Prologue

But what fault was there in that jug of wine itself?

He simply didn’t like it, that’s all.

Three people and a fox stood before a half-open estate gate. It was another clear day, the afternoon sun stretching the four figures—each rolling up their sleeves while trying to look composed—into long, thin shadows.

Tao Yao stared at Young Master Liu: “You’re sure this is the place?”

“That physician wouldn’t dare lie recklessly. He said Wei Chang’an lives here.” Young Master Liu had two obvious dark circles under his eyes. “I don’t take jobs where I stay up all night and come up with nothing.”

Mo Ya, sporting the same matching dark circles, raised his hand: “I can vouch for that. Young Master Liu and I spent the whole night visiting every pharmacy and clinic near Longcheng Manor. Following the criteria you gave us, we actually found a Physician Xue at one shop who said that over a decade ago he’d treated a child afflicted with a strange illness. The child was fine in every way, except that after turning three, he couldn’t bear the midday light—exposure would send him into fits of crying, and strange black marks would appear on his skin, but the moment he retreated into darkness, he’d return to normal. Every medicine tried showed no improvement. At the parents’ request, he continued treating the child for over two years, trying every method without success. Yet aside from this strange illness, the child was no different from an ordinary one physically, behaving normally, eating and sleeping fine. As time passed, the parents eventually gave up hope of a cure, saying that in the future they’d simply avoid going out at noon. They later gave him a generous consultation fee and asked him not to speak of the child’s condition to anyone.” He seemed to let out a breath of relief, pressing his palms together. “Amitabha, I never expected we’d get a lead so quickly. I’d say there’s a nine-in-ten chance this child is our target.”

Tao Yao stood between the two of them, looking rather unconvinced: “They already paid the man hush money, and this miracle physician still told you everything about the patient, word for word?”

“Well… at first, naturally, he wouldn’t say anything. He said as a physician he could never casually disclose a patient’s information to unrelated parties, then accused us of trespassing in the middle of the night like common thieves and threatened to report us to the authorities.” Mo Ya scratched his head awkwardly, gesturing helplessly at Young Master Liu. “Then he used a frightening bit of trickery—conjured up a deformed snake with a head bigger than a dining table, and swallowed half his body. It scared that Physician Xue so badly he spilled every detail about the child, and even confessed he kept a mistress on the side…”

Young Master Liu smacked Mo Ya on the head: “That was clearly a python of exquisite tricolor markings! Its head may have been large, but the proportions were excellent, and my snake clan has always been renowned for our elegance and beauty—you’re the deformed one here, bald head!”

“My head isn’t as big as a dining table…” Mo Ya shut his mouth, aggrieved.

Tao Yao couldn’t be bothered with them, only saying: “Let’s hope your luck holds. Otherwise none of us will be sleeping tonight, tomorrow, or the night after.”

“Enough about us—what about you? What were you doing while we were out all night?” Young Master Liu poked her head. “You clearly said you’d keep watch on the roof for any strange activity from the rift-mouth in Longcheng Manor, yet somehow I recall you sleeping like a pig on the bed when we got back!”

Tao Yao grinned, sounding entirely righteous: “I can’t move as fast as you two, and besides, there aren’t many pharmacies near Longcheng Manor—you alone were more than enough. I sent Mo Ya with you in case you came off too fierce and scared people off before you could get anything useful—at least his kind, gentle face would help smooth things over!”

“Nonsense!” Young Master Liu was genuinely angry now. “You think we don’t know you went and cancelled our room after we left, forcing the innkeeper to refund half the rent!”

“That’s not— you two weren’t going to have time to stay there anyway, so why waste the money for nothing! The money saved is for buying you new clothes anyway!” Tao Yao explained while putting distance between them, afraid he’d get angry enough to bite her.

“Get lost! When have you ever bought us new clothes!”

“I’ve been meaning to buy you new clothes all along!”

“You…”

Their usual bickering flew back and forth over their heads. Mo Ya only sighed, wearing an expression of “such is life,” and when the two seemed about to come to blows, he finally said slowly: “Have you two forgotten why we’re here? You made it sound so dire and dangerous earlier—is everything fine now?”

That finally stopped their argument, and they exchanged unconvinced glares.

“Of course not! I was just having a reasonable discussion with this snake.” Tao Yao pushed past Mo Ya, walked up the few stone steps to the gate, and knocked firmly.

Before long, a plainly dressed middle-aged woman opened the door, looking at them with confusion: “May I help you?”

Tao Yao immediately put on an obedient smile: “Are you the mother of Young Master Wei Yong’an? We’re friends of Young Master Wei, just passing through today, and thought we’d stop by to visit.”

The woman’s expression instantly relaxed, and she smiled: “You’ve come to ask Yong’an for a painting too, haven’t you?”

Tao Yao froze for a second, then her mind quickly caught up, and she nodded quickly: “That’s right, that’s right.”

In fact, the information Young Master Liu and the others had brought back included not just Wei Yong’an’s address, but also that despite his young age, he was already an accomplished painter with quite a reputation in the community, praised as a prodigy.

The woman looked them over once more, then said gently: “You all look exhausted, probably from a long journey. Come in and sit for a while.”

“Yes, yes, thank you, Auntie Wei!”

Tao Yao gave Young Master Liu and Mo Ya a look that said “tread carefully,” then followed the woman inside.

The woman led them to a stone table in the courtyard and went in to prepare tea and pastries, saying as she set them down: “A few young masters came by this morning too, insisting on becoming Yong’an’s disciples—truly, it’s more than he deserves. So, where do you all come from?”

At that moment, their attention was drawn entirely to the paintings covering the courtyard walls. Physician Xue hadn’t exaggerated—this young man truly had talent. Whether in composition or brushwork, the paintings on the wall hardly looked like the work of an ordinary teenage boy—even the subject matter didn’t fit. The entire courtyard wall was covered in various depictions of yaksha and vengeful ghosts in all manner of poses. Even done in plain line drawing without color, they exuded a suppressed, bloody intensity.

Tao Yao frowned slightly.

Seeing them all staring at the wall paintings, the woman laughed a bit self-consciously: “This child’s been more mature than his peers since he was little. He never cared for toys, only ever wanted to pick up a brush and paint. I’m not exaggerating—when other children couldn’t even hold chopsticks yet, Yong’an could already complete a full painting. It’s just that he never liked painting flowers and scenery, only these fierce, monstrous things. At first it scared me too, but over time I got used to it. I’ve heard some temples specifically commission painters to depict such images on their walls, to serve as warnings to the world.”

“No, no, you misunderstand. Your son’s brushwork is divine—only laymen who don’t understand art would find it frightening.” Young Master Liu smiled, his speech turning refined as well, perhaps finally remembering that becoming a poet was one of his ambitions. “We’ve come from the capital just to catch a glimpse of Young Master Wei’s talent. If we could obtain one of his works, that would be more than we could hope for.”

“I can tell at a glance this young master has refined taste. I never expected Yong’an’s paintings would have admirers even in the capital.” The woman looked quite pleased, then added with a touch of regret, “It’s just that Yong’an isn’t home right now—I’m afraid you’ve made the trip for nothing.”

“Oh? May I ask where Young Master Wei is?” Tao Yao immediately struck a pose of beating her chest in despair. “How unfortunate—we braved wind and snow to get here, only to miss him.”

Mo Ya immediately chimed in: “Truly a pity. To meet Benefactor Wei, we skipped meals entirely, and yet still we’re not fated to meet. As you say, I was indeed sent by our abbot to discuss with Benefactor Wei the matter of painting murals at our temple.” He immediately began silently praying to Buddha for forgiveness for the lie—he’d never do such a thing if not to support Tao Yao.

“I see…” Hearing this, the woman couldn’t bear to disappoint them, and said with a smile, “Yong’an has gone to the Immortals’ Fair. Every year when the fair opens, he goes to compete in the contest there, and he wins first place every year. I’m afraid anyone hoping to see him today has already gathered at Pine Crane Pavilion. If you’re not in a hurry to get back, you could head over to the Immortals’ Fair, though it’s crowded there, so you might not get much chance to speak with Yong’an.”

“The Immortals’ Fair?” Tao Yao’s eyes lit up.

As dusk fell, all the festival lanterns along the street had lit up, and at a single glance one could tell the name “Immortals’ Fair” was no exaggeration—a riot of color and shifting radiance wove together into an endless dream, and even the men and women walking through it, however ordinary their clothing, seemed to borrow a bit more beauty and ethereal grace from the scene than usual.

Only Young Master Liu and Mo Ya couldn’t manage to look ethereal, trailing behind Tao Yao like two resentful spirits, watching enviously as she held a crispy fried fish in one hand and a sweet pear crystal cake in the other, taking bites from both, wandering the market in high spirits. Even Gungun had abandoned Mo Ya, leaping onto her shoulder instead, wagging his tail and fawning for a bite of crystal cake.

If she remembered correctly, they’d come to the Immortals’ Fair to catch someone, right? If they failed to catch him, the rift-mouth couldn’t be closed, and the consequences would be dire, right? However you looked at it, this wasn’t a trip to browse the market, right?

Yet from the moment they’d entered the fair, Tao Yao had been eating, eating, eating! Not wasting a single coin of that refunded room deposit!

Tao Yao could of course feel the two balls of rage building behind her about to explode, so she slowed her pace, letting herself fall back between the two of them, and said unhurriedly: “The Register of a Hundred Demons states: the malevolent energy within the Rift Realm is harmless as long as it stays contained. But if a rift-mouth opens, and the first spirit to emerge attaches itself to a living being for over three years, it becomes a Rift Demon—unable to bear midday light, and when startled or enraged, it manifests its demonic form and can draw others of its kind. Its power is unknown. It must not be killed—only lured back to its point of origin can the rift-mouth be sealed.”

Mo Ya was startled: “You’re saying that Wei Yong’an has already become a Rift Demon?”

“That first wisp of malevolent energy that escaped the rift-mouth, plus all this time passing—yes, he’s already a demon.” Tao Yao sighed. “So I need you two to listen carefully to every word I say. A Rift Demon cannot be killed, and cannot even be provoked, or we’ll have serious trouble. Best to lure him back to the rift-mouth without alerting him, and then either we give him a push in, or he willingly returns home on his own. But I think a push is probably simpler.”

Young Master Liu grew increasingly uneasy the more he thought about it, asking: “If we provoke him, what exactly happens? Doesn’t even the Register of a Hundred Demons record it?”

“Haven’t I already said? The causes of this malevolent energy are countless and varied. None of us know what deity or spirit that wisp now attached to Wei Yong’an actually comes from, nor do we know what grievance gave rise to it in the first place. If we knew, we might be able to predict what chaos this Rift Demon could cause—after all, the so-called ‘demonic form’ is really just an amplification and corruption of that original wisp’s source. With the cause unknown, the symptoms are naturally hard to predict. All I know is that if we provoke his ‘demonic form,’ not only will his own power wreak havoc, but every wisp of malevolent energy currently loose from the rift will seek him out too, becoming his allies—making everything worse.” Tao Yao wiped her mouth. “So I’m not eating just for fun—I’m building up strength and keeping myself relaxed in mind and body, so that when we actually meet the Rift Demon, we won’t raise his suspicions. So please, you two, stop making funeral faces and just pretend, like me, that we’re happily strolling through the market.” She stuffed another piece of crystal cake into Gungun’s mouth as she spoke. “Even Gungun has better understanding than you two!”

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya exchanged glances.

“Is she really not just making excuses for her own gluttony?”

“Probably… not?… The most dangerous danger is the one you can’t predict. This isn’t something to joke about.”

“So should we go buy some grilled fish too? Ah… if only there were grilled field mice!”

“Ugh…”

The three of them finally reached a brief consensus, temporarily setting aside their worries and anxieties, pretending to be idle people out for a stroll at the fair.

After asking passersby, they learned that Pine Crane Pavilion, where the painting and calligraphy contest was held, was not far ahead.

The three continued eating and chatting as they made their way toward the faintly visible three-story pavilion.

Suddenly, a group of men and women rushed past them, crowding around a stall. A rough cloth sign stood beside it, reading “The Moon Elder’s Divination Lots,” with a few peach blossoms painted alongside. Through the crowd, one could barely make out two round golden jars shaped like full moons sitting on either side of the stall, one marked in cinnabar with “Fated Match” and the other with “Growing Old Together.” The owner, round and pale as a steamed bun, sat behind them beaming, enthusiastically drumming up business.

“Oh, is this the one you meant?”

“Yeah, I missed it last year, I have to try it this year.”

“Is it really that accurate?”

“Of course it’s accurate! They say these two jars are divine relics from the heavens—men draw from ‘Fated Match,’ women from ‘Growing Old Together.’ If a couple draws matching lots from the two jars, it means they’re a match made in heaven, destined to grow old together!”

“Really that miraculous? Sounds like a scam.”

“You just don’t understand romance. What kind of place is this? It’s the Immortals’ Fair! Even if it’s a scam, it’s just one copper coin—all in good fun.”

“Xiao Hong, Xiao Hong, shall we try it?”

“Dream on, I’m not going with you.”

The men and women chattered and bickered noisily; it seemed couples especially flocked to this stall, and it was probably doing the best business on the entire street.

Young Master Liu poked Tao Yao with his elbow: “Let’s go, why are you staring at that place?”

Tao Yao acted as if she hadn’t heard, only staring fixedly at the crowded “Moon Elder’s Divination Lots” stall.

Mo Ya shook his head, sighing: “She’s caught the romance bug again…”

Hearing this, Young Master Liu immediately leapt away from her: “Don’t you dare try to drag me over to draw a lot, there’s no hope between us!”

Normally, Tao Yao would have jumped ten feet in the air by now, but this time she showed no reaction at all, just staring fixedly in one direction. Then she suddenly rose on her toes and sneaked around to the back of the stall, poking half her head out from behind the plump proprietor, staring intently at the pair standing at the very front—and in fact, she wasn’t the only one looking; anyone who passed by this couple couldn’t help but glance twice, because they perfectly embodied what it meant to be “a matched pair of jade.”

Some women seemed born needing no adornment at all. Her makeup was light, her robes simple, her cloud-black hair needing only a single plain white jade hairpin—anything more would ruin that ethereal, graceful quality. Her features needed no heavy makeup either; not a single feature of her eyes, ears, nose, or mouth was anything less than delicate and lovely, paired with skin so fine and pale as snow that one might wonder if heaven had been in an especially good mood when crafting this person. Such a lovely creature, standing before anyone, was like an apricot blossom just opening in the spring rain—delicately beautiful, luminous, yet never harsh on the eyes.

As for the man protecting her closely at her side, Tao Yao could find no words left to describe him, having already exhausted every possible compliment for handsome men in her head during countless times spying over the wall at Wangyuan Garden—actually, she’d been about eighty percent certain when she first saw his back; now, seeing his face directly, she could finally give up all doubt… yes, the one forming “a matched pair of jade” with that fairy-like young lady was none other than Si Kuanglan!

Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable. Since arriving in Luoyang, she’d stumbled through one mess after another, nearly losing her life along the way, and now she had to run herself ragged for the safety of an entire city—yet this second young master of the Si family was leisurely strolling through the fair with a young lady at the very same time?? Wasn’t he supposed to dislike crowds! So was the surging crowd filling this entire street not people but pigs?

She was suddenly furious…

Perhaps sensing the pair of fire-breathing eyes that had suddenly appeared behind him, the plump proprietor turned around, startled to find Tao Yao crouched there with a dark expression, and quickly put on an ingratiating smile: “Miss, if you’d like to draw a lot, please line up ahead.”

Tao Yao shot up, saying furiously: “I’ll draw your ghost of a lot!”

“Eh?” The plump proprietor looked baffled. “This is the Moon Elder’s lot, not a ghost’s lot! Have I offended you somehow, Miss?”

Si Kuanglan’s casual glance swept across her face, and he chuckled: “Proprietor, your eyes are quite poor. Everyone who comes to your stall comes in pairs. She’s alone—how could she draw your Moon Elder’s lot?”

Right, now she was even more certain it was this man—never missing any chance to mock her.

“Oh, right.” The proprietor scratched his head, saying apologetically to Tao Yao, “Then… please excuse me, Miss, would you mind stepping aside?”

Tao Yao had no intention of stepping aside—it was already a mercy she hadn’t jumped onto the stall itself. She snorted coldly at Si Kuanglan: “Didn’t the second young master hate crowds? Could it be that everyone running around on this street doesn’t count as people in your eyes?”

That fairy-like young lady, her watery, beautiful eyes wide open, looked at Tao Yao, then at Si Kuanglan, and asked him softly: “And who is this?” Even her voice was soft and sweet, flawless to such a degree that even heavenly fairies might pale in comparison.

Tao Yao zipped under the stall counter, dusted off her hands, and stood before them, smiling brightly as she introduced herself to the fairy-like young lady: “I’m the stablehand who feeds the second young master’s horses. My surname is Tao. And yours?”

Standing apart, the two of them were fine, but the moment they stood face to face, it was instantly clear who was the fine porcelain and who was the clay jar.

Before the fairy-like young lady could answer, Si Jingyuan’s head suddenly popped up behind Tao Yao. This fellow was carrying an armful of various freshly-bought snacks, and looked at Tao Yao with delighted surprise: “Eh? Tao girl, why are you here!”

“What’s there to ask, of course I’m sneaking out to have fun.” Si Kuanglan said flatly, then turned to smile at the fairy-like young lady, “Weren’t you wanting to try this? I’ll join you.”

I’ll join you… tsk tsk, how gentle!

Tao Yao glared at them fiercely. As far as she recalled, this man had never once shown her gentleness—not even given her a normal, warm smile! Ah, why was her heart churning like boiling water right now!

Si Jingyuan naturally didn’t notice Tao Yao’s earthquake of an emotional state, and simply shoved all the food in his hands at her: “Sneaking out is fine, it’s the end of the year, no harm in coming out to have some fun. But does Steward Miao know?”

“Of course he knows.” Young Master Liu emerged sulkily from behind Si Jingyuan. “Do I seem like the type to run off without saying anything!”

Si Jingyuan was startled, turning around to see Young Master Liu, Mo Ya, and Gungun all present, and immediately laughed: “You’re all here too? Perfect, I bought a ton of food, you’re all in for a treat!”

“What did you buy? Did you get roast leg of lamb?”

“Eldest Young Master, did you get that mixed candied fruit? It looked so sweet and delicious!”

“Got it, got it! Got it all! You’ll all love it!”

With Si Jingyuan around, an awkward silence was never a concern—he had a talent for turning any unexpected encounter into an immediate, natural food-sharing party.

But even if dragon meat were placed before Tao Yao right now, she’d have no appetite. From start to finish, her attention remained fixed on that “matched pair of jade.”

With Si Kuanglan’s gentle company, the fairy-like young lady seemed even more like a small bird nestled close to him. Blushing shyly, she reached her jade hand into the “Growing Old Together” jar, felt around inside for a moment, and drew out a small square bamboo tile painted with a peony on the front. She clutched it in her palm and turned to Si Kuanglan with a smile: “Your turn.”

Si Kuanglan smiled and reached into the “Fated Match” jar, drawing out a square tile.

The tile bore the image of a flying bird.

The fairy-like young lady’s expression fell instantly from hopeful anticipation to mild disappointment, but as if she’d already known this would be the outcome, she smilingly returned both tiles to their places and thanked the proprietor.

Actually, all the onlookers felt a little disappointed too. Though everyone knew this was just a game, seeing such a well-matched pair of man and woman in the world, no one could blame them for secretly hoping the “Moon Elder’s Divination Lots” might actually work its magic just this once.

Slap!

A single copper coin was suddenly slapped down before the proprietor.

Tao Yao grabbed her own braid, tilted her head up, and grinned at Si Kuanglan: “Second Young Master, I want to try this too, but I can’t find a partner on short notice—would you join me?”

Si Kuanglan blinked in mild surprise, and the fairy-like young lady looked at Tao Yao with curiosity too.

Tao Yao’s petulant provocation made the atmosphere among the three of them suddenly grow subtle.

Actually, she’d already anticipated the outcome—nothing more than Si Kuanglan giving her his usual cold smile, declining politely, and walking off with his fairy-like young lady. But knowing this full well, she was determined to spend that one coin today anyway—not spending it would just make her unhappy!

“Little miss, why don’t I join you instead!” A brash young man popped up from nowhere, squeezing in beside Tao Yao with a beaming smile. “My humble surname is Huang, twenty-three years of age, modest family means, not yet married.”

No wonder people here, especially young men and women, loved the Immortals’ Fair so much—not just for the good food and fun, but most importantly for the crowds, where one might just run into someone they fancied and forge a happy match.

But clearly this Young Master Huang had picked the wrong target…

Before Tao Yao could even get the word “scram” out of her mouth, a slender hand had already extended before her, fingers pinching a square tile painted with a peach blossom. Behind the blossom was Si Kuanglan’s face, bathed in bright light. He glanced toward the jar, signaling with his eyes that it was her turn.

The reversal came so fast that Young Master Liu, who’d been ready to watch Tao Yao embarrass herself and add a jab of his own, choked and coughed repeatedly. Mo Ya nearly dropped the fruit from his mouth. Even Si Jingyuan, already braced to swoop in and save the situation once Si Kuanglan refused her, was taken aback.

Tao Yao stared at the peach blossom before her, stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered her composure and laughed: “Sure, since the second young master is so generous today, I’d better dig around carefully in that jar!”

The fairy-like young lady, though also a bit surprised, showed no obvious change in mood throughout, maintaining her gentle, spring-breeze smile, letting Si Kuanglan do whatever he wished.

Tao Yao’s hand stirred around inside the large jar, refusing to pull it out for a long while.

“If you don’t pull it out soon, it’ll be stir-fried.” Si Kuanglan glanced sideways at her.

“No! I want to find the one with the best feel!” Tao Yao huffed, stirred a bit more, and finally pulled out a tile.

She cupped it in her hand, turned away from Si Kuanglan to sneak a peek, then her expression suddenly changed, and she laughed again: “Ha, it’s a chicken leg! How boring!” Before she’d even finished speaking, she quickly tossed the tile back into the “Growing Old Together” jar.

“Hey, hey, don’t throw it, we haven’t even seen it yet!” Si Jingyuan called out.

Fortunately, at that same moment, a furry shadow leapt up in time, catching the tile in its mouth just before it fell back into the jar, then lightning-fast leaped back onto Mo Ya’s head, opened its mouth, and dropped the tile into Mo Ya’s hand.

Several heads leaned in to look, and it turned out the tile bore no chicken leg at all—that peach blossom was clearly identical to the one in Si Kuanglan’s hand.

“Gungun!!” Tao Yao stamped her feet in fury. “I’m plucking out all your fur when we get home!”

Gungun rolled his eyes at her.

Si Jingyuan clicked his tongue, handing the tile to Si Kuanglan with a mischievous grin: “A matching pair!”

Si Kuanglan glanced at it, smiled, and said nothing.

The onlookers exchanged glances too. Though it was just a game, there was perhaps some inexplicable fate hidden within it. But looking at this little girl before them—not unattractive, and with a certain mischievous, impish charm—compared to this young master… surely that fairy-like young lady was still the better match?!

“Oh my, oh my, in all my years running this stall at the Immortals’ Fair, you two are the only pair to ever draw matching peach blossom lots!” The plump proprietor himself grew tremendously excited. “This is the most auspicious pairing among all the Moon Elder’s lots! You two are surely fated to be together, growing old side by side—a match made in heaven!”

“I appreciate your kind words.” Si Kuanglan tossed the tile back to the plump proprietor, as if nothing had happened, and said to the fairy-like young lady, “Shall we go? I think it’s about time.”

“Alright.” The fairy-like young lady nodded with a smile, following him out of the crowd. Before leaving, she didn’t forget to glance back at Tao Yao, nodding slightly in farewell—the picture of impeccable upbringing.

Tao Yao touched her own slightly flushed cheeks, snatched the tile from Si Jingyuan’s hand, and forced a smile: “Just a coincidence.” With that, she deliberately swaggered off.

“Hey, hey, miss, miss! My lot, my lot!” The plump proprietor waved frantically.

Si Jingyuan hurried up to the proprietor: “Since this peach blossom lot is so rare, why not gift it to them as a keepsake?”

“Eh?!” The proprietor’s eyes went wide. “That’s my livelihood!”

“Oh come now, how hard could it be to paint another pair!” Si Jingyuan stuffed a piece of silver into the proprietor’s hand. “This money should cover your loss. Now hand over that peach blossom tile Si Kuanglan tossed back too.”

Seeing the silver, the proprietor’s mood instantly shifted from worry to joy, and he handed over the peach blossom tile Si Kuanglan had returned without hesitation, looking like he’d just done a great good deed: “Then you’d better make sure those two keep it safe—this matched pair of peach blossom lots for fated love and growing old together is truly effective!”

“Absolutely, absolutely!” Si Jingyuan pocketed the tile and hurried after the direction they’d left.

Mo Ya still didn’t believe it, muttering to himself: “That’s just too much of a coincidence…”

“Pfft, it’s just a money-grabbing gimmick.” Young Master Liu dismissed it, though harboring some faint doubt himself. “But Tao Yao’s reaction was odd. Given her personality, this whole thing started because of Si Kuanglan’s mockery, and now that she’s drawn a matching pair with him, shouldn’t she be running three victory laps around that couple to gloat…”

Mo Ya nodded: “But she actually claimed it was a chicken leg… if Gungun hadn’t intervened in time, we’d have genuinely believed it was a chicken leg! Strange, why deny it?”

Young Master Liu rubbed his chin thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes: “I think our Tao Yao has actually fallen for that fellow… first jealous, then deliberately putting distance between them… tsk tsk tsk, I’d say something special must have happened when they went to Muzhou!”

“Huh?” Mo Ya’s mouth fell open in shock. “You’re saying Tao Yao likes…”

“Shh!” Young Master Liu quickly covered his mouth. “If you let her hear you say that, she’ll poison you dead on the spot!”

“But… doesn’t she always cry and shout about wanting to marry the Thunder God!” Mo Ya whispered—matters of romance between men and women were simply beyond his comprehension.

“Heh heh, little monk, you wouldn’t understand.” Young Master Liu tapped his head, adopting the air of someone who’d been through it all. “She cries and shouts about wanting to marry every good-looking man she sees—remember the Wind Immortal before the Thunder God, or the River Lord? She shouts loud, but have you ever seen her actually jealous over anyone?”

Mo Ya scratched his head: “Jealous…? Has she been?”

Young Master Liu’s eyelids drooped: “Never mind, why am I discussing this with a monk.”

Then, with a meaningful smile: “Anyway, I bet there’s going to be a lot more drama ahead.”

The winter night’s chill was completely driven off by this street’s brilliance and bustle, more and more people joining the joyful din, and no one paid any attention to the handful of people in the crowd, each harboring their own thoughts—everyone was simply focused on enjoying this rare festive excitement.

Si Kuanglan and the fairy-like young lady continued walking leisurely, occasionally exchanging soft words and laughter, heaven only knew whether they’d noticed the little tail behind them—a figure dressed in red, wearing a complicated expression…

“How did you all end up wandering into Luoyang?” Si Jingyuan handed Tao Yao a piece of sugar cake, quite naturally placing himself in Tao Yao’s group, not intruding on the couple ahead at all.

“Who said I came here to wander around for fun! Do you still think of me as your family’s stablehand!” Tao Yao took the sugar cake and stuffed it into her mouth crossly, her eyes never leaving the “matched pair” ahead for even a moment.

“She’s here on a house call.” Mo Ya said, chewing on his sugar cake.

“Oh… I see.” Si Jingyuan asked Tao Yao quietly, “So that means there’s a demon in Luoyang?”

“Obviously. There are demons everywhere.” Aren’t you standing right in front of one? Young Master Liu rolled his eyes at him, then nodded toward the fairy-like young lady’s retreating figure. “Who is that beauty, that your family’s Lanlan is so attentive to her?”

The question seemed to put Si Jingyuan in a difficult spot; he looked left and right, seeming unable to answer easily.

“Is there something even more surprising than my own identity?” Tao Yao withdrew her gaze, fixing it on Si Jingyuan’s face, snorting. “So recognizing me as your little sister was fake—can’t even tell me a small matter like this?”

“It’s not that I can’t tell you.” Si Jingyuan continued to look troubled. “It’s just that her status is noble and special, I’m not quite sure how to begin explaining.”

“Noble and special status?” Tao Yao continued to snort at him. “Is she the Empress or a Princess?”

Si Jingyuan hesitated a moment, then lowered his voice: “She really is a princess.”

The moment those words left his mouth, the other three heads all crowded in: “A princess??”

Si Jingyuan thought for a moment, then added: “How should I put it… not exactly a full princess either.”

“Could you be as decisive introducing her as you were finding a wife for your Lanlan!” Tao Yao couldn’t help pinching him.

“Ow, that hurts!” Si Jingyuan rubbed his arm, then gritted his teeth and said, “Her surname is Song, given name Nian Sheng. She’s the late Emperor’s adopted daughter. Though she holds no formal title of princess, she’s treated with princess-level ceremony, granted residence at Bright Moon Terrace in Luoyang—essentially a princess’s estate in all but name. After the late Emperor passed, the new Emperor has also treated her with great favor.” He paused, then smiled. “If Nian Sheng lives a long life, every future Emperor will certainly treat her well too.”

“Why? Because she’s pretty?” Tao Yao blurted out.

“There are thousands of girls prettier than her.” Si Jingyuan rolled his eyes at her, lowering his voice further. “Because back then, a sage told the late Emperor that Nian Sheng’s fate is bound up with the fortune of the Great Song—if she’s harmed, the Song will decline; if she dies, the Song will fall. So, while called a princess, she’s essentially treated as a symbol of ‘national fortune.’ No matter which emperor the Great Song’s throne passes to, they must revere her like a deity.”

Hearing this, Tao Yao scoffed: “And people believe such nonsense? She’s just a mortal—living to a hundred years would be the absolute max, doesn’t that basically mean your Great Song only has a hundred years left to live!”

“Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey, this girl really has a wicked mouth!” Si Jingyuan made as if to smack her mouth. “Don’t go saying such things carelessly. Sure, she can only live a hundred years, but she’ll marry and have children, so won’t the national fortune continue through them?”

“And what if she never marries? Even if she does marry, she might not have children,” Tao Yao pressed, unrelenting. “Wouldn’t your national fortune still end!”

“That… how would I know! I’m not a sage who can see through others’ fates!” Si Jingyuan pouted. “Anyway, let the sages worry about these things. All I know is she’s more esteemed than any princess in the current court, someone who must be protected at all times, someone not to be trifled with.” He poked Tao Yao’s head again. “It’s lucky Nian Sheng is naturally gentle and understanding of the bigger picture—if she were even a little difficult, those little tricks you just pulled would have gotten you dragged off and beheaded long ago.”

Mo Ya and Young Master Liu exchanged a glance, both arriving at the same single thought—not only were the two well-matched in appearance, but even their family backgrounds and status fit together seamlessly, a noble and beautiful princess with the handsome, renowned young lord of the martial world… then thinking again of Tao Yao’s antics of throwing tantrums, rolling on the ground, and gorging herself on food… they suddenly felt certain Tao Yao stood no chance at all.

Tao Yao fell silent for a moment, then laughed coldly: “The Emperor treasures her like a jewel, and you two young masters of the Si family fawn over her too? Truly loyal and patriotic of you, so afraid something might happen to the national fortune.”

“I thought I gave you sugar cake, not gunpowder—look at you, ready to devour me!” Si Jingyuan blinked, then suddenly seemed to understand something, looking at her with amusement. “Oh wait, I got it wrong—not gunpowder, but jealousy?”

“I eat everything, but I don’t eat jealousy.” Tao Yao flatly denied it.

“Not jealous?” Si Jingyuan teased, nudging her. “If you and Lanlan really could grow old together for a hundred years, I’d welcome it with open arms.”

“Isn’t your family’s Lanlan famous for being cursed to bring misfortune to his wife? I value my life too much to be jealous over him of all people!” Tao Yao said disdainfully. “I just can’t stand that fawning attitude of yours, that’s all!”

“Fawning?” Si Jingyuan laughed heartily. “Then you don’t know that we’ve known Nian Sheng since childhood. Back then, our parents often brought us to Bright Moon Terrace, and told us to get along well with Sister Nian Sheng, never to bully her—and if anyone dared bully her, we were to protect her.” He watched Tao Yao’s surprised eyes, then smiled again. “Whether your jealousy is real or fake doesn’t really matter—Nian Sheng and I are just friends. Though we’ve each gone our own way growing up and don’t see each other often now, Lanlan and I still come to Luoyang before the New Year every year to celebrate Nian Sheng’s birthday. Though she’s refined by nature, she’s still a young lady after all, and quite fond of lively places like the Immortals’ Fair—that’s why we’re here today.”

The tension Tao Yao had been holding in her mind suddenly loosened, but she quickly thought of something else and asked: “Why did your parents often bring you to play with her? Couldn’t you find playmates in the capital?”

A flicker of gravity passed through Si Jingyuan’s smile, gone as quickly as it appeared. He only said: “That’s a long story, and not that important. You know the Si estate isn’t an ordinary household—it’s not strange for the elder generation to have connections with all sorts of people.” He paused, then grinned mischievously again. “Anyway, Lanlan and Nian Sheng didn’t even draw a matching pair, so what are you so annoyed about!”

“When have I been annoyed?” Tao Yao laughed exaggeratedly to show him, but her eyes were still fixed on Si Kuanglan ahead in the crowd—this man, no matter how plain his clothes, no matter how silent, could never fail to catch the eye at a glance.

“Amitabha, so they’re childhood friends after all, and here I thought she was the second young master’s beloved.” Mo Ya also relaxed slightly, whispering to Young Master Liu. “Since the second young master and she are just friends, doesn’t that mean Tao Yao still has a tiny sliver of hope?”

Young Master Liu raised an eyebrow, smiling: “The worry isn’t whether the prince dreams of her—it’s whether some other goddess has her heart set on him.”

“Huh? What dream?” Mo Ya had hit another knowledge blind spot.

“Nothing to do with you—it’s a dream you’ll never have in your lifetime anyway.” Young Master Liu patted his bald head sympathetically.

Tao Yao suddenly whirled around, glaring fiercely: “What are you two muttering about behind my back again!”

“We’re just saying the chicken leg, duck leg, and goose leg today all tasted pretty good, we’ll probably dream about them tonight.” Young Master Liu smiled sweetly.

“Yes, yes!” Mo Ya nodded along, even pressing Gungun’s head to nod too.

“Like I’d believe that! You’re definitely talking trash about me!”

Tao Yao huffed and turned back around, only to hear Si Jingyuan say: “Eh, who’s got Lanlan and them tangled up over there?”

Looking ahead, sure enough, Si Kuanglan and Song Nian Sheng had been surrounded by several people.

“Young master, please, this old man is begging you, there’s truly no other way, saving the show is like putting out a fire, please do this good deed!”

“Yes, yes! If the young master agrees, for the next whole year, whenever you visit our Pine Crane Pavilion, tea and meals will be on the house!”

A white-haired elder and a middle-aged man, both dressed elegantly in scholarly attire, surrounded Si Kuanglan with anxious expressions. Behind them, on the elegant, antique pavilion, the three golden characters “Pine Crane Pavilion” stood out vividly against the night sky.

“What’s going on here?” Si Jingyuan stepped forward, looking at the two men with confusion.

Seeing Si Jingyuan, the middle-aged man’s anxious gaze seemed to spark with new hope, and he was about to speak, but the elder stopped him with a shake of his head, looking instead at Si Kuanglan: “Only this young master is the best candidate.”

Everyone was thoroughly confused, except Tao Yao, who paid no attention to any of this, entirely focused on scrutinizing Song Nian Sheng from head to toe, as if determined to find a flaw in this seemingly flawless woman.

“It’s like this—these two gentlemen say they’re the managers of Pine Crane Pavilion. Today, as is customary, Pine Crane Pavilion is holding a painting and calligraphy contest, inviting the eight most acclaimed young talents in Luoyang each year to compete. Unexpectedly, one of this year’s contestants suddenly fell ill and couldn’t attend, leaving one of the eight seats empty. The two of them are extremely anxious to find a replacement, and happened to spot Kuanglan passing by, taking an instant liking to him.” Song Nian Sheng explained with a gentle smile, her tone light and unhurried, like a soft breeze.

Tao Yao didn’t care about anything else, but that name “Kuanglan” alone sounded so grating to her ears. She was used to hearing “second young master” or the living demon king, and even when using his name, it was always with the full family and given name together—yet coming from this woman’s mouth without the surname, it inexplicably carried an intimacy no one else could match.

The middle-aged man quickly said: “Exactly, exactly, none of us expected such a mishap to occur. It’s always eight seats every year, not one can be missing, otherwise we’d never dare trouble this young master.”

“Are you all together?” The white-haired elder cupped his hands toward Tao Yao and the others. “Please, help us persuade him a little. Actually the young master doesn’t need to do anything much—just sit in that seat, casually paint a few strokes, and go through the motions.”

Hearing this, Tao Yao asked curiously: “If you’re just looking for a replacement to fill a seat, this whole street is full of people—why him specifically?” She pointed at Si Jingyuan, then at Young Master Liu. “Aren’t these two also people?”

“No, no, no, Miss, you misunderstand. How could these two gentlemen not be people?” The middle-aged man quickly waved his hands, glancing at Si Jingyuan and Young Master Liu. “It’s mainly… well…”

“It’s that, by comparison, this young master’s appearance is refined and elegant, looking more like someone who could write poetry and paint skillfully, having read ten thousand books.” The elder took over, being quite frank about it, then apologized to Si Jingyuan and Young Master Liu, whose faces had suddenly darkened. “This old man doesn’t mean to say you two aren’t good either, just that by comparison… by comparison.”

Si Jingyuan snorted: “Old man, you probably haven’t seen me writing with such inspired brushstrokes.”

“Please, let’s not go around advertising that time you were punished with copying out a girl’s birth date eight times.” Young Master Liu rolled his eyes at him, though not entirely convinced himself. “Old eyes making mistakes happens sometimes, but never mind, such small occasions hardly need someone of my caliber anyway.”

“Get lost, get lost, I don’t only know how to copy birth dates!”

“I know. You can also embroider.”

“You… have you forgotten I’m your Eldest Young Master? Your cooking tastes worse than pig slop, and you have the nerve to mock me!”

“Have you eaten pig slop? How else would you know it tastes worse?”

“You want to fight, is that it?”

“Like I’m afraid of you!”

“Amitabha, Young Master Liu, Eldest Young Master, why are you two suddenly arguing like this, it’s quite unseemly on the street!”

While the group argued cheerfully, Tao Yao suddenly thought of something important, and asked the elder: “You just said this contest invites the famous talents of Luoyang—is there someone among them named Wei Yong’an?”

“Young Master Wei?” The elder’s face immediately lit up with admiration, stroking his beard. “He couldn’t possibly be absent. He’s competed every year since he was ten, taking first place every single time—youngest in age, highest in talent. I’ll say it plainly—of the audience currently filling Pine Crane Pavilion, I’d wager more than half are here for Young Master Wei.”

“That impressive!” Tao Yao also put on a look of admiration, then, thinking quickly, asked the elder, “So if I could convince my young master to help you out, then today, our whole group’s food and drink at your Pine Crane Pavilion…”

The middle-aged man quickly promised: “If this works out, you’ll all be honored guests at Pine Crane Pavilion today—not only will we arrange good seats, but tea and food will be freely available, consider it our thanks! And we’ll have additional gifts for the young master afterward.”

“Then it’s settled.” Tao Yao clapped her hands, then turned to smile at Si Kuanglan. “Time’s still early anyway, and helping others is the root of happiness—what do you think, second young master?”

Si Kuanglan only looked at her with an ambiguous almost-smile, saying nothing.

Tao Yao shrugged: “But I understand if you don’t want to go. After all, aside from being a household guardian beast, you’ve never even painted so much as a caterpillar. Tonight, all the greatest talents of this generation will be seated at Pine Crane Pavilion—even as a mere substitute, if you fall too far short, it really would embarrass the Si family.” As she spoke, she naturally reached out to tug at his sleeve. “Never mind, let’s go, let’s go, there are plenty more fun places up ahead.”

Song Nian Sheng maintained her elegant, dignified composure throughout, only her brow showing a slight unease when Tao Yao reached for Si Kuanglan’s sleeve.

“Even my household’s servant understands that helping others is the root of happiness—how could I not understand as well?” Si Kuanglan said with a smile, pulling his sleeve back, then said to the elder, “Well then, I’ll thank you in advance for the free hospitality at Pine Crane Pavilion for the coming year.”

The elder and middle-aged man were overjoyed, nodding vigorously: “Absolutely no going back on our word! If the young master would care to visit Pine Crane Pavilion often in the future, we couldn’t ask for more.”

With that, the two men quickly stepped aside, urging them to hurry inside.

“Tao Yao really does have a way with these things,” Mo Ya whispered to Young Master Liu from behind. “This way we can naturally go meet this Young Master Wei.”

“Someone like Si Kuanglan wouldn’t fall for a provocation like that.” Young Master Liu pursed his lips. “I think he genuinely wanted to go himself.”

“Really? But the second young master doesn’t seem like the type who enjoys the spotlight.” Mo Ya was puzzled.

Young Master Liu thought about it again, then smiled: “Maybe he didn’t want to go, but sensed that Tao Yao desperately wanted him to.”

“What nonsense are you two talking about now? Let me tell you, Pine Crane Pavilion is one of the finest, most elegant places in Luoyang, a favorite haunt of scholars and literati—the tea and pastries there are top-notch and delicious.” Si Jingyuan squeezed in to say.

“So what?”

“Just… reminding you to eat a bit more later, it’s free anyway.”

“…”

Entering Pine Crane Pavilion and passing through the front hall, an entirely different lively scene unfolded before them—three surrounding stories of the pavilion encircled a round pool in the center, layered rockeries rising from the water with pavilions and towers among them, colorful koi swimming beneath, gleaming brilliantly under the light like a scene from a fairyland. At this moment, all three floors were nearly packed full, voices buzzing loudly—it seemed the admirers of these talented youths had all gathered.

Eight desks, each equipped with the four treasures of the study, were arranged around the pool in the shape of the Eight Trigrams. Seven of the seats already had their occupants, young and old alike, but the most eye-catching was the young man seated facing north—fourteen or fifteen years old, dressed in white, black hair neatly bound into a topknot, features delicate, slightly pale, currently absorbed entirely in grinding ink, oblivious to everything around him.

Compared to everyone else nearby, he didn’t seem particularly outstanding—just an ordinary young scholar.

Hard to believe such a fellow would become their biggest headache.

At Si Kuanglan’s request, Song Nian Sheng was arranged at the spot on the first floor closest to him, while Tao Yao and the others were arranged in the best seats on the second floor. The middle-aged man personally brought up tea and pastries, thanking them repeatedly.

“Afraid I’ll eat her?…” Tao Yao muttered, craning her neck to peer down at the first floor, but the angle was limited and she couldn’t see Song Nian Sheng.

Si Jingyuan took a sip of tea, looking down and saying: “The tables are arranged just like the Eight Trigrams diagram, no wonder they insisted on exactly eight people—if one were missing, it really wouldn’t look right.” Then he added seriously, “Once Lanlan takes his seat, you all had better applaud vigorously! Our Si family talent can’t be outdone by anyone else! Understood?”

No one paid him any mind—at this moment, everyone’s gaze was fixed firmly on Wei Yong’an.

Before long, the elder walked to the center of the hall, raising his hand to signal for the onlookers’ silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Young Master Tang has unfortunately fallen ill and cannot compete today—a great pity indeed, so the empty seat has been filled by Young Master Si. As for the competition itself, all the usual rules remain unchanged: all eight talents will paint one work within a set time limit, subject unrestricted. The audience will still vote using silk flowers, one vote per person, and whoever receives the most silk flowers wins.” The elder announced loudly. At this point, a young servant brought up a brocade box, which the elder took and held up to display to everyone. “This year’s winning prize is a stick of Qinshi Studio’s shop treasure—Glazed Dragon Ink, extremely valuable and rare in the world.”

The crowd immediately erupted in envious murmurs.

“Ink?” Tao Yao stared at the prize in the elder’s hand. “Is it valuable?”

“I hear it’s from a very famous shop specializing in fine writing supplies—the four treasures of the study there are all ridiculously expensive. So it should be quite valuable.” Si Jingyuan didn’t seem to fully understand either, cracking a melon seed. “But this kind of thing… you couldn’t pay me to want it, yet these people treat it like a treasure.”

“Of course—what use would copying birth dates have for dragon ink?” Tao Yao said without even blinking.

“I’ve painted portraits of young ladies before too!” Si Jingyuan was quite indignant.

“But your Lanlan didn’t even glance at them—dare you say it’s not because your painting was too ugly?” Young Master Liu also cracked melon seeds, refusing to give him any face at all.

“At least what I paint still looks like a person—yours doesn’t even look like anything recognizable!” Si Jingyuan glared fiercely back.

“Alright, alright, Eldest Young Master, they’re just joking, drink your tea, calm down.” Mo Ya, worried they might actually come to blows, quickly handed the teacup to Si Jingyuan, then suddenly widened his eyes and pointed down below, “Ah, the second young master is entering!”

Instantly, everyone’s gaze focused on Si Kuanglan as he stepped into the arena, and the crowd erupted again.

“Is this the one replacing Young Master Tang?”

“Never heard of him at all, wonder where he popped up from.”

“Young Master Tang is unmatched in both painting and calligraphy, this one probably can’t compare.”

“No way, with Young Master Wei here, even a dozen Young Master Tangs couldn’t win.”

“This year Young Master Wei is still the favorite, most of the crowd here has bet on him winning.”

“Could there be an upset?”

“Dream on, looking across all of Luoyang, who could possibly surpass his painting skill now?”

Half the discussions went like this, while the other half was almost entirely “This young master has such extraordinary bearing, such remarkable presence, truly rare!” and the rest was young women staring at him, faces flushed.

Though it was called a painting contest, with someone like Si Kuanglan sitting there, set against the elegant backdrop of the rockery and pool behind him, he alone was already the finest painting in the entire venue.

Even Tao Yao’s mouth curved up watching, thinking that this fellow was truly beautiful as a painting when silent—the moment he opened his mouth, though… never mind, keeping him alive was already her bottom line.

Si Kuanglan politely nodded slightly to the crowd, then took his seat under the elder’s guidance, right beside Wei Yong’an.

The young man showed not the slightest interest in whoever had just sat beside him, continuing to grind his ink without even a sideways glance.

From the table next to Tao Yao came a disdainful voice—

“Look at that fellow surnamed Wei, still with that arrogant look, as if no one else matters.”

“Just a guy who likes painting demons, can’t understand why so many people admire him.”

“I think it’s because he looks delicate, like a little girl, hahaha.”

“Hahaha. But what a pity, Qinshi Studio’s dragon ink is priceless, and it’ll go cheap to that kid again this year.”

Tao Yao turned to look and saw three richly dressed but rather mediocre-looking, even somewhat sleazy young gentlemen, huddled together with wicked grins.

“Boring.” Tao Yao turned away, only to see the elder had already lit a somewhat long stick of incense in a bronze censer, saying: “When the incense burns out, brushes stop. The eight talents may begin.”

At this moment, the atmosphere in Pine Crane Pavilion was excellent. Once the eight contestants began painting, all the onlookers too seemed to enter a certain state, no longer noisy, even cracking melon seeds carefully and quietly, everyone focused entirely on what surprises might emerge from those eight brushes. The vulgarity of common marketplace chatter was entirely absent here—whether genuine scholars or merely putting on airs, when the air held only the soft scratch of brushwork and the light scent of ink, even the most restless hearts found a moment’s peace. Such a scene, though called a competition, felt more like an elegant, refined pleasure.

Tao Yao’s eyes were fixed on only two people—winning or losing didn’t matter; how to get someone who shouldn’t be here back to where he belonged was her actual goal.

Tonight’s contest in Luoyang—she had a stake in it too, and she’d wait to see who came out ahead.

The incense finally burned out. The elder clapped his hands: “Time’s up.”

The eight contestants stopped their brushes one after another.

At this point, eight young servants came out, carefully taking the paintings from each desk, starting from the first floor and circling around, then moving up, ensuring everyone in attendance could clearly see all eight masterpieces.

This year’s gasps of admiration were probably the loudest in years.

Wei Yong’an had painted a ghost wreathed in raging flames—the brushwork so skilled, the lines so fluid, that viewers worried the paper might actually catch fire the instant it passed before them, the ghost about to leap right out. What always astonished people about this gifted young man was the tremendous sense of aggression in his paintings.

Such a work should have had no rivals, just as in his victories every previous year.

But this year brought a surprise.

The audience’s greater gasps of admiration went to a painting titled “Portrait of a Goddess.”

In the painting, a woman rested her head on the bright moon and stepped upon drifting flowers, her cloud-like hair piled high, her face like a lotus blossom, her flowing gaze both smiling and slightly reproachful, noble and graceful yet with a touch of coquettish charm, her red robes brilliant as sunset clouds, her fluttering sleeves seeming to carry a spring breeze that easily drifted into the hearts of every onlooker.

Truly a painting that would fill anyone’s heart with joy—Si Kuanglan’s work.

When this painting passed before Tao Yao, she was so startled her melon seeds fell right out of her hand.

She didn’t understand painting, but she just felt that the figure in the painting was truly beautiful, the flowing robes so vivid they seemed about to drift right onto her face. But what surprised her most was that the figure in the painting wore a golden bell around her wrist, identical to the one on her own hand…

“He… even knows how to do this?” She still couldn’t bear to look away even after the painting had moved on.

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya wore similar expressions. Even Gungun, upon seeing the painting, chirped excitedly and lunged forward, desperately trying to plant a kiss on it.

“He never said he couldn’t.” Si Jingyuan seemed entirely unsurprised, eating as he spoke. “My Lanlan takes after me, wide-ranging interests.”

The only response he got was three looks of contempt.

Once all eight paintings had been shown, the crowd, amid their gasps of admiration, fell into animated discussion—after all, each person had only one vote, and it had to go to their favorite piece.

Goddess versus vengeful ghost, two extremes, each with its own merits, but this year’s audience, perhaps having grown a bit tired of seeing ghosts year after year, let this newly emerged “Goddess” take first place—Si Kuanglan received more than half of all the silk flowers in the venue, while Wei Yong’an, the perennial champion, was relegated to second place—unexpected, yet somehow expected too.

Probably the most excited of all were the elder and the middle-aged man, never having imagined that the person they’d dragged in to fill a seat would turn out to be such a dark horse of hidden talent… Pine Crane Pavilion’s painting contest had not only maintained its prestige but exceeded its usual standard this year, likely cementing its status among Luoyang’s literati even further.

None of the other contestants showed any resentment, all coming forward to congratulate Si Kuanglan and introduce themselves in hopes of getting closer to him. Si Kuanglan responded only with cool indifference, not even offering the most basic pleasantries.

While this excitement was in full swing, only Wei Yong’an took no part, instead clutching Si Kuanglan’s painting, staring at it in a trance, his usually expressionless face growing increasingly agitated—having lost to this painting, yet his eyes were full of astonishment and delight.

The elder brought over the brocade box and solemnly presented it to Si Kuanglan: “Young Master Si’s talent is astonishing, taking first place is well deserved! This dragon ink now belongs to you!”

A wave of envious murmurs spread around them.

Si Kuanglan accepted the box, smiled, and was about to speak when his sleeve was suddenly grabbed.

Turning to look, he saw Wei Yong’an, his lips trembling with agitation, both hands gripping his sleeve tightly, even tears glinting in his eyes. The expression on his face was not one of looking at a rival, but at a long-lost friend finally reunited.

Tao Yao, nearby, nearly rushed forward to pry Wei Yong’an off him, but was fortunately held back by both Young Master Liu and Mo Ya. Young Master Liu whispered: “Didn’t you say we can’t startle or anger him, that we need to lure him away naturally!”

Tao Yao gritted her teeth and pulled back her outstretched foot.

Si Kuanglan looked at the uncharacteristically agitated Wei Yong’an, smiling: “Does Young Master Wei have something to say?”

Wei Yong’an continued staring at him fixedly, yet couldn’t seem to open his mouth, his hand gripping his sleeve trembling more and more violently.

Si Kuanglan thought for a moment, then extended the brocade box in his hand toward Wei Yong’an. Startled, the boy instinctively let go and caught it.

“This dragon ink is of no use to me anyway, so let me pass it on to you.” He cupped his hands toward Wei Yong’an, smiling, “I had no intention of stealing your spotlight, don’t take it to heart. Farewell.” With that, he paid no mind to however many others still wished to get closer to him, ignored the elder and middle-aged man’s attempts to keep him, and, taking Song Nian Sheng with him, walked out the door.

Si Jingyuan quickly called out to Tao Yao and the others to leave together too.

But Tao Yao told him to go ahead without them, saying the three of them wanted to pack up the leftover pastries from upstairs to take with them—earning an eye-roll from Si Jingyuan, who said he’d wait for them outside.

Then Tao Yao, Young Master Liu, and Mo Ya really did run back upstairs, packing up food while keeping their eyes fixed on Wei Yong’an, who remained frozen in place.

“Now we haven’t even spoken a word to him—how are we supposed to get him to Longcheng Manor?” Mo Ya worried. “He doesn’t seem quite normal to me.”

“He was never normal to begin with.” Tao Yao frowned. “And he’s even less normal now, after seeing Si Kuanglan.”

Young Master Liu scratched his nose and said: “We could take a gamble. I could sweep him up in a whirlwind rush straight to Longcheng Manor right now—it’s such a short time, maybe nothing unusual would happen?”

Tao Yao was about to speak when she saw Wei Yong’an suddenly clutch Si Kuanglan’s painting and run outside, ignoring everyone calling after him.

Everyone seemed to already know this young man’s temperament was different from ordinary people—a genius, after all, bound to be somewhat unusual—so no one thought much of it, except the elder, who was somewhat worried, but only worried that the Goddess painting might never be returned. By custom, every year’s contestants’ works were supposed to remain at Pine Crane Pavilion as part of their collection, but since it was Wei Yong’an who’d taken it, the elder couldn’t very well send someone to forcibly reclaim it from him. Just as he was fretting over this, the three young gentlemen who’d been chattering at the table next to Tao Yao’s earlier stepped forward, saying they’d go after him—even if he was this year’s champion, that didn’t mean he could just take someone else’s painting like that. The three of them then rushed out the door in pursuit.

“Those three fools are going to ruin everything.” Tao Yao dashed out after them quickly.

Young Master Liu and Mo Ya had just stepped out of Pine Crane Pavilion’s main door when Mo Ya turned back, saying to the elder: “Benefactor, free meals for the coming year, right?”

The elder was startled, then nodded immediately: “My word is as good as gold!”

“Thank you, Benefactor, Amitabha!” Mo Ya vanished in a flash.

At the front of Pine Crane Pavilion, Si Jingyuan was indeed still waiting for them. Seeing Tao Yao emerge, he couldn’t help but ask, puzzled: “How come I saw that Young Master Wei running off clutching a painting in the direction Lanlan left, and then those few people at the table next to ours chased after Young Master Wei too?”

Tao Yao only said: “Then let’s follow those three.”

“Why follow them? Lanlan said it’s getting late, he’s already gone back to Bright Moon Terrace with Nian Sheng, and said if you wild folk want to keep browsing the fair, feel free.” Si Jingyuan said honestly.

Tao Yao snorted coldly: “The wild folk don’t feel like browsing anymore today.”

With that, she quickened her pace.

Once away from the Immortals’ Fair, Luoyang’s winter night immediately shed its warm, bustling mask. Cold air prowled fiercely through the deep night, the streets nearly empty, and most of the lamplight in the roadside shops had gone out.

Crossing an arched bridge, a narrow man-made canal stretched straight ahead, houses on either side quiet and secluded, willows swaying gently. Following the canal to its end was Song Nian Sheng’s residence—unassuming, not ostentatious, an elegant little courtyard with a vermilion gate. On clear nights, when moonlight reflected in the canal, viewed from the arched bridge, her home seemed built upon moonlight itself—no wonder this estate was called Bright Moon Terrace. Across all of Luoyang, perhaps only such a place—hidden yet grand within the city, quiet yet touched with an ethereal air—could match someone like her.

Descending the arched bridge and walking a few more steps, Song Nian Sheng finally couldn’t help but stop, saying to Si Kuanglan: “Someone’s been following behind us the whole time—aren’t you going to deal with it?”

She was naturally referring to Wei Yong’an, who had followed them all the way from the Immortals’ Fair without saying a word, keeping a distance that was neither close nor far, as if he neither wished to disturb them nor was willing to let them go.

Si Kuanglan said nothing, and pretended not to notice either, simply escorting Song Nian Sheng toward Bright Moon Terrace, not once looking back the entire way.

“Let him be. I don’t know him, no need to pay him any mind. It’s late, let’s hurry back and rest.” Si Kuanglan said indifferently.

“He was at least a rival in the contest, hardly a stranger. Your temperament, honestly…” Song Nian Sheng shook her head, then turned to address the follower standing on the arched bridge, “You’re Young Master Wei, aren’t you?”

Suddenly addressed, Wei Yong’an froze, hesitated for a moment, then slowly walked down the bridge, stopping a few steps away from Song Nian Sheng, his gaze fixed entirely past her, only on Si Kuanglan behind her.

Song Nian Sheng smiled: “Young Master Wei has followed us this whole way—is there something you wish to say?”

“I… I…” He didn’t even dare meet her eyes, stammering for a long while before finally mustering the courage to say, “I… I wish to share a drink with the master.”

“Master?” Song Nian Sheng had no idea why he’d suddenly address Si Kuanglan this way, and this “share a drink” came out of nowhere too.

Si Kuanglan turned back, first gently pulling Song Nian Sheng behind himself, then looking at Wei Yong’an: “Young Master Wei, I don’t typically enjoy drinking with strangers. I appreciate the sentiment, but you’d best head back now.” He then noticed the painting clutched in his arms and smiled: “Since you don’t mind it, I’ll gift you this painting as a token of my thanks.” With that, he turned to leave with Song Nian Sheng.

“No, no… don’t go!” Wei Yong’an grew anxious, unrolling the painting with a shake, pointing at the goddess in the image, “Is this truly the master’s own brushwork?”

Si Kuanglan and Song Nian Sheng exchanged glances, both feeling this Young Master Wei seemed increasingly abnormal.

“Wasn’t Young Master Wei seated right beside me at Pine Crane Pavilion? Naturally I painted it with my own hand. Why do you doubt this?” Si Kuanglan grew wary, but remained patient.

Hearing this, Wei Yong’an suddenly burst into tears of joy, clutching the painting tightly, his eyes red as he choked out: “I knew it was you, Master Wu! I’ve waited so many years, and I’ve finally found you!”

Who was this “Master Wu”? Si Kuanglan had no idea what had caused his agitation, nor did he wish to find out—he simply assumed that so-called geniuses of the world often had personalities somewhat different from ordinary people.

“Young Master Wei, my surname is Si. You should address me as Young Master Si.” Si Kuanglan said coldly. “Farewell.”

With that, without waiting to see Wei Yong’an’s reaction, he quickly took Song Nian Sheng and left.

“Could Young Master Wei have had too much to drink?”

“No smell of wine on him. Perhaps he simply lost himself in a momentary daze. No need to mind him, just don’t get close.”

“But he’s still standing there…”

“Let him be.”

Wei Yong’an watched Si Kuanglan’s resolutely departing back with intense disappointment, a tear falling and landing on the painting paper, murmuring: “That jug of wine, still never had the chance to drink it…”

At that moment, a faint, dark blue glow suddenly surfaced in his otherwise normal eyes, but quickly vanished again.

He hesitated for a long while, wanting to chase after them, yet perhaps too afraid of Si Kuanglan’s cold, unfeeling rejection, never taking a single step, standing there blankly like a lost soul unable to find its direction.

Suddenly, a burst of piercing laughter shattered the surrounding silence. The three bored young gentlemen from Pine Crane Pavilion appeared like flies, surrounding Wei Yong’an. One of them pointed at the painting in his arms, saying in a sarcastic tone, “Well now, Young Master Wei, losing is losing, but did you really have to run off with someone else’s painting and chase after him all this way, refusing to let go?”

“But from where we were watching, that Young Master Si didn’t seem to pay you any mind at all, hahaha.”

“Alright, alright, enough talk—we came here today following the rules, to help Pine Crane Pavilion’s owner retrieve the Goddess painting. Hand it over!”

Any discerning eye could tell that helping retrieve the painting was just a pretext—the real purpose of this trip was to bully this genius they could never hope to match, no matter how much they envied and resented him.

Wei Yong’an, already frail, shrank into an even smaller huddle under the three men’s siege. He said nothing, only clutching the painting tightly to his chest, as if he wished he could press it into his very flesh, refusing to hand it over no matter what they said.

“You little brat, just hand it over quietly, don’t make us use force!”

“Heh, how many punches could that frame of yours take? What if we accidentally hurt your hand—what would you use to be a genius after that?”

“Hand it over quickly, stop stalling!”

Facing their increasingly obvious hostility, Wei Yong’an simply crouched down, hugging the painting tightly to his chest, looking utterly resolute that even if beaten to death on the spot, he would not hand it over.

The three had probably not expected their threats to prove so useless—this frail young man, who looked like he could be blown away by the wind, remained motionless as a stone impossible to budge.

Stumped, and unwilling to actually use serious force—injuring him would mean facing legal trouble, not worth it—one of the three, a short fellow, suddenly drew a gleaming silver dagger from his waist, giving his companions a smug, knowing look, then bent down and grabbed Wei Yong’an, pointing the blade at him, saying loudly: “Not afraid of fists? Afraid of a knife?”

The other two practically wanted to applaud him—with a dagger in play, even ordinary people would feel some fear, let alone this scrawny kid who probably couldn’t fight back at all.

Wei Yong’an slowly raised his head, his gaze meeting the gleaming blade directly. He froze, his entire body going rigid as stone, even his breathing stopping.

The man holding the knife, thinking his intimidation had finally worked, exchanged a knowing wink with his companions, thinking that once they got the painting, they’d mock him a bit more too—after all, this kid always hogged the spotlight.

“Hand it over!” He waved the dagger. “If you don’t, watch that pretty little face of yours get marked up! And don’t expect anyone to come save you now—look around, not even a ghost in sight. Even if we killed you today, no one would know who did it!”

Before he’d even finished speaking, he and the dagger in his hand went flying together, landing hard on the ground, seeing stars. The other two hadn’t even had time to react before feeling a burst of cold wind across their faces, and by the time they came to their senses, all three lay sprawled awkwardly on the ground, piled up like three exhausted toads.

Tao Yao withdrew her foot, glaring coldly at them: “There may be no ghosts here, but there’s your grand-aunt me!”

Young Master Liu emerged from behind her, arms crossed: “Told you your kick wasn’t strong enough, too gentle. Guess I’ll have to step in.”

Si Jingyuan popped up from behind Young Master Liu: “No, no, this kind of thing is really my specialty!”

“You… where did you bandits come from!” The one who’d held the knife had fallen hardest, pushing off the two companions pinning him down, sitting up with gritted teeth.

“Ow, they look familiar…”

“Aren’t they the ones seated at the table next to us at Pine Crane Pavilion!”

“So that Wei fellow had backup after all! Get them! Fight them!”

Harsh words aside, they were ultimately a bunch of mediocre fighters. Though Tao Yao’s kick wasn’t as forceful as Young Master Liu’s or Si Jingyuan’s, it still left them unable to stand for quite a while. The three watched the wretches on the ground as if looking at fools, Tao Yao even yawning.

Mo Ya rushed to Wei Yong’an’s side, asking anxiously: “Benefactor Wei, are you alright?”

Wei Yong’an still clutched the painting, seemingly deaf to everything, not even looking at him, his eyes fixed intently on the dagger that had fallen before him.

“Benefactor Wei?” Mo Ya waved a hand before his eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

Wei Yong’an still showed no response.

Gungun sniffed curiously around Wei Yong’an, then suddenly bristled, leaping behind Mo Ya in an instant, biting onto his clothes and pulling hard backward.

At the same moment, that dark blue glow that had briefly appeared earlier surged out from Wei Yong’an’s eyes again, instantly swallowing them whole—now on his face were only two swirling blue holes of strange light. Not just his eyes—his entire body began emitting an eerie, cold blue glow.

Mo Ya jumped back several steps in fright, nearly falling, shouting: “Tao Yao! Benefactor Wei is changing color!!”

Tao Yao whirled around, and seeing this, couldn’t help but curse under her breath: “This is bad…”

Before any of them could react, Wei Yong’an suddenly threw back his head and let out a piercing shriek, its force so overwhelming it seemed to compress and distort the very air around them. Then, countless streams of blue-black energy surged in from all directions like venomous snakes, all rushing at once into Wei Yong’an’s mouth, his body rapidly expanding at the same time—clothes and flesh alike seeming to dissolve into that ghostly blue light, until in an instant, what stood before them was a massive, humanoid monster, its entire form nothing but a layer of semi-transparent blue light.

Si Jingyuan was shocked: “What is this thing?”

“A demon. Whatever happens, don’t provoke it further.” Tao Yao warned through gritted teeth.

“So the Rift Demon… turns out to be this huge?” Mo Ya clutched Gungun tightly, hiding behind Tao Yao, not daring to move.

Young Master Liu frowned: “How could this happen, transforming just like that?”

“Those three fools must have touched a nerve with the Rift Demon just now.” Tao Yao glared angrily at the three idiots, who had already collapsed unconscious, blood trickling from their noses and mouths—clearly the demon’s roar had injured these mere mortals. Fine—she’d have knocked them out too if she’d been in its place.

“Something this big, I doubt I could swallow it whole in one bite…” Young Master Liu said, troubled.

“Who told you to eat it!” Tao Yao glared at him. “Haven’t I said before, at its core, a Rift Demon is nothing but a wisp of resentful energy—we need to communicate, soothe that grievance, before we have any chance of luring it back to the rift-mouth!”

“But it doesn’t seem interested in dealing with us at all…” Mo Ya tugged at Tao Yao’s sleeve, glancing fearfully at the massive creature.

But the Rift Demon paid them no attention at all, walking slowly and directly toward Bright Moon Terrace. Fortunately its body wasn’t solid, or wherever it passed, trees would topple, walls would collapse, and countless homes and lives would be at risk.

“This demon…” Si Jingyuan frowned. “It looks huge, but doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything?”

Serves him right for jinxing it—no sooner had he spoken than the scene before everyone’s eyes suddenly brightened. Though the sky overhead was still pitch black, in the blink of an eye the light became as dazzling as daytime. Looking around, though the scenery hadn’t changed, a number of men and women had inexplicably appeared, their faces normal but their bodies entirely semi-transparent. They seemed oblivious to the actual surroundings, chatting away to themselves, even going through the motions of buying and selling things, despite there being nothing before them at all.

At that moment, everyone present, including Tao Yao, seemed frozen as if under some binding spell, an inexplicable pressure closing in from all directions, wrapping tightly around them. In an instant, not only were their internal organs squeezed unbearably, but breathing itself became nearly impossible.

Fortunately this “paralysis” only lasted a moment. Tao Yao let out a great breath, forcefully twisting her body, finally breaking free entirely from that suppressing force. The others were in similar straits, breaking out in cold sweat before returning to normal, exchanging glances still uncertain whether what they’d just experienced was an illusion or a genuine assault by something.

Mo Ya asked Young Master Liu somewhat dazedly: “Just now… was something pressing down on us? I felt like I couldn’t move at all.”

“You felt that too?” Si Jingyuan shook his arms vigorously, still shaken. “Like being stuffed into a bottle smaller than myself. So terrifying…”

“What… what is this thing?” Young Master Liu couldn’t even be bothered to converse with them, watching as several “children” holding rattle drums passed right through their bodies, running off in a flash toward the canal, walking on the water’s surface as if on solid ground.

Mo Ya scrutinized them, trembling: “Their clothing looks like… Tang dynasty attire from centuries ago?”

“Look over there!” Young Master Liu pointed at the arched bridge, where an enormous ancient tree had suddenly sprouted from what had been an ordinary bridge, also semi-transparent. Part of the stone-paved road beneath their feet had also transformed into patterned square bricks, and parts of the houses along the canal had partially shifted into another style entirely. Though the transformed sections were transparent, their original forms still visible through them, this only made the scene—as if two worlds had been carelessly overlaid on each other—all the more eerie.

“How could this be happening?” Si Jingyuan rubbed his eyes hard, but looking again, the eerie scene remained.

“No wonder we nearly got suppressed too…” Tao Yao looked around, saying coldly. “This is the Phenomenon of Two Overlapping Worlds—so this is the Rift Demon’s ability.”

The others were all startled.

Tao Yao watched the slowly moving Rift Demon, saying: “The other world that’s now appeared must be the place the Rift Demon holds dearest in its heart. If left unchecked, once all the malevolent energy that escaped the rift-mouth is fully absorbed into its body, its power will become complete. As its form shifts from illusory to solid, the world it’s conjured from memory will become real too—while the actual, real Luoyang will conversely shift from solid to illusory, and everyone and everything living in this city will suffer the same fate.” She calculated briefly, then continued: “If what it’s envisioned is just one street, one house, that would be manageable. But judging from what we’re seeing now, I suspect what it holds in its heart is an entire city at least—and if we’re really unlucky, perhaps the entire realm…”

Though he couldn’t fully grasp it, everything Tao Yao said sounded terribly serious, and Si Jingyuan asked carefully: “So… what does that mean?”

“It means that however large the world the Rift Demon has conjured, that same amount of territory in reality will be overtaken. In the worst-case scenario, the entire overlapped real world will be ‘devoured’ by the world the demon has brought forth—including every living thing within it. Once this world is completely consumed and replaced by what was originally an illusory realm, that seemingly real ‘new world’ still cannot escape its fundamentally illusory nature, and will eventually dissolve into chaos amid this disordered time and space. This Phenomenon of Two Overlapping Worlds is, put simply, a rare and unfortunate lose-lose situation where neither side comes out ahead.” As Tao Yao spoke, she walked over to the three fools and kicked one of them, but the fellow didn’t stir at all, as if rooted to the ground, even his expression frozen solid. “Once this phenomenon occurs, the immense distorting force created by the collision of two worlds that should never overlap suppresses every living thing within its range, preventing them from leaving their spot. I’d guess right now, throughout Luoyang and even further beyond, every ordinary person is in the same state as these three.”

Hearing this, Mo Ya looked at himself, then at everyone else: “But why were we only trapped for an instant?”

Tao Yao smiled: “Is anyone here an ordinary person? But don’t celebrate too soon—this is just the initial manifestation of the Two Overlapping Worlds phenomenon. Once it grows more solid and its power expands further, it’ll be our turn to become wooden statues awaiting death.” She looked around, then suddenly grew serious: “So if you want to leave now, there’s still time. While the Rift Demon is still gathering its power, run to somewhere beyond its influence, and you’ll be safe. This matter is my responsibility—I’ll handle it.”

Young Master Liu immediately scoffed: “It’s no trouble for me to leave. But with your kicking power, how could you possibly kick something that huge back through the rift-mouth? You’ll still need to count on me.”

“I’m not leaving either, I can’t run fast anyway.” Mo Ya hugged Gungun tightly, standing firmly beside Young Master Liu. “Don’t chase me away!”

Tao Yao paused, then shook her head with a smile: “Well, I’ve told you the truth—whether you leave or stay is up to you.”

Si Jingyuan hadn’t even considered running, only asking anxiously: “So you’re saying this monster can devour our entire world just by imagining another world, including us? And once it’s done devouring, it’ll disappear too, leaving only a giant demon that gained nothing and a blank stretch of nothing? And this conjured world has already started acting out—like right now, many ordinary people are already suppressed by its uncanny force, unable to move, unable to flee, forced to accept disappearing along with everything else?”

“More or less.” Tao Yao nodded. “Fortunately it’s only just begun—we still have time, at least we can still run and jump. No matter how wide the range affected by the Rift Demon is, its power source is only one thing. As long as we bring it back to the rift-mouth in Longcheng Manor before it fully solidifies, the world it’s conjured will naturally vanish into nothing, and Luoyang can turn misfortune into fortune.” As she spoke, Tao Yao struck her palm with her fist. “The infuriating part is we still don’t know this Rift Demon’s original origin—based on what we’re seeing now, we only know its master must be someone from several hundred years ago, or something else entirely.”

Si Jingyuan grew anxious, stamping his foot: “Regardless, I can tell it clearly still can’t let go of Lanlan—look, it’s heading straight for Bright Moon Terrace! No good, I need to go find Lanlan right away! Oh no, Lanlan absolutely cannot turn into a wooden statue!”

Si Kuanglan?

Tao Yao’s heart lurched, and she hurried after Si Jingyuan.

But before the Rift Demon reached Bright Moon Terrace, it stopped in its tracks.

Everyone looked ahead, and at the end of the canal, before the gate of Bright Moon Terrace, a figure had appeared at some point—sword in hand, composed in bearing. Si Kuanglan showed not the slightest trace of fear, his expression as cool and detached as ever, looking at the Rift Demon the same way he’d look at any unpleasant stranger on the street.

Everyone let out a breath of relief—their earlier worry had been unnecessary. Even Si Jingyuan was fine—how could Si Kuanglan, even more abnormal than him, possibly turn into a wooden statue?

Si Jingyuan carefully circled around the Rift Demon and dashed to Si Kuanglan’s side, saying urgently: “This demon used to be Wei Yong’an! It’s going to devour all of Luoyang! Tao girl said something about needing to send it back into some rift-mouth thing at Longcheng Manor to resolve this crisis! Otherwise even we’ll disappear too!”

Si Kuanglan said flatly: “I already knew Wei Yong’an wasn’t human. Earlier, while speaking with him on the arched bridge, I saw a flash of dark blue light in his eyes. To avoid frightening Nian Sheng, I said nothing at the time, and after settling her safely inside, I came out to have a word with him—I hadn’t expected he’d already transform into this state in so short a time.”

Hearing this, Tao Yao couldn’t be bothered to dwell on how attentively he’d cared for Song Nian Sheng, and said seriously instead: “Just a reminder, you can’t use force on it—if the malevolent energy inside it fully erupts, then regardless of whether the rift-mouth gets closed, Luoyang, being closest to it, would be finished.” She lowered her voice further: “Right now, our only chance is that it seems particularly fixated on you—this demon comes from a wisp of resentful energy from someone who’s died, and you’re likely the key to soothing that grievance. Try talking to it more, agree to whatever it says—as long as we can lure it to the rift-mouth at Longcheng Manor, anything goes!”

Si Kuanglan glanced at her—probably no one else in the world could have pieced together the gist of the situation so quickly from her hurried explanation.

He considered for a moment, set his sword down on the ground, and walked toward the Rift Demon with empty hands.

Seeing Si Kuanglan approach, the Rift Demon’s face actually changed—on that face with nothing but two hollow sockets and a barely-mouth-like gash, a faint, foolish smile emerged, and a low, muffled sound came from its throat: “Master Wu…”

“Apologies, as I’ve said, my surname is Si, not the Master Wu you’re seeking.” Si Kuanglan said calmly. “If you trust me, I could take you to find this Master Wu.”

Everyone present, even Gungun, wanted to applaud him—what quick thinking!

But the Rift Demon seemed to pay him no mind at all, continuing to call out on its own: “Master Wu…”

Si Kuanglan patiently continued: “I know a Master Wu who lives not far from here—why don’t you come with me to take a look?”

But it just stared fixedly at Si Kuanglan, continuing to call him Master Wu.

Dragging this out any longer boded ill. Si Kuanglan thought for a moment, then, regardless of the creature’s response, simply walked forward directly—since Wei Yong’an had followed him doggedly all this way, this monster should do the same. Given that, he’d play the bait himself, luring the Rift Demon to Longcheng Manor.

Everyone present shared this same thought—where could they find a more effective bait than Si Kuanglan right now! Everyone’s hearts clenched with tension; if Si Kuanglan succeeded, everything after would be simple—just a matter of who could run faster.

This Rift Demon looked large and ferocious, but didn’t seem too clever…

But all their hopes were shattered in an instant.

Si Kuanglan had only taken a few steps when the Rift Demon unexpectedly drew a sharp breath, and Si Kuanglan’s entire body instantly left the ground, pulled by some strange force toward the demon’s chest. In the blink of an eye he was pressed tightly against its chest, and it even extended both hands to grip him tightly. Under its forceful grasp, Si Kuanglan sank like quicksand, most of his body rapidly submerged into a swirling vortex of light pulsing from its chest. Even so, his expression remained unchanged, only shouting loudly: “Don’t come closer!”

No use—Tao Yao had already leapt high into the air, slapping herself against the demon’s chest in an instant, grabbing hold of Si Kuanglan’s wrist, gritting her teeth: “Why should I listen to you? I’m coming in regardless!”

“You…” With only his shoulders and above still outside, Si Kuanglan tried to shake her off, but found himself already unable to move at all, his body sinking into the demon’s form growing suddenly heavy as a thousand pounds, dragging him down relentlessly.

At the same time, Tao Yao’s hand also became stuck, unable to pull free, most of her arm sinking along with Si Kuanglan into that vortex.

Young Master Liu was about to rush forward, but Tao Yao stopped him sharply: “Don’t come closer! If we haven’t come out in three hours, all of you run as far as you can. And on future holidays, burn me some extra good food.”

Before she’d even finished speaking, everything went dark before Tao Yao’s eyes, her body sliding like a falling leaf into some boundless, endless void, unable to summon any strength at all, unable to see or hear, unable to determine whether she was even still breathing—the only real and certain sensation was that she was still gripping onto someone else’s hand…

The ashes of spirit money swirled in the light breeze of early summer.

A young man not yet twenty knelt before a low grave mound, burning paper money, saying happily: “Mother, tomorrow I set off for Luoyang. Half the mural work at Ganlin Temple has been entrusted to me. It wasn’t easy to earn this commission—Luoyang is full of great talents, even masters from Chang’an offered themselves for the job. I thought someone as unknown as me had no hope at all.”

His joy came genuinely from the heart, and before his mother, there was no need to hide it.

After finishing burning the paper money, not caring whether he dirtied his white robes, he simply sat down before the grave, gazing out at the lush greenery covering the surrounding hills, and continued: “The abbot is an especially kind man, treating me with great warmth and thoroughness. Not only has he arranged lodging for me, but he’s also promised to introduce me to the various masters of Luoyang. Once I leave for Luoyang, I’m afraid it’ll be a long while before I can return to see you, Mother. The mural at Ganlin Temple is by imperial decree—I dare not be even slightly careless or negligent. If I can complete it successfully and please His Majesty, perhaps I can make a name for myself in Luoyang and even Chang’an.” He turned to look at his mother’s grave, his eyes full of hope. “You know I’m not particularly drawn to fame and fortune—I simply love painting. If I receive any reward this time, I’d like to have your grave properly restored, otherwise, before long, I’m afraid this small mound will disappear entirely.”

A breeze passed by, lifting a strand of loose hair from his forehead. He pulled out from his robes a small sachet giving off an herbal fragrance—clearly a gift from some young lady.

“A’Min gave me another sachet. I mentioned not sleeping too well recently, so she made this for me, told me to keep it by my pillow at night—it does seem to help.” He fingered the sachet gently. “I know A’Min is reluctant to see me go. Yesterday, while helping me pack, her eyes were red the whole time. I felt a bit sad myself.” He sighed. “I promised A’Min that at most within half a year, once I’ve finished the mural and have some savings, I’ll definitely come back to marry her.” As he spoke, his brief moment of melancholy dissolved into anticipation for the future, and he smiled a bit sheepishly at the grave. “Mother, I think A’Min is the most beautiful girl under heaven, just like the fairies in paintings. You’d surely be happy to have her as your daughter-in-law. In another two or three years, maybe it’ll be three of us coming to see you, or perhaps even four! I’m not greedy—one son and one daughter would be enough. I’ll teach them to paint, mountains and rivers, marketplace scenes, anything beautiful. Hahaha.”

He grew more and more delighted as he spoke, to the point of positively glowing: “Mother, there’s one more thing—guess who’s been assigned the other half of the Ganlin Temple mural?” He nearly jumped up in excitement. “It’s Master Wu! The most famous painter of our time! I admire him so completely, utterly—you have no idea how extraordinary his figures are! Not only are the faces so vivid, but even the flowing robes seem about to take flight! No one else in the world can paint to such heights! My own skill might never catch up to his in this lifetime. So to actually get to paint half the mural alongside Master Wu—I’m simply overjoyed! It’s something I never even dared dream of!”

The wild grass and flowers rustled in the wind, celebrating this simple, happy young man in their own way.

This early summer was truly the brightest, most radiant moment of his life.

The setting sun sent him joyfully down the mountain.

A’Min had long been waiting at his doorstep, bringing him a new set of clothes, two pairs of new shoes, and all sorts of dried provisions, terrified he might grow cold or hungry, practically wanting to stuff the entire village’s food into his travel bag.

He held her slightly rough hands and said: “When I return from Luoyang, I’ll definitely buy you the most beautiful bracelet.”

The simply-dressed young woman shook her head shyly: “What would I need that for? Besides, I’m not used to wearing such things, it’s inconvenient for chores. You’re going to be alone in a foreign place, and Luoyang isn’t like our little village—you’ll need money for all sorts of things there, so keep more silver on you for yourself.”

“I’m buying it.” He suddenly grew stubborn, looking earnestly into her face. “When I come back, we’ll get married.”

Her face flushed as red as the thickest rouge, too shy to look at him, yet she gripped his hand even tighter, nodding gently: “I’ll wait for you.”

Neither of them could bear to let go, wishing time would simply stop right here.

But those who must leave, still must leave.

A’Min chased after the carriage carrying him for a long distance; he turned back to look many times too, until the distance between them grew too great to see each other at all.

The sadness was brief—it wasn’t as if he’d never return, and the road ahead was the most anticipated, most glorious stretch of his life yet to come.

This was his second time coming to Luoyang, and the dazzling prosperity still amazed him—he couldn’t fathom how such a place, as beautiful as a painted scroll, could exist in this world. Every ordinary scene in the marketplace held special charm to him; even the laughter of children here seemed more pleasant than elsewhere.

He wished he could paint everything before his eyes and bring it back to show A’Min. No… better yet, just bring her here to Luoyang to see it herself—she who’d rarely even left the village would surely love it here.

Ganlin Temple’s abbot remained as kind as ever, arranging him in one of the temple’s finest guest rooms, with plentiful, delicious vegetarian meals, and even assigned two young novice monks to assist him—whatever brushes or ink he might lack, they could procure for him.

The Emperor’s wish was for the temple’s blank walls in the North and South courtyards to be covered with a scroll depicting the “Scene of Fiery Hell”—as the name suggested, meant to display the legendary scenes of hell in full, especially emphasizing the truly wicked being whipped, boiled, and fried by hellish demons, all meant to warn the world to abandon evil thoughts and embrace compassion.

Everyone said that if this commission went well, not only would it please the Emperor greatly, making a swift rise to prominence almost a given, but it was also considered a deed of great merit—no wonder painters of great skill from across the realm flocked to compete for it, each eager to display everything they’d ever learned, hoping only to leave their masterpiece on Ganlin Temple’s walls.

The final outcome proved half-surprising—half, because one of the two painters was Master Wu himself; his acceptance into Ganlin Temple, all his peers found entirely deserved, given his seniority and masterful skill, being the Emperor’s most valued painter, someone even difficult to get an audience with under normal circumstances—only a temple bearing imperial decree like Ganlin could have secured someone of his stature. So all their surprise centered on the other painter, a man named Huangfu Qin, entirely unknown in the community, a newcomer.

Originally, this mural was to be completed by Master Wu alone, but the abbot, considering Master Wu’s advanced age and the difficulty of completing the entire temple’s murals single-handedly, petitioned the Emperor to divide the mural between the North and South courtyards, seeking another painter to complete one half each—both sharing the burden with Master Wu and saving considerable time, hence why so many painters had scrambled so eagerly to secure a place at Ganlin Temple in the first place. As for this Huangfu Qin, it was said the abbot had happened to see his work, was greatly impressed, and even gave the assessment that “though not quite Master Wu’s equal, not far off either.”

And naturally, he cherished this heaven-sent opportunity as much as he cherished his own life. On the very day he moved into Ganlin Temple, he didn’t sleep a wink all night, sitting before the blank wall of the North courtyard in deep thought until dawn. The next day, the first vengeful ghost appeared on the wall—no sooner had he finished than a passing novice monk was startled badly, saying he’d never seen such a terrifying image before, the ghost on the wall so vividly rendered it seemed about to leap right out.

For a time, everyone in the temple who’d doubted his abilities came to realize the abbot’s judgment truly was remarkable, that he hadn’t chosen wrongly. Even people outside the temple came upon hearing the news, marveling at his work.

The first day, the second day, the third day—more and more people came to Ganlin Temple to watch each day, including no small number of admiring young women, who cared little whether his painting was good or not; a handsome, young, energetic white-robed young master, standing tall and elegant before the wall, brush in hand moving with such effortless grace, was reason enough for them to keep their eyes fixed on him. Besides, his painting truly was excellent—even those who knew nothing of art could tell it was good. Whenever he had free time, more than a few people came asking for a few brushstrokes from him—anything would do, a flower, a bird, even just a leaf, so long as it bore his signature, Huangfu Qin.

More and more people became convinced Huangfu Qin was a rising star in the art world, that fame across the realm was only a matter of time, and that seeking out an authentic piece of his now, early, was the wise thing to do. And being naturally good-natured, he never refused anyone, which spread word further, drawing even more admirers, and even Ganlin Temple’s incense offerings grew more prosperous thanks to him.

He painted for over half a month straight, and the North courtyard’s wall was nearly half complete, proceeding even more smoothly than expected.

This evening, he set down his brush and, out of habit, glanced toward the South courtyard, his heart suddenly growing tense again.

Laughably, despite having been at Ganlin Temple for so many days now, he still hadn’t worked up the courage to walk over to the South courtyard.

On his third day at the temple, he’d heard from the novice monks that Master Wu had also arrived, staying in the South courtyard. He’d been so excited he’d nearly jumped up—the idol he’d admired for so many years was right there, so close, and he’d wanted nothing more than to rush over immediately for a glimpse. But he’d quickly calmed himself—he’d long heard that Master Wu had an eccentric, reclusive temperament, and especially disliked being disturbed by outsiders while painting. If he went now, wouldn’t that spoil the man’s peace? That would be a grave misstep… After much deliberation, he’d reluctantly set aside his eager desire to meet him, thinking he’d wait until both had finished their murals before paying his respects.

Now, standing before the corridor leading to the South courtyard, that longing to meet his idol was as hard to suppress as today’s suddenly hot weather. He deliberated back and forth, taking a step forward then retreating, repeating this several times, before finally convincing himself—he’d just sneak a look, absolutely wouldn’t disturb Master Wu!

Before heading to the South courtyard, he’d even prepared himself to memorize every detail of Master Wu’s work as quickly as possible—not missing a single line! Only then could he compare his own shortcomings and improve promptly, after all, since this was a joint work between the two of them, he couldn’t bear to drag Master Wu down.

But his plan fell completely flat.

It wasn’t that Master Wu’s mural shocked him into a blank-minded stupor unable to remember anything—rather, the South courtyard’s wall was completely empty. Forget hellish demons, there wasn’t even a single mosquito on it…

He stood dumbfounded at the South courtyard’s entrance, rubbing his eyes, but it wasn’t a trick of his vision.

A snore reached his ears. There, sprawled asleep in a bamboo chair, was a white-haired elder, his loose, wide-sleeved robe hanging crookedly, dragging on the ground. Two empty wine jugs lay beside him, pinning down a brush that hadn’t even been dipped in ink.

Was this really Master Wu’s true appearance?

Though quite different from what he’d imagined, he was still deeply excited. Looking again at the blank wall, he thought surely the senior master was still deep in contemplation—with his skill, he might finish in just a few days what would take him a whole month.

That must be it. He bowed respectfully to the sleeping Master Wu and tiptoed back to the North courtyard.

Another ten days passed, and the South courtyard’s wall remained blank.

Even the abbot began to grow anxious.

Knowing his own low standing, he didn’t dare ask too much, only overhearing whispers among the other monks in the temple—”the well of talent has run dry,” “old age really does show, can’t compare to the younger generation!”, “I don’t think he can paint anything at all anymore…”

Today was his rest day. He’d gone specially to the market to buy a jug of fine wine, secretly brought it back to the temple and hidden it in his room, hesitating from afternoon into evening, finally, as night first fell, quietly making his way to the South courtyard with the wine.

The wall was indeed still blank, and Master Wu wasn’t sleeping either, simply sitting in his bamboo chair facing the wall, an undipped brush turning idly in his hand.

He gathered his courage, coughed lightly to announce himself, then walked behind Master Wu and bowed deeply: “This junior, Huangfu Qin, pays respects to Master Wu!”

The brush stopped turning. Master Wu didn’t even turn his head, only saying idly: “Ah, the young Huangfu from next door.”

Unable to tell whether he was welcome or not, he had no choice but to steel himself and bring out the jug of wine: “This junior obtained a jug of wine, but I myself can’t hold my liquor well. I heard Master Wu has a great capacity for drink, so I’ve brought it specially as a gift. If I’ve disturbed the master, please forgive me, I’ll take my leave now.”

The moment he heard “wine,” Master Wu’s attitude changed instantly. He rose eagerly from his chair, taking the wine jug from him without ceremony, opened the lid, sniffed carefully, and laughed: “Truly fine wine!”

He immediately let out a breath of relief—bringing wine had been the right call after all.

“You’ve come at just the right time, I was just worrying I had no one to fetch wine for me.” Master Wu waved him over. “Come, come, don’t head back yet. First meeting, and colleagues besides—the moonlight’s fine tonight too, why not share a drink together?”

He was overjoyed, how could he possibly refuse.

Master Wu had him bring out another chair from the room, then fetched two wine cups himself, setting them on a small wooden table. Old and young sat on either side, the bright moon overhead, blank wall before their eyes.

Given such an opportunity, how could he not pour out all his admiration for Master Wu? Holding his wine cup, he barely had time to drink, launching instead from the first time he’d seen the master’s paintings as a child and been utterly awestruck, praising every aspect of his craft from head to toe.

Master Wu seemed to barely register any of it, drinking several cups in a row, only occasionally nodding perfunctorily at him.

Perhaps someone accustomed to praise simply grew this calm about it.

He didn’t feel slighted either—being able to speak his admiration directly to his idol’s face was already tremendous happiness.

Looking at the pristine white wall, and with a cup or two of wine in him, he finally couldn’t help but ask: “Master, are you contemplating some great masterpiece? Is that why you’ve been so cautious, still not putting brush to wall?”

“Perhaps…” Master Wu smacked his lips, his smile somewhat forced, then changed the subject. “Young Master Huangfu isn’t from Luoyang, is he?”

Hearing his idol take initiative to ask him a question, he immediately launched into everything—where his family was from, his parents having passed away, being alone in the world, unable even to afford paper and brushes when he first started learning to paint, having to practice with tree branches in the sand, and so on, practically recounting his entire twenty years of life.

Master Wu smiled: “In my youth, I had experiences quite similar to Young Master Huangfu’s—I too used to pick up discarded painting paper others had used.” He took another drink. “And in the blink of an eye, several decades have passed.”

“So the master too…” He’d meant to say “came from humble origins” but felt it might be presumptuous, so he swallowed the words, though inwardly he felt deeply honored—so the rumored aloof, proud Master Wu wasn’t so difficult to get along with after all, showing no airs toward a junior like him. He quickly added: “However difficult the past may have been, Master’s achievements now are enough to make the whole world take notice. This junior truly admires you!”

Perhaps it was because, despite his excitement, every word he spoke was genuine, or perhaps because he’d brought a jug of wine that happened to suit his taste perfectly, but Master Wu didn’t seem to mind this junior at all, instead pouring him a cup of wine, saying with a smile: “I’ve been at Ganlin Temple several days now and haven’t even visited Young Master Huangfu—how remiss of me.”

He quickly cupped the wine cup in both hands, saying repeatedly: “Master, you’re too kind! It’s this junior who should have come to pay respects to you. To be honest, from the very first day I learned you’d arrived at Ganlin Temple, I wanted to come see you, but feared disturbing you.”

“Haha, if Young Master Huangfu has free time, feel free to come more often.” Master Wu tapped the wine jug. “Bringing wine along makes it even better. Just be careful the monks don’t find out, or they’ll nag us for breaking the temple’s precepts.”

He laughed too: “Absolutely, absolutely!”

The night breeze was slightly cool, thin clouds veiled the moon, tree shadows swayed in the courtyard, the faint scent of sandalwood incense drifted in the air—Luoyang’s gentlest night settling upon this old man and young man, oddly harmonious.

Over the following days, he secretly bought wine outside and brought it back, delightedly heading to the South courtyard under cover of darkness each time.

His relationship with Master Wu grew increasingly familiar with the aid of fine wine. His admiration remained, but gradually the earlier restraint—weighing every word for half a day before speaking—faded away.

Their casual chats over wine expanded from their respective views and insights on painting to his hopes for the future, even telling him about wanting to buy A’Min a beautiful bracelet, and saying that given the chance, he’d definitely want to travel to all the great cities of the realm, capturing the mountains and rivers of the Tang dynasty on scrolls to leave for future generations.

Master Wu, half-drunk, listened quietly to him finish, and there was, unexpectedly, a hint of envy in the gaze he turned toward him.

He didn’t notice this at all, simply pouring out all the wishes in his heart to his idol with great enthusiasm, growing increasingly confident as he spoke that he would achieve all his dreams.

In fact, he firmly believed their moonlit conversations over wine would continue indefinitely, and countless times he thanked the gods and Buddha for granting him such tremendous fortune.

But things in this world don’t always go as one wishes, nor necessarily develop in the direction one hopes.

It was the day before he was set to finish his mural. The North courtyard’s wall had become a complete “Scene of Fiery Hell,” leaving every viewer awestruck, not only shocked by the content depicted, but even more astonished by this young painter’s evident, undeniable talent.

Master Wu was among the onlookers that day. Perhaps moved by something, or perhaps simply because he’d eaten and drunk this junior’s good wine for so many days now, even the most arrogant, reclusive person should offer some response.

So, for the first time, he stood before the North courtyard’s entrance, carrying with him a jug of wine and a package of small pastries.

No one among the onlookers noticed exactly when a white-haired old man had joined their crowd; their focus was entirely on the murals and their creator, and already a few painting and calligraphy dealers were eagerly trying to build connections and seek collaborations, afraid others might beat them to this promising talent.

He was surrounded on all sides, responding to this overwhelming outpouring of admiration with friendly if slightly clumsy grace.

It took him a good while to spot Master Wu, standing alone before the mural, lost in thought. He quickly squeezed his way out and rushed over, saying with delight: “Master, you came!” His gaze fell on the wine jug in the man’s hand, and he grew even more delighted: “You came to drink with me?”

Master Wu finally managed to pull his gaze away from the mural, smiling: “Nearly finished?”

“Yes, yes, should be done by tomorrow.” He nodded eagerly, thinking that Master Wu, who never once ventured over here, had actually come in person—if he could offer some guidance and critique, wouldn’t that fulfill his years-long wish?

Master Wu glanced briefly at the mural again, then smiled and placed the wine and food in his hands: “Can’t just keep eating your wine for free—I heard from the little monk that you’re about to finish here, so I brought something back as a gift, to celebrate your masterful accomplishment.”

Masterful accomplishment… too many people had used this phrase to praise him, but coming from Master Wu’s mouth, it was the highest compliment he’d received yet, even more gratifying than the Emperor’s own praise.

He clutched what was, so to speak, a congratulatory gift, too excited to know what to say.

“Good… good!” Master Wu muttered “good” several times to himself, then patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll take my leave now—there are plenty of people still waiting for you over there.”

He froze for a moment, expecting they’d have another round of drinking and conversation—just moving the location from the South to the North courtyard… why was he leaving already?

“Master Wu…” He called out hesitantly, then worried his invitation might delay Master Wu’s time. He was leaving so quickly, surely he had something important to attend to.

Never mind. He watched Master Wu’s hurrying back with some disappointment, then smiled at the wine jug: “I can’t bear to drink you.”

He meant it truly—not that he particularly loved wine, but even if he’d been a heavy drinker, he absolutely couldn’t bring himself to drink this jug. To him, what this jug held wasn’t wine, but the satisfaction and joy he’d anticipated for years, something that had only ever appeared in his dreams.

The next day, he indeed completed the entire mural as scheduled.

The abbot, overjoyed, gave him his payment ahead of schedule, and even increased it well beyond the original amount, saying this was what he deserved.

Every hardship he’d endured in his life had proven worthwhile—people’s genuine admiration, real silver in his hands, he’d gained both. That day, clutching the silver he’d earned, he hid in his guest room and wept freely with joy, wishing he could sprout wings right then and fly to A’Min’s side to tell her everything was fine now, and would only get better!

Then, he went out and bought the most expensive jug of wine the shop had to offer, heading to the South courtyard as night fell.

The courtyard was empty, the guest room’s door tightly shut.

He peered through the door crack, unsure whether anyone was inside.

He knocked gently. No response.

Master Wu wasn’t there?

Somewhat disappointed, he left, but before going, turned back to look once more at that wall, still gleaming white under the moonlight.

Over the following days, he couldn’t find any trace of Master Wu. A couple of times, he thought he heard faint coughing from behind the tightly shut door, but knocking still brought no response.

Utterly puzzled, yet not daring to knock too insistently, he had no choice but to return disappointed each time.

A few more days passed, and the abbot came to find him, saying he’d already arranged a residence for him in Luoyang, so he no longer needed to lodge at the temple, and it would be more convenient to have family and friends visit too.

He was, of course, deeply grateful.

While packing to move out, he saw again that jug of good wine he’d never had the chance to give.

After much deliberation, he brought the wine to the South courtyard once more.

Master Wu finally appeared, still lounging in his bamboo chair, fanning himself leisurely with a cattail fan, showing no intention of rising even upon hearing his voice.

“Master, you’ve finally returned!” he said with delight. “Have you been away from the temple these past few days?”

“Does Young Master Huangfu need something?” Master Wu asked only flatly.

He quickly held out the wine: “The shopkeeper said this is excellent wine, so I bought it for the master to try!”

Master Wu set down his fan, rose slowly, took the wine jug, and, as before, opened the lid to sniff it.

“The shopkeeper said this wine’s been aged several decades, and there are some precious ingredients mixed in too—”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Master Wu shook his head: “There’s ginseng in this wine.”

“Eh?” He didn’t quite understand for a moment. “Ginseng? The shopkeeper did mention this wine indeed contains—”

Before he could finish, Master Wu poured the entire jug of fine wine out onto the ground, the rich aroma of wine rising rapidly from the slightly warm earth.

“Master, this is…” He was quite bewildered, though it wasn’t the money he’d spent on the wine that troubled him.

“When it comes to wine, I insist on purity.” Master Wu smiled. “Adding all sorts of extraneous things beyond the five grains, then giving it some fancy name to make it seem rare and precious—truly distasteful. I don’t like it, and I won’t drink it.”

So it was the ginseng that had caused the trouble? He’d thought only fine wines were worthy of such precious additions—turns out it had backfired entirely.

“I’m truly sorry, this junior didn’t know of the master’s preferences, please don’t hold it against me!” He apologized quickly. “I’ll never make the same mistake again in the future.”

Master Wu waved a hand: “It’s not really a mistake. Just doesn’t suit my taste, that’s all. But thank you for the thoughtful gesture.” With that, he tossed aside the wine jug and headed toward his room, fanning himself. “I’m tired, won’t be keeping Young Master Huangfu company under the moon tonight.”

“Master, please rest well!” He quickly cupped his hands in farewell.

The door shut with a bang. He took a deep breath, picked up the discarded wine jug, and carried it out of the South courtyard, worried the lingering scent might further displease Master Wu.

Back in his room, he set the wine jug on the table, then slumped over it himself, gazing at it sympathetically, muttering to himself: “Such a shame to just pour it out because you don’t like it.”

There was no moon that night, not even a breeze; only a few scattered, dim lamps flickered throughout Ganlin Temple.

The next day, word spread through the temple that Master Wu had left—perhaps only someone of his stature could enjoy such freedom and privilege, delaying even an imperial commission indefinitely without anyone daring to hold him accountable.

Upon hearing this, he felt only deep regret—he hadn’t even managed to obtain a single authentic piece of Master Wu’s work.

Well, perhaps there would be another chance to meet again someday.

He moved out of Ganlin Temple, settling into a residence in western Luoyang.

The following month passed extraordinarily fulfilling; invitations came his way every few days, and unable to refuse them, he found himself going back and forth between gatherings large and small. Actually, he’d wanted to return to see A’Min the very day after moving, but the abbot had told him not to rush off within the next few months—once the other half of the mural was complete, the Emperor would send someone to inspect it, and if there was any dissatisfaction, he’d need to come immediately to make revisions. But as the abbot spoke, he began to sigh—the Emperor had given half a year, and time was slipping by day by day, yet no one knew when Master Wu would finish. Now the man had even vanished entirely, it was worrying indeed. Hearing this, he’d tried to comfort the abbot, saying someone of Master Wu’s stature was naturally elusive, appearing and disappearing like a legendary dragon, no need to worry too much—there was still time, surely he’d complete it on schedule.

He’d always had complete confidence in his idol.

After that, he grew increasingly accustomed to life in Luoyang. Besides painting and attending gatherings, he visited jewelry shops throughout the city, large and small, searching for the perfect bracelet.

The life he’d promised himself and A’Min, he was determined to make real.

One afternoon, a fellow painter he knew delivered an invitation to him, saying that seven days later, renowned figures from the calligraphy and painting world across the entire realm would gather in Luoyang for the Thousand Flowers Night Banquet—a grand event held once every three years, considered the pinnacle gathering of the art world—urging him to attend without fail.

He agreed readily, and casually asked whether Master Wu would be attending, to which the man laughingly replied that Master Wu attended every single time; if he weren’t present, the banquet would lose half its splendor.

Hearing this, he grew quite delighted, thinking that jug of wine Master Wu had given him back then would finally have a chance to be drunk.

On the day of the banquet, he first went to the jewelry shop to place a deposit, having found no style among their existing offerings that satisfied him, finally simply drawing up his own design and asking them to craft a gold bracelet according to it, the shop owner promising it would be ready in ten days. Leaving the shop, he was already imagining how that one-of-a-kind bracelet would look on A’Min’s wrist—beautiful, truly beautiful!

Carrying that jug of wine, he made his way happily through streets and alleys still not entirely familiar to him, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, as if he’d never attended such a grand gathering before, determined not to make any missteps once there.

But he seemed to have taken a wrong turn somewhere—the narrow, winding, empty alley before him didn’t seem to lead toward his destination.

Halfway through, sensing something was off, he shook his head and turned back.

The setting sun had already sunk low, and the still-warm dusk gradually enveloped every corner of Luoyang, dissolving his figure into it as well…

The next morning, a passerby discovered a body in the alley—a young man, delicate and refined in appearance, his eyes faintly open, blood blossoming from his chest into dark red flowers upon his white robes…

In the air, alongside the smell of blood, drifted the faint scent of wine—beside him lay a wine jug, shattered into pieces.

The ashes of spirit money swirled in the light breeze of early summer.

A young man not yet twenty knelt before a low grave mound, burning paper money, saying happily: “Mother, tomorrow I set off for Luoyang. Half the mural work at Ganlin Temple has been entrusted to me. It wasn’t easy to earn this commission—Luoyang is full of great talents, even masters from Chang’an offered themselves for the job. I thought someone as unknown as me had no hope at all.”

Tao Yao waved her hand before him again and again, shouting loudly into his ear: “Huangfu Qin!”

He showed no reaction whatsoever, as if she didn’t exist before him at all, continuing happily to talk to himself before the grave.

Tao Yao sighed, plopped down, counted on her fingers, then looked up: “That’s the sixth time now, isn’t it?”

Si Kuanglan nodded: “Six times.”

Perhaps rarely in their lives had the two of them experienced such a breakdown moment—since being swallowed into the Rift Demon’s body, they’d watched, over and over, Huangfu Qin’s journey from mountain village to Luoyang, from rising star to violent death in that back alley, six times now!! Each time Huangfu Qin died, they found themselves back before his mother’s grave, watching him talk happily to himself again, cycling endlessly, utterly unable to break free, as if tethered to Huangfu Qin’s side. They’d witnessed his entire experience during this period, even sensing all his thoughts and emotions—yet to him, and to this entire world before them, they were like air, entirely invisible, ignored—a strange, powerless sensation of being present in this place yet not belonging to it. And their bodies could pass through anything here—trees, walls, living people—except they could never touch the ground, only floating along as they moved. Fortunately, they felt no hunger or fatigue throughout, and though they’d followed Huangfu Qin for what amounted to several months, from their perspective it felt like only a brief moment—time here was entirely mismatched.

“I can’t shout anymore!” Tao Yao rasped, her voice weak. “Your turn… only by getting Huangfu Qin to ‘see’ us can this endless loop possibly be broken!”

“I told you it’s futile. He’s not deaf—we’re simply not truly in the same world as him right now.” Si Kuanglan looked down at the endlessly murmuring Huangfu Qin. “You said the Rift Demon’s origin is nothing but a wisp of a living being’s dying breath—it seems clear now that the wisp attached to Wei Yong’an, transforming him into a Rift Demon, must come from this Huangfu Qin, born in the Tang dynasty.”

“Right.” Tao Yao looked around—early summer, green hills, wild fields, nothing here felt anything less than real. “And what we’re witnessing now must be the source of this wisp of resentful energy. Calling it a single ‘breath’ is perhaps also an apt description of an obsession that even death couldn’t dissolve.”

Si Kuanglan walked over, standing as close to Huangfu Qin as possible, studying this now-familiar stranger carefully, saying: “He never even had the chance to pick up the bracelet he’d commissioned for A’Min.”

Tao Yao fell silent for a moment, then said: “Six times through now, and we’ve never once seen what happened after he turned around in that alley. Every time we reach that point, the world just goes completely dark, and when the light returns, he’s already a corpse.”

“Perhaps he himself doesn’t want to see it.” Si Kuanglan said flatly. “After six runs through, you must have some idea by now, don’t you?”

Tao Yao cleared her throat: “The cause of death.”

“Determining his cause of death might be what finally lets him ‘see’ us.” Si Kuanglan thought for a moment. “Anyone could be the murderer—whoever delivered the invitation, anyone who might have seen him leaving the jewelry shop and been struck by greed, someone he’d unknowingly offended… even that Master Wu.”

Tao Yao frowned: “All possible. But we have absolutely no leads. Would running through it a few more times change anything?” What she resented most right now was truly having become invisible—otherwise, one pill down his throat, and whether Huangfu Qin liked it or not, she could have gotten him to recall every detail down to how many times he’d wet the bed as a child.

“Nearly impossible.” Si Kuanglan looked up—the blue sky and white clouds were quite lovely. “This predicament looks ordinary on the surface, but is actually extremely perilous. If we can’t break it, after cycling through countless times, will you and I remain forever free of hunger, thirst, and fatigue?” He smiled. “Slowly starving and dying of thirst wouldn’t be a pleasant way to go.” He watched the passing clouds. “You needn’t have come in with me, you know.”

Tao Yao froze for a moment, having meant to say something about how he needn’t have jumped into the Brocade Scale River in the dead of winter either, but a thousand words dissolved into a single eye-roll instead: “If anything happened to you, who would I get a pillow-sized red envelope from!”

Kuanglan chuckled lightly: “I’ve never given you a pillow-sized red envelope.”

“I don’t care, I want a pillow-sized red envelope regardless!” She jumped up, stamping her foot, then muttered indignantly, “You’re perfectly willing to buy this and that for someone else and even escort her around the fair the whole time—has she ever fed your horses, or saved your Jingjing, or helped Steward Miao sort out his first love? Hmph.”

Though her muttering afterward grew quieter, Si Kuanglan still caught most of it, laughing: “She’s not my servant at the Si estate, why would she need to handle Si estate matters? Your reasoning holds no water at all.”

“When have I ever been angry?”

“You’ve been angry this whole time.”

“You…”

Even someone trapped in a hopeless predicament shouldn’t be entirely without spirit—the arguments they were meant to have, they’d have anyway.

So the scene right now didn’t actually look all that dire—Huangfu Qin sitting before the grave dreaming of the future, beside him Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan floating along, bickering sharply, neither willing to yield, wild grass and flowers swaying all around, birds singing—not a hint of danger in sight.

The two of them argued all the way until Huangfu Qin entered Ganlin Temple again, and had Si Kuanglan not suddenly made a gesture for silence, she’d probably have kept arguing with him until Huangfu Qin met his violent end in the street once more.

“What is it?” she asked, puzzled.

“I think I heard Si Jingyuan’s voice.” He frowned, glancing around.

Tao Yao pricked up her ears, listening intently for a while: “I don’t hear anything.”

“No… it’s him.” Si Kuanglan said with certainty.

Seeing him so certain, Tao Yao closed her eyes to steady herself, carefully trying to catch any unusual sound in the air.

“Lanlan! Tao Yao! Lanlan! Tao Yao! Are you two there? If you are, answer me!” A distant, intermittent shout drifted over—it really was his voice…

How could he possibly be here?

Tao Yao’s eyes snapped open, and she took a deep breath and shouted: “Si Jingyuan! We’re here!”

Si Kuanglan said nothing, his expression grim.

A moment later, something not much bigger than a mosquito flew in over the courtyard wall, landing before them with tears of joy: “I finally found you! I was so afraid you’d both be gone! Waaah!”

Tao Yao’s mouth fell open, pointing at this “mosquito”: “How did you end up like this?”

It really was Si Jingyuan, but his body had shrunk so small it genuinely looked like a mosquito—and a semi-transparent one at that.

“How should I know, the moment I came in here, I just shrank down to this. Maybe this Rift Demon’s body works differently for different people.” Si Jingyuan flew anxiously around them. “How are you two? Three hours have passed and you still haven’t come out! I had to come in and check on you no matter what!”

Si Kuanglan gritted his teeth: “Tired of living, are you? Do you realize that rushing in like this, you might die even faster than us!”

Tao Yao broke into a cold sweat for him too: “Do you think this Rift Demon’s body is like Old Li’s vegetable stall next door? Haven’t you thought that your soul shrinking this small is a dangerous sign? Hurry, however you got in, get back out the same way!”

“I don’t feel any discomfort at all.” Si Jingyuan paid this no mind, focused entirely on them. “You can’t get out? How could you not be able to get out?”

Si Kuanglan suppressed his rising anger, giving one final warning: “Get out now! Every moment you stay is another moment of danger for you—even we’re struggling to manage here.”

“Right! You’d better hurry…” Tao Yao urged anxiously, but suddenly an idea struck her, and she said, “Wait, wait, don’t leave yet!”

“You…” Si Kuanglan’s gaze looked murderous.

Tao Yao ignored him, immediately pressing close to Si Jingyuan, saying seriously: “Remember every word I’m about to say. Once you get out, immediately have Young Master Liu investigate the cause of death of a certain person for me. His name is Huangfu Qin, birth and death dates unknown, only known to be from the Tang dynasty, a painter by trade who once did murals for Ganlin Temple, died at around twenty years of age. If you find anything, write it on paper and burn it for me! Mo Ya definitely has paper on him! Do not come back in here again! Understood? Got it?”

“Eh? Okay!” Seeing she wasn’t joking at all, Si Jingyuan didn’t dare slack off either, only asking, “Is that all? Will this get you two out?”

“There’s a chance.” Tao Yao frowned. “Go quickly!”

Si Jingyuan didn’t dare linger any longer, vanishing in a flash.

“You…” Si Kuanglan stared at her. “Young Master Liu has such capability?”

“And here I thought you were about to devour me a moment ago.” Tao Yao pursed her lips. “Young Master Liu’s cooking may be terrible, but his other skills are quite reliable. Now we just wait.”

Si Kuanglan narrowed his eyes slightly, seeming to form a new impression of her.

She sat cross-legged, chin resting on her hand, watching Huangfu Qin painting diligently on the wall ahead, the corners of her mouth slowly curving up: “No wonder so many people like him—truly a young man of good temperament and talent, and handsome too.”

“Someone without much shame could still harbor improper thoughts about a man even in a situation like this.” Si Kuanglan smiled, sitting down as well.

“His good looks are simply a fact—no amount of your sarcasm changes that. With someone this good right in front of me, my mood’s improved too, so whatever you say right now won’t make me angry.” Tao Yao turned to grin at him. “Not getting my praise must bother you too, doesn’t it?”

Si Kuanglan only said flatly: “However good he was, he’s gone now.”

At these words, both of them seemed to suddenly lose interest in bickering.

Indeed, however good Huangfu Qin had been, on a certain night hundreds of years ago, he’d lost this world forever.

Had that night never happened, he surely would have made a name for himself in history. Even if not, at the very least he could have gone to pick up that bracelet ten days later, then happily returned home to see A’Min, they could have reunited, married, perhaps he really could have achieved his wish of a loving wife, wonderful children, and a peaceful life.

Neither of them spoke further, only adopting an appreciative posture, silently watching him move his brush with such flying grace under the gentle moonlight.

He stopped in the narrow, dim alley, scratching his head, muttering to himself: “Seems I’ve taken a wrong turn?”

Just as he was about to turn back, his body froze, an odd expression flickering in his eyes.

“Huangfu Qin, native of Jinzhou, orphaned early, skilled in painting, went to Luoyang’s Ganlin Temple to paint murals, disliked by fellow painter Wu Sidao, who hired an assassin to kill him. Died at age twenty-one.”

An unfamiliar woman’s voice came from the void, seeming both distant and near, not loud, but every word perfectly clear.

He looked around, the night dark as ink, the narrow alley empty—where could such a voice be coming from?

Who’s speaking… his mind murmured. He’d clearly heard his own name, yet couldn’t understand a single word that followed, only feeling a deep sorrow at hearing it, like needles piercing his heart.

“Huangfu Qin, native of Jinzhou, orphaned early, skilled in painting, went to Luoyang’s Ganlin Temple to paint murals, disliked by fellow painter Wu Sidao, who hired an assassin to kill him. Died at age twenty-one.”

The voice came again, this time a man’s voice, cold as ice, growing colder in his heart the more he heard it.

“Huangfu Qin, native of Jinzhou, orphaned early, skilled in painting, went to Luoyang’s Ganlin Temple to paint murals, disliked by fellow painter Wu Sidao, who hired an assassin to kill him. Died at age twenty-one.”

“Huangfu Qin, native of Jinzhou, orphaned early, skilled in painting, went to Luoyang’s Ganlin Temple to paint murals, disliked by fellow painter Wu Sidao, who hired an assassin to kill him. Died at age twenty-one.”

The male and female voices alternated, repeating the same sentence over and over, growing louder each time, until it no longer reached just his ears, but his heart and mind, even every vein in his body.

Cold sweat covered his forehead, he clutched at his wildly pounding chest, his mind buzzing—he could hear nothing but this sentence, his body in agony, every inch of flesh feeling as though it might split apart.

“Who’s there?!” he gritted his teeth and turned around.

At the other end of the alley, someone had appeared at some point, dressed in black from head to toe, like an illusory shadow in the night, keeping a distance from him that was neither close nor far.

Before he could even make out the person’s face clearly, that figure suddenly rushed toward him at speed. He couldn’t dodge in time, feeling as though he’d collided with a wall. Falling to the ground, his body didn’t hurt much, but his chest felt strangely cold, and his vision began to blur. After a moment of disorientation, a burst of intense pain jolted him awake, and looking down at his chest, he saw warm blood gushing from a deep knife wound.

All the lights in the city seemed to have gone out at that moment; the only light he could see was the dagger gripped in that person’s hand—clearly a particularly sharp, well-suited weapon, its gleam undimmed even stained with blood.

He stared blankly at the weapon that had just left his chest, his mind not blank at all, only confused, countless confusions.

“Why?” he asked, his lips pale.

“Commissioned by another. Young Master Huangfu, please don’t take offense.” The man answered readily enough.

Young Master Huangfu… so he hadn’t killed the wrong person.

“I’ve never offended anyone…” He tried to stand, but his body wouldn’t respond, limp and useless.

The man took a step closer: “The one who hired me asked me to pass along a message.” He crouched down, looking at this dying man with no expression at all. “He said, he dislikes you very much.”

He froze.

The dagger rose high once more…

He no longer felt pain, nor cold. The surroundings were no longer pitch-black night—the early summer breeze blew pleasantly, and in the bustling streets of Luoyang, everywhere was exactly as he loved it. He walked down the street carrying his newly bought painting supplies, the bracelet he’d just picked up from the jewelry shop tucked in his robes. A young couple walked past, laughing, carrying two children, and he thought that he and A’Min would be just like that someday—the thought alone made him happy.

But… he had no “someday” left, did he?

Everything before him was shattered by this sudden realization.

He lay quietly on the cold ground, eyes faintly open, and as his chest rose and fell one last time, he let out a long breath…

No anger, not even hatred, only confusion, an eternal confusion he’d never understand.

Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan finally let out a breath of relief.

There would be no seventh time.

The endless loop was finally shattered in that moment—the night sky, the alley, Huangfu Qin’s corpse, and the entire city of Luoyang along with it, all dissolved like burning paper into scattered ash, leaving before them only a boundless expanse of blankness, like the perpetually empty white wall in Ganlin Temple’s South courtyard.

Before them crouched a thin figure in flowing white robes, head buried deep in his knees.

Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan exchanged a glance.

“Um… Young Master Huangfu?” Tao Yao bent down, calling out to him tentatively.

The man slowly raised his head, saying quietly: “You know I’m not him.”

Tao Yao’s expression changed, instinctively stepping back.

The raised face had no features at all, only a blank expanse, making him look like a portrait that had forgotten to have a face filled in.

Si Kuanglan instinctively stepped forward, shielding Tao Yao behind him, saying coldly: “Then who are you?”

“I am the last breath he exhaled before dying.” He seemed quite lucid, showing no intention of attacking anyone. “What do you call someone like me?”

Tao Yao poked her head out from behind Si Kuanglan: “A Rift Demon. Because you were meant to remain within the Rift Realm.”

“The Rift Realm…” He thought about it. “Ah, I remember now. Not long after I left him, I was blown by a gust of wind to some strange place—nothing there at all, much like now, only countless wisps of dark blue energy drifting about, and I was much the same. So that place is called the Rift Realm.”

Tao Yao stepped forward, watching him warily: “You remember everything now?”

He stood up, nodding: “I was originally drifting there, quietly, nothing particularly wrong with it, except there was always some suppressed grievance and confusion in my heart, something I couldn’t release. Then one day, I suddenly saw a point of light before me, white, growing brighter the closer I got, until I could see nothing at all, only feeling the urge to keep moving forward. I don’t know how much time passed, but when I could see again, I found myself in a bustling marketplace, people coming and going around me. This was very different from the last world I’d seen; I felt uncomfortable, exhausted even. Some inexplicable instinct urged me to settle onto the nearest infant I could find. With this body to rely on, I felt somewhat better. The longer I stayed within him, the more his consciousness came to obey mine. I liked nothing else, only painting—the moment I picked up a brush, I painted hellish demons, and this made the child something of a minor prodigy. But as time went on, I grew increasingly muddled, often not knowing why I was doing these things, yet compelled to do them anyway.”

“Once you leave the Rift Realm, you fall ill—that’s your ‘sickness,'” Tao Yao said. “Though born from a human, the human world isn’t where you belong.” She thought for a moment, then added, “It’s not entirely your fault either. Once a rift-mouth opens, someone always emerges first—if not you, it would have been someone else.”

He looked at Tao Yao and asked: “Leaving the Rift Realm makes me sick?”

“The longer you remain in the human world, the more the nature of that wisp of resentful energy becomes apparent,” she said, pointing at Si Kuanglan. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have become confused enough to mistake this fellow for Master Wu.”

“I…” He studied Si Kuanglan carefully, shaking his head. “He doesn’t look anything like him at all. But…” He recalled that scene at the time. “But the painting was so alike! In my eyes, it seemed almost the work of the same hand! Flowing robes as if catching the wind, the form seeming to break free—that was what I admired most about Master Wu back then. Seeing that painting at Pine Crane Pavilion, my mind went into complete disarray, not caring whether they resembled each other—recognizing the painting, not the man—I became obsessed, convinced Master Wu had returned. The one I’d waited for, unknowingly, for so long, had finally come back.” He lowered his head with some melancholy. “I was so excited, I chased after him only wanting to share a drink with him… I don’t know why I just wanted to drink with him, I don’t know…”

“Because that night, you truly did want to drink with him.” Si Kuanglan said flatly. “Haven’t you always been unable to bear drinking that jug of wine?”

He might have smiled, though it was hard to tell on his face.

“In the end, I never got to drink it.” He sounded somewhat regretful.

Tao Yao found it hard to reconcile the person before her now with the frenzied demon outside, though they were indeed one and the same—the only comfort right now was that this “him” inside still retained something of human form, capable of conversation.

“I’ll still call you Young Master Huangfu, then,” she said with a smile. “Though you’re just a wisp of his dying breath, you managed to live as him, even inheriting his talent for painting.” She paused, her smile fading slightly. “You never even forgot to find Master Wu to drink with on his behalf, always remembering his final, greatest question.”

He fell silent for a moment, then said: “Actually, I…”

“Actually, ‘you’ already know who that patron was,” Si Kuanglan said directly. “But ‘you’ would rather believe you don’t know. Just as, when you weren’t lucid, we watched your past unfold over and over, yet never once saw what actually happened to you in that alley.”

He sighed: “The moment that man said ‘he dislikes you very much,’ I, or rather, we, already knew who it was.” Even without facial features, his dejection was palpable. “But we didn’t believe it, and even more, couldn’t understand it. Perhaps these ten-odd years in the human world, all I was trying to do was make sense of this one thing.”

In this blank world, the atmosphere grew heavier more easily.

The three of them fell silent for a long while. Finally, Si Kuanglan spoke: “He disliked wine with ginseng added, so he poured it out without hesitation.”

He looked up at Si Kuanglan, genuinely waiting for an answer.

“But what fault was there in that jug of wine itself?” Si Kuanglan’s expression remained just as flat. “He simply didn’t like it, that’s all.”

He froze for a moment, seeming to half-understand.

“One, a man in his twilight years, his talent spent; the other, full of youthful vigor, just beginning to show his edge.” Tao Yao smiled. “All your excellence and kindness, in the end, became his crime in his own eyes. Some people, you know, always hide their fear behind disdain—all his dislike of you was really nothing but his own despair and fear of himself.”

He said nothing for a long time, standing there like a stone.

Finally, he spoke slowly: “I… never once thought of replacing him. Never!”

Right, you never thought that—you knew it, Huangfu Qin himself knew it, Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan both knew it—but Master Wu never knew it. A painter capable of depicting heaven and earth, mountains and rivers, had never managed to paint the same broad, beautiful landscape within his own heart—that narrow, dark alley was, perhaps, the true shape of what lay within him.

“Go back now,” Tao Yao finally said. “Huangfu Qin is gone. Master Wu is gone too. Grievances and disputes from hundreds of years ago truly shouldn’t bring misfortune upon a world hundreds of years later. Don’t you think?”

He thought for a long while, let out a long sigh, walked toward the two of them, bowed deeply in a formal salute, then suddenly pushed both palms outward, forcefully shoving them away…

Dawn broke, sunlight streaming down, though it remained bitterly cold.

Tao Yao lay there, blinking dazedly, her vision still blurred, only seeing several anxious figures gathered around her, a cacophony of noise rising and falling.

“They’re out, they’re out! Finally out!”

“Tao Yao, Tao Yao! Say something quickly!”

“Lanlan! Lanlan, are you alright?”

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp!”

Something furry seemed to be bouncing around on her face too.

She drew a sharp breath, finally feeling her soul settle back into place.

Young Master Liu’s face, Mo Ya’s face, Si Jingyuan’s face, Gungun’s tail, all swam clearly into view before her.

Though lying down, it was actually fairly comfortable, something soft beneath her.

A hand poked at her head with disdain: “How much longer are you planning to lie there?”

She turned to look and saw Si Kuanglan, whom she’d been using as a cushion, his face colder than the weather itself right now.

“Is how long I lie here up to me?” She blinked.

“Dream on!” Si Kuanglan said nothing more, but Si Jingyuan, truly unable to bear watching any longer, hauled her up bodily, forcing her to turn in circles on the spot, checking for injuries while asking anxiously, “Are you both alright? All limbs intact? No disfigurement?”

She impatiently swatted his hands away: “Calm down! We’re fine!”

Si Kuanglan stood up, brushed the dust from himself, and looked around, frowning slightly.

They were still outside Bright Moon Terrace, and everything before them remained the same as the night before—the other world brought by the Rift Demon still overlapped with the present, the three troublemaking fools still lying in the same positions on the ground, the only difference being even more semi-transparent Tang dynasty figures coming and going now.

The massive demon had vanished, leaving only a pale-faced Wei Yong’an, hugging his knees, sitting silently not far from them.

“This demon… what a mess it’s caused!” Young Master Liu gritted his teeth, about to walk toward him, but was pulled back by Tao Yao.

She shook her head: “Don’t be angry with him. It’s not entirely his fault either. I’ll handle the rest.”

Young Master Liu took a breath, forcibly suppressing his rising anger: “Almost forgot, can’t kill him, can’t hit him either.”

Tao Yao nodded, walking straight toward Wei Yong’an.

“Tao Yao, be careful!” Mo Ya was still quite nervous. From the moment Si Jingyuan had relayed the message, to Young Master Liu rushing off and quickly finding the truth Tao Yao needed, to him pulling out the paper he’d hidden on himself and writing everything down to burn for her, his heart had been in his throat the whole time. When Young Master Liu returned saying the entire city of Luoyang and its surroundings had all manifested the Phenomenon of Two Overlapping Worlds, he’d worried constantly that any misstep in the process might not only cost Tao Yao and the others their lives, but doom the entire city of Luoyang with no survivors. Only just now, seeing Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan tumble out of the monster’s body, had he finally relaxed somewhat, and the monster too had, at that same moment, deflated like a popped balloon, shrinking back “whoosh” into Wei Yong’an’s form—everything had happened so suddenly he was still genuinely worried about further complications.

Tao Yao waved a hand at him, signaling him not to worry.

“Shall we go?” She stood before Wei Yong’an, speaking in an entirely conversational tone.

Wei Yong’an looked up at her, said nothing, obediently stood up, and silently began walking forward.

No one spoke along the way. Tao Yao walked beside him, while the others watched their every move with some tension.

Everything was just as Tao Yao had described—present-day Luoyang was now entirely overlapped with the Luoyang of hundreds of years ago, houses on the river, trees growing in the middle of roads, one road overlapping strangely with another, visible everywhere. Men and women in Tang dynasty attire moved freely among the frozen figures of the current era. Fortunately, most people had already been asleep when this had occurred last night, frozen in their beds—at least that was probably better than being frozen stiff in the street.

Walking along the way, the scene felt almost dreamlike; after seeing enough of these semi-transparent figures from the previous dynasty, it no longer felt strange at all—just an entirely ordinary marketplace scene from centuries past.

Tao Yao glanced at the silently walking Wei Yong’an, feeling an inexplicable pang of sorrow in her heart.

The “malevolent scene” the Rift Demon had brought forth was, at its root, nothing but the world he’d once loved dearly, a future he’d invested boundless hope in, yet could never realize.

Had that malice-filled night never happened… no, had he never encountered Master Wu at all, this bustling marketplace should rightfully have had him and A’Min walking through it too, perhaps carrying the son and daughter he’d hoped for, happily strolling beneath the bright sunlight. In early summer, they’d have returned to that beautiful mountain village, sharing another year’s good news with his mother.

But now, there wasn’t even anyone left to settle accounts with.

Tao Yao sighed inwardly.

Every expression on her face was taken in by Si Kuanglan, who still maintained his usual cool, indifferent demeanor, walking silently between the two worlds.

Finally, they arrived successfully at Longcheng Manor’s rift-mouth, but Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan both received a shock.

At the exact location of the rift-mouth, an eerily familiar narrow alley had overlapped with it. The two exchanged a glance, both instantly recognizing it as none other than the very alley where Huangfu Qin had met his death.

It seemed this Rift Demon’s tremendous, unusual power was inextricably tied to this “coincidence.”

Sigh, such fated connections were perhaps better left unmade.

Wei Yong’an stood before the earth-filled rift-mouth, then suddenly turned back to Tao Yao: “May I borrow paper and brush?”

Everyone exchanged glances—this was the final step, and nothing could go wrong now. Young Master Liu even suspected he might be planning some trick.

“Let’s go there. That’s a study, it has everything inside.” Tao Yao didn’t seem worried at all, leading him toward Duan Qingzhu’s study.

“This… should we go check on them?” Si Jingyuan seemed somewhat uneasy.

Si Kuanglan shook his head: “Let them be, no need to intrude.”

About the time it takes to finish a few cups of tea later, the anxiously waiting group finally saw Tao Yao and Wei Yong’an emerge from the study, except now Tao Yao carried a scroll of painting paper in her hand.

Wei Yong’an walked back to stand before the rift-mouth, looked down at his feet, then turned back to look at everyone, showing a rare smile: “I never actually liked painting hellish demons—these past years, I just couldn’t help myself. Please, erase them.” With that, he turned back around, gazing calmly at the place he was about to return to, smiling: “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

A thick stream of dark blue energy suddenly burst forth from Wei Yong’an’s body, spinning several times in the air before diving down into the earth, instantly transforming the solid ground into a massive vortex. At the same moment, countless thread-thin streams of blue light rushed in from all directions, falling into the vortex like stars descending to earth. A powerful current of energy surged through the courtyard; Tao Yao and the others struggled hard just to keep their footing. This continued for some time, but eventually, no more blue light came, the vortex grew smaller and smaller, and finally settled back into a flat patch of earth, beside which lay the unconscious, unmoving Wei Yong’an.

Everyone let out a breath of relief, only to hear Mo Ya point ahead and shout: “It’s gone! The other world is gone!”

Young Master Liu and Si Jingyuan dashed out of Longcheng Manor, returning shortly after, saying excitedly: “It’s really gone! Outside is our world again!”

Tao Yao closed her eyes, relief washing over her.

Overhead, real, morning sunlight shone down.

The streets came alive with bustle once more.

The people of Luoyang seemed entirely unaware they’d been “frozen” for an entire night, getting up to eat breakfast, going to work, wandering about—everyone doing whatever they usually did, everything back to normal.

The other Luoyang that had been brought forth had truly vanished along with the disappearing vortex.

Young Master Liu escorted Wei Yong’an home, telling his mother a lie—that he’d had too much to drink at Pine Crane Pavilion last night and had been passed out drunk all this time. Leaving the Wei household, he glanced back at the wall full of paintings covering the entire courtyard, feeling a pang of regret in his heart—from now on, Luoyang would probably never again have a Wei Yong’an whose brush moved like magic. But at least, he’d no longer need to fear the midday light—becoming an ordinary young man wasn’t such a bad thing either.

The group wandered around Luoyang for a while more, eventually finding themselves, without quite realizing it, on that street not far from the Immortals’ Fair.

Tao Yao gazed at that wall she’d once seen and been slightly frightened by—the hellish demons still bared their fangs and claws upon it, but looking at it now, she felt no discomfort at all.

Let’s not erase it after all—it was the final gift left behind, by someone who’d never have the chance to appear again, for this world he’d once loved.

She unrolled the painting scroll in her hand—it was Wei Yong’an’s, no, it should be called “Huangfu Qin’s,” farewell gift to her, a vivid marketplace scene, so detailed one could even make out what the street vendors were selling. Many figures populated the painting, but at its center walked a husband and wife carrying their children, the husband in flowing white robes, the woman’s features graceful and lovely, a gold bracelet particularly exquisite on her wrist—every brushstroke conveyed a deeply devoted couple, blissfully happy together.

Mo Ya and Si Jingyuan exclaimed in unison: “What a magnificent painting! Such incredible skill, and completed so quickly!”

Young Master Liu glanced at it a few times, pursing his lips: “Give me a few more years of practice, I could do the same.”

“Dream on.” Si Kuanglan said without ceremony. “Someone like Huangfu Qin was a heaven-sent genius, rarely matched even by later generations.”

“That’s not right.” Tao Yao suddenly turned her head. “The reason he mistook you for Master Wu was because of your masterpiece! He worshipped that man surnamed Wu as his idol, and your painting managed to match his idol’s level—isn’t that even more astonishing?”

Si Kuanglan said flatly: “It was just something dashed off casually. That demon wasn’t lucid at the time, mistaking it for something else isn’t so strange.”

Then, looking at Tao Yao, the corner of his mouth curved up slightly. “But if you’re trying to compliment me, that’s fine too.”

“Pfft!” Tao Yao made a face at him in secret, then turned back and smiled at him. “If you’re talking about praising our second young master for being rich, I could keep it up until next year’s end!”

“Heh, let’s see if you can stay at the Si estate that long first.” Si Kuanglan turned and walked away.

Tao Yao sensed something was off and quickly caught up: “What do you mean by that? Have I done something to offend you? At the very least, I saved your life, didn’t I? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Si Kuanglan stopped, giving her an ambiguous half-smile for a good while, and only after watching her grow visibly nervous and flushed did he say: “There’s still far too much you haven’t explained to me. The Si estate doesn’t keep people of unclear background around.”

She froze, then stamped her foot: “What’s still unclear about me? I even told you about my hometown! Isn’t that clear enough already?”

“Reflect on it carefully yourself.” Si Kuanglan paid her no more mind, walking straight ahead.

At that moment, Young Master Liu caught up, grabbing her arm: “Almost forgot—while I was investigating Huangfu Qin’s cause of death, I ran into that person you’ve been crying and begging to marry!”

His voice was loud enough that Si Kuanglan, walking ahead, heard every word clearly, especially the phrase “crying and begging to marry”—his brow twitched slightly, though he still didn’t turn back, nor did he stop walking, only slowing his pace slightly.

“Eh??” Tao Yao startled, quickly covering his mouth. “Keep your voice down! What did he say to you?”

“He just said you’re getting more and more out of hand, told me to warn you to behave yourself from now on, or don’t blame him for not sparing Tao Du’s feelings.”

“Uh, did he say he’d come personally to teach me a lesson?”

“No, he didn’t say that.”

“Heh heh, then I guess I’ll misbehave a bit more.”

“What exactly is going on in your head? Your life may not be worth much, but mine sure is! Do you know how many favors I owe people this time just to help you? Don’t you have any gratitude at all? You’re always dragging me into trouble!”

“Those are all your acquaintances.”

“Nonsense! I’ve told you countless times they’re not! Oh, right, how did you know Mo Ya had that paper hidden on him?”

“Do I not know that shameless habit of his by now? Soft-hearted as cotton wool—if he didn’t carry paper around, what would he use to show his compassion if he happened to run into some sick, pitiful, penniless demon along the way?!”

“Amitabha, Tao Yao, are you blaming me?”

“Not exactly blaming you, I’m just afraid you’ll get fooled by some demon pretending to be pitiful!”

“But some demons really are poor, and really are pitiful. Besides, your paper is really expensive!”

“…”

Si Kuanglan listened carefully, when Si Jingyuan suddenly ran up chattering: “This is incredible, that Tao girl really isn’t an ordinary creature—one trip to Luoyang and she’s stirred up a whole string of extraordinary events! I couldn’t even follow half of it, absolutely astonishing! I’ll definitely find time later to get her to explain the whole story, every single detail! Even more thrilling than the storytellers outside!”

Hearing this, Si Kuanglan only smiled at him: “If you ever turn yourself into a mosquito again, I guarantee the rest of your life will be even more thrilling than hers!”

“Hm??” Si Jingyuan blinked, calling after his retreating back, “Wait, no… if I don’t turn into a mosquito, you two can’t even manage to become mosquitoes this time! Slow down… let me explain, alright?”

The group walked back onto the main street, the sun now high overhead, the streets crowded with people.

Tao Yao, wondering where to grab a bite, was drawn by a commotion nearby.

Another fight had broken out.

Tao Yao, having just complained about being bored, found herself turning her head back toward the noise.

The two men fighting in the street looked quite familiar—weren’t they the pair of brothers she’d seen that day heading to Longcheng Manor with Luo Xian?

The younger brother was once again dressed in women’s clothing, the older brother furious enough to want to beat him to death, fists landing hard.

“I told you not to wear this, and you insisted! I’ll beat you to death, you shameless disgrace!”

“I haven’t hurt anyone! If a daughter can wear men’s clothes, why can’t a son wear women’s!”

“Enough with the ‘why can’ts’! I simply don’t like your unmanly, ambiguous appearance!”

The older brother’s fist, about to land on the younger one once more, was suddenly stopped halfway.

Tao Yao herself didn’t know where she’d found such strength—she hadn’t even eaten yet, but somehow managed to pin the man’s wrist firmly in mid-air.

Before he could react, she slapped him hard across the face.

Everyone was startled by her sudden intervention, including the two men involved.

“You… where did you come from, you wild girl! How dare you hit me?” The older brother, clutching his face, was about to strike at her, but suddenly felt something very wrong with his face—an intense itch and burning sensation spread instantly through his entire body, so unbearable that he tore off all his clothes right there in the street, scratching furiously at his bare skin.

The onlookers erupted in uproar, young women quickly covering their eyes.

Tao Yao dusted off her hands, a wisp of medicinal powder dispersing into the air.

“Listen carefully: from now on, whenever you get angry, your body will feel exactly like this—stinging, unbearably itchy.” She sneered, watching the man writhe in his humiliating state. “You don’t like it, so you want to destroy it completely? That’s no reason at all.”

“You…” The man, in agony, rolled on the ground scratching himself.

“Remember what I said—don’t get angry.” Tao Yao turned to leave, then turned back to stick her tongue out at him. “By the way, aren’t you even uglier without clothes than in women’s clothes?”

Everyone burst into laughter. The man, his face burning with shame, struggled to grab his clothes and cover himself, watching Tao Yao’s retreating figure as if she were a ghost.

Seeing this, Young Master Liu and Mo Ya exchanged a smile, then sighed together—Tao Yao was still Tao Yao after all.

Si Jingyuan jumped, patting his chest: “That girl, such a big temper, such ruthless methods.”

Only Si Kuanglan remained perfectly calm, and understood best of all the reason behind Tao Yao’s anger. In his eyes, too, appeared a trace of appreciation that others might not easily notice, though only for a brief instant, stingy as ever.

He watched the figure ahead, bouncing along, lingering longingly at every food stall she passed—that red robe of hers surely the liveliest, most eye-catching sight on the whole street. But behind every careless smile and every seemingly indifferent expression, how many unspoken thoughts and secrets might she be hiding, ones she’d rather no one else ever knew?

Si Jingyuan waved his fingers before his face, asking curiously: “Did you actually zone out just now?”

“No.” Si Kuanglan denied it immediately.

“No?” Si Jingyuan pursed his lips. “Where are we headed next? Oh no, that’s bad…” He seemed to have remembered something urgent. “We’ve been at this the whole day, and we still haven’t gone back to check on Bright Moon Terrace!”

“Since all of Luoyang is fine, Nian Sheng will be fine too.” Si Kuanglan wasn’t worried at all. “But we should head back.”

“Back where?”

“Bright Moon Terrace. Nian Sheng’s birthday celebration isn’t over yet.”

“Oh… ah!! When did you crouch down there! You scared me half to death!”

Si Jingyuan shrieked and jumped away—Tao Yao, who’d been walking ahead moments ago, had somehow snuck back and crouched silently behind them, a steamed bun still clenched in her mouth.

“Aren’t you two heading back to the Si estate yet?” She stood up, looking quite displeased.

“You all go back first.” Si Kuanglan said. “You’ve been out so long, you should have some consideration for Steward Miao.”

Tao Yao snorted, muttering: “Fine, we’ll head back. You two go on and celebrate the birthday! Might as well celebrate her from twenty all the way to a hundred! Just stay at her place and don’t bother coming back at all!”

“What are you muttering about now?” Si Kuanglan smiled. “Cursing that person you cry and beg to marry?”

“You…” Tao Yao froze, her brow furrowing. “You’ve been eavesdropping on our conversation!”

“Weren’t you eavesdropping too?” He continued smiling.

“I…” Tao Yao couldn’t refute that, taking a fierce bite of her steamed bun. “Forget it, forget it, go on to your Bright Moon Terrace, I’ll go back to my River of Tranquil Dreams.”

“Alright, sure.” Si Kuanglan waved at her. “Until we meet again!”

Tao Yao didn’t even want to look at him, walking over to loudly announce to Young Master Liu and Mo Ya: “Let’s go! Nothing else fun in Luoyang anyway. Head back to spend New Year’s with Steward Miao!” With that, she deliberately swaggered off toward the city gate, refusing to look back at Si Kuanglan even once.

Young Master Liu sniffed the air: “Smells like jealousy again.”

“Really?” Mo Ya sniffed too. “I don’t smell anything at all!”

“The vinegar jar’s probably shattered by now…” Young Master Liu smiled ambiguously. “Things are only going to get more interesting from here.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Let’s go, let’s go, back home for New Year’s!” Young Master Liu turned and winked at the Si brothers. “Eldest Young Master, Second Young Master, we’ll head back first, won’t keep you from celebrating with your beauty any longer, farewell!”

“Eldest Young Master, Second Young Master, come back soon, we’ll wait for you for the New Year’s feast!” Mo Ya waved Gungun’s paw in farewell.

Si Kuanglan watched the noisy group depart, letting out a soft breath.

One toward the capital’s River of Tranquil Dreams, one toward Luoyang’s Bright Moon Terrace—Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan walked further and further apart in opposite directions.

But then again, however far Tao’s Capital might be from the Imperial Capital, those fated to meet would meet again eventually.

Si Jingyuan secretly glanced at the pair of peach blossom lots he’d hidden away, a fond, motherly smile spreading across his face.

“What are you dawdling over there for?”

“Coming, coming!”

The afternoon in Luoyang finally turned gentle and warm.

Register of a Hundred Demons, Volume Three — The End