, set Gungun down, and handed over a bun. “Here, this one’s yours. Once we’re done eating, we should head back.”

Gungun eagerly took it with its paws and bit down hungrily.

Mo Ya was just about to take a bite of the remaining bun when, without warning, a splash of cold water fell from above, drenching him and Gungun thoroughly, accompanied by a loud thud—the footbath basin that had come down with the water bounced several times on the ground before rolling off to the side.

“You shameless woman! Using foot-washing water to defile people!” a man’s furious voice erupted from the three-story building behind them, immediately followed by the pounding sound of feet rushing down a staircase.

“You broke, penniless fool, wanting to rent a room with no money! Shameless! Even my foot-washing water is too good for you!” a woman’s shrill voice pursued him relentlessly, as if ready to devour him whole.

Foot… foot-washing water?!

Mo Ya glanced at the dripping bun in his hand, then immediately went to snatch Gungun’s bun away. “You can’t eat that anymore! You can’t!”

Gungun immediately clutched its bun tightly to its chest.

“That’s foot-washing water! Even if you dry it out, you still can’t eat it!” Mo Ya said, on the verge of tears. He wondered if today was simply an inauspicious day for going out—otherwise, why had they picked this exact spot to eat their buns? Initially, it had seemed ideal precisely because there was no one around, with just a small building behind them—who could have known that while they stood beneath it, a basin would come flying from above…

Before he could even finish his thought, a man in a gray robe stumbled out through the door in disarray, a bundle tucked under his arm. A bright red-and-green embroidered slipper flew through the air like a hidden weapon; the man managed to dodge it by sheer luck, but it struck Gungun with a smack. Gungun’s paws loosened, and the bun dropped and rolled to the side—out of nowhere, a stray dog darted up, snatched it, and vanished in an instant.

Gungun stared blankly at the direction the dog had disappeared, then collapsed to the ground in grief and fury, kicking and rolling.

Mo Ya rushed over to pull it up. “It’s fine, it’s fine, just let it have it—we’ll buy you a fresh bun tomorrow, all right?”

After much coaxing, he finally managed to pull Gungun up, but before it could even stand, a plump hand reached down, picked up the weaponized embroidered slipper, and amid an overpoweringly thick cloud of powder and perfume, the plump woman in her forties slipped the shoe back onto her foot while pointing at the man and cursing viciously. “I’ve seen plenty of your kind—all day long babbling about ‘reading the sages’ words and doing the sages’ deeds,’ bah! Can’t even pay your rent, all that reading fed to the dogs!”

“You… you shameless woman! Shameless woman!” The man’s face went white with rage, stamping his foot. “I never once haggled with you over your rent being higher than everyone else’s. Your room has something unclean in it that scared me half to death in the middle of the night, and I’m moving out. Not demanding back the second half-month’s rent is already generous of me, and yet you demand an extra month’s rent from me instead?! Where’s the reason in that?!”

“Bah!” The woman crossed her arms and stood akimbo. “Unclean, you say? Everyone here knows that every property I, Jin Sanniang, rent out is spotless, bright and clean, not a speck of dust! Our contract clearly states a three-month lease. Out of pity for you being a poor scholar, I’ve been collecting rent monthly instead. And now, half a month in, you want to back out? Do you have any idea how many people want to rent this place? How much business I’ve turned away for your sake! What’s wrong with charging you an extra month’s rent as compensation?”

“Nonsense!” The man shook with rage, pointing at her. “There’s something unclean in that house of yours! No one in their right mind would dare live there!”

The crowd of onlookers grew larger, some siding against the man, others saying that this Jin Sanniang was being unfair.

“What do you mean, ‘something unclean’? Are you saying there’s a ghost?” Jin Sanniang wasn’t about to back down, pointing at the room upstairs. “I only bought this property two months ago, and I even had a fengshui master examine it—well-ventilated, plenty of light. If you want to back out of the lease, fine, back out, but why concoct such an absurd excuse! You think I won’t drag you to the authorities for backing out and slandering my name, Jin Sanniang? And besides, who knows if it wasn’t you yourself doing something shameful at night, seeing ‘unclean things’!”

“You, you…” The man was clearly no match for Jin Sanniang in a shouting match, spinning in place with fury, before turning to the crowd. “Someone, judge for yourselves—her house has ghosts at night, tell me, who among you would dare live there!”

“Bah! I say it’s you who’s got a guilty conscience!” Jin Sanniang moved to remove her shoe to strike him again, but was held back by someone nearby. She patted her chest. “The contract clearly states that early termination requires an additional month’s rent as compensation. And now this fellow claims there’s a ghost to weasel out of paying—someone, judge fairly for me!” As she spoke, seemingly too enraged to think clearly, her eyes scanned the crowd before suddenly darting forward and grabbing Mo Ya’s arm. “Fine, you’ll do, little master.”

Mo Ya said, flustered, “Kind benefactor, I was merely passing by your doorway to eat a bun, and it was your foot-washing water that just accidentally soaked me and my little companion. I have nothing whatsoever to do with this dispute between you two.”

“No, no, little master, you misunderstand.” Jin Sanniang dragged him forward, announcing to everyone present, “Everyone bear witness—today, I’ll have this little master, who has absolutely no connection to either of us, stay the night at my house. Tomorrow morning, everyone can come back and hear from the little master himself whether my house is clean or unclean!”

“Huh?!” Mo Ya waved his hands frantically. “Kind benefactor, it’s getting late, my family is waiting for me.”

“What family could a little monk like you possibly have?” Jin Sanniang shot him a look. “It’s just a temple, isn’t it? What’s the harm in being a day late? Worst case, I’ll go explain it to them myself tomorrow, and give some extra incense money on top.”

“No, no, I’m not from around here. My temple isn’t in this area either, and I have no need for incense money,” Mo Ya said hurriedly. “I was simply out for a stroll, and now I really must be heading back…”

“Little monk, aren’t you people of the cloth supposed to be compassionate and eager to help others? Are you just going to stand there and watch this old auntie get slandered? Are you going to watch my perfectly good property get ruined by his gossip until no one dares rent it ever again? Are you going to watch me lose my livelihood and end up starving in the streets?” Jin Sanniang refused to let go, speaking so rapidly it left him breathless just listening.

“Merciful Buddha…” Mo Ya’s scalp prickled at all this. “But kind benefactor, why must it be me? Anyone here could testify on your behalf.”

“They won’t do—only you will.” She refused flatly. “You monks don’t tell lies, isn’t that right? So whatever you say is certain to be the truth. And besides, you’re an outsider, unconnected to any of us here—you’d have absolutely no reason to favor one side or the other!” She then turned to the crowd. “Isn’t that right, everyone!”

The crowd, hearing this, mostly nodded in agreement.

Some among them, apparently acquainted with Jin Sanniang, also chimed in to persuade Mo Ya: “Little master, why not do Sanniang a favor. With this whole mess, if there’s no proof one way or the other, no one will dare rent this place going forward. Cutting off someone’s livelihood is as good as killing their parents—don’t you think, little master?”

“But I still need to go back for dinner…” Mo Ya remained torn. He’d already slipped out for most of the afternoon; if he didn’t return before dark, even if Tao Yao and the others wouldn’t worry, the Si household had rules—a servant failing to return for the night would surely have his wages docked. Though he cared nothing for money himself, he still needed to save some to buy Gungun buns, didn’t he…

“If the little master will simply nod his head, I’ll cover tonight’s meal entirely,” Jin Sanniang offered generously. “And tomorrow, once you’ve cleared up whether my property is clean or not, I’ll send you fifty vegetable buns as thanks!”

Fifty vegetable buns!

“But we could never finish that many.” Mo Ya scratched his head, troubled.

“Silly boy, see that stall over there, that Liu’s bun stall?” She pointed casually. “From now on, you can just go there and pick up buns anytime, no need to pay, it’ll all go on my tab. Fifty of them, whenever you like!”

Given such sincerity, why not agree… it was only staying one night, after all, and if it turned out the house really was fine, it would count as a good deed done besides.

“Well… all right, then.” Mo Ya finally nodded.

Jin Sanniang was overjoyed, announcing loudly to the crowd, “Everyone bear witness—I’m inviting this little master to stay one night in my house. If he too says it’s unclean, not only will I forgo this scoundrel’s compensation, I’ll return him a full month’s rent besides—it’s a deal!”

Hearing this, the man clapped his hands. “Fine! Everyone, please witness this on our behalf!”

The crowd cheered and nodded along.

Without further ado, Jin Sanniang dragged Mo Ya toward the building.

“Um, kind benefactor, could I perhaps go back first to tell my family I won’t be staying home tonight?”

“It’s already dark out. How about this—I’ll have my servant boy come find you shortly, you tell him your address, and he’ll deliver the message for you.”

“That works.”

By the time Mo Ya stepped into that three-story building, night had fully fallen, and the crowd of onlookers had gradually dispersed. The man had reluctantly found himself a room at a nearby inn, wearing the stubborn expression of someone awaiting eventual vindication. Jin Sanniang, still worried he might flee halfway through, had secretly arranged for someone to keep watch over his movements.

For now, this dispute had come to a temporary pause.

The night grew deep, the wind fierce, rattling the windows loudly.

Mo Ya shut the window tight, hunching his shoulders against the cold, then turned to speak to Gungun, who lay on the bed burping contentedly. “I think this room’s pretty nice, actually. A bit old, but well-kept.”

The room that the man had claimed was “unclean” looked, on inspection, perfectly normal. The furnishings, while not luxurious, weren’t shabby or unkempt either—far better than the shabby little courtyard they’d rented before. Though this small building was old, it didn’t carry the slightest musty odor, evidence that Jin Sanniang had taken meticulous care of it—which explained her fury.

Jin Sanniang had also kept her word—dinner had been especially generous, all vegetarian dishes but wonderfully flavorful. She’d explained that most of the buildings on this street were commercial shops, with few ordinary residences left; it was only because this particular small building had stood here so long that it now stuck out alone. Its previous owner had moved away, leaving it vacant for years, until someone recently returned to sell it. She’d found the price reasonable and bought it, originally intending to rent or sell it to someone wanting to open an inn, but never found a suitable buyer, so she’d simply rented it out casually instead—after all, plenty of out-of-towners came to the capital each year, and a bit of scattered rental income was better than letting it sit empty. Now that this poor scholar had caused such a stir, if others truly believed something was wrong with the building, the money she’d spent buying it would go to waste—after all, who would want an “unclean” property, when everyone hoped for good fortune.

Mo Ya assured her that if it turned out the scholar had truly been lying, he would speak up on her behalf without fail.

Jin Sanniang, satisfied, happily took her leave. Before long, her servant boy came up to find Mo Ya, saying he’d deliver the message for him. Mo Ya, full of gratitude, gave him the address; the servant boy looked rather taken aback, asking whether he really lived at the Si residence by Clear Dream River. Mo Ya said the Si residence was quite nice. The servant boy pursed his lips and said he’d better wish himself luck, since he’d heard everyone there was fierce. Mo Ya said he didn’t find it so… eventually, the servant boy left, clearly disappointed, grumbling all the way about why Jin Sanniang had assigned him such a task.

After the servant left, Mo Ya went to inspect the first and second floors as well. Altogether, the three floors held roughly ten or so rooms; if all could be rented out, it would amount to a considerable income. Unfortunately, they all still sat empty for now, many rooms not yet properly cleaned, filled with what were probably the previous owner’s leftover furniture, not even dusted.

But it didn’t feel particularly eerie, given the marketplace lay just a step outside; even deep into the night, carts and pedestrians still passed by, voices carrying on continuously.

Mo Ya locked the door, washed his face, and got into bed, while Gungun had already curled itself up on the soft bedding, snoring away contentedly.

Mo Ya patted its head, yawned, and felt his eyelids growing heavy.

The pillow was comfortable, the blanket was comfortable, the bed was comfortable—Jin Sanniang, worried about the cold at night, had even specially added an extra blanket for him. In an environment like this, he really should have slept soundly straight through until dawn.

But that wasn’t quite how it went.

No pleasant dream came, but the nightmares never stopped either. Mo Ya dreamed he’d fallen into a vast ice cave, his whole body freezing, so cold he was on the verge of death, and no one came to help him. So cold, so cold, so cold…

He suddenly snapped his eyes open. In the darkened room, with the lamp extinguished, only a faint sliver of outside light filtered in.

If it had only been a dream, then why was it still this cold? And he quickly realized that all this “cold” was radiating out from his right hand.

He instinctively turned his head to the right, and discovered his right hand had somehow slipped out from under the blanket at some point, dangling over the edge of the bed, and then… a small, pale white hand was gripping his right hand tightly—a small child, four or five years old, crouched beside his bed, dressed entirely in white, standing out starkly in the dim room.

Mo Ya blinked, instinctively holding his breath, his body feeling cold while cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Could it be that the scholar hadn’t been lying after all…

That small hand gripped him tightly, seemingly unwilling to let go under any circumstances.

But this wouldn’t do at all—Mo Ya, frozen in place, ran through his options: should he sit up abruptly and run out screaming? Or calmly tell this creature that the Buddha was merciful and that scaring people in the middle of the night was inappropriate, better to turn back before it was too late? Or perhaps… open the door and let Gungun handle it?

The surroundings grew unnervingly quiet, not even a sound from outside the window—the tension was such that all he could hear was his own heartbeat… Mo Ya finally took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling, forcing calm into his voice. “Amitabha. Benefactor, disturbing another’s peaceful sleep is truly not appropriate.”

The moment he finished speaking, he felt that small hand shift slightly.

Steeling his courage, he turned his head, only to find himself suddenly face to face with a pair of eyes right beside the bed. He forced down the urge to bolt out the door, swallowed hard, and finally worked up the nerve to say, “Benefactor, I’m speaking to you.”

“You can see me?” The face beside the bed suddenly leaned in closer, startling Mo Ya into recoiling backward, right onto Gungun’s tail, which yelped and leapt up in pain.

“Aiya, a fox!” The white-clothed child shrieked, immediately releasing his hand and leaping far back against the wall.

Mo Ya scrambled out of bed, flustered, and quickly lit the oil lamp on the table. “Who exactly is this visitor?”

The wick caught, and a warm yellow glow once more filled the room.

Mo Ya, barefoot, held up the oil lamp and carefully took a few steps toward the corner. The child was now fully exposed in the light—indeed a small child of about four or five, with bangs typical of that age, not the least bit frightening in appearance. A round face, features that could even be called cute, though the all-white clothing, trousers, and shoes looked rather jarring—after all, few in this world dressed such a young child entirely in white unless in mourning.

At this moment, it was the child who seemed startled, pressed against the wall, shrinking back and eyeing them warily.

Mo Ya wiped the cold sweat from his brow, feeling slightly more at ease—this creature didn’t seem malicious.

“Whose child are you exactly? Why come to my bedside in the middle of the night to frighten me?” Mo Ya asked, softening his tone. Gungun had also jumped down from the bed, scampering up onto Mo Ya’s shoulder to glare at the child.

Seeing Gungun approach, the child hastily backed away several more steps, pressing itself against the window. “Why is there a fox… aren’t foxes supposed to stay in the mountains? Don’t bite me, I’m afraid of pain!”

First time he’d ever met anyone this afraid of Gungun…

“Don’t be afraid, this fox is very friendly, it doesn’t bite people,” Mo Ya said quickly. “It won’t even eat chicken!”

“Really?!” The child looked half-convinced.

“A monk never lies,” Mo Ya said, pressing his palms together. “Ever since it’s been with me, it’s become a fox that follows the monastic path too.”

The child patted his chest. “Well, that’s reassuring then.”

“Now then, young benefactor, you still haven’t answered my question,” Mo Ya said, walking back to the table to set down the lamp. “Whatever your trouble is, why not sit and tell me slowly.”

The child glanced at him, then pointed at his feet. “Aren’t your feet cold?”

Mo Ya only then realized he wasn’t wearing shoes, his soles freezing against the floor.

“Put your shoes on—cold is the most unbearable feeling in this world,” the child said, frowning as he slowly walked over. Once he’d confirmed Gungun had no intention of biting him, he sat down, though not in an orderly manner—curling both feet up onto the round stool, hunching his whole body into a tight ball.

“Are you very cold?” Mo Ya studied him. “Deep autumn, cold night, and you’re dressed so lightly—no wonder you’re cold.” As he spoke, he reached for the blanket on the bed. Fortunate that Tao Yao wasn’t around, or she’d surely flick his bald head again, scolding him for extending kindness before even figuring out who he was dealing with.

“No need to give me the blanket.”

He’d only just picked up the blanket when the child refused it.

Mo Ya turned back, puzzled. “Didn’t you just say you’re cold?”

“Even if you wrapped every blanket in the world around me, gathered every fire in the world beside me, I’d still be cold,” the child said, shaking his head.

“Huh?” Mo Ya put his shoes on and sat back down at the table. “Do you have some kind of strange illness?”

“Perhaps…” Under the bright lamplight, the child’s face was clearer than ever before—delicate and lovely, but lacking any color, quite pale.

“What exactly are you…”

“I’m a demon.”

Mo Ya froze for a moment, then relaxed completely. “Oh, a demon then. Good thing it’s not a ghost.”

“You’re not afraid of demons, but you’re afraid of ghosts?” the child found this amusing.

“Depends on what kind of ghost…” Mo Ya said seriously.

“There are different kinds of ghosts?” The child grew increasingly curious.

“The most frightening ghosts in this world…” Mo Ya pointed at his own chest. “Usually hide right here.”

“You have a ghost in your heart?” His eyes widened.

“No, no, no, I’m just speaking metaphorically,” Mo Ya said, waving his hands quickly. “A monk must never harbor wicked thoughts.”

“So what you’re saying is, you’re a good monk?” The child tilted his head, studying him.

“This…” Mo Ya scratched his head, thinking it over carefully before answering cautiously, “I suppose so… I don’t kill living things, don’t eat meat, chant scripture every day, and have never harbored romantic feelings for any young lady.”

The child burst out laughing, not noticing a furry little thing sneaking stealthily toward him near his feet. By the time he realized something was wrong, Gungun had already jumped onto his lap, its little pointed nose sniffing and nudging at him, startling him into a shriek as he fell backward onto the floor, too afraid to touch Gungun with his hands, only begging tearfully for it to get off him.

But Gungun refused to budge, sniffing all over him inside and out, as if he were hiding something extraordinary, licking its lips as it searched.

Whenever it caught a whiff of delicious food, Gungun would take on this famished, starving-ghost-reincarnated look.

Mo Ya quickly rushed over to pull Gungun off and cradle it in his arms; Gungun struggled desperately, whining and still trying to go back for more, and it took considerable effort before Mo Ya finally managed to subdue it, holding it firmly in his arms so it couldn’t move.

“What are you hiding on you? Is it food?” Mo Ya asked, thoroughly embarrassed.

“No food.” He struggled awkwardly back up, pulling a small object wrapped in a handkerchief from his robes. “Just this.”

He sat back down and carefully unwrapped the handkerchief, pinching out a few withered, dried-up strands of grass from inside, looking no different from any weeds along the roadside.

Gungun’s eyes lit up again, twisting, kicking, and sticking out its tongue, whining as it tried to lunge that way.

Mo Ya, alarmed, gave its ear a twist. “If you cause any more trouble, I’ll make you eat Young Master Liu’s cooking every day from now on!”

Gungun huffed, reluctantly settling down, though its eyes remained fixed hungrily on the withered grass, its nose sniffing exaggeratedly.

“What’s so special about this dried grass?” Mo Ya really couldn’t see anything unusual about these few unremarkable-looking strands of common weed.

The child, in no hurry to answer, simply asked Mo Ya to blow out the oil lamp.

Mo Ya extinguished it, puzzled, and when he looked again at the child’s palm, the withered strands were shimmering with a light like the Milky Way’s stars, crystal-clear and shifting, breathtakingly beautiful.

Once the lamp was relit, the glow vanished instantly, and the grass returned to its unremarkable, withered appearance.

Mo Ya exclaimed in astonishment, “This is…”

“This is fish-goat grass.” The child carefully rewrapped the handkerchief. “I brought it to give to someone.”

“Give to someone? Who?”

“Luo Xixi.”

The rocks in Hundred Herbs Valley had had quite an unlucky day today, thanks to some wild girl who’d appeared out of nowhere, wielding an unnervingly sharp knife, madly carving the same name into rock after rock—Luo Xixi.

Only twelve or thirteen years old, yet with considerable strength, wielding the blade more skillfully than she’d wield chopsticks.

This girl had come to Hundred Herbs Valley three days running now, searching high and low, from dawn until dusk, never leaving the entire night.

He hid, somewhat afraid, behind a tree, waiting until she’d exhausted herself, the knife dropping to the ground, her body slumping onto a rock, before finally emerging slowly.

Hearing the sound, she instantly gripped the knife defensively, but upon seeing it was him, immediately relaxed with a sigh of relief, chiding him. “Why are you here again, little one? Didn’t I tell you not to wander around this wild mountain valley alone?”

He stood across from her, fumbling, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his clothes.

She shook her head, stood, and walked over, extending her hand. “Come sit down. Has the wound on your foot healed at all?”

He took her hand, letting her carefully guide him across the scattered rocks.

A few days earlier, he’d been bitten by a red-furred fox, because the fox had mistakenly believed he meant to steal the rabbit it had caught, though in truth he never ate rabbit—he’d simply happened to pass by where the fox had stashed its food.

It had bitten right into his left leg—it hurt terribly, and he’d started bleeding.

He’d fled in a panic, and only once he was far from the fox’s territory did he finally sit down beneath a tree, gasping for breath, to rest.

“It hurts so much…” He stared at the wound on his leg, wondering if he should find water to wash it.

As he muttered to himself, someone’s upper body suddenly emerged from the other side of the tree trunk, staring at him. “You’re hurt?”

He jumped, startled, and upon looking closer, found it was a young woman, dressed in coarse cloth, her hair tied into a long, messy braid.

“Oh, you really are hurt.” She stepped out from behind the tree, and without waiting for his consent, took hold of his leg to examine it, then immediately pulled out the water flask she carried, helping him rinse the wound. “What’s a little one like you doing wandering around this place alone? What bit you?”

“A fox,” he said, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“Good thing it was just a fox—if it had been a tiger, forget your leg, you wouldn’t even have a body left. Where do you live? Where are your parents?” As she spoke, she pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wrapped the wound.

Faced with this sudden kindness, he didn’t quite know how to respond in the moment.

She stared at him, dazed, and flicked his forehead irritably. “What, scared silly? Can’t even speak now?”

“I, I…” He covered his forehead, stammering, and pointed vaguely in one direction. “My home’s over there…”

“How old are you? Four or five?”

“Fi… five…”

She frowned. “Your parents must be far too careless, letting a child this small run wild alone.”

He said nothing.

She stood and asked, “Can you walk? I’ll take you home.”

“I can…” He nodded.

“Then let’s go.” She extended her hand toward him. “I’ll lead you.”

He obediently took her hand, limping forward.

The pain in his foot gradually eased as he walked. He’d held many hands before, men’s and women’s alike, but he couldn’t recall anyone’s hand ever feeling as warm as hers did.

Only when they reached the rock-strewn fork in the path did he finally, reluctantly, come to a stop, pointing at a house barely visible in the distance among the trees. “My home’s right up ahead. My parents don’t like strangers…”

She looked in that direction and said, “All right, hurry back then. Don’t run around alone anymore.”

“Mm.” He was about to leave when she called him back.

“Your face is so dirty, your parents will definitely spank you when they see you like this.” She pulled up her sleeve and wiped the grime and sweat from his face, then finally patted his head. “Go on home now.”

“Mm.” He turned and left, touching his own head as he walked.

That house was some long-abandoned dwelling left behind by someone long ago, dilapidated and uninhabited for ages—it wasn’t his home at all, nor did he have any parents.

He was a demon, and the moment he’d opened his eyes, he’d found himself already in this valley—who could say how he’d come to be? Perhaps, like other demons born without parents, heaven and earth, mountains and rivers, the essence of sun and moon had simply happened to converge together somewhere, and so he’d come into being.

The oldest pagoda tree spirit at the western edge of Hundred Herbs Valley had said that a demon like him appeared roughly once every hundred years or so—by its own recollection, it had seen seven or eight such creatures over the years.

He found this strange, wondering why, after so many years, he was still the only one of his kind—no others like him to be seen.

The pagoda tree spirit had said, well, they simply get led away by humans, and then they never come back. You’ll probably end up the same way eventually, since your kind seem to love holding humans’ hands so much.

He’d corrected the tree spirit, saying it wasn’t merely a preference—he needed to draw life-sustaining power from human hands, much the same way tree spirits needed rain and sunlight to grow strong.

The pagoda tree spirit had said dismissively, well, not all humans enjoy being held onto by your kind.

That much was true. He often disguised himself as a lost child, waiting in Hundred Herbs Valley for various passersby, asking them to hold his hand and lead him home. Some were willing, some grew impatient, and some even pushed him away and hurried off, unwilling to waste even a moment on someone unrelated to them.

Only she had taken his hand of her own accord and led him home.

If only everyone who came to Hundred Herbs Valley from then on could be like her.

From that day, he had a small hope.

But, when she truly did appear before him again, he found himself hesitant to acknowledge her—the version of her holding the knife looked so different from the version who’d wiped his face clean…

She patted the large rock beside her. “Sit.”

He sat down, shrinking in on himself nervously.

“Aren’t you afraid the fox will bite you again!” she chided. “What’s wrong with your parents, aren’t they afraid a tiger will eat you?”

“There don’t seem to be tigers here,” he said quietly, then stole a glance at the rocks she’d carved so haphazardly. “You’re writing something?”

She sighed. “Yes. That’s my name.”

“What’s your name?”

“Luo Xixi.”

“Are you very angry?” he asked again.

“Ha, you noticed?” She laughed. “You’re a rather sharp little thing, aren’t you.”

“Why are you angry?” He didn’t understand.

“My master refuses to teach me anymore.” Her smile gradually faded. “He said a daughter couldn’t inherit his craft, that I’d have to marry and bear children sooner or later, that being able to manage a household and cook simple family dishes was enough, and that I should forget about becoming a famous chef—that’s an ambition reserved for men.”

He didn’t quite understand. “What’s a famous chef?”

“A renowned cook.” Her eyes lit up. “I want to be a chef who can cook the most delicious food in the world. I want people to be unable to stop eating once they’ve tasted my cooking. I love watching people eat happily.” As she spoke, the light in her eyes dimmed again. “My mother passed away when I was very young. My father raised me and my younger brother through hard times.” She turned to glance at him. “My brother was around your age. That year, he fell gravely ill and had almost no appetite. My father could never cook well, and neither could I, and we had no spare money to buy good food from restaurants. But every time, my brother still tried his hardest to eat, because my father always said, as long as you can eat, you can live. I knew he wanted to live—he was only five, and he hadn’t seen enough of this world yet.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “But in the end, it wasn’t enough. The day he left us, he lay in my arms, and with his eyes closed, murmured deliriously: ‘Sister, once I’m better, you have to cook me a whole table of delicious food.'” Her eyes reddened, and she laughed. “What a fool. You should have waited for me to finish my training and come back, and eaten the delicious food I made before leaving. Now there’s forever an empty seat at our table.”

Hearing this, he asked, “So that’s why you went to learn to be a chef?”

“Yes. I went to the best restaurant to apprentice myself. I didn’t care whether the master took me on out of genuine goodwill or just wanted a free servant girl to boss around—as long as he’d teach me cooking, no hardship was too much to bear.” She smiled bitterly. “But after three years, he wants to send me away now. I refused, and he said I lacked talent for cooking. I demanded a chance to prove myself. Someday, I swore, I would leave my name, Luo Xixi, in this trade. He agreed, giving me one chance—in seven days, I’m to compete against my fellow apprentices, each preparing three dishes for passersby to judge. If I win, he’ll take back everything he said and teach me everything he knows, without holding anything back.”

He blinked. “That sounds like good news. Why are you still angry then?”

“I can’t afford to lose.” She frowned. “But I can’t win either. My fellow apprentices have had my master’s careful guidance, and compared to the scraps I’ve picked up, they’re far too skilled. He just wants a respectable excuse to send me away.”

“So that’s why you’re angry?”

“No. What angers me is that not only am I less skilled than the others, my mind is stupider too.”

“Huh?”

“I heard an old cook in the city say there’s a plant in Hundred Herbs Valley called ‘fish-goat grass.’ By day it looks unremarkable, but at night it glows like starlight. Put just one strand into a dish, and no matter how ordinary the ingredients or how poor the cooking, it becomes an unrivaled culinary masterpiece.” She laughed at herself mockingly. “See, I even believed the ramblings of some old drunk who can’t even remember his own surname after a few cups. Three days straight I’ve come to Hundred Herbs Valley searching for fish-goat grass, but where in the world is there any starlit weed that glows at night! Only someone as foolish as me would do something so absurd.”

With that, she fell into a long silence, saying nothing more even as the sun set in the west.

He didn’t know what to say either. Fish-goat grass? Never heard of it. Maybe the pagoda tree spirit would know? If such a plant truly existed…

Finally, she stood and once again extended her hand toward him. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“You’re leaving too?” He didn’t move. “You’re not searching anymore? Then aren’t you sure to lose?”

“Silly child, there’s simply no such thing in this world.” She smiled.

“I’ll go ask my parents. Maybe they’ll know,” he said earnestly. “How about you come back in three days—I’ll wait here for you, and whether I find it or not, I’ll give you an answer.”

She looked him over, somewhat surprised, then smiled again. “Why do you suddenly seem like a little grown-up? You’re saying things way beyond your years.”

He felt a bit awkward, but he certainly couldn’t tell her that he was, in truth, far older than she was.

“All right, I know you mean well, little one.” She patted his head. “Go on home.”

“How about I walk you instead?” He stood and took her hand. “I’ll walk you to the crossroads.”

She smiled, letting him lead her toward the exit of Hundred Herbs Valley.

The early-summer dusk was especially beautiful, the shadows of the two figures, one tall and one small, stretching long across the ground.

At their parting, she said, “Little one, if I ever really do become a renowned chef somewhere, I’ll definitely treat you to a good meal.”

“I’d like that.” He nodded.

“And if your parents ever bring you into the city to play, come find me. I live at the mouth of Plum Alley, in the top room of a three-story building, the one facing south.”

“All right.”

“See you later, then.”

“All right. Remember to come back in three days.”

“Haha, take care, little one.”

He watched her walk out of Hundred Herbs Valley, her slender figure gradually blending into the dusk.

Then, he quickly turned and ran back to the pagoda tree spirit as fast as he’d ever run in his life.

“Do we have fish-goat grass around here? The kind that glows like stars at night?” he asked urgently.

The pagoda tree spirit yawned. “We do. Just by the stream to the north, in the woods. Plenty of it.”

“Really?” He was overjoyed. “Then why can’t the people who come searching ever find it?”

“That grass, though it doesn’t compare to spirits like you and me, is still a minor spirit in its own right. It’s afraid of humans. When you go looking, it won’t hide, but the moment a human approaches, it senses their scent from far off and hides itself away. What could they possibly find?”

“So that’s it!” He wanted to plant a kiss on the pagoda tree spirit right then and there.

“But remember this—fish-goat grass has quite a strange temperament. If touched by more than one person, it turns to ash and becomes useless.”

“Understood. No third person will touch it!”

That very night, he found what he wanted by the stream.

He carefully wrapped the picked fish-goat grass in her freshly washed handkerchief, thinking that in three days, once she returned, he could give it to her together with the handkerchief.

He’d never felt this happy before.

Three days passed, and he was waiting at the agreed spot early in the morning.

But from sunrise to sunset, she never came—only that row of rocks bearing her carved name silently faced him.

Maybe she’d come tomorrow.

He kept watch there all night, the fish-goat grass held close in his arms, terrified someone might take it.

But the next day, she still didn’t come.

Ten days passed. A month passed. A year passed quickly too.

Among all who came to Hundred Herbs Valley, that girl named Luo Xixi never appeared again.

He still remembered the address she’d given him—perhaps he should deliver it to her instead.

He recalled that the day he’d decided to leave Hundred Herbs Valley, it had been snowing heavily, the pagoda tree spirit’s branches thick with snow, finally looking every bit the aged old man it truly was.

“You’re leaving Hundred Herbs Valley?”

“Mm, to deliver the fish-goat grass to her.”

“Are you foolish?”

“I’m not foolish.”

“And yet you’re still going! This is your home!”

“I want to go…”

“…”

The snow fell harder and harder, covering everything on the ground, including the conversation between the two demons.

The lamplight dimmed, and faint light began to appear beyond the window.

“Dawn’s coming.” The child yawned. “You’ve been listening to my rambling all night—aren’t you tired?”

Mo Ya shook his head; only Gungun, curled in his arms, had already fallen into a dead sleep.

“So that’s the whole story?” Mo Ya asked, puzzled.

“I left Hundred Herbs Valley, entered the city, found my way here.” The child looked around the room. “But she wasn’t here, the room was empty. I wanted to ask the tenants downstairs where she’d gone, but I found they couldn’t see me at all. I stayed here for several days, watched the landlord move new tenants into this very room. I heard the tenants complaining about all the knife marks on the table, wondering how it was still usable at all. The landlord said the previous occupant had been a young girl who preferred cooking to embroidery, and those marks were surely from her practicing with a blade. He said he’d replace the table with a new one in a couple of days.”

“She never came back?” Mo Ya pressed. “And you never left?”

“I fell ill,” the child answered, somewhat embarrassed. “The moment I left Hundred Herbs Valley, my body started aching, and the further I walked, the worse it got, but I kept thinking I could go just a little further, wanting to hand her the fish-goat grass. But once I got here, the pain stopped, only I got cold—so cold I couldn’t even move my feet anymore. I had no choice but to stay and rest here. Fortunately, new tenants eventually came, and at night once they’d fallen asleep, I’d hold their hands, and that way I wasn’t quite as cold, and could gain back a bit of strength.”

“I see.” Mo Ya finally understood.

He continued, “But I frightened them. They couldn’t see me, but they could feel someone gripping their hand in the middle of the night.”

Mo Ya scratched his head. “That would be pretty frightening. No wonder they thought this place was ‘unclean.'”

“Yes, at first the landlord didn’t believe the tenants’ stories. But after several different groups all claimed there were ‘ghosts’ here, he got scared too,” he said helplessly. “Eventually fewer and fewer tenants came, and the place sat empty.”

“Then why did you stay?” Mo Ya asked, confused. “Was it because of your illness?”

“At first I was too weak to walk, and didn’t want to leave either—I’d sit by the window every day watching outside, thinking maybe someday she’d pass by, so I figured I’d wait a little longer.” He looked even more embarrassed. “But later, even if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t anymore.”

“Couldn’t leave? What do you mean by that?”

“One day I saw a girl passing by downstairs, and from behind she looked a lot like her. I chased after her, and just as I was about to go through the front door, something invisible bounced me right back. I tried jumping out the window, same result. I somehow ended up trapped here.” He sighed. “But it doesn’t matter much. My body wasn’t feeling well anyway, so being unable to leave was fine. When I got tired, I’d sleep for a while; when I woke, I’d watch the passersby from the window—time wasn’t too hard to pass. It’s just that whenever the place sat empty with no one around, I couldn’t hold anyone’s hand, and my body would get unbearably cold.”

Mo Ya frowned. “What a strange illness…” Then he suddenly thought of something else. “So how long exactly have you been trapped here?”

“I don’t remember.” He counted on his fingers for a long while, unable to come up with a number, and instead pointed out the window. “When I first came here, the shop owner across the way still had black hair. Now he’s already an old man.”

Mo Ya nearly choked on his own saliva.

“You… you’ve been trapped here that long?” He exclaimed “Amitabha” several times in a row. “What about her, then? She never showed up again?”

“No.” He shook his head, then smiled gratefully at Mo Ya. “Fortunately, not too long ago, this place got a new landlord, and new tenants too. I didn’t mean to frighten them, but I couldn’t help myself—you have no idea how much I love the feeling of holding someone’s hand. And most importantly, you can actually see me. After all this time, I’d nearly forgotten how to properly speak.” As he spoke, he sighed again. “I wonder if the pagoda tree spirit is doing well these days. I left in such a hurry that day, I never got the chance to properly say goodbye to it. I keep feeling like it shouted something behind me as I left, but I just can’t remember what it was. Sigh, probably a side effect of this strange illness too.”

Mo Ya looked him over carefully from head to toe and said, “Regardless, this can’t continue as it is. If you’re sick, you need treatment.”

“Haha, who could possibly treat the illness of a demon?” He laughed.

Mo Ya suddenly stood up. “You stay put and wait here. I’ll go find someone to treat you!”

“What?”

“Wait for me! I’ll definitely find someone to cure you!” Mo Ya said, scooping up Gungun and dashing toward the door.

But the moment he opened it, a tall, hulking figure came tumbling forward with the momentum, only avoiding a total faceplant thanks to quick reflexes.

Mo Ya, thoroughly startled, stared at the man in shock. “Young Master Liu?!”

“Mo Ya, from now on, whenever you open or close a door, check first whether anyone’s on either side!” Young Master Liu straightened his robes and shot him a fierce glare, then walked back out through the door, kicking at the figure slumped against the wall outside, drooling in their sleep. “Still sleeping! Time to eat!”

Tao Yao snapped her eyes open and leapt up. “Food? Where’s the food?”

Mo Ya’s eyelids drooped. “Why are you two here…”

“Someone came to report that you’d moved into a ‘haunted house’ to help settle a dispute for someone else. Little monk, with your naturally unlucky fate, why must you always get involved in this kind of trouble?” Young Master Liu poked his forehead. “You’re food I’ve already claimed for myself—you owe me an explanation for this behavior!”

“Ugh, I told you nothing would happen. Even if there really was a vengeful spirit, teaching it a lesson wouldn’t hurt—maybe it’ll think twice before playing hero next time.” Tao Yao stretched lazily. “You dragged me all the way out here, I’m exhausted.”

“You seemed pretty pleased when you were eavesdropping on them!” Young Master Liu rolled his eyes.

Mo Ya, hearing this, suddenly laughed and said “Amitabha,” adding, “All right, I know you two care about me deep down.”

The child still sat in the room, watching these two unexpected visitors outside with mild unease. Though he couldn’t quite make out what the little monk was discussing with them, to him, no morning had ever felt this lively before.

“You two were out there all night, so you must have heard everything—that’s how the situation stands,” Mo Ya said in the hallway, pulling the yawning Tao Yao along. “Please help him. You’re the only one in this world who can cure his illness.”

Tao Yao glanced toward that room, the door open a crack, the child peeking out from behind it.

“He’s so pitiful! His body’s unwell, and he’s been trapped here so long!” Mo Ya pleaded. “Tao Yao, think of it as doing a good deed! I’ll even feed the horses for you every day from now on!”

“Do you even know what kind of demon he is?” Tao Yao suddenly asked back.

“He’s…” Mo Ya paused. “Oh no, I forgot to ask.”

His bald head got flicked hard again. Tao Yao huffed. “You’re always like this—getting excited and playing the good samaritan before even figuring out who you’re dealing with. If you don’t fix this bad habit, you’ll get eaten one of these days.”

“I’ll get eaten by Young Master Liu eventually anyway…” Mo Ya covered his head, then argued quietly, “But he’s not fierce at all, actually quite kind. A demon like that wouldn’t eat people.” He then grabbed Tao Yao’s sleeve and shook it insistently. “Please treat him, and then find some way to set him free.”

Tao Yao looked at the door across the hall, and at the face peeking through the gap, unaware of what was being discussed outside. “This is the single most useless demon in the entire world. All day long, all he can do is want to hold humans’ hands—nothing else useful about him at all, not a single part of him could serve as medicine for me. I won’t save him.”

“Tao Yao…” Mo Ya’s lip trembled, tears threatening. “He’s so pitiful! He just wanted to give that girl a bundle of fish-goat grass, and yet he’s been left alone for all these years!”

“Fish-goat grass…” Tao Yao’s eyes darted about thoughtfully.

Before she could finish her thought, Young Master Liu returned from downstairs, holding a few tattered yellow talisman papers.

“These were nailed up in all four corners of the walls,” he said, waving the yellow papers. “Fairly old, probably something the previous landlord had some random mystic put up after hearing about the ‘haunting.’ Just looks like ordinary spirit-suppressing talismans to me, more for show than anything else.”

Tao Yao looked at the talismans with disdain. “Told you, most useless demon in the world…”

Mo Ya took the talismans, thought for a moment, then asked Young Master Liu, “What did you just say? These suppress ‘departed spirits’?”

Young Master Liu nodded.

“Is that why he can’t leave? Because of these?” Mo Ya asked, confused. “But he’s a demon—what does a departed spirit have to do with him?”

Young Master Liu and Tao Yao exchanged a glance, neither saying anything.

Mo Ya thought about it further, and his expression suddenly changed. “Could it be that… he’s already…”

Tao Yao covered his mouth, glancing once more toward the room, and admitted, “I don’t have the power to bring the dead back to life.”

Young Master Liu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, giving Mo Ya a helpless, apologetic look.

“No, no…” Mo Ya refused to believe it. “Something must be wrong here.”

“He simply misremembers,” Tao Yao said, turning her gaze away. “He believes he’s still alive.”

Mo Ya froze.

“That’s a Xi Nang,” Tao Yao said lazily. “The Compendium of a Hundred Demons says: in wild mountains dwells the Xi Nang, born from heaven and earth’s sense of vast, empty loneliness, one appearing perhaps once a century. All take the form of a small child dressed in white, capable of speech, possessing flesh and blood, no different from a human, gentle in nature, fond of holding people’s hands. But it must never stray far from its place of origin—to do so means death.”

The talisman papers slipped from Mo Ya’s hands to the floor.

“So you see, isn’t this the most useless demon in the world,” Tao Yao sighed. “Knowing full well he couldn’t stray too far from his birthplace, and yet he insisted on going anyway. And walking and walking, he simply died along the way.”

The moment he left Hundred Herbs Valley, he’d felt his body start to ache, and the further he walked, the worse it got, but he’d kept thinking he could go just a little further, wanting to hand her the fish-goat grass—Mo Ya suddenly recalled the words he’d said earlier.

Perhaps, sometime ten or twenty years ago in the capital, there had been a scene like this: a demon resembling a human child, walking with great difficulty through the crowded streets, a bundle of fish-goat grass tucked in his arms, capable of making the world’s most delicious dish, faithfully holding onto that one remembered address, searching for that three-story building where a girl who dreamed of becoming a chef once lived—her name was Luo Xixi.

At this moment, the sky had brightened, with the faintest hint of sunlight.

The hallway remained silent for a long while, until Mo Ya finally raised his head and asked, heartbroken, “What do we do now?”

Jin Sanniang finally got to vent her frustration—Mo Ya confirmed for her that there was nothing “unclean” in the room, but he also privately advised her not to give the scholar too hard a time either; the absence of anything “unclean” didn’t necessarily mean the absence of “something” entirely, and peace was worth preserving. Jin Sanniang, though not entirely satisfied, saw the little monk’s earnest expression and decided to let it go, no longer pursuing compensation from the scholar—the dispute resolved smoothly.

Finally, Mo Ya asked if he could stay one more day, claiming the feng shui here was excellent, very comfortable to live in.

This rather unconvincing lie pleased Jin Sanniang greatly, and she insisted repeatedly that he could stay, even for three more days if he liked—the happier he was staying here, the more it proved what a fine building this was.

Grateful, he also subtly inquired whether the fifty buns were still on offer; upon receiving confirmation, he finally relaxed and happily headed back upstairs.

Back in the room, the Xi Nang looked somewhat uneasy, asking him, “Who were those two just now? What were you discussing with them for so long outside?”

“Ah, my friends. They came specially to check on me since I didn’t return home last night,” Mo Ya said, deflecting, then added, “But I told them about the person you’re looking for, and they said they’d be happy to help find Luo Xixi for you!”

He stood up in surprise and delight. “Really?”

“Really!” Mo Ya patted his chest, assuring him. “Those two friends of mine are exceptionally good at finding people. And I also told them about your condition, asked them to bring back a good doctor while they’re at it.”

“Thank you, little monk.” The Xi Nang earnestly grasped his hand. “Once I hand the fish-goat grass to her, I can finally return home in peace.”

Return home?! Return where, exactly… Mo Ya looked into those persistent eyes, and at the same time, gripped the child’s hand a little tighter.

As evening approached, someone knocked at the door.

Mo Ya rushed to answer it. A woman in her forties entered, dressed elegantly, plump and prosperous-looking, carrying a heavy basket in her hands. Behind her, Tao Yao tilted her chin toward the woman and said to Mo Ya, “We brought the person you asked for. It took quite some effort, let me tell you.”

Upon seeing her, the Xi Nang froze completely, not daring to approach, only anxiously searching that no-longer-young face for familiar features.

“You, little one, you’re still just the same as before.” She walked over to him, set down the basket, and her eyes gradually reddened. “They told me you’ve been waiting for me all this time?”

“You haven’t changed either…” He stared at her face, smiling. “I can still recognize you!”

“When they told me, I couldn’t believe it.”

“You’re not afraid of me? I’m a demon, after all.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “The things in this world that have frightened me, that have hurt me, have never once been demons.”

“Well, that’s good then.” He let out a breath of relief, then hastily pulled the bundle of fish-goat grass from his robes, setting it on the table as if a great weight had been lifted. “This should have been given to you long ago.”

She opened it and exclaimed in astonishment, “This is… fish-goat grass?”

“Mm.” He smiled. “I just don’t know if you still have use for it now.”

“I do, I definitely do!” She was overjoyed.

“Did you become a chef?”

“I opened a small restaurant, on the east side of the city.” She carefully put away the grass, then hurriedly pulled a food box from her basket, opening it and placing it before him. “Here, try some of my cooking. Remember what I said back then? That once I truly became a great chef, I’d treat you to a proper meal.”

“I’d love that, it already looks delicious.”

“Come, give it a try.”

The aroma of the food gradually filled the entire room, an elderly woman and a young child sitting at the table together, eating and chatting, as if the decades that had separated them had never existed at all.

Mo Ya quietly slipped out, gently closing the door behind him, casting a grateful glance toward Tao Yao.

After the meal, the woman said as she cleared up, “Let me walk you home.”

“But I can’t leave.”

“You can now.”

“Really?”

“Come, I’ll hold your hand.”

Tonight’s capital wasn’t much different from any other night; despite the chill of late autumn, it did nothing to dampen the flow of men and women through the streets. The clamor of shops, the laughter from taverns, all manner of sounds and scents wandering joyfully through every corner of the city.

The woman took his hand, walking in the direction of Hundred Herbs Valley.

He gazed around with wonder, saying, “So this is what the nights here are like—so lively.”

The woman smiled. “Then look your fill.”

“All right.” He smiled radiantly. “Now that I’ve given you the fish-goat grass, I feel so much lighter all at once.”

“Is that so? Good, then.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“I know, no need to worry.”

“Hundred Herbs Valley is quite far—no need to see me all the way there.”

“I insist.”

“Luo Xixi, you’ve never once asked what my name is.”

“I know you’re a Xi Nang.”

“I mean my own personal name.”

“Do you have one?”

“Seems like I don’t…”

“Then I’ll call you Xixi too, haha.”

“But that’s the same as your own name.”

“Isn’t that nice?”

“It’s wonderful!”

Behind them, keeping a moderate distance, followed Tao Yao and Mo Ya, holding Gungun. Compared to the two ahead, the pair known for their endless chatter remained silent the entire way, quietly watching the joyful figures walking ahead of them.

Street after street, from the bustling nightlife to the dimming lanterns, all the way until they reached an arched bridge, where the woman finally came to a stop.

At that moment, only her own figure remained on the bridge. She glanced beside her, at the small child who had been chatting idly while holding her hand, but he had vanished without a trace, disappearing silently between heaven and earth, without leaving behind even a word of farewell.

A parting with no goodbye was still better than a tearful embrace, perhaps.

Tao Yao and Mo Ya walked over to the woman’s side. Tao Yao glanced around and asked flatly, “He’s gone?”

“His wish has been fulfilled.” The moment she spoke, it was a man’s voice instead, and as she raised a hand to brush off her clothes, a paper figurine strung with a single hair fluttered down from her body. Looking again, there was no trace of Luo Xixi anywhere—under the moonlight, only Young Master Liu remained.

Mo Ya pointed at him in shock. “It was you all along!” Then he grabbed Tao Yao. “Weren’t you two supposed to be looking for Luo Xixi? Didn’t you say you’d have news within a day? You couldn’t find her?”

“We found her, all right.” Young Master Liu stretched his limbs. “There’s no one I, Young Master Liu, set out to find who can hide from me anywhere.”

“Then why did you…”

“She’s still in the capital,” Tao Yao said, leaning against the bridge railing, watching the moonlight dance on the river below. “She married, her husband runs a textile business, they have three children, and their eldest daughter is already married herself. She never did become a chef—she helps her husband with the shop instead, and her life is peaceful enough. We saw her ourselves.”

“You saw her?” Mo Ya asked urgently. “Was she scared? Did she refuse to come?”

Tao Yao smiled faintly. “She doesn’t remember that child at all.”

Mo Ya froze.

“The wish from her youth, the name carved into the rocks in Hundred Herbs Valley, the child who got bitten by a fox—she remembers none of it. These days, all she thinks about is who still owes them money for fabric, whether to open a second shop next year, worrying about her husband’s chronic cough.” Tao Yao shrugged. “Their fabric had some nice colors and patterns, actually—I bought a few bolts on the way out, I’ll make you some new clothes with them later.”

Mo Ya looked downcast. “Why didn’t you two remind her?”

“There’d be no point—she truly has forgotten, or perhaps she never intended to remember in the first place,” Young Master Liu said. “Better to just take a single strand of her hair, so the demon could leave happily.”

Mo Ya fell silent.

“Demons like the Xi Nang are born of loneliness, which is exactly why they love holding others’ hands so much. Once happy, they’ll follow whoever they’ve grown fond of away from their birthplace, even at the cost of their own lives. It happens often enough,” Tao Yao sighed. “That’s why I say this kind of demon is utterly useless—for the sake of that tiny bit of warmth from someone’s company, they’re willing to give up their very lives.”

Mo Ya sat down heavily, murmuring, “But… how could he have persisted for so long? Wasn’t he already dead?”

“From a doctor’s perspective, this shouldn’t be possible at all. A demon like the Xi Nang, born from nothingness itself—when it dies, it simply vanishes, not even leaving behind a body.” Tao Yao pondered for a moment. “All I can say is, there are forces at play in a wish that we can’t fully calculate—strong enough, apparently, that even death itself can be forgotten.”

Mo Ya lowered his head. “He said he couldn’t remember what the pagoda tree spirit’s last words to him were.”

“Probably a warning not to go too far, that going too far would mean death. An old tree spirit like that would know everything,” Tao Yao guessed.

“Didn’t he know it himself, then?”

“How could he not have known.” Tao Yao scratched her nose. “Probably kept thinking, just one more step, just one more step, maybe it won’t kill me after all. These minor demons don’t have the sharpest minds, after all.”

Mo Ya had nothing more to say.

Tao Yao glanced back at him. “But none of this matters now, anyway. He finally got to personally hand the fish-goat grass over to Luo Xixi—that alone makes everything complete. Letting a soul burdened by an unfulfilled wish finally depart—this was the only way to do it.”

Mo Ya let out a deep sigh, pressed his palms together, and murmured, “Amitabha.”

“As for you—shouldn’t you be reflecting on why you can even see an already-dead demon in the first place?” Tao Yao shot him another glance.

Mo Ya thought about it and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe the Buddha wanted me to see him.”

“Your luck’s just running low, that’s all,” Tao Yao said, disdainful. “Go take a good bath when we’re back, wash off the bad luck.”

“But you and Young Master Liu could see him too…”

“Are you even comparable to us?! You’re taking a bath, and that’s final! Three times today!”

“…”

Meanwhile, Young Master Liu leaned against the other side of the arched bridge, lazily surveying the surrounding night, murmuring to himself: “Some creatures forget easily—the passion of their youth eventually diluted by the years into dishwater. Some creatures are too foolish—the smallest kindness from another, and they remember it for a lifetime.” With that, he looked at the fish-goat grass in his hand, smiled, and carefully tucked it away in his robes.

Tonight’s atmosphere was a bit strange—the usually noisy, quarrelsome trio stood peacefully on the arched bridge, bathing in the moonlight together without a single argument. Mo Ya fingered his prayer beads, murmuring scripture quietly. Tao Yao propped her chin in her hand, staring blankly at the flowing river. Young Master Liu grew slightly irritated, since Gungun finally couldn’t resist any longer and leapt onto him, determined to dig out the fish-goat grass and eat it—this fox had thoroughly ruined his poetic mood of gazing at the moon! Sigh!

Apart from the three of them, no one else knew that on this autumn night in the city of Bianjing, a demon had vanished from the world.

This demon had been born in Hundred Herbs Valley, useless at everything except loving to hold humans’ hands, and for the sake of a girl’s wish, had left the place he could never leave.