Prologue

As long as you’re still alive, loneliness cannot defeat me.

“This old man has done everything he can.” The physician, well past seventy, stood helplessly before the two Si brothers. “Madam’s constitution was already poor, and this eye ailment came on so fiercely. In all my decades of practice, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s no longer just her eyes—the sickness has spread through her entire bloodstream. Medicine is useless now. Her pulse is faint, and I’m afraid…” He hesitated, clearly troubled. “I’m afraid it’s only a matter of a day or two.”

“Physician Hua, there can’t be many in the capital with skill surpassing yours. Try again.” Si Jingyuan glanced toward the inner room. “Money isn’t an issue. Whatever medicine you need, however costly, just tell us and we’ll find it as fast as we can.”

“Eldest Young Master, this truly isn’t a matter of money or medicine. Madam’s flame has genuinely burned down to nothing. If you two young masters still trust this old man’s skill at all, use what time remains to ask if she has any final wishes. Ah.” The old man sighed and cupped his hands in a bow.

“So be it.” Si Kuanglan took a sip of tea. “Someone see Physician Hua home.”

“Wait.” Si Jingyuan glared at his younger brother, lowering his voice. “We’re giving up? At least try again, or Steward Miao will be devastated.”

“This is Madam Lu’s fate. You and I have done all that can be done by human effort—no need to force it further.” Si Kuanglan set down his teacup. “When the flame runs out, better to let her go in peace.” He gave Physician Hua a slight nod. “You’ve been running back and forth these past days, much obliged. Please return home and rest. The consultation fee will be sent along shortly.”

Physician Hua waved his hands hastily. “No, no, there’s no need for a fee. Being of even the smallest service to the Si household is an honor. Especially since I’ve been of so little help—I’m quite ashamed.”

“If physicians only got paid for curing their patients, half the physicians in the world would starve.” Si Kuanglan said with a faint smile, gesturing toward the door.

Everyone knew the Si household’s second young master meant what he said and brooked no argument. Physician Hua didn’t dare say more, thanked them, packed up his medicine chest, and left with his attendant, though he turned back at the door to add, “Best to ask about Madam’s final wishes soon. That’s really all that can be done now.”

Si Kuanglan nodded. “Safe travels.”

No sooner had Physician Hua left than Tao Yao and Young Master Liu came in, each carrying a steaming porcelain bowl.

“What did the physician say?” Tao Yao set her bowl on the table and lifted the lid. “Plain rice porridge again, though who knows if she can even eat it.”

Young Master Liu set his bowl down too. “She has no appetite to begin with, and you want her drinking flavorless porridge? Who could eat that? My fish porridge is far better—I told you, that bowl of yours is wasted effort.”

“Someone who’s only just learned to cook plain porridge has no room to criticize me.”

“A normal person can’t even stomach what you cook, and you expect a sick woman to manage it?”

Si Kuanglan sipped his tea without looking at either of them. “I’m afraid no porridge will be needed at all.”

Si Jingyuan sighed in agreement, shaking his head at Tao Yao and the others.

Tao Yao froze. “Didn’t we hire the best physician in the capital? Ten-odd days of medicine and acupuncture, and it did nothing?”

“The best physician in the capital says her flame has burned to nothing.” Si Jingyuan said regretfully. “She likely won’t make it past these two days.”

Since returning from Lianshui Village, everything concerning Baizhi and Xu Chenghuai had been left far behind in that old house’s back courtyard. As for Lu Cheng, that matter too had been sealed away. They’d told Madam Lu that Lu Cheng was doing well, and that upon learning she’d escaped danger, he’d been eager to see her—but they’d stopped him, saying it was best to wait until the commotion died down before arranging a reunion.

They’d unanimously nominated the thickest-skinned among them, Si Jingyuan, to tell Madam Lu the lie, and he hadn’t disappointed, spinning it out reasonably and vividly.

The knife Lu Cheng had raised—let it quietly stay broken. At least it left her with a perfect memory to hold onto.

Tao Yao tilted her chin toward the inner room. “Steward Miao’s still in there?”

“Hasn’t left her side for a moment.” Si Jingyuan said helplessly. “Here I thought the old fellow’s romantic luck was finally turning, only to find he’s escorting her on her final journey…”

“We should be glad it’s Steward Miao seeing her off.” Tao Yao picked up the porridge. “She can’t eat, but Steward Miao really ought to have a little something.”

“No need for that.” Si Kuanglan said flatly. “None of us should go in. Since so little time remains, let it all belong to the two of them.”

“True enough.” Young Master Liu nodded. “But since the porridge is already made, no sense wasting it. You two eat it, while it’s hot.”

“No.” The brothers refused in unison.

“It’s delicious!”

“Don’t believe it.”

“Fine, don’t eat it then. Clearly you two have no luck with good food.”

Spurned, Young Master Liu simply sat down and, huffing indignantly, lifted the lid and started eating himself—but after only a couple of bites he set down the spoon, casually covered the bowl again, and said, “Actually it’s too delicious, I can’t bear to finish it all at once. I’ll save the rest for tonight.”

“Then you’d better finish every last bit tonight.” Tao Yao said pointedly. “I’ll watch you eat it bite by bite.”

Young Master Liu looked skyward and gave a cold snort.

Being alive was truly a good thing—at least it meant you could sit around discussing whether a bowl of porridge tasted good, and look forward to tomorrow’s joys and sorrows amid mutual eye-rolling and teasing.

But the person in the inner room clearly no longer had that chance.

“Tao girl,” Si Jingyuan suddenly said, looking seriously at her and the porridge she’d made, “is cooking porridge really all you can do right now?”

Tao Yao frowned. “What else would there be?”

“I heard you tell Baizhi with my own ears that you’re a physician.” Si Jingyuan stared into her eyes. “And I’m certain you’re not on the level of an old man like Hua.”

Beside them, Si Kuanglan said nothing, just blew gently across the surface of his tea.

Young Master Liu shot Tao Yao a sidelong glance, curious how she’d handle this.

Tao Yao smiled. “Then you should also have heard me say I treat demons, not humans.”

“I heard that too, of course.” Si Jingyuan looked her up and down. “I just don’t understand.”

“Demon illnesses, I can handle. Human illnesses, I can’t.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “Is that really so hard to understand?”

“Roughly the sense of a veterinarian who can’t treat people, I suppose.” Si Kuanglan’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Who knew our Si household even had a stable hand who wasn’t quite so ordinary. Heh.”

A veterinarian?! Well, the comparison wasn’t exactly wrong, but why did it sound so irritating—especially delivered in that perpetually detached, unbothered tone of his.

“Hmph. Though I don’t treat humans, for Steward Miao’s sake I’d already examined her without any of you knowing. Just as Physician Hua said, Madam Lu’s constitution was already weak, and with Anke’s poison having spread through her blood and bones, forget my being unable to help—even the gods above probably couldn’t bring her back from this. I didn’t have much hope for your so-called best physician in the capital, but I’d at least hoped for a small miracle. Looking at it now, there won’t be one.” Tao Yao finished quite solemnly, then her eyes darted sideways, and she turned to address Si Kuanglan with sudden sincerity. “I think I finally understand you two now. You—sharp-tongued as a street shrew, though the bookish kind, prim on the surface and dark underneath. Your brother—looks robust and normal but hides a heart that’s perpetually one bad decision away from disaster. As for Steward Miao, plenty of age and experience, yet still hopelessly dense about a woman’s heart. Tsk tsk. No wonder your Si household is destined to be a monastery for all eternity.”

Young Master Liu looked at the two brothers with sympathy, offering well-meaning comfort. “It’s fine, it’s fine—even if you two are destined to be monks, at least you’ll be wealthy monks.”

“You say that as if you two aren’t just as alone.” Si Kuanglan said with a smile. “Not only alone, but penniless too.”

“Who says I’m alone!” Tao Yao immediately protested. “I have someone I fancy, and one day I’ll marry him in grand style!”

Hearing this, Young Master Liu hastily grabbed her sleeve and pulled her aside, whispering, “Which admirer of yours? Lei Shen?”

“Yes, and to this day, he’s still the one I most want to marry.” Tao Yao narrowed her eyes, smiling like a cat that had just gotten a treat.

“Maybe pick someone else…” Young Master Liu looked genuinely worried. “At least someone who won’t strike you dead for your daydreaming—it’d save the rest of us the trouble too.”

“…”

Seeing the two of them muttering to each other off to the side, Si Kuanglan smiled and said nothing.

Si Jingyuan, meanwhile, scratched his head for a good while before it clicked, and he pointed at himself, asking Tao Yao, “Your assessment of me is that I’m one bad decision away from disaster?”

“Mm-hm. No other comment for now.” Tao Yao stuck out her tongue.

“Didn’t we agree to be good brothers?”

“You’re my good brother who’s one bad decision from disaster.”

“…”

The mood in the outer room grew a little lighter amid their nonsense, as if only this kind of deliberate levity could soften the heartbreak of a parting so close at hand.

On the wild fields south of the city, a new grave had been raised.

The headstone bore only two characters: “Beloved Friend.”

Steward Miao knelt before the grave, silently burning paper money.

Mo Ya sat beside him, earnestly chanting scripture. Gungun, rare for the day, lay quietly between Mo Ya and Steward Miao, occasionally nudging Steward Miao with its nose, prompting him to turn and stroke its fox head, murmuring that all those treats he’d saved for it hadn’t been wasted after all—it actually had the conscience to comfort him.

The sky was clear that day, the early-winter chill diluted somewhat by sunlight. Looking around, the hillside was a patchwork of green and yellow, with a few scattered clusters of wildflowers stubbornly blooming in the wind. Not far off, a small stream ran clear to the bottom, its surface glittering with light.

Si Jingyuan had said this was a place of excellent feng shui, where Madam Lu could rest in peace.

Tao Yao gathered a handful of wildflowers and laid them before the grave, then studied Steward Miao’s expression—it was as it always was, no trace of sorrow, occasionally even a faint smile, as if he were recalling something.

No one asked him what exactly had happened in the inner room that day, nor what heartfelt words had passed between him and Madam Lu before she left. All anyone knew was that Madam Lu had passed peacefully, without any sign of regret.

A few thin clouds drifted over, dimming the light, and the last stack of paper money burned to ash in the fire, scattered flecks of it spiraling up into the sky on the wind.

Steward Miao looked up at it, murmuring to himself, “They say when you burn paper money, if the ashes rise on the wind, it means the departed has received your sentiment, and has left in peace with nothing left unresolved.”

“Mm, that’s a saying, yes.” Tao Yao replied absently.

Steward Miao stood, looking at the characters carved on the headstone. “As she was leaving, I promised to bring Lu Cheng to see her… I’ve kept every promise I’ve ever made in this life, never once broken my word. But with her, I made an exception.”

“If you’d brought him, I don’t think Madam Lu could have gone in peace.” Tao Yao said. “Sending her off yourself was the last blessing heaven could give her.”

Steward Miao glanced at her. “You do have a way with words, girl.”

Tao Yao stuck out her tongue. “I’m counting on you to think of me more fondly when there’s good food or fun to be had, that’s all.”

Steward Miao shook his head with a smile, then turned to Si Jingyuan. “Let’s head back.”

The sun broke free from the clouds again, stretching everyone’s shadows long across the ground. Tao Yao watched Steward Miao’s retreating back, remembering the day he’d told her, red-faced, that Xiaojing had been the pearl of his heart. She didn’t know how much pain this woman’s passing had left in him—only that the pearl in his heart hadn’t been Madam Lu alone, but also the pure, untainted friendship and affection from their youth by the countryside river. But time and human hearts had, in the end, taken all of it away, and never given it back.

Steward Miao’s spine remained perfectly straight, as if untouched by any wound at all.

“Aside from my parents, Steward Miao has never burned paper or lit incense for anyone else.” Si Jingyuan said suddenly. “He always seems so mild and accommodating, but underneath it there’s real pride—and when necessary, real killing intent too.”

Tao Yao smiled. “Whatever kind of intent he’s got, what matters is finding him a Mrs. Miao at some point, or life will get awfully lonely being stuck with you two bachelors all the time.”

“You’ve got knives for a tongue.” Si Jingyuan shot her a look. “With looks and fortune like ours, how could we possibly fail to find wives?! Steward Miao may be middle-aged, but he’s still every bit as dashing as any young man.”

Tao Yao thought for a moment, then asked, “Are you all afraid of dragging someone else down with you?”

Si Jingyuan didn’t answer, just reached out and poked her forehead. “Don’t go interrogating us. It’s been a while since we got back, and I still haven’t gotten you to come clean. You used to say you were just some half-trained physician, then you kept insisting you treat demons, not humans. Just who are you, really?”

Tao Yao put on an exaggerated grin. “Just a physician, that’s all. Your household got quite the deal—hired a physician as a stable hand for next to nothing. Hee hee hee.”

Before he could respond, she’d already left him behind and hurried over to Steward Miao’s side.

“If she doesn’t want to answer, you could pry her mouth open with an iron rod and still not get a word out of her.” Mo Ya watched her bouncing figure. “Eldest Young Master, best not to keep asking. If you really want to know, maybe try offering her ten times the pay.”

“As if.” Si Jingyuan snorted, then fixed his gaze on Mo Ya’s face. “Wait a minute, you’re with her, aren’t you? If she won’t tell me, you tell me!”

“Amitabha. If she won’t say it, naturally I can’t say it either. Otherwise I fear I’ll never have a peaceful day again.” Mo Ya said, troubled. “Eldest Young Master, all you need understand is that we mean you no harm, and that we’re grateful for your taking us in—I certainly am. That should be enough.”

“Fine, fine.” Si Jingyuan waved a hand. “Forget it then. Knowing that chatterbox Tao Yao, she’ll probably burst and come confess her life story to me herself one of these days.”

Mo Ya pressed his palms together. “It would be best if the Eldest Young Master understands that.”

Si Jingyuan chuckled and patted Mo Ya’s bald head, then looked ahead at Tao Yao, bouncing along with her ever-changing expressions, and murmured to himself, “Truly a band of oddities sent down from heaven.”

Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little grateful to have met them.

By evening, as their carriage passed through Dailou Gate, Tao Yao insisted on stopping at Ganyi Sweets in the southern part of the city to buy hundred-flower candy—clearly just craving sweets herself, though she claimed it was for Steward Miao, insisting that people in low spirits benefited from eating more sweets. Young Master Liu retorted bluntly that the only result of eating too many sweets was going from a melancholy thin person to a melancholy fat one. The two launched into another verbal sparring match, filling the carriage with noise.

Just as they were about to enter the city gate, a mournful funeral dirge drifted toward them from ahead, mixed with the faint sound of wailing.

Steward Miao pulled the carriage aside and waited for the funeral procession to pass before entering the gate.

Tao Yao poked her head out and asked Steward Miao, “Another funeral?”

Steward Miao nodded. “Yes.” He turned to watch the procession recede into the distance, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

“How strange…” Tao Yao muttered, pulling her head back inside to say to Si Jingyuan and Mo Ya, “Another funeral procession. Haven’t we passed several already on the way back?”

Si Jingyuan lifted the curtain to peek outside, then turned back. “If I’m counting right, that’s the fifth?”

“Five, yes.” Mo Ya confirmed. “That’s rather a lot.”

“Not rather a lot—way too many.” Tao Yao frowned. “Even with the capital’s population, you shouldn’t run into five funeral processions in half a day.”

Si Jingyuan scratched his head. “Could it be the cold weather? The elderly can’t handle it and are passing one after another?”

“Even accounting for early winter being hard on the old and weak, has it ever been this frequent before?” Mo Ya lifted the curtain, letting in a gust of cold wind; the pedestrians outside all hunched their shoulders, hurrying along.

“Since settling by Qingmeng River, I’ve never encountered this many funeral processions in a single day.” Steward Miao said, having overheard their conversation. “Most unusual indeed.”

Tao Yao asked Si Jingyuan, “Shouldn’t your Si household step in and look into it?”

“No one’s come to us about it.” Si Jingyuan glanced at the deepening dusk outside. “We’ll discuss it once we’re back. Might just be coincidence.”

As they passed through a bustling street in the city center, a small sedan chair suddenly shot out from a side road; fortunately Steward Miao managed to rein in the carriage in time to avoid a collision, though the chair-bearers were badly startled, staggering back several steps, the sedan swaying violently before dropping hard to the ground. The occupant nearly tumbled out, crying out in alarm, “What happened, what happened?!” A middle-aged man following the chair rushed forward, helping out a white-haired old man, asking anxiously, “Physician Jia, are you hurt?”

“My old bones are nearly rattled apart!” the old man snapped irritably. “What’s wrong with you people, can’t even carry a sedan chair properly!”

“Not our fault.” One of the chair-bearers pointed at their carriage. “They came charging out of nowhere.”

Steward Miao jumped down from the carriage and approached the bearer. “Young man, it was clearly your sedan that came charging out without warning—accusing us like this hardly seems fair.”

The bearer grew agitated. “I don’t care! If the man inside is hurt, you’ll pay for it! We have no money!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, Physician Jia is just a bit shaken.” The middle-aged man hurried forward, then looked Steward Miao over, noting his fine clothing and impressive bearing, along with the carriage behind him that no ordinary household could afford, guessing he must come from some official or noble family. Not daring to place blame, he cupped his hands in apology instead. “Please don’t take offense, sir. The bearers were reckless in crossing your path, but we were hurrying to bring the physician back to save a life.”

Tao Yao popped out from behind Steward Miao, curious. “Quite the odd day today—everyone we run into is either dead or sick. Something strange in the air over this capital, it seems.”

“You’re telling me. These past seven or eight days, so many people have died for no reason. It always starts as some minor injury or illness, then within days it suddenly worsens and takes their life. My young master just cut his finger slicing vegetables—within two or three days, his whole arm swelled up with blood, and he’s been running a high fever that won’t break.” The middle-aged man wiped his brow. “No more time to talk, I’m afraid—must get the physician back quickly. Farewell.” With that, he hurried the bearers to lift the chair and rushed off with the old physician.

“What rotten luck,” Si Jingyuan said, rubbing his hands together. “Never heard of a cut finger threatening someone’s life before. Cold night, strong wind—let’s hurry home.”

Tao Yao couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, though she couldn’t quite pin it down. Thinking back, between returning from Lianshui Village and Madam Lu’s death, she’d been tied up with all sorts of trivial matters, hadn’t left Qingmeng River in nearly a month. Today was the seventh day since Madam Lu’s passing, and she’d finally found time to go pay respects with Steward Miao—she’d meant to enjoy some sightseeing and good food along the way, but these abnormal funeral processions had spoiled her mood.

The carriage sped along the road back to Qingmeng River. Tao Yao occasionally glanced out the window; even in such cold weather, the capital’s nighttime scenery was far livelier than elsewhere—shops and taverns blazing with light, people who didn’t fear the cold and weren’t heading home yet coming and going with laughter, as if trying to press back the pervasive chill through sheer cheer alone.

She’d been in the capital quite some time now, having traveled through countless mountains and rivers, great cities and small towns, but few places matched the charm found right beneath the emperor’s feet—not just for its food, clothing, and comforts, but for the distinctive characters she’d encountered here. If she were to settle here long-term, she thought she’d probably be willing.

She’d never been one to meddle in others’ affairs—outside of Taodu, nowhere else’s safety was any concern of hers. But a place this good—if something truly went wrong here, she wasn’t sure she could simply stand by and watch.

The murmur of flowing water carried from a distance; Qingmeng River lay just ahead, the Si household’s lights glimmering faintly from deep within the bamboo grove, quietly awaiting the family’s late return.

“Everything settled?” Si Kuanglan took a small sip of soup, nodding with reluctant approval. “Some improvement, at least.”

Steward Miao quickly set down his bowl and chopsticks. “Reporting to the Second Young Master, everything’s been handled. The matter with Xiaojing has caused the Si household some trouble.”

“No need to bring that up again. Once I let her into the Si household, I don’t hold the rest against her.” Si Kuanglan took another sip of soup. “As for the authorities, it’s just one more unsolved case for them—hardly worth calling trouble.”

“A condemned prisoner being broken out of jail, and the authorities just let it slide?” Young Master Liu, leisurely picking at his fish, suddenly perked up, eyes brightening as he turned to Si Kuanglan. “Wait, what did you just say? The soup’s improved?”

“Unless Steward Miao was careless in handling things, the authorities won’t trace it back to the Si household even in a hundred years.” Si Kuanglan, not even glancing at him, ladled himself another unprecedented second bowl of soup. “Still far from delicious, but at least edible now.”

Getting praise from Si Kuanglan—even this backhanded kind—was harder to come by than picking up silver off the street. Young Master Liu immediately swelled with pride, nudging Tao Yao. “See, see, I told you I’d achieve culinary godhood eventually!”

“Amitabha. By the time you achieve godhood, we’ll probably have already ascended to the heavens ourselves, no longer needing to eat.” Mo Ya said to Gungun as he ate his vegetables. “Right?” Gungun nodded while gnawing on tofu.

“Eating my cooking and saying things to infuriate me—has that fox eaten your compassion?!” Young Master Liu yanked the plate away from Gungun. “Wanting my tofu too? Not a chance!”

Seeing half his dinner snatched away, Gungun leapt up onto Young Master Liu’s head, clawing furiously at his hair while squeaking curses.

Young Master Liu winced in pain but still refused to return the tofu, snapping, “That’s enough! Keep clawing and I won’t hold back! Mo Ya, you know—when I really get angry, I’ll even eat fox!”

Mo Ya only said, “Just give it back the tofu. Keep this up and you might end up a monk without even needing to shave your head.”

“Hey, you little monk, I—” Before he could finish, Young Master Liu suddenly froze, staring across the table at Tao Yao, not even minding the fox still on his head, and pointed at her. “Hey, hey, Tao Yao, your head, your head!”

Everyone’s eyes turned to Tao Yao’s head, where she was busy gnawing on a chicken drumstick.

Steward Miao saw it and exclaimed, “Tao girl, what’s happening to your head?”

Si Jingyuan nearly choked on a meatball he hadn’t chewed properly, pointing at her head and shouting, “You’re smoking!”

Si Kuanglan, the calmest of all, casually picked up the nearby teacup and decisively splashed it over Tao Yao’s head.

Tao Yao didn’t manage to dodge in time, getting doused head to face. It took her a long moment to recover, then she slammed the table and stood, pointing at Si Kuanglan. “Did something upset your stomach? Why are you dousing me?!”

Si Kuanglan wiped his hands, saying flatly, “Never seen anyone smoke while eating before. Not sure if you’re just that hungry, or if your Young Master Liu cooked with gunpowder.”

“Don’t drag me into this!” Young Master Liu glared at him, then rushed to Tao Yao’s side, ignoring Gungun still perched on his head, carefully touching her still-smoking scalp. “What kind of strange thing is this? I’ve heard of people spontaneously combusting while walking—have you been holding in too much anger lately?”

Mo Ya said anxiously, “Tao Yao, calm yourself, don’t start yelling and cursing again—why don’t you chant a calming mantra with me!”

Tao Yao ignored them, rolled her eyes upward, then took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and went completely still.

Seeing this, everyone exchanged glances, not daring to approach or ask questions, forced to simply wait it out. Steward Miao had even worked out a contingency plan—if Tao Yao really did catch fire, there was half a vase of water nearby he could dump on her. But how could a perfectly ordinary young woman start smoking like this?!

A moment later, Tao Yao let out a breath, opened her eyes, and the smoke atop her head gradually dissipated.

The tension in the room eased considerably. Si Jingyuan approached cautiously, testing the waters. “Are you all right?”

Young Master Liu waved a hand in front of her face, but her gaze remained fixed and unresponsive.

“Tao Yao, say something.” Mo Ya tugged worriedly at her sleeve. “You didn’t burn your tongue, did you?”

“If she really did burn her tongue, that would actually be good news.” Si Kuanglan glanced at her, then went right back to eating a piece of vegetable.

“Enough joking around, I’m going to fetch a physician.” Steward Miao stood to leave.

Just then, Tao Yao suddenly slammed her palm down on the table, sending bowls and dishes jumping.

“That bastard, does he think paper grows on trees?!” She spat out this one sentence through gritted teeth, then bolted out the door in the blink of an eye.

The whole table was left utterly baffled, and by the time they rushed out to look, there was no trace of Tao Yao in the night.

“Struck it rich, have you? Enough to burn that much paper just to call me?!” In the empty warehouse, Tao Yao held up a fire-striker, cursing as she rifled through a mess of scattered goods. “What are you hiding for? I’m here now, get out here!”

“Tao… Tao Yao, milady…” A voice came from a wooden crate in the corner.

Tao Yao followed the sound to the crate, lifted the half-open lid, and brought the fire-striker closer for a look, exclaiming irritably, “What are you doing cowering in here?!”

Inside the crate lay a creature roughly the size of a dog, though unlike any commonly seen kind—a pair of drooping wings on its back, a long tail like a snake’s coiled behind it, and even more alarming when it raised its head: it had a human face, that of a child of seven or eight, small listless eyes gazing weakly up at her, its voice equally faint. “Milady Tao Yao, you’ve finally come.” A small brocade pouch hung at its chest, and beside it lay a pile of burnt paper ash.

Tao Yao said angrily, “Even if you bought up every scrap of paper in Ye Fengjun’s shop and burned it for me, my answer’s still the same—I can’t cure your ailment.”

The little creature sighed. “Good thing Master Ye suggested I buy more paper last time, or I might not have lived to see Milady Tao Yao again.”

“Ye Fengjun suggested you buy more paper?” Tao Yao blinked. “Did he suggest anything else, too?”

“Yes, Master Ye said if I burned five, six, seven, eight sheets at once, the odds of you coming to see me would be much higher.” It answered honestly. “This pouch was a gift from him too, to make it easier to carry the paper.”

“That money-grubbing bastard!” Tao Yao said furiously. “Didn’t he tell you that burning too much paper at once makes me smoke?!”

“But I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” It said, aggrieved. “After all, you refused to show yourself again after that one time we met before.”

“What difference does it make whether I show up or not?! I’ve told you, I’m just a physician who treats illness. Your stunted growth is a congenital developmental issue, not a disease—I can’t help with that.” Tao Yao smacked her forehead in frustration. “You should just eat more and sleep more, maybe you’ll grow a bit taller eventually.”

It weakly shook its head. “This time isn’t about that.”

“Oh?” Tao Yao paused.

It struggled to straighten up, revealing a blood-streaked abdomen and a deep wound.

Mixed with the faint smell of blood in the air was an unexpectedly strange sweetness.

Tao Yao frowned, immediately lifted it out of the crate, found a relatively clean spot to set it down, examined it, then pulled out two pills from her pouch—one black, one white—fed it the white one, crushed the black one and applied it to the wound, before saying, “Lucky for you I happened to be in the capital and could get here in time, or you wouldn’t have lasted two more days with a wound like this. Arrow wound? Who has the ability to hurt you like this?”

It fell silent a moment, then stammered, “I’ve been running the whole way here—they were already after me back in Qinzhou. Finally made it to the capital, only to find the front gate blocking a tiger while the back gate had a wolf waiting… Managed to keep my life and hide here. The warehouse smells so mixed up, hopefully it’ll cover my scent enough that they won’t find me too quickly. Luckily I still had the paper, so I figured I’d burn it all and try my luck.”

“That’s strange—you’ve always been such an honest, rule-abiding sort. What could you possibly have done to warrant being hunted down like this?” Tao Yao asked, puzzled.

She’d known this Shuhu for quite a long time now, all told. Centuries ago, it had first burned paper to summon her, begging her to cure its illness of “never growing up.” It really was born unlucky—among Shuhu kind, every one of its brethren was strong and sturdy, capable of carrying mountains and rivers on their backs, yet it alone had been born the size of a small dog, unable to carry even a slightly plump cat or dog on its back, let alone a person. No wonder it had grown up with such an inferiority complex, making growing bigger the greatest ambition of its life.

Records of the demon Shuhu were scarce; even the Compendium of a Hundred Demons had only a brief mention of it—something along the lines of “born in the stone sea of Yanzi Mountain, human face and serpent tail, winged and able to fly, most fond of carrying things, invisible to ordinary people.” Tao Yao had encountered countless demons in her time, but few were quite like Shuhu, which had no other interest besides carrying people or objects around. In her view, they were a thoroughly dull bunch—what was there to be happy about, running around carrying things all day? Even horses and oxen didn’t enjoy being ridden, yet these creatures never complained, treating it as some kind of honor and calling. And though their numbers weren’t small, and most of their time was spent active in the human realm, they remained little known—ordinary humans, and even most demons, had no idea Shuhu even existed, because Shuhu only revealed their true form when injured or near death. Under normal circumstances, they moved through the world like an invisible wind, silently passing through, never seen, let alone spoken of.

For a Shuhu, lifelong invisibility was already a bittersweet tragedy of sorts, and this particular stunted one was even more unfortunate—born weaker than its kin, unable to carry heavy loads, it wasn’t hard to imagine the mockery and exclusion it must have faced. The first time Tao Yao had met it, it had been carrying a shimmering ball of colorful light down from the sky, delivering that light into a certain house, placing it back into the body of an old man lying on his sickbed, before coming, breathless, to pay its respects to her.

It had told Tao Yao that the ball of light was the old man’s “soul.” Many people, before death, had someone they wanted to see, or somewhere they wanted to return to—what it did was carry out these dying wishes, bearing the departing souls to complete their final desires.

Just before, it had carried the old man to see the childhood sweetheart he’d never forgotten. The old woman, past sixty but still sturdy, had been sitting at her doorway holding her small grandchild, shaking a rattle-drum. The old man had stood beside her for a long while, then happily told it, “Look, the ring on Xiaohong’s hand—that’s the one I gave her all those years ago. She was so pretty back then, and I wasn’t bad-looking either. In summer she’d make me lotus-leaf porridge, in winter I’d take her out to play in the snow and admire the plum blossoms. We weren’t fated to marry, but those days—whenever I think back on them, they still shine warm and bright. Afterward, I left home for half a lifetime and never returned. Now, seeing the village well still there, the plum trees still there, Xiaohong still there, life still good—I can walk the road to the underworld without any anxiety in my heart.”

Having said this, it had felt a bit embarrassed. “Milady Tao Yao, don’t laugh at me, but in all my years since leaving Yanzi Mountain for the human realm, this is all I’ve ever carried. I want to be like my kin too, able to bear a thousand pounds and move freely, but this body of mine just won’t cooperate.”

As it said this, they’d been standing in the woods outside the old man’s house, and before Tao Yao could reply, a sound of weeping had drifted out from inside.

It had stared blankly toward the house, shaking its head. “Another one gone.”

“Why not go take another look inside?” Tao Yao had said suddenly. “Ordinary people can’t see you anyway, so it’s easy enough to come and go.”

“The person’s already gone, what’s left to see?” It hadn’t understood.

“Go see what he looked like when he passed—worried or smiling, sorrowful or joyful.” Tao Yao had said with a grin. “Come tell me what you find, and I’ll decide whether to treat you.”

It had gone in immediately.

Before long it came back out, telling Tao Yao, “His lips were slightly tilted up, he passed very peacefully, looked just like he was sleeping. It was just his children and grandchildren crying so sadly.”

“I see.” Tao Yao had scratched her nose. “Then there’s no need to treat you after all.”

“What?” It had grown anxious, hopping around beside her. “Why not? He passed peacefully, but I still haven’t grown taller—what does that have to do with whether you treat me?”

“The whole point of you Shuhu is to carry things, isn’t it? Right?” she’d asked.

“Right, but…”

“Well, you carried something.” Tao Yao had studied it.

“No, no,” it had shaken its head insistently, “what I carry is all this light, weightless stuff. I want to be strong like my kin—do you know, some of my brethren can carry an entire mountain on their backs, going anywhere, through sky and earth, ice and fire, nowhere beyond their reach. That’s what a real Shuhu should be like!”

“Light and weightless?” Tao Yao had smiled. “To get a smile like that from him, what you carried wasn’t light at all.”

It had remained anxious. “Milady Tao Yao, it really is so light. I beg you to help me—you’re the only one in this world who can!”

Tao Yao had pursed her lips. “Begging me won’t help. Your body isn’t sick, it’s just a developmental issue. Why don’t you eat more and sleep more, see if that helps you grow a bit. All right, I’ve got other things to attend to, farewell for now.”

With that, ignoring however it had pleaded and called after her, she’d resolutely left, and even when it burned paper for her several more times afterward, she never went to see it. Only in recent decades had its paper-burning finally stopped. She’d thought it had finally accepted things—never expecting it to turn up before her again today.

In the warehouse, faced with Tao Yao’s questioning, it kept stammering, unable to get the words out.

Seeing this, Tao Yao tossed aside the spent fire-striker, impatient. “Forget it then. You burned paper for me, I came, and I’ve treated your wound. Burn a pile of paper at me again and I swear I’ll tie you and Ye Fengjun together to a firework and send you both straight to the heavens!” With that, she turned to leave.

“Milady Tao Yao!” It struggled forward, blocking her path, urgent. “I didn’t burn the paper to ask you to save me—it’s… it’s for my twin brother!”

“What? Twin brother?”

“Yes.”

It had spent nearly three months in the Chengzhou government office, wanting to know what progress there’d been on that murder case.

By the Yaoni River in Chengzhou, someone had witnessed a person fall from the sky, crashing onto the riverbank and dying instantly.

This strange incident had spread throughout Chengzhou immediately, terrifying everyone—people weren’t birds, how could someone fall from the sky?

The government office had been thrown into chaos too, investigating for days without any leads, until just a few days ago they’d finally confirmed the victim’s identity—though confirming it had only made things worse, since the victim wasn’t from Chengzhou at all, but from Xiangcheng, over a thousand li away, and the victim’s family had insisted with absolute certainty that the day before his death, he’d been at home drinking with everyone, perfectly fine. How could someone in Xiangcheng overnight end up dead by a riverbank in Chengzhou?

This case was far beyond what they could handle.

It had stayed in the government office several more days, hearing them say that, upon further investigation, similar cases had occurred repeatedly over the years, all across the country—victims all falling to their deaths thousands of li from home, yet no local authority anywhere had ever solved a single case or caught a culprit, hadn’t even found a single useful clue. In the end, everyone handled it the same way: seal the files away and let the matter drop.

Chengzhou’s government office produced no miracle either.

Certain that waiting any longer would yield nothing, it had quietly slipped away from the government office, secretly relieved.

On the riverbank, the bloodstains from the crime scene still remained, soaked into the stones, already gone black.

It had secretly gone to examine the victim, and just like with the previous victims, amid the mangled, bloody corpse, it had clearly caught that familiar scent.

It had felt fury that its brother was still doing such things, while also fearing that others might discover the clue and hunt him down mercilessly.

A cold wind had blown past, and it had looked up at the sky, shouting, “Have you lost your mind?! What exactly are you doing?!”

No one else in the world could smell that particular scent, because they were twin brothers.

All Shuhu were born in the stone sea of Yanzi Mountain—truly a sea of stones, large and small, densely packed together. Every Shuhu mother laid her eggs beneath the stones, the newly laid eggs no bigger than a speck, rolling down into the crevices beneath the rocks, growing bigger day by day until they could finally push aside the stone weighing them down and hatch. If an egg wasn’t strong enough, didn’t develop well enough to push aside the stone pinning it, that meant it was eliminated before it even had a chance to be born.

It believed that without this twin brother, it certainly wouldn’t have had the chance to hatch at all.

From the moment they hatched, it and its brother had been vastly different—its brother’s build was at least three times its own, and standing beside him, it looked from any angle like some pitiful little sidekick. As time passed, its brother grew ever more robust—though still somewhat behind the strongest of their kind, in its eyes, its brother was already more than enough to admire.

Once grown, Shuhu would leave Yanzi Mountain for the vibrant, colorful human realm, where countless people and objects awaited on their backs, carried across mountains and through the sky, finding joy and purpose in flight and running.

It, however, had a harder time of it—unable to fly high or run far, always falling far behind its brother.

It had always believed their bond as brothers was strong. Twins had never before appeared among the Shuhu of Yanzi Mountain. In its youth, playing roughly with the others, it had often been bullied for its weak, small body—once even sat on so hard by others, unable to push them off or break free, that it had nearly suffocated to death, until its brother rushed in and single-handedly drove off all three attackers, saving it.

From then on, it had never dared stray too far from its brother.

But Shuhu weren’t communal demons—once they left Yanzi Mountain, that meant going their separate ways.

Yet the two of them hadn’t parted. In their first hundred years in the human realm, it had gradually grown accustomed to carrying the souls of the dying to wherever they wished to go—that was all it could manage to carry. Its brother was different—it had once carried two people out of a flood, delivered them to safety, then gone back for more, again and again. All it itself could manage was fishing a piece or two of clothing out of the water, or gathering a few wild fruits for people.

Over a hundred years had passed, and it still hadn’t made any progress—souls remained the only thing it could carry with any ease.

The day its brother said it was leaving, the weather had been especially hot, sunlight so blinding it hurt to keep your eyes open.

It had stood there in the sunlight, somewhat dazed, and asked, “Am I holding you back?”

Its brother had thought for a moment, then said, “Just keep going on as you are.”

It had felt certain it was being cast aside. “I’ve been trying, I…”

“I’m leaving.” Its brother had cut it off, glancing at it once more. “Don’t follow.”

“I…”

It had only managed to get out that one word before it could say no more, because its brother had already left without a backward glance, its powerful form quickly vanishing into the blazing sky.

It had actually always been afraid of the heat, but that day it hadn’t felt hot at all—its heart had felt as if filled with wind, cold and hollow.

On the way back, it had told itself over and over not to be sad, not to dwell on it—after all, they’d both grown up now, and a Shuhu like its brother truly shouldn’t be stuck forever with a brother like itself. It should be like the other formidable members of their kind, a Shuhu capable of bearing a thousand pounds while still moving freely.

Centuries had passed, slow yet somehow also swift. It had lost count of how many souls it had carried—it had actually kept quite busy, after all, so many people reaching the end of their lives, and each of them harboring so many memories and attachments in their hearts. Occasionally, in idle moments, it would crouch on some rooftop, staring blankly at the moon, wondering where that fellow was now, what he was doing.

Centuries on, these people who’d fallen to their deaths were the only clue it had ever gotten, connected to that fellow.

But it shouldn’t have been like this.

It had begun searching for its brother, and decades more had passed, during which the murder cases connected to him had never stopped.

Finally, through its persistent searching, a year ago, the two brothers, scattered for centuries, had finally met again.

It had been by a nameless river west of Fangzhou, also in summer, fire-red clouds reflected on the water’s surface, heaven and earth all awash in red.

“Stronger than before, at least able to track me by scent now.” Its brother had stood by the river, its form far larger than before, every muscle gleaming in the sunset light, eyes sharp as a blade drawn from ice.

By contrast, it had remained more or less the same—small and thin.

“You’ve been killing people?” It had hesitated a long while before managing to ask.

“Mm.” Its brother had admitted it readily enough.

It had frozen. “Why… why?”

“To increase the weight I’ve carried.” Its brother had said calmly. “A Shuhu’s strength is proportional to the weight it’s carried—you know that.”

“I know that.” It had said hastily. “That’s why these years I’ve been carrying as many souls as possible—I really have gotten stronger, at least sturdier than before.”

“The weight of one living person is nowhere near as heavy as one human life.” Its brother had said flatly. “The more human lives I carry, the greater my strength grows.”

It had grown anxious. “What do you need that much strength for? You’re already so strong!”

The river had rushed past, murmuring, and in the last moment before the sunset vanished, its brother had turned to look at its own reflection in the water, saying, “It’s nearly five hundred years.”

It had frozen.

“If I didn’t want you to find me, do you think you could have?” Its brother had turned back to look at it. “All these years, I’ve known everything you’ve been doing. So I understand even more clearly what I need to do.”

“You…” It had stammered, not knowing what to say—had this fellow never truly left it at all, all these years?!

Its brother had gazed into the distance. “They’re coming soon.”

It had fallen silent.

After that day, the two of them had once again become inseparable as before, though its brother had grown even more silent, even more wary—a bit of rain, a gust of wind, and he’d treat it like facing a great enemy.

What it had actually wanted to hear was for this fellow to tell it properly how he’d been all these years, whether there’d been anything interesting among all the people and things he’d carried—anything at all, as long as it had nothing to do with killing.

But this fellow had said nothing at all. The two of them would either fly overhead or cut through the marketplace, and the words its brother said most often to it were: “Stay close.”

“Where exactly are we going, and how long will we keep this up?” It hadn’t been able to hold back the question. “I still have things to do, plenty of people waiting for me.”

“Until you can stay somewhere safely.” Its brother had said coldly.

By the time they reached Qinzhou, they’d finally encountered the fiercest attack of their lives.

The attackers had been their own kind—seven formidable Shuhu, come to take its life.

The fate that belonged to it had finally arrived.

All these years, it had always deliberately overlooked one thing—the most closely guarded “rule” of the Shuhu clan.

At the highest point of Yanzi Mountain stood a smooth, mirror-like crimson stone tablet that had grown up out of the earth itself, worshipped as a sacred object by the Shuhu clan, and also a ranking that appeared once every five hundred years. Every batch of Shuhu born on Yanzi Mountain had the total weight they’d carried, from birth through the following five hundred years, clearly recorded on it. According to the Shuhu clan’s “rule,” whoever ranked last had to be “eliminated”—weeding out the weak to preserve the strong was considered the best way to safeguard the bloodline’s quality.

In truth, it had known from a very young age that it was destined to end up at the bottom of the ranking.

But it hadn’t felt afraid—it had even felt that five hundred years was already quite a lot, plenty of time to see what the outside world looked like, and how marvelous and interesting humans could be.

Nor had it harbored a defeatist attitude of simply waiting to die. Though it couldn’t carry heavy loads, even weightless souls it had carried one after another, believing that small amounts would eventually add up, that doing something was better than nothing. It had even sought out Milady Tao Yao of Taodu, this frail body of its perhaps being some kind of illness—if she were willing to help, maybe it could be restored to normal, and then, perhaps, it might just manage to survive after all.

But if none of that worked out, then five hundred years it would be. That was enough.

Yet, when it had watched its brother throw everything on the line fighting those seven kin, the guilt that dawned on it had suddenly outweighed the gratitude.

What do you need that much strength for—its own rebuke to its brother still rang in its ears.

The answer had already been laid bare before it: strength built on human lives, all just to shield this weak, useless brother of his from a five-hundred-year verdict.

A brutal battle, both sides gravely wounded.

It had been protected well—the enemy hadn’t touched a single hair on it.

Its brother, covered in blood, had told it to run quickly, head somewhere with the most people, ideally the capital—if it managed to escape safely, it should meet him there.

It hadn’t wanted to leave, but hadn’t dared stay and become a burden either, so it had fled north, head down.

Its mind had been in turmoil—it really didn’t matter, five hundred years of effort and still last on the list, clear proof of just how inadequate it truly was. A brother like this hardly deserved a battle so bloody and brutal fought on its behalf.

Amid the rushing wind, it hadn’t dared look back, running for all it was worth.

It had understood its brother’s reasoning for sending it to the capital—more people there, easier to hide among them, its demonic aura less likely to be detected, since those hunting it could only track it down by scent.

But facing seven alone… did the two of them really still have a chance to reunite in the capital?

It had finally reached the capital, and following its brother’s instructions, had stayed only in the most crowded places, not daring to sleep even at night in any quiet spot—shops, taverns, red-light districts, wherever the crowds gathered.

Amid its anxious unease, a month had passed, and just ten days ago, while sleeping in the woodshed behind a tavern, it had drowsily seen its brother standing right before it, perfectly fine.

It had jolted upright, only to find it wasn’t a dream.

“You all right?” Its brother had asked.

“Fine.” It had shaken its head, its gaze falling on the many visible wounds covering its brother’s body.

“Five of the seven are dealt with.” Its brother had said casually. “Pity my strength gave out, couldn’t finish off the last two, had to flee to save myself.”

The more lightly its brother spoke, the more its heart had clenched. Wanting to comfort him yet finding any words felt hollow, wanting to hug him and sob but feeling it would be useless and humiliating, it had wavered before finally choking out, “We should still see a physician… you must be in so much pain!”

“No need.” Its brother had looked at it, tone as detached as ever. “Lucky the wounds are on me and not you—if they were on you, you’d probably exhaust yourself to death just from crying about the pain.”

With that, its brother had glanced at the night outside, walking straight toward the door. “Come with me.”

It had followed anxiously, and the moment it stepped outside, its brother had grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and tossed it onto his back.

“What’s this for?” It had lain flat against its brother’s spine, not daring to move, terrified of touching any of the many wounds.

Its brother had leapt into the air. “You fly too slow. Makes me impatient watching you.”

It had trembled in the whooshing night wind. “Where are we going?”

Its brother hadn’t answered, just flown north.

The cold wind seeped in through the broken window, mixed with the clear sound of the night watchman’s clapper.

“Where did your brother take you? Is this where you got hurt?” Tao Yao examined the wound on Shuhu’s belly. “Whoever’s hunting you clearly wouldn’t use weapons—you Shuhu fight with brute force, biting, stomping, ramming. But this wound on you is clearly from an arrow. You were being evasive before, but now it seems whoever hurt you wasn’t one of your own kind after all. And your brother—sounds quite formidable, actually. Does a demon like that really need me to save his life?!”

It struggled to sit up. “Milady Tao Yao, since you live in the capital, have you heard of the Chongxiao Tower?”

“Chongxiao Tower?” Tao Yao thought for a moment. “Not just heard of it, I’ve seen it too—the one by the Wuzhang River, roughly the tallest building in the capital, nine stories, a hundred zhang tall. They say from the top you can see the whole imperial capital spread out below. Never been inside though, always too busy for that kind of leisure.”

“That’s where it is right now.” It stumbled toward the warehouse exit.

“Stop.” Tao Yao called it back. “Looking like that, you won’t make it to Chongxiao Tower before dawn.”

With that, she turned and called out toward the door, “If you’ve heard enough, get out here and help—do you expect me to carry it out myself?”

No sooner had she finished than the warehouse door was carefully pushed open, and Young Master Liu, Si Jingyuan, Mo Ya, and Gungun poked their heads in one by one, followed by Si Kuanglan, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to the last to admit he’d been eavesdropping, and Steward Miao, ever attentive at his side.

Shuhu jumped in fright, instinctively hiding behind Tao Yao.

“No need to be afraid, just a bunch of habitual eavesdroppers.” Tao Yao said dryly. “Quite the skills you all have too, managing to track me down even though I left in such a hurry.”

Mo Ya pointed at Gungun. “Gungun led us here. It’s gotten pretty familiar with your scent.”

Tao Yao snatched Gungun up and poked its head. “You’re a dog wearing fox fur, aren’t you! Sniffing around for no reason—don’t you know I hate being followed the most!”

“I said we were worried about you!” Mo Ya hastily grabbed Gungun back. “We’d never seen you smoke before! Turns out burning too much paper does that!”

“Don’t bring up the paper again, I’ll lose it.”

Gungun leapt down from Mo Ya’s arms and ran over to Shuhu, sniffing all around it; too scared to scold or flee, it could only shoot Tao Yao a pleading look.

“It’s fine, once the fox confirms you’re not edible, it’ll leave you alone.” Tao Yao said, then looked at Young Master Liu, who’d just come in behind them, pointing at Shuhu. “You carry it.”

“Why me?!” Young Master Liu bumped Si Jingyuan reluctantly. “There’s a strong, able-bodied one right here!”

“Have you lost your mind, ordinary humans can’t see Shuhu.” Tao Yao glared at him.

“Not… I can see it.” Si Jingyuan said immediately, sounding rather excited. “What a uniquely shaped demon—human face, horse body, and wings too, and that face is all chubby.”

“How can you see it?” Tao Yao paused, then caught on. “Oh, it’s wounded.”

“What does that mean?” Si Jingyuan scratched his head. “This fellow has to be wounded before we can see it?”

“Mm.”

“It’s really a demon?” Steward Miao asked.

“Mm.”

Si Kuanglan showed no interest in their exchange, crouching close to Shuhu instead, asking it, “You were really shot by an arrow, here in the capital?”

It nodded, trembling.

“Let me see the wound again.” He said.

It hesitantly straightened up, revealing the wound on its belly.

Tao Yao’s medicine worked wonders—in a remarkably short time, the wound had not only stopped bleeding but had already formed a thin scab.

A faint medicinal scent still lingered in the air. Si Kuanglan sniffed it, then asked, “Where’s the arrow that hurt you? Did you pull it out yourself?”

“No, after I fled to the warehouse, I found the arrow had simply vanished on its own.”

Si Kuanglan frowned, then stood and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going, Second Young Master?” Tao Yao called out.

Si Kuanglan didn’t turn back. “It’s this late, and you expect me to keep listening to your nonsense? Since you haven’t caught fire, I’m naturally going home to rest.” With that, he walked out.

Tao Yao made a face at his indifferent retreating back, then turned to Steward Miao. “Nothing more to worry about here, you can all head back.”

“That’s ‘nothing to worry about’?” Si Jingyuan pointed at Shuhu. “Weren’t we headed to Chongxiao Tower? I’m coming too! If Young Master Liu won’t carry it, I will!”

“Eldest Young Master,” Steward Miao stopped him, lowering his voice, “it’s a demon after all, you…”

“Has the Si household seen few strange things or creatures?” Si Jingyuan countered. “No need to worry. I’d also like to know what mystery lies within Chongxiao Tower. Besides, Tao girl is one of our own now, so this concerns the Si household too—wouldn’t be right for us to just stand by.”

“Much obliged, Eldest Young Master, but this isn’t something you can help with—best go home and sleep.” Tao Yao said bluntly.

Si Jingyuan leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Don’t even think about ditching me. I heard that demon calling you Milady Tao Yao over and over—if you’re a ‘milady,’ your status can’t be low. Tonight, one way or another, you’re telling me your background.”

Tao Yao turned her face away, pretending not to hear.

“Eldest Young Master!” Steward Miao frowned.

Si Jingyuan waved him off. “Say no more. Steward Miao, either come with us, or go home and check if Kuanglan’s fallen asleep yet.”

Steward Miao naturally chose the former—between the two Si brothers, it was always the elder one who gave more cause for concern.

“Since we’re going, let’s not dawdle.” Tao Yao scooped up Shuhu and deposited it in Si Jingyuan’s arms. “Let’s go!”

“Hey, hey, do I really have to hold it like this? It smells awful…”

“You volunteered to help.”

“Couldn’t we just stuff it in a sack and carry it that way? I’m wearing new clothes today!”

“Have the heart to stuff a badly wounded creature in a sack, do you?”

“Er… Young Master Liu, maybe you should take it after all.”

“Eldest Young Master, you chose this demon yourself—even in tears, you’ll carry it to the destination.”

“You, Young Master Liu!”

By now, it had reached the coldest hour of the night; the temperature by the riverside was bitter enough to bite.

The group stopped at the edge of a stand of trees along the Wuzhang riverbank, where a long stone staircase stretched upward; at its top lay a broad open expanse where Chongxiao Tower stood. Even from a distance, the structure loomed against the night sky like some towering beast reaching for the heavens.

“Why isn’t there a single light on at Chongxiao Tower?” Steward Miao asked, puzzled. “They say this tower was originally built to suppress the water demon in the Wuzhang River and protect passing ships, so it was meant to keep its lights burning even through the night, as a display of majesty. In all my years living in the capital, the tower’s lights have always burned—I’ve never seen it this pitch black before tonight.”

“I don’t recall it ever being this dark either.” Si Jingyuan agreed. “Could the pious donors have run short on incense money, not enough left for lamp oil?”

“Tao Yao…” Mo Ya gazed up at Chongxiao Tower, his expression troubled, Gungun in his arms baring its teeth toward the tower and making unfriendly noises.

Young Master Liu’s mouth hung slightly open, muttering to himself, “So many…”

“Yeah.” Tao Yao tilted her head back. “Haven’t seen this many in a long while.”

Seeing the strange looks on their faces and hearing them mutter things that made no sense, Si Jingyuan tugged Tao Yao’s sleeve. “Have you all never seen such a tall tower before, to be this shocked?”

Tao Yao rubbed her eyes, her gaze traveling from the base of the tower to its peak. “It’s not that I’ve never seen a tower this tall. It’s that I’ve never seen this many demons.”

“What? Demons?” Si Jingyuan and Steward Miao exchanged glances. “Besides the one in my arms, where are there any demons?”

“Tao girl, there’s… nothing here at all.” Steward Miao looked around; the dead of night, and aside from the group of them, not a single living thing in sight.

“Of course you can’t see them.” Tao Yao’s gaze remained fixed on the top of Chongxiao Tower. “Now I’m certain you’re all ordinary humans.”

If they weren’t, they’d probably be wearing the same expression as the rest of them.

Atop the nine-story tower, from base to peak, all manner of spirits and demons crawled densely together—so many varieties that even Tao Yao had trouble distinguishing them all in the moment. Some had taken humanoid form—cat spirits, snake demons, insect fiends, and the like—while others were mountain spirits and wraiths whose shapes defied description entirely, all layered atop one another across Chongxiao Tower, writhing and crawling in every manner of strange posture. Some, too weak to hold on, fell off, only to scramble desperately back up again, all apparently racing to reach the top. Worse still, more spirits kept arriving by the moment, drawn toward the tower. Tao Yao watched as several more small demons came from across the river, throwing themselves headlong onto the tower, willingly joining the tide of demonic creatures already there.

With so many demons crowding it, no light, however bright, could have survived in such dense demonic energy.

Mo Ya’s skin crawled at the sight. “Tao Yao, what in the world is going on? It’s like every spirit and demon nearby is converging on this tower!”

“A spectacle you’d be lucky to witness once a century.” Young Master Liu was practically drooling as he watched. “Is that a rat spirit in there too?!”

Tao Yao shot Young Master Liu a look, then lifted Shuhu out of Si Jingyuan’s arms and set it on the ground, staring into its panicked face. “This have to do with your brother?”

“It must.” It was frantic with worry, yet didn’t dare take another step forward.

Tao Yao didn’t understand. “All these creatures swarming here—are they all here for your brother? What could your brother possibly have that’s so appealing they’d flock to him like this?”

It hesitated, then said, “Recently, a great many people in the capital have died—all of them residents living near Chongxiao Tower… What started as minor injuries or illnesses would inexplicably worsen for no reason, and then, death.”

Everyone’s hearts jolted, immediately recalling the unusually large number of funeral processions they’d encountered earlier that day.

Tao Yao’s face darkened. “What has your brother done?”

“It… it…” It stammered for a long while, finally gathering all its courage into a single sentence: “It carried out a Yin-Ghost Stone!”

Tao Yao immediately sucked in a sharp breath, blurting out, “That thing can even be touched?!”

It hung its head, deeply dejected. “My fault… my fault for being so useless, dragging it down year after year.”

“Yin-Ghost Stone?” Young Master Liu leaned in. “You mean the Yin-Ghost Stone from Wanjie Mountain?”

It nodded.

Young Master Liu’s expression immediately matched Tao Yao’s, and he gave it a thumbs up on top of that. “Your dear brother really has grown tired of living, hasn’t he.”

Si Jingyuan and Steward Miao had no idea what was being discussed, utterly unfamiliar with whatever mountain and whatever stone they were talking about.

“Far to the north stands a mountain called Wanjie—neither man nor beast can reach it, half mountain, half ice, with no water, no trees, no life upon it, only countless black stones of every size, called Yin-Ghost Stones.” Mo Ya explained cautiously. “The mountain is also surrounded by a barrier, invisible currents of air swirling around it, sharp as blades—any human or demon attempting to break in would be sliced to pieces in an instant. So for years, Wanjie Mountain has stood as a forbidden zone, keeping countless ill-intentioned creatures from taking a Yin-Ghost Stone into the human realm to cause chaos.”

“Impressive, little Master Mo Ya, even knows about Wanjie Mountain.” Tao Yao said admiringly.

“While you were guessing whether fallen leaves land face-up or face-down, I was busy reading, you know.” Mo Ya sighed. “That mountain really isn’t a good place.”

“Then how can its brother come and go freely?” Steward Miao asked, puzzled.

“Because Shuhu exist somewhere between visible and invisible—physically present, yet unseen by others. It’s this very nature that lets them move freely anywhere in the world, even Wanjie Mountain’s barrier has no effect on them.” Tao Yao explained. “One of the few advantages unique to Shuhu, I suppose.”

“That’s it?” Si Jingyuan asked, puzzled after hearing this. “Then why did all of you suddenly change expressions? You said someone wants to take that stone to cause chaos—does the stone bite people or something?”

“Probably worse than biting.” Young Master Liu said seriously. “The Yin-Ghost Stone, while it stays in Wanjie Mountain, is just a stone. But the moment it leaves Wanjie Mountain, it becomes poison.”

“I consider myself fairly well-traveled and knowledgeable, but I’ve genuinely never heard of this Wanjie Mountain or its Yin-Ghost Stone.” Steward Miao frowned. “You say poison—does the stone itself carry toxin?”

“An orange tree south of the Huai River bears oranges; north of it, only bitter trifoliate oranges.” Tao Yao said. “The Yin-Ghost Stone works roughly the same way. Left in lifeless Wanjie Mountain, it’s harmless. But brought somewhere with people, birds, or beasts—whether river, lake, sea, wilderness, or city—every living thing within hundreds of li of wherever it sits will be harmed by it.” She looked up at Chongxiao Tower. “If there’s a Yin-Ghost Stone inside Chongxiao Tower, it’s essentially a source of plague—true to the stone’s nature, those closest to the tower would be affected first, then it would gradually spread outward. The stone itself isn’t actually poisonous, but the strange force it emits will, in an extremely short time, worsen the danger of minor injuries and illnesses. Anyone affected by it, even from cutting themselves the slightest bit, would rapidly deteriorate and die without fail. Left unchecked, within half a year, the capital’s population would be cut at least in half.”

She truly hadn’t expected things to have grown this severe.

“There are still parts I don’t quite understand, but from what you’re saying, this demon’s brother brought back a stone that endangers others’ lives, and it’s currently lodged atop Chongxiao Tower?” Steward Miao, realizing the gravity of the situation, glanced at the towering, pitch-black tower, then at Shuhu’s anxious face. “But this demon keeps insisting you save its brother—does the Yin-Ghost Stone endanger its brother too?”

Everyone’s gaze, save Shuhu’s own, turned toward Tao Yao.

“Saving him doesn’t necessarily mean saving his life.” Tao Yao gazed at Chongxiao Tower, nearly swallowed whole by the swarming demons. “If you’re bold enough to venture into Wanjie Mountain and bring one out, you should already know that once this thing attaches itself to a body—human or demon—there’s no separating them again. This wretched thing first sticks to the skin, then in no time embeds itself into the flesh, and unless the living creature dies, it can never be removed. So your brother is doomed to become a demon that carries a Yin-Ghost Stone around, harming others wherever he goes, forever.” She looked at Shuhu, smiling. “Whether a Shuhu is strong or not depends on the weight it’s carried, and nothing in this world weighs more than a human life. With the Yin-Ghost Stone’s help, your brother’s already racked up so many lives—from now on, he’ll only grow more and more formidable. Staying by his side, likely not a single Shuhu could ever take your life again, and you’d never have to worry about that ranking ever again. Looking at it this way, you really shouldn’t have come to me at all.”

“I had to find you.” Shuhu suddenly raised its head. “You’re Milady Tao Yao. Treating demons’ ailments is your duty. Isn’t treating human life as worthless a kind of illness too, regardless of what he’s using those lives for?” It looked toward the top of the tower, then continued, “That day, my brother brought me to the tower’s peak, told me this was the best dwelling place he’d found—the capital has so many people, and this is the highest point in the capital—we’d only rested here a day, and his wounds already began healing. I was puzzled at first, asked how that could be, wondered if it was the capital’s good feng shui. He probably thought I was a fool. Not until I saw the egg-sized black stone on his back did he explain: after fighting those seven, he’d hidden temporarily on a remote northern island to recover, and there he’d thought a great deal, realizing that using the old method to grow stronger was too slow—the enemy might well regroup and return, and even if not them, other kin would eventually come to ‘eliminate’ him again. So he’d gone to Wanjie Mountain and carried back a Yin-Ghost Stone. With this stone, not only would his wounds heal quickly, but even if the entire clan came to eliminate him, he’d be able to protect me completely.” Shuhu lowered its head. “But that’s a Yin-Ghost Stone—a thing that kills without form. He’d already taken so much ‘weight’ from others, and still it wasn’t enough… in just a few days, several people near Chongxiao Tower had already fallen victim to the Yin-Ghost Stone, dying from the most trivial of injuries or illnesses. And my brother’s condition really did improve day by day—even his old wounds vanished without a trace. But I hear the weeping outside the tower every single day, even in my sleep. Wherever I look, funeral processions keep coming, one after another. I’m scared… so scared…”

Its body trembled slightly, its eyes reddening, on the verge of tears. “And… and it was I who stumbled upon the location of Wanjie Mountain, all those years ago. I never should have told him.”

“Even without the Yin-Ghost Stone, he’d have found some other substitute.” Tao Yao said coldly. “Your brother’s been at Chongxiao Tower for ten days now?”

It nodded. “These ten days, it’s not just cost lives—three days ago, I noticed other spirits and demons starting to gather outside Chongxiao Tower too, like wolves that had caught the scent of meat, all racing toward the top of the tower. I don’t understand why. I begged my brother to come back to Wanjie Mountain with me immediately, but he ignored me completely, and right in front of me, he tore apart the demons that came at him. That’s when I realized his body really had grown stronger than before, his strength greater too, even his teeth had grown sharper. I’ve grown more and more uneasy—if this continues, the more innocent people die, the more he’ll turn into a true monster.” It took a deep breath, holding back tears. “That night, we had the biggest fight of our lives. We actually fought each other.”

Tao Yao almost laughed. “You? Fighting your brother?”

“Of course I couldn’t win. He held back.” Shuhu’s dejection quickly gave way to overwhelming unease. “Only the first eight floors of Chongxiao Tower are open for visitors and worship, the top floor is sealed, housing a golden Buddha statue inside—no one may enter except those who come to clean and maintain it. But that night, a stranger came in, dressed in black, I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or woman, and attacked us without a word—gleaming short arrows shot from their hand, chasing us like living things. In the chaos, my brother kicked me out of Chongxiao Tower and stayed to fight the intruder alone. I knew I couldn’t help, but I was too worried about his safety to go far. Before long, all sound from the tower’s peak stopped. Unable to bear it, I quietly flew back, and before I even reached the top, I saw my brother lying motionless on the ground, our attacker nowhere in sight. I was about to sneak in when another cold arrow came from the shadows—I couldn’t dodge in time, took it in the belly, and fell.” It looked at Tao Yao pleadingly. “After that, it’s as you saw—I fled to the nearby warehouse, collapsed from exhaustion, passed out. When I woke, I wanted to go back to Chongxiao Tower, but thinking it over calmly, someone like me going there would accomplish nothing. With nowhere else to turn, I could only come to you for help.”

“I see…” Tao Yao scratched her chin, eyes rolling thoughtfully. “Every demon that’s ever come to me for treatment has always been able to clearly describe its own ailment. You alone rambled on forever before finally telling me that the real reason you sought me out wasn’t to treat yourself, but to ask me to save your brother.” She crouched down, looking directly into its evasive eyes. “That decision must not have been easy to make.”

It froze, its head drooping nearly to the ground.

The only way to save a demon already fused with a Yin-Ghost Stone was to stop it from continuing to turn into a monster.

But that would require paying with a life.

Life sometimes brings you to strange moments—like when killing and saving become, precisely, synonyms.

“This is quite troublesome.” Young Master Liu walked over to her side. “Even if you do away with its brother and free the Yin-Ghost Stone from his body, the stone’s power will only vanish temporarily before restoring itself. Leave it up there on Chongxiao Tower unattended, and it’ll keep bringing ruin. This stone is naturally stubborn—can’t be smashed, can’t be burned. If some other person or demon ever touches it again, it’ll attach to their body and roam free once more, who knows how many more would die. The only way to stop it from working its malice is to return it to Wanjie Mountain—but who would carry the stone back? And have you considered—unless whoever returns it has a heart that will never leave Wanjie Mountain again, this matter can never be properly resolved.”

Tao Yao blinked. “I know.”

“Then you…”

“I… I can do it!” Shuhu flapped its wings, wobbling up off the ground to hover before Young Master Liu. “You see, Milady Tao Yao’s medicine is powerful—just a few hours, and I can already fly.”

Si Jingyuan suddenly spoke up. “That Wanjie Mountain—nothing grows there, right… and it’s far, isn’t it? You want to go?”

“Yes!” It turned to look at Si Jingyuan. “I can carry that stone. No matter how far, I can fly there.”

“What our Eldest Young Master means is…” Steward Miao looked at it. “If you go, you can never come back.”

“I understand that.” It nodded. “But I want to go. After all, I’ve never had the chance to carry something this ‘heavy’ before.” It smiled. “This way, I suppose I won’t be so far behind my kin after all.”

Tao Yao thought for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the tower’s peak. “Fine. I’ll treat your brother’s ailment.”

With that, she turned back to Young Master Liu. “You’re coming in with me.”

Young Master Liu frowned. “There’s too many of them. Just getting to the top will be a hassle. We’ll need to clear out the ones crowding the tower first.”

“What are you two talking about?” Si Jingyuan asked, confused. “Isn’t going to the top just a matter of walking through the door and up the stairs? What do you mean, too many?”

Tao Yao said nothing, forcing herself to yawn repeatedly until, before long, her eyes brimmed with tears. She dabbed a fingertip in one tear and pressed it against Si Jingyuan’s left eyelid, then dabbed another onto Steward Miao’s eye, saying, “Look again.”

Very quickly, both Si Jingyuan’s and Steward Miao’s expressions changed.

A moment later, Si Jingyuan rubbed his eyes hard, pointing at Chongxiao Tower. “Those are all demons?”

“Not just that—there’s mountain spirits, wraiths, restless ghosts, all sorts of chaotic things mixed in.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “The Yin-Ghost Stone’s probably drawn every strange creature in the vicinity here. The scent it emits is odorless poison to humans and ordinary birds and beasts, but to lower-level spirits and demons, it’s an irresistible lure—like a starving person catching the scent of meat, desperate to find it and devour it. The more lives it claims, the more fragrant the stone becomes.”

Her gaze dropped back to the ground, where a square wall four or five meters high encircled Chongxiao Tower, unadorned except for rows of scripture carved neatly across its surface. A black lacquered gate stood in the wall directly opposite them, unlocked.

She walked toward the gate, thinking this venture was probably going to cost her dearly. Shuhu wasn’t exactly an especially remarkable demon—as medicine, it would at best offer some minor health benefits. But curing its brother would require who knew how much effort and how much medicine; just clearing out that swarm outside the tower alone was giving her a headache, and she wasn’t even sure she had enough medicine on hand. If she couldn’t disperse them all at once, they’d surely retaliate, making things even worse. Capturing and subduing them would take too much time and effort, but slaughtering them wholesale seemed excessive too—they hadn’t committed crimes deserving death, just come to sniff around and indulge themselves.

Lost in thought, she’d already reached the gate. If worst came to worst, she’d just have to let Young Master Liu carve a path through by force—no telling what state the tower’s peak was in right now… Ugh, all because of that bastard Ye Fengjun, if he hadn’t put Shuhu up to burning so much paper, she’d never have gotten dragged into this mess at all!

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Just as she reached out to push the gate open, it swung open on its own.

Some people really did deserve to be described as beautiful as peach and plum blossoms.

The woman who opened the door stood half a head taller than Tao Yao, in her early twenties, with a slender waist, willow-leaf brows, almond eyes bright as starlit rivers—even without smiling, her rosy lips curved upward slightly, holding that captivating shape naturally. When a face was beautiful enough, any clothing or hairstyle suited it, even a plain, unadorned, almost gender-neutral narrow-sleeved black robe, her long hair simply tied back with a thin red silk ribbon.

The woman wore no excess color anywhere on her, yet standing before her in her red outfit, Tao Yao felt herself become the plainer, less vivid painting by comparison, utterly outshone.

Tao Yao blinked, then smiled. “Here I thought whoever was tending this tower would be a monk or a nun.”

The woman looked her over and smiled too. “Little girl, if you want to tour the tower, come back after dawn.” With that, she tilted her head slightly, looking past Tao Yao toward Si Jingyuan, giving him a playful wink. “Haven’t seen you in quite some time, Young Master Si. What brings you out wandering so late at night with company? Oh, and is that Steward Miao? How curious—you’ve taken to tagging along on their nonsense too?”

They knew each other?!

Standing between them, Tao Yao had no idea who this woman was, but judging from the sudden, subtle shift in Si Jingyuan’s and Steward Miao’s expressions, she clearly wasn’t someone easy to deal with.

Si Jingyuan stepped forward, cupping his hands with a cheeky grin. “It really has been a while!” He glanced at the gate behind her, smiling. “Though I’m not sure tonight whether I should address you as Milady Lingxing, or Miss Qiu?”

“I’m on official duty.” She returned the bow, then gestured for them to leave. “Young Master, please head back. Bring your friends to tour the tower another day.”

“Then I suppose it’s Milady Lingxing tonight.” Si Jingyuan said with a smile, gesturing toward Chongxiao Tower, lowering his voice. “So, is tonight’s official business demon-catching?”

The woman smiled. “Young Master, please head back.”

“And if I insist on touring the tower to admire the night view right now?” Tao Yao squeezed past Si Jingyuan, sizing the woman up with a beaming smile. “Sister, why not make things easy for us? It’s the middle of the night, and you’re here alone guarding a whole tower full of demons—seeing that worries us. Why don’t we stay and keep you company, in case something happens?”

The woman only turned her face toward Si Jingyuan, asking, “Your friend?”

“No, my household’s servant.” Si Jingyuan said with a laugh. “A wild little thing, hard to keep in line.”

The woman’s gaze fell on Shuhu, her expression instantly turning cold. “You little demon, you actually dare show your face again?! Considering you weak and useless, I spared your life, didn’t bother finishing you off—and this is how you repay that mercy, showing up here?”

Shuhu, terrified, ducked behind Young Master Liu in a flash.

“Though, not many demons could take one of my arrows and still be alive and kicking.” The woman turned to Si Jingyuan. “Since when did the Si household start taking up the cause of these filthy demonic creatures?”

“Isn’t a hidden arrow wounding a demon even filthier?” Tao Yao stuck her tongue out at her. “Sister, why don’t you just pretend you didn’t see me? I’ll be in and out in no time—wouldn’t you rather chat and catch up with our young master out here than stand around watching over a pile of demons?”

The woman only smiled, saying nothing, stepping slightly aside as if clearing the way for her.

“Thanks.” Tao Yao immediately headed for the gate.

Behind her, the woman unhurriedly lifted a delicate, exquisite wine flask hanging at her waist, pulled the stopper, and poured a few drops into her palm—whether water or wine, no one could tell, though it gave off a sweet fragrance. She closed her fist lightly, and when she opened it again, the droplets had vanished, replaced by three gleaming short arrows. Before anyone else could react, the arrows shot out together, each aimed at one of Tao Yao’s vital points.

“Watch out!” Si Jingyuan, closest to Tao Yao, lunged forward and shoved her aside.

At nearly the same instant, three sharp cracks rang out, and the arrows shattered mid-air, falling to the ground and dissolving into water.

What had shattered them was a pebble and a few leaves.

Everyone turned to find Si Kuanglan had appeared from seemingly nowhere, brushing a leaf off his shoulder, stepping forward to address Steward Miao. “Not bad. The old blade hasn’t dulled—that pebble hit without an inch off the mark.”

“Second Young Master?!” Steward Miao exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep, came out for a stroll.” Si Kuanglan walked straight up to the woman.

The moment she recognized Si Kuanglan, the woman’s expression changed entirely—it was hard to say exactly what emotion surfaced, joy and anticipation, reverence and admiration, all tangled together in a rush.

She actually moved to kneel, but Si Kuanglan caught her before her knee touched the ground.

“I’ve been out of that post for some time now. No need for this.” Si Kuanglan said, barely looking at her, his gaze fixed on Chongxiao Tower instead. “There’s a matter inside this tower our Si household needs to settle. Consider it a favor to me—let them in.”

The woman studied his profile, clearly troubled. “Orders from above—in three days, an exorcism array is to be performed at Chongxiao Tower. The tower’s already been sealed with a maze talisman—demons can enter, but not leave. I’ve been ordered to guard this place; no unauthorized persons are permitted inside.”

Si Kuanglan said coldly, “Why wait three more days before performing the exorcism?”

“The higher-ups’ thinking is, since demons are already being drawn here, might as well wait a few more days—better to eliminate a whole group than just one. One less demon means one more measure of peace for the capital.” The woman answered.

“You’re using Chongxiao Tower as bait to kill demons?” Tao Yao, having heard every word clearly, pointed at the tower. “With such capability, you must have known long ago what’s been causing all these wrongful deaths in the capital these past days! Instead of using that effort to plot against demons, you won’t lift a finger to stop the thing at the top of the tower from continuing to spread and harm people—instead you’re using it to lure in even more demons?”

“One less demon might save who knows how many lives. In the long run, our decision isn’t wrong.” The woman remained unmoved. “Necessary sacrifices are sometimes unavoidable.”

Shuhu scurried to Tao Yao’s feet, anxious. “We can’t get in now?”

Si Kuanglan, without so much as glancing at anyone, said to Tao Yao, “Take it inside. With me here, you’re all free to come and go as you please.”

Having just claimed this was none of his business, wearing that same indifferent, couldn’t-care-less expression as always—so why make an exception for this particular demon… Tao Yao glanced at Si Kuanglan, full of questions but with no time to press for answers, and hurried through the gate with Shuhu at once. Behind her, Young Master Liu and Mo Ya hastened in after, too.

“Stop right there!” The woman tried to intervene, but Si Jingyuan blocked her path, grinning. “Milady Lingxing, never mind them—it’s been so long, don’t you have anything to catch up on with our dear Kuanglan?”

“Indeed, on such a long night, with old friends reunited, there’s nothing more fitting than reminiscing.” Steward Miao neatly blocked her other route of escape.

“You two!” She clenched her fists, but knew all too well that surrounded by these three from the Si household, she had almost no chance of breaking free.

A cold wind swept past, scattering dead leaves. Si Kuanglan studied her face, sighing. “Sweet as honey, deadly as arsenic… your skill at forging arrows from sugar water remains as unmatched as ever. No need to even get close—one glance told me who was guarding this place.”

“Is that meant as praise, or reproach.” She said with a smile, lifting the flask and taking two sips. “I made this myself, from ten kinds of flower petals—good for clearing the lungs and cooling internal heat. Care to try?”

“I’ve never cared for sweets.” Si Kuanglan’s refusals were never subtle.

She shrugged, disappointed, took another two sips, and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Delicious!” She said with utter sincerity.

“Saying it’s delicious while using it to kill people.” His mouth curved slightly.

“You know our rules, Lord— no, Second Young Master, you know them well.” She said helplessly. “Anyone who obstructs my duties may be dealt with first, reported after.”

He shook his head, a cold smile forming. “The Bi’an Bureau’s ways truly haven’t changed one bit.”

Tao Yao clutched her now nearly half-empty medicine pouch, heartbroken.

She did the math herself—a hundred-zhang tower, crawling with demons from top to bottom—how much medicine would it take to render them all unconscious quickly enough, one after another, dropping to the ground?

Now, looking down from the tower’s peak offered a different kind of “spectacle.” Below, the demons and spirits had piled up like a small mountain, each collapsed in the most absurd positions imaginable. A rabbit spirit’s foot rested on a fox demon’s face; a repulsively slimy centipede demon was clutched in the arms of an even more repulsive, snot-like creature; several bird spirits sprawled haphazardly across a cat demon, hopefully waking up in time to escape its jaws once it came to…

The tower’s peak indeed housed a golden Buddha statue of considerable worth, the only calm presence in the entire space, gazing down with a serene, compassionate expression upon this thoroughly un-serene crowd.

The Shuhu brothers had finally reunited after three days apart, though the younger brother’s luck hadn’t matched the elder’s—the arrow wounds were concentrated right at his heart, and only his naturally robust body, combined with the Yin-Ghost Stone’s presence, had barely kept him alive.

Tao Yao stood beside this creature, so much larger than its brother, her gaze fixed on the egg-sized black stone already sunken into the flesh of its back.

By now it could barely move at all, breathing more air out than in.

The woman had said something about a maze talisman already laid; whatever material or mechanism these talismans used, Tao Yao didn’t know, but Chongxiao Tower did carry something like a barrier-like force. Even if these creatures suddenly came to their senses and realized the Yin-Ghost Stone’s scent was nothing but poisoned bait, they still wouldn’t be able to leave the tower. It wasn’t a particularly powerful barrier—meaningless to someone like Young Master Liu, a great demon in his own right—but more than sufficient to contain the likes of these.

If this creature hadn’t been so badly wounded, given its abilities, this place probably wouldn’t have been able to hold it at all.

Wouldn’t this actually be simpler—resolve everything with minimal effort, just one pill enough to end this Shuhu’s life instantly, then let its useless brother carry the Yin-Ghost Stone away, never to return.

That’s how it should have gone, really.

And yet, from the moment she’d laid eyes on this large creature until now, Tao Yao’s golden bell had remained completely silent.

“Not only is your body useless, your mind’s foolish too,” it said slowly, mocking its brother, who stood beside it with reddened eyes. “Can’t fight, can’t kill—why did you come back? Stand around and cheer me on?”

Shuhu hung its head, unable to meet its brother’s gaze, as if in the wrong. “I… I brought people to save you!”

It frowned. “No one needs to save me. This barrier can’t hold me—I just need a few more days to rest.”

“Rest?” Tao Yao smiled. “Someone wounded you this badly without breaking a sweat, and you think you’ll get the chance to rest? They’re already planning a thorough ‘cleanup’ of Chongxiao Tower in three days—by then, you and all the spirits you’ve drawn here won’t even leave scraps behind. Whoever defeated you, even I can’t fully gauge their depth. Better set aside that optimism of yours.”

“Who do you think you are, coming here to lecture me?” It glanced at Tao Yao dismissively.

She sniffed. “Tao Yao of Taodu.”

Hearing this, it froze, then blurted out, “The Ghost Physician, Tao Yao?”

“That’s right.” Tao Yao pointed at Shuhu. “Your brother found me, begged me to cure your murderous illness.”

It fell silent a moment, then let out a dry laugh. “You probably think my brother’s a fool too, don’t you—it only knows you specialize in treating demons, not realizing the demons you’ve killed probably outnumber the ones you’ve saved.”

“No, no, no, it knows everything.” Tao Yao said seriously. “It knows that curing your illness means taking your life.”

It froze slightly.

“I agreed to it.” Tao Yao crouched down before it, reaching out to pat its head.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry!” Shuhu knelt before it. “I didn’t want this, but it’s the only way to keep you from truly becoming a monster.”

“Benefactor Shuhu, you…” Mo Ya wanted to offer comfort but genuinely didn’t know where to begin, because from the moment it had decided to seek out Tao Yao for help, this outcome had always been the only possible one. What words could soften that?

“Take my useless brother away,” it said suddenly to Tao Yao. “I just want to talk to you.”

“All right.” Tao Yao turned, telling Mo Ya and Young Master Liu, “Take him downstairs to wait.”

“Can I stay?” Shuhu suddenly cried out. “If I leave now, I’ll never see it again!”

But it remained unmoved, not even sparing its brother a glance, simply closing its eyes.

Tao Yao exchanged a look with Young Master Liu, who nodded, tucking Shuhu firmly under his arm and heading straight downstairs regardless of its kicking and wailing. Mo Ya, worried something might happen, hurried after them, but before descending, he ran back anxiously, whispering, “Is there really no other way? Nothing else to be done?”

“There is.” Tao Yao nodded.

Mo Ya brightened. “Really?”

“Chant a few more scriptures for it—maybe it’ll earn enough merit to get close to the Buddha, might even get a chance at reincarnation as a human next time.” Tao Yao said dryly. “Go on, go on, didn’t you hear it wants to give me its final words in private?”

“You…” Mo Ya sighed, walking away helplessly.

The surroundings finally fell quiet, broken only occasionally by its labored breathing.

“I’ve lived five hundred years, carried tens of millions of catties of weight,” it said slowly. “The weight of one human life is worth ten living people. I’ve thrown forty-two people down from the sky myself. Twenty more have died from the Yin-Ghost Stone, as of today.”

“Mm. Sixty-two in total. Noted.” Tao Yao nodded, her expression betraying not a flicker.

“‘Where the golden bell passes, not a scrap remains’,” it looked at her. “That’s the legend about you, isn’t it?”

Tao Yao smiled, saying nothing.

“Why hasn’t the bell rung yet?” Its gaze shifted to her wrist.

“Rarely meet a demon so eager to die. Bold of you.” Tao Yao touched her silent golden bell. “Your brother tells me you’ve always been the stronger one since childhood, afraid of nothing.”

“Afraid of thunder,” it admitted honestly. “That fellow’s probably even forgotten himself, but when we were young, Yanzi Mountain had constant thunderstorms every summer. Every time thunder rumbled, that fellow would hum songs beside me. Terribly off-key. But listening to it, I’d somehow manage to fall asleep.”

Tao Yao smiled.

“Milady Tao Yao,” it looked into her eyes, “do you also think everything I’ve done was just to give myself the strength to protect my brother?”

“Isn’t it?” Tao Yao tilted her head. “Then let me think on that…” A moment later, she said, “You’re not just afraid of thunder, are you?”

It let out a dry chuckle. “I’m terrified of dying before him.”

The silence stretched on for a long while.

“Since you’re Milady Tao Yao, you surely understand just how ordinary we Shuhu are among demons. No world-enchanting beauty, no power to command wind and rain—all our lives, we only know to carry the exhausted or wounded to wherever they wish to go, when we happen to see them. Occasionally a particularly capable one emerges, carrying an entire mountain into a flood to keep the disaster from claiming more lives. In the end, all we have is brute strength, and we’re used to the simplest kind of life,” it said, its tone remarkably calm. “Once our mothers give birth to us, they leave Yanzi Mountain, and every Shuhu must hatch and grow entirely on its own strength. We never know who our parents are, or where they might be—we only know the oldest Shuhu on the mountain, who teaches us all the rules. The most important one, always, is to remember that stone tablet, telling us that every five hundred years, our clan holds a ‘cleansing’—the weakest among us must surrender their life, because Shuhu are a demon proud of their strength, and a Shuhu unable to bear weight doesn’t deserve to live.” It sighed. “So my fear began a very, very long time ago, because I knew my brother couldn’t escape five hundred years. Though he tried so hard, those souls simply weren’t enough.”

Tao Yao smiled. “Afraid he’d die before you, and then no one would sing you to sleep during thunderstorms?”

“I’m no longer afraid of thunder.” It turned its head slightly, gazing out at the pitch-black night sky. “We’re born unable to be seen by humans or other demons, except when wounded, or in our final moments before death.” It paused, then continued, “Shuhu are solitary demons—once we come of age and leave Yanzi Mountain, we all go our separate ways. Most of our time is spent in the depths of profound loneliness. If we manage to survive the full five hundred years, we can return to Yanzi Mountain to mate with a female Shuhu and produce offspring. But that’s merely propagation, nothing more. The longer I’ve spent in the human realm, the more I understand why our parents could leave without a second thought—because in the world of Shuhu, we aren’t children, merely a byproduct.” It laughed bitterly. “The people we’ve helped don’t even know who to thank. Even if we encounter a human or demon we care for, we don’t dare get close, don’t dare let our hearts stir. Family, friends, lovers—for us, these remain forever just words.”

Tao Yao stopped joking with it, listening quietly. It probably hadn’t said this much in a very long time.

“Twins like us are rare among the Shuhu.” It gazed intently at something in the night sky, even managing a smile. “Though it was small, weak, always bullied, I had a brother. The one born into this world alongside me, who played with me by day and slept beside me by night.” Its eyes grew a little damp. “As long as he lives, loneliness can’t defeat me.” It turned back to look at her. “The truly weak one was me, all along. These years, it wasn’t me protecting him—it was him sustaining me. Everything I’ve done, in the end, was simply my own selfish way of preserving my own feelings.”

“Sixty-two human lives…” Tao Yao shook her head.

“Those I dropped from the sky to their deaths—by human standards, none of them could be called good people,” it said slowly. “I’m not defending myself. I just don’t understand—Shuhu have to fight to survive from the moment we’re born, and even without doing anything wrong, we’re culled simply for not being exceptional enough. Yet these people neither strove hard nor lived kindly—some squandered their days, coasting through life, others achieved their goals through scheming and treachery, some even sacrificed others for their own gain and thought it only natural. And still, they face no judgment once every five hundred years—they can simply go on living, so easily.”

“The human world has its own version of that ‘stone tablet’ too—what everyone does, whether it’s good or bad, right or wrong, gets recorded somewhere, and it doesn’t take five hundred years either. Sometimes five years, sometimes five months, even five days, and the verdict comes.” Tao Yao’s tone turned unusually serious. “Humans usually call this process ‘karma.'” She paused, sighing. “It applies to you too.”

“I knew this outcome would come sooner or later, just didn’t expect it to be here at Chongxiao Tower, and didn’t expect the one to send me off would be you.” It smiled, then suddenly took a deep breath, opened its mouth, and a thumb-sized round pearl rolled out, glowing with a lustrous red light.

Having spat out the pearl, its already poor complexion grew even worse.

“If I die, my inner core goes with me,” it said with effort. “Better to cough it up now—you deliver it to him for me. Maybe swallowing this will give him a bit more strength.”

Tao Yao frowned. “Without your core, you’ll be utterly destroyed, body and soul. With the core intact, even in death, at least your spirit might not scatter—there might still be a chance at reincarnation. Are you certain about this?” She glanced at the pearl on the ground. “You could still swallow it back now, if you wanted.”

“Let it be this way,” it said, collapsing weakly, face pale as paper, closing its eyes. “You should be applauding an end like this for a demon like me.”

“Yes, I don’t feel sorry for you,” Tao Yao said bluntly. “But you don’t disgust me either. I just think you’re not much smarter than that ‘useless’ brother you keep talking about. Truly, unmistakably brothers.”

It managed a weak laugh.

Soon, its skin began cracking, inch by inch.

“Anything else you want me to tell your brother?” Tao Yao asked calmly. “Or I could call him up here.”

“No need.” Its voice grew fainter and fainter. “You cured my ailment, but I couldn’t become your medicine after all. You’ve lost out on this deal.”

Tao Yao smiled, watching its body gradually dissolve into silvery-white ash, scattering with fine motes of light, drifting out the window into the cold, dark night sky, dispersing into a silent, formless wind.

Dead Shuhu, they say, always become a gust of wind, brushing past the humans who’d spent their whole lives rushing about below—and if that wind ever touches someone’s face, they say it feels like being kissed.

What it couldn’t manage while alive, it could at least offer in farewell.

On the ground lay the red inner core, and the black stone.

Even now, Tao Yao’s bell remained silent.

She didn’t swallow the core. Instead, she wrapped it carefully and tucked it into the brocade pouch at her neck.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the Yin-Ghost Stone in her mouth and flung it onto her back.

Through it all, it showed no strong emotion of any kind.

“Thank you,” it said, walking up to Tao Yao and bowing its head to her.

“Ready to head out?” Tao Yao asked.

“Mm.” It nodded. “While the Yin-Ghost Stone’s power is temporarily suppressed, I’ll get it back to Wanjie Mountain as quickly as I can.”

“Why not swallow the core?” Tao Yao looked at the pouch at its neck. “It’d make flying easier for you.”

It shook its head, smiling. “That’s my brother. How could I swallow him?! Don’t worry, the medicine you gave me might be even more effective than the core—I feel full of strength right now.”

Tao Yao nodded. “All right then. Safe travels.”

“You’d better make it, don’t go falling out of the sky mid-flight!” Young Master Liu frowned.

“Amitabha, Benefactor Shuhu, please be careful on your journey!” Mo Ya, feeling an odd sort of sadness, waved to it while holding Gungun.

There was much they could say, but not “goodbye”—because everyone knew they might never meet again.

The talisman sealing Chongxiao Tower had been found and destroyed by Young Master Liu—four small wooden figures, carved all over with incantations, sitting behind the Buddha statue.

It stood before the railing at the tower’s peak, ready to depart, when Tao Yao called out to stop it.

She extended her left hand. “Though it’s not you I treated, I healed your wounds along the way too, and you’re the one who burned paper to summon me, so you still have to follow my rules. Stamp it!”

“Oh, right.” It raised a forepaw and pressed it into her palm.

Tao Yao withdrew her hand. “Then it’s settled—since you’ve become my medicine, don’t you dare die before I get to use you. I know you Shuhu don’t need to eat, and won’t starve even in a place as harsh as Wanjie Mountain. Maybe someday when I have time, I’ll come check whether you’re still alive in that wretched place.”

It smiled. “Understood, Milady Tao Yao.”

With that, it took a deep breath, and without so much as glancing back at any of them, resolutely spread its wings and launched into the wind, flying north.

This was probably the heaviest thing it had ever carried in its life.

Whether distant Wanjie Mountain would treat this demon about to settle there kindly, no one could say.

What more was there to say, really—nothing left to add, except that if she were the one making a ranking, this creature would never come last.

It was already a formidable demon. It just never knew it.

The group stood there for a long while, watching the direction it had flown off in, still watching even after there was nothing left to see.

“What did you mean just now, are you thinking of finding a way to go to Wanjie Mountain and bring it back? You’re just a physician, that might be beyond you.”

“Whether I can or not, I don’t know, but at least it needs to stay alive for there to be any chance of leaving at all.”

“Tao Yao, you didn’t even blink at using up so much of your medicine—didn’t realize you were this generous toward these two demons. Amitabha! I’ve reconsidered my opinion of you!”

“Not blink? My heart’s aching so much I want to jump off this tower! All that medicine, do you know how much effort it took to make?! Ugh, my heart’s breaking, breaking…”

Tao Yao’s wailing echoed through the night sky.

Before long, the demons and spirits sprawled unconscious at the base of the tower began waking one by one; with the Yin-Ghost Stone’s scent gone, each looked around as if waking from a dream, scattering in every direction. The pre-dawn sky filled instantly with a riot of colors and light—had any ordinary human witnessed this scene without knowing it was simply fleeing demons, they’d surely have counted themselves lucky to have seen a spectacle more beautiful than the most brilliant starry sky.

Outside the tower gate, watching Tao Yao’s group saunter out, the woman let out a heavy sigh, saying to Si Kuanglan, “Destroying talismans, releasing demons privately… you’ve put us in quite a difficult position.”

Si Kuanglan smiled. “The Si household is still by Qingmeng River. If there’s an account to settle, come find us.” With that, he turned and left.

“Farewell.” Steward Miao gave a slight nod, immediately following after Si Kuanglan.

Meanwhile, Si Jingyuan was too busy pestering Tao Yao with questions to notice, only remembering to turn back and wave at the woman after several steps. “We’re off then—drop by sometime!”

The woman watched their retreating figures, a smile of ambiguous intent tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed a few times; Chongxiao Tower, returned to stillness, grew clearer in outline as the sky gradually brightened.

“Shuhu’s really gone? Off to that Wanjie Mountain place?”

“What else would it do? Are you going to escort the stone there yourself, Eldest Young Master?”

“So that’s it, then? All over?”

“The murderer’s paid with his life, the cursed stone’s returned to where it belongs. Everyone’s satisfied.”

“But… it can never come back once it’s there, can it?”

“You could go keep it company.”

“How can you be so heartless, girl!”

“Oh. Then I guess there’s none to be had.”

In the morning streets, the group made their leisurely way back toward the Si household.

Tao Yao tugged at Si Jingyuan. “You still haven’t told me who that woman was!”

“Well now…” Si Jingyuan glanced at Si Kuanglan’s retreating figure ahead, wanting to say something but clearly hesitant, then changed course. “You haven’t told me your background either!”

“I told you, I’m a physician!”

“A physician from where? Where’s your hometown? Are your parents still alive? How old are you? Why does that demon call you Milady Tao Yao? Which of these have you ever actually answered?”

“You gossip more than a woman!”

The two of them started bickering right there in the street.

“The court has the Bi’an Bureau, answering directly to the Emperor, subject to no one else’s authority, specializing in strange and difficult cases.” Si Kuanglan spoke up unprompted. “That woman is a member of the Bi’an Bureau—her real name is Qiu Wanlai, official title Lingxing.”

Tao Yao wondered if she was hallucinating from skipping breakfast—Si Kuanglan actually volunteering information?!

“The Bi’an Bureau?” Tao Yao immediately hurried to Si Kuanglan’s side. “Why such a strange name?”

“Legend has it Bi’an is the seventh son of the Dragon, in charge of matters of punishment and litigation, resembling a tiger, possessed of great majesty, standing guard outside prison gates, upholding justice and rooting out corruption without excess or omission.” Steward Miao said. “The name itself isn’t strange—whether their conduct lives up to that divine bearing is another matter entirely.”

Sensing there was more to this story than he was letting on, Tao Yao felt certain the Bi’an Bureau must have quite the tale behind it, and asked further, “Then that official title, Lingxing, must be strange too—the Bi’an Bureau’s presumably part of the imperial court, but isn’t the Emperor’s side usually filled with chancellors and ministers and the like? Where does a title like Lingxing fit in?”

“Though the Bi’an Bureau answers directly to the Emperor, it operates independently of the regular court.” Steward Miao explained patiently. “The Bureau has always had exactly nine members—three primary positions, Tanlang, Qisha, and Pojun, with six supporting roles beneath them: Huoxing, Lingxing, Qingyang, Tuoluo, Dikong, and Dijie. Whenever the regular authorities can’t handle a strange or difficult case, or the Emperor has some special task, it typically falls to the Bi’an Bureau.”

“Lingxing, Qingyang…” Tao Yao muttered. “Wait, aren’t those all names of inauspicious stars?”

Steward Miao smiled. “Which tells you none of those nine are easy to deal with.”

Tao Yao stared at him. “You all seem awfully familiar with the Bi’an Bureau.”

Si Kuanglan, without turning back, said, “Because I once served in the Bi’an Bureau myself, under the title Tanlang.”

“What?!” Tao Yao froze, then looked to Si Jingyuan, who nodded. “Not lying to you.”

“So the whole business at Chongxiao Tower had the Bi’an Bureau’s hand in it too?” Young Master Liu chimed in. “No wonder that woman called it ‘official business’…”

“Yes.” Steward Miao said. “Besides them, no one else in the court has the ability to seal a tower and exorcise demons. They actually discovered the trouble in the capital before we did.”

“But they didn’t handle it in time—instead they used Chongxiao Tower to lure in demons, and regardless of whether those demons were good or evil, killed them all without mercy,” Mo Ya said, somewhat troubled. “Did we just ruin their plan?”

“Pretty much.” Si Jingyuan said with a smile. “But our Si household specializes in resolving conflicts—if we can resolve others’, we can certainly resolve our own.” He knocked on Mo Ya’s bald head. “Don’t you all worry about it. After a whole night of this, going home to eat and sleep is the sensible thing to do.” With that, he immediately put on a pitiful expression, hopping in front of Si Kuanglan. “Ah, Kuanglan, I’m starving, I can’t walk anymore, why haven’t we hired a carriage yet? It’s still such a long way home!”

Si Kuanglan didn’t even bother looking at him, saying flatly, “You all seem to have plenty of energy left to me—not doing your own work properly, yet finding all this time to meddle in others’ business. No complaining now, walk home cheerfully.”

Tao Yao nudged the visibly deflated Si Jingyuan. “Sounds like your Kuanglan’s annoyed.”

Si Jingyuan pursed his lips. “That’s just how he is. You never know when he’ll get annoyed, or why.”

Tao Yao thought about this, then ran up to walk backward in front of Si Kuanglan. “But it was you who said we were heading back to sleep and then didn’t go home yourself. And it was you who showed up just in time to help us handle that Lingxing woman.” She gave a sly grin. “Back in the warehouse, the moment you saw Shuhu’s wound, you already knew it was her doing, didn’t you? You deliberately left first—not because you didn’t care, but because you were worried we’d run into trouble at Chongxiao Tower we couldn’t handle, so you went ahead and stood guard there early, didn’t you?”

“That’s why I’m walking home too.” Si Kuanglan said, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Tao Yao burst out laughing, then suddenly fixed her eyes on his, asking quietly, “Second Young Master, why help Shuhu? You don’t seem like the type to sympathize with demons.”

Si Kuanglan looked as though he had no interest in answering, but knowing this girl would just keep pestering him without one, after walking a bit further, he finally said, “Because I have a useless older brother too.”

With that, he sidestepped Tao Yao and quickened his pace, walking ahead.

That had to be the truth, she thought, watching his retreating back, recalling everything Si Jingyuan had told her about the two brothers.

As long as you’re still alive, loneliness cannot defeat me.

Between humans and demons, perhaps there wasn’t such a great difference after all.

Lost in thought, Si Jingyuan patted her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go, the sooner we’re back the sooner we eat, I’m starving.” Then he stepped back again, staring intently at her face. “This time, there’s no getting out of it when we’re back.”

“What?” Tao Yao instinctively guarded herself. “I’m not marrying you!”

“You’re awfully full of yourself…” Si Jingyuan looked pained and amused at once. “I mean, once we’re back, you’re telling me your whole background, no matter what! We even told you about the Bi’an Bureau!”

“So what if you told me about the Bi’an Bureau! It’s not like that’ll make me prettier or slimmer!”

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll do to you what I did to that skeleton—possess your body, and we’ll share it, eating and sleeping together, a pair of inseparable sworn brothers forever.”

“Heh, and you’re not afraid I’ll possess you instead, then make you run three laps around the city with no clothes on? Not like it’d be my face on the line.”

“Then let’s run around the city together—not like it’d be my face on the line either.”

“Eldest Young Master, why go through all this trouble? Just offer her a silver ingot per word, and she’d tell you how many times she wet the bed as a child.”

“Yes, yes, Amitabha, this humble monk seconds Young Master Liu’s suggestion.”

“Wait, are you two conspiring to swindle money out of me?”

“We’re just helping you.”

Overhearing their bickering, Steward Miao turned back to look, smiling as he said to Si Kuanglan, “With them around, things are certainly livelier.”

Si Kuanglan’s face remained expressionless. “More troublesome too, is more like it.”

Steward Miao considered this. “The Bi’an Bureau probably won’t let this rest so easily.”

“Let them do as they will. The Si household will meet them however they come.”

“Yes.”

The sky had fully brightened now, pedestrians filling the streets more with each passing moment. It looked to be a fine day ahead—golden light was already breaking through the eastern clouds.

Tao Yao walked along with a bounce in her step, occasionally glancing up at the sky. No one would likely notice, but somewhere up in that sky right now, a small, thin Shuhu was flying north—frail as it was, it too was trying its very best.

Even if they never met again, on behalf of every living soul in this city, thank you.