Prologue

In this life, you never took my life, and I never failed my promise to you—no regrets.

Wang Xiaoniu looked at the two people crouched in front of him, and the one fox with a rabbit’s tail, with dismay.

“Don’t your legs go numb?” he couldn’t help asking.

All three shook their heads in unison.

In a brown wooden basin, water glimmered, and a few crucian carp three or four inches long swam back and forth, blowing bubbles.

Gungun’s eyes followed the fish faithfully, its fat little tail wagging as it circled the basin countless times, occasionally stopping to press against the rim and reach a paw toward the fish, only to be stopped each time by Mo Ya.

“Those who leave the household must abstain from meat. Since you’ve followed me, you’re a fox who’s left the household too,” Mo Ya solemnly warned Gungun.

“Oh, please! You’ve swallowed your own saliva plenty of times.” Tao Yao couldn’t stand his sanctimonious nonsense, rolling her eyes at him. “Who knows how many ways you’ve imagined cooking those fish—steamed, braised, fried, probably all of them.”

“A sin, a sin. I only thought about it, I never acted on it,” Mo Ya protested hastily. “It’s just that my cultivation is too shallow to escape worldly desires yet. The Buddha understands. He won’t blame me.”

“You talk like you’re on personal terms with the Buddha.” Tao Yao scoffed, turning to fix her gaze on Wang Xiaoniu. “Why are you being so stubborn? It’s just a few fish. What’s the harm in selling them to us—you can just go fishing again. We’re travelers who’ve come a long way to Lizhou, and you can’t even give your hometown a good, hospitable reputation?”

Wang Xiaoniu blinked his small eyes. “Big sister, I already told you, these fish are for Grandpa Miao. I come here every month to wait for him.”

Tao Yao looked around; a light breeze passed, the tree shadows swaying, fields stretching out—Lizhou had good mountains, good water, good air, just not many people. Since they’d met Wang Xiaoniu, only one woodcutter had passed by.

“The sun’s about to set, and that grandpa you mentioned still hasn’t come. Maybe he won’t come today. While the fish are still alive, why not sell them to me instead,” Tao Yao pressed on. “Once they’re dead they won’t fetch a good price!”

“But I just heard this little master tell you you’re completely broke and about to starve…” Wang Xiaoniu looked at her earnestly.

“Talking money with me at your age? What’s wrong with kids these days!” Tao Yao immediately looked scornful, then held Gungun up in front of him, saying seriously, “How about I trade it for the fish? By weight it’s heavier than your fish, you’d be getting a good deal!”

“Tao Yao!” Mo Ya jumped up furiously, snatching Gungun back. “Didn’t we agree we’d be family for life? How can you think of selling out family the moment you’re broke?”

“Is that my fault? It’s because your mouth isn’t sweet enough that you can’t beg for alms!”

“You’re the one who ran off to gamble halfway here! Now look, not a copper left!”

“It’s your fault for following me around, dead bald head, that’s why I lost!”

“Spit out the rice cake I begged this morning!”

“I picked the wild fruit at noon, you spit that out too!”

Wang Xiaoniu, dizzy from listening, waved his hands quickly. “Stop arguing!” With that, he pulled an oil-paper packet from inside his robe and opened it, revealing a sweet-smelling rice cake. “Here, you two eat this. It’s all I have.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly.” Tao Yao grinned and took it at once. “You said your name was Wang Xiaoniu, right?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “You’re Tao Yao, the little master is Mo Ya, and the fox is Gungun, right?”

“What a good memory.” Tao Yao chuckled. “I want to ask you about a place, by the way.”

“Which place?” Wang Xiaoniu perked up, patting his chest. “There’s no place around here I don’t know. I was born and raised here.”

“Mirror Flower Marsh.” Tao Yao looked ahead. “Should be close by, right?”

“Not far at all. Follow this little path for about another li, and when you see a crooked-neck tree, turn right—that’s it.” Wang Xiaoniu turned and pointed at the path buried among the fields behind him, then added, puzzled, “What are you going there for? It’s just a mud pit now. My grandma says decades ago the scenery there was lovely, especially in the third month, when the water reflected the peach blossoms on the shore—mirror flowers and water moon, breathtaking. In spring and summer there was even a night market, bustling with people. Too bad I never got to see it. But now the water’s not water and the hills aren’t hills, all broken down, hardly anyone goes there anymore. Actually, Lizhou has lots of other fun places—want me to tell you about them?”

“No need. I specifically want to go to Mirror Flower Marsh.” Tao Yao stood, then suddenly asked, “You bring fish here every month?”

“Yes, I wait here on the third of every month.”

“Waiting for that grandpa?” Tao Yao glanced casually toward the woods not far behind them. “Why are you so good to him?”

Wang Xiaoniu said earnestly, “Three years ago, I fell into a dry well in the woods back there, and Grandpa Miao pulled me out. I wanted him to come home with me—my grandma’s cooking is delicious—but he refused, said he only likes eating fish. Sadly there are no more fish in Mirror Flower Marsh, so to eat fish he’d have to go catch them in a river far away. So I told him I’d bring him fish here every third of the month from then on. There’s a river north of my house, easy to fish there.”

“Three years, thirty-six months, and you’ve brought him fish the whole time?” Tao Yao blinked. “Never missed a single month?”

Wang Xiaoniu shook his head. “Never. You can’t forget a promise to someone. That’s what my grandma says.”

Tao Yao smiled and patted his head. “Thanks for the rice cake.”

“You’re welcome. Be careful on the road, don’t fall into Mirror Flower Marsh—it’s nothing but mud now, if you fall in you won’t climb back out.” Wang Xiaoniu warned.

“Got it.” Tao Yao took a bite of the rice cake and headed happily toward the path.

“Save me half! No, more than half! Gungun wants some too!” Mo Ya hurried after her, clutching Gungun.

“Ate it all already. You two can dig wild vegetables later.”

“Why should we eat wild vegetables!”

“Because you can’t beat me in a fight.”

“…”

“Why are you just standing there, let’s go! Worst case I’ll let you win one later and help you dig.” Tao Yao licked her lips, one hand pressing on Mo Ya’s head. “Walk forward, don’t look back. I know you want to look back.”

Mo Ya froze. “You saw it?”

“An old tabby cat hiding behind a tree, peeking out this way. I’m not blind.”

“Should we do something?” Mo Ya asked, a bit worried. “Little Niu is a good kid, what if…”

“That cat demon means no harm. Grandpa Miao… Grandpa Meow, more like.” Tao Yao snorted with laughter. “As long as we don’t stick around, it won’t dare approach.”

“It recognizes you?” Mo Ya asked, puzzled. “Bold of this demon to wander around in broad daylight too.”

“Lizhou has lovely mountains and clear water, and the area around Mirror Flower Marsh is sparsely populated, so the spirits here live comfortably, not as cautious as their kind elsewhere.” Tao Yao said dismissively. “It might not recognize me specifically, but any spirit with some years of cultivation should sense that we carry an aura different from ordinary people, coming from the Peach Capital—best to avoid us if it can.”

“Oh.” Mo Ya nodded. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading to Bianjing though?”

“Same direction, no delay.” Tao Yao looked toward the distant hills ahead. “Just going to check out an unlucky fellow along the way.”

The weather grew worse, a fine drizzle beginning to fall, the chill deepening.

Tao Yao hurled a pebble hard into the swamp before her; it landed with a plop, sinking into the foul-smelling mud, vanishing without a trace.

Gungun, however, was thoroughly delighted, running circles around the swamp, baring its teeth at birds that occasionally flew overhead, even standing up on its hind legs to swipe its little paws at them, wildly overestimating its own reach, while Mo Ya trailed behind it like a worried nanny, terrified the creature would dive headfirst into the mud.

Only a mindless little fox like Gungun could think this was a fun place.

Mirror Flower Marsh… what lay before them truly didn’t live up to the name—a stretch of mud pit, nothing on the banks but wild grass and a scatter of uneven peach tree stumps, utterly lifeless. A row of dilapidated, rotting pavilion-style structures stood on the verge of collapse, faded banners and shop signs swaying in the wind, barely proof that this place had once known bustling times. The bare hill not far off showed a cluster of houses, lifeless, clearly abandoned for years.

What a place to die of loneliness, Tao Yao thought, shivering as the cold wind swept in.

Gungun was still excited, having given up on the birds, now crouching at the water’s edge, pawing at the mud again and again as if treasures were buried within. Mo Ya, sweating profusely from exhaustion, plopped down on a large rock by the shore and asked Tao Yao, “This is the Mirror Flower Marsh you wanted to come to?”

“Should be.” Tao Yao looked around, shaking her head with a sigh. “A godforsaken place like this could make a healthy person sick.”

Mo Ya looked around, puzzled. “Your ‘patient’ lives here! What exactly are you planning to treat?”

Tao Yao stepped onto a rock, took a deep breath, and shouted with hands on hips: “Qingji!”

As she called “Qingji” for the third time, amid the echo suddenly came the clip-clop sound of a carriage—

A small emerald-green carriage, topped with a green canopy, pulled by a tiny emerald-green pony, came trotting out from a corner of the pavilion.

Tao Yao and Mo Ya turned toward the sound, then simultaneously lowered their heads.

The carriage was absurdly small, no more than a foot long—if you didn’t look closely you’d mistake it for a walking green box, pulled by a pony no bigger than a mouse.

The carriage bumped along and stopped at Tao Yao’s feet.

With a creak, the door opened, and a tiny figure barely three or four inches tall hopped out—green cap, green robe, green shoes, even its skin was green. It looked up, let out a breath of relief, and said, “You’ve finally come, Lady Tao Yao.”

Tao Yao stared at it, dumbstruck, and two seconds later burst into thunderous laughter—if she hadn’t found the ground too filthy, she surely would have rolled around on it a dozen times to work this soul-deep hilarity out of her system.

“You… why are you so green, hahaha! Did a frog spirit possess you, hahaha!” Tao Yao pointed at the little figure, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Weren’t you yellow? Did your family sign off on you changing color, hahaha!”

Utterly unable to grasp what she found so funny, Mo Ya stood awkwardly between them, fingering his prayer beads and murmuring Amitabha repeatedly—if this little green man really was the “patient” of this trip, mocking him so viciously was truly sinful. Then again, if she weren’t “sinful,” she wouldn’t be the Ghost Doctor Tao Yao. She was called “Ghost Doctor” not because of any connection to ghosts, but because her temperament was so unpredictable and her actions so erratic that even Mo Ya, who’d lived with her for years, couldn’t claim to understand her well. She didn’t seem like a “fixed” person—smiling at you one moment, wanting your life the next; your enemy today, inviting you to hotpot tomorrow, maybe. Even her taste in food changed constantly—sweet this year, salty the next. In short, you might think you knew her well, but you could never quite pin her down, no matter how many years you’d known her.

The little green man coughed a few times and said helplessly, “I’ve been poisoned. I thought it was nothing serious, but the toxin has been accumulating over time, accelerating my aging. Once I turn dark green, I’ll die of old age.”

Tao Yao stopped laughing and, rubbing her aching stomach, asked, “As far as I know, you Qingji only need enough sunlight and moonlight to survive—no need to eat or drink. And yet you got poisoned?” She sniffed the air hard a few more times. “This swamp stinks a bit, but not enough to be toxic. How have you been living?”

The little green man looked worriedly at the swamp before them and gestured for her to crouch down.

“What is it?” She crouched. “Want to tell me a secret?”

“There’s something bad in there…” The little green man pointed at the swamp, rising on tiptoe to whisper. “I didn’t used to live on the shore, and even after Mirror Flower Marsh dried into mud, I never thought of moving. But two years ago, someone calling himself Duke Qiu showed up, insisting Mirror Flower Marsh was his territory, and drove out all the spirits living here. You know the ones who dwell here are minor spirits—the timid ones fled early, and the bold ones were no match for that Duke Qiu; fighting him meant either serious injury or death.” The little green man sighed, extending its right arm, on which faint dark tooth marks were visible. “He bit me. Luckily I ran fast enough to save my life. With no choice, I found a corner in the old pavilion on the shore and dug a hole to live in. The wound healed, but the itching and pain remain, and my body ages a little more every day. Half a year ago, I finally ran into a kind-hearted rabbit spirit passing through, and gave it the pearl a clam spirit had once given me, asking it to buy talisman paper for me from the Yuanbao Hall. From when I burned the paper to summon you until now, I’ve waited a full half year. Lady Tao Yao, you’ve finally come.”

Mo Ya shook his head as he listened, saying, “All beings are equal—how can one demon bully another like this! Did that Duke Qiu keep tormenting you after?”

“Once he fully took over Mirror Flower Marsh, he stopped bothering with what happened on shore. All he does now is hunt and sleep.” The little green man frowned. “And he only likes eating meat—small beasts passing through often get swept up by him.” Then its eyes lit up, and it pointed ahead. “Oh, look! There, just like that!”

Mo Ya and Tao Yao both turned at once, and Mo Ya’s face instantly turned greener than the little green man’s—

Gungun had somehow buried itself in the mud, only its hind legs kicking above the surface.

Mo Ya shouted and dashed forward, but Tao Yao grabbed him by the back of his collar. “You’re just a piece of meat too.”

“Let go, let go! If we don’t save it now it’ll get eaten!” Mo Ya was so anxious tears were flying, this little bald fool had no skills to speak of except crying on command, on and off at will…

“Serves it right for running around like an idiot. A little suffering is deserved.” Tao Yao said with malicious delight.

“You have no humanity!”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. Third time and I’ll kill you.”

Mo Ya, both anxious and furious, in a burst of desperation tore his robe open and slipped free of Tao Yao’s grip, dashing toward the mud pit, apparently ready to leap in without a second thought.

“Don’t jump!” the little green man shouted, then leapt onto the top of Tao Yao’s foot and stomped hard. “Stop this little monk quickly, Mirror Flower Marsh is bottomless below, if he falls in there’s no surviving it!”

“Drowning would serve him right.” Tao Yao simply sat down on the rock, shrugging. “He’s a useless little bald fool anyway, keeping him around costs money and trouble.”

The little green man was taken aback. “I thought anyone who followed Lady Tao Yao must be someone very important to you.”

Tao Yao pursed her lips and said nothing.

Seeing even Gungun’s hind legs disappear now, Mo Ya shouted its name and leapt into the air, plunging down toward the mud.

A strange gust swept through, and Mo Ya, just about to touch the mud, suddenly froze in midair, caught by an invisible force around the waist and flung back, landing safely in front of Tao Yao.

Right after, a blue-green shadow flickered faintly in the air, then shot down into the mud pit like lightning. Soon, the mud began bubbling furiously like boiling water, strange tremors erupting from below the ground. The little green man, unable to keep its footing, tumbled off Tao Yao’s foot in terror.

Suddenly, with a boom, mud sprayed high as an enormous blue-green snake, its deep red eyes wide open, its fine scales gleaming coldly, shot up out of the mud, something seemingly clutched in its mouth.

The little green man scrambled in fright to hide behind the rock.

Mud rained down, and the blue-green snake soared above Tao Yao’s head; its mouth opened, and two mud-caked lumps rolled down.

One of the mud lumps opened its grey eyes, tongue lolling, four paws in the air, whimpering. The other lay motionless as if dead.

“Gungun!” Mo Ya rushed over in delighted alarm, scooping up the mud-covered foolish fox. “You’re alive? You’re really alive?” Gungun blinked, seeming to have suffered some terrible fright and grievance, and burrowed hard into his arms, turning him half into a mud person too.

The little green man gaped, pointing at the blue-green snake. “You… you…”

The snake landed, a whirlwind rising, and when it settled, only a young man in a blue-green robe stood there, skin like white porcelain, features as fine as a painting, black hair like satin hanging to his waist—even wearing a face full of fury, he was still a pleasure to look at.

“Ah, you came out? How rare.” Tao Yao grinned at him.

The blue-robed young man pressed his lips tightly together, apparently suppressing tremendous anger.

“I didn’t ask you to step in—this time was all your own choice, doesn’t count toward our agreement, you know.” Tao Yao’s smile didn’t waver.

After a long moment, the young man spat out two words: “Vile woman!”

“Anyone looking at me can tell I’m no gentleman.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

The young man clenched his fists and said, “If not for the bond of being neighbors for so many years, I’d have swallowed you whole long ago!” Then he glanced at Mo Ya and warned, “Little monk, if you’re this reckless again, I’ll show you what it means to wish you were dead!”

Tao Yao hurriedly added, “He means he’ll make you eat his cooking.”

The young man snorted coldly. “Good, as long as you know what I’m capable of.”

Hearing this, Mo Ya let out a breath of relief, muttering, “Here I thought I’d have to listen to him recite poetry… now that would really be worse than death…”

“What did you say?” the young man demanded.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Mo Ya shook his head quickly, hurrying to express thanks instead. “Thank you, Young Master Liu, for saving his life.”

The young man snorted again, then looked down at his robe, his expression one of utter agony. “So much mud! Why is there so much mud!” Before he’d even finished speaking, he turned, transformed into wind, and sped off.

“He, he… he’s…” The little green man stared, dumbstruck.

“Young Master Liu is our old neighbor,” Mo Ya said casually. “He’s been sticking close to us this whole trip too.”

The little green man closed its mouth, still shaken. “He’s… a snake demon?”

“A snake demon determined to become a poet—being ranked alongside Li Bai and Du Fu is his greatest ambition.” Tao Yao smiled slyly.

“So he rushed off in such a hurry to…”

“Take a bath. He can’t stand having a speck of filth on him. When Mo Ya was little, he once accidentally peed on his foot, and he ran off to the river and bathed for three days straight.” Tao Yao pursed her lips, looking at the mud lump on the ground. “Never mind him. Let’s deal with this fellow first, that’s the real business.”

She walked up to the mud lump and kicked it. “Hey, dying that easily?”

A pair of peanut-sized eyes opened within the mud, and a nearly foot-long loach poked out, feebly flapping its tail.

“This is your so-called Duke Qiu?” Tao Yao asked the little green man, pointing at the loach.

“Yes!” The little green man, still a bit frightened, hid behind Tao Yao’s foot. “Though he used to be much bigger than now, and had teeth!”

“Just a loach spirit that hasn’t cultivated long, already stripped of its power by Young Master Liu. And you—spirits are supposed to be lesser than demons, yet you were born a demon and still got bullied out of house and home, nearly killed, by a mere loach spirit… truly a waste of a life.” Tao Yao said, unsparing.

The little green man flushed, protesting quietly, “I’m not skilled at fighting or brawling. Besides, I’m not a dog, I can’t just go around biting people.”

“You could clearly go live somewhere better.” Tao Yao said, puzzled, gesturing around them. “This Mirror Flower Marsh has nothing left but a nice name—look at that hill, stripped bare from overlogging, and look at your own feet, the marsh is no marsh anymore, just mud. No one’s holding you here, yet you insist on staying to be bullied by a loach. Whose fault is that?”

The little green man was silent a moment, then said, “I’m waiting for someone.”

That year, the peach blossoms bloomed unusually long, and every gust of wind brought a flurry of falling petals.

A carriage stopped by the road; a girl of thirteen or fourteen in coarse cloth clothing, eyes red, bid a reluctant farewell to a boy of similar age before her.

“Wear warm clothes, it’s cold up north.” The boy handed her a cloth bundle. “My mother made this padded jacket, it’s quite thick, take it.”

The girl didn’t refuse, taking the bundle and holding it to her chest, her almond-shaped eyes fixed on his face. “My father says once we go, we probably won’t come back to Lizhou. My second uncle has opened a shop up there, business is good, he wants our whole family to come enjoy the good life too.”

He smiled. “That’s good news.”

“Second uncle also wrote that he’s found me a good marriage match up there.” She lowered her head, holding the bundle tighter.

The boy was briefly stunned, but quickly smiled again. “That’s good news.”

The girl bit her lip. “Well… I’m going now. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” He looked at her flushed face, gently brushing a petal from her shoulder. “Live well.”

The girl turned silently, but after a few steps suddenly turned back, looking straight into his eyes. “Any time, if you just say the word, I’ll come back no matter how far.” Before he could respond, she spun around and ran, jumping into the carriage.

The wheels turned, dust rising like smoke; she stuck a hand out from behind the curtain, waving hard, a carved wooden bracelet swinging on her pale wrist.

The carriage grew smaller and smaller until it vanished completely; the boy wiped his eyes and turned to leave.

She was headed to the imperial capital, prosperous and bustling, a place everyone longed for, and being as lovely as she was, she’d surely find a fine husband, have many children, grow old together with him in happiness.

His head ached a little, too many things swelling and colliding in his mind, his heart heavy with unease.

As dusk fell, he walked along the path he knew all too well, peddlers chatting and laughing as they carried their loads home. Though it wasn’t a festival day, plenty of vendors still set up stalls at Mirror Flower Marsh—the scenery was so pleasant there, not only a great spot for spring outings and flower viewing, but also a place to find all sorts of interesting trinkets.

By the time he reached Mirror Flower Marsh, night had fully fallen, a crescent moon hanging like a hook, surrounded by peach blossoms on the shore reflected in the water, the scent of grass and earth faintly hanging in the air, the wind stirring the water with a soft, song-like sound. A night like this suited someone with troubled thoughts well.

Everyone had left; the last to go was the uncle who sold hair ornaments from a stall under the pavilion. As he left, the uncle greeted him. He used to come to Mirror Flower Marsh often with her, and had gotten to know the regular vendors well. Last Mid-Autumn Festival he’d bought a carved wooden bracelet from that uncle to give her—cheap, but she’d worn it ever since.

“Coming alone today?” the uncle asked as he passed. “Where’s the young lady?”

He smiled. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Moved away?” the uncle asked.

He nodded. “Yes. Moved somewhere very far.”

“Ah. Well, keep coming by then, bring some other young lady to keep my business going, haha.”

After a few more pleasantries, the uncle’s figure gradually vanished into the night.

So quiet, he thought, looking at the shimmering water before him—Mirror Flower Marsh truly lived up to its name, mirror flowers and water moon, stirring the imagination. This might be the most beautiful spot in all of Lizhou. He wondered if that distant city, a thousand li away, had scenery just as beautiful.

Gurgle, gurgle—a string of bubbles suddenly rose from the water nearest him.

A small bright yellow carriage surfaced, pulled by a pony of the same color, floating steadily on the water. The door opened, and a young lord no more than four inches tall, jade-fair face, dressed in a yellow robe, climbed out, crawled to the front of the carriage and sat down, arms crossed, looking at him. “Why didn’t you keep Xiaoyu here? Once she’s gone, it’ll be hard to see her again.”

He wasn’t at all surprised by the little lord’s appearance, only somewhat annoyed. “You followed me?”

The little lord shrugged. “You said Xiaoyu was leaving today, I was curious, so I followed to watch.”

He frowned. “Where were you hiding? Why didn’t I notice at all?”

“I’m a spirit, is hiding my presence really so hard?” The little lord rolled its eyes at him. “I asked you a question—why didn’t you keep her here?”

He was silent for a long moment, then said, “What would be the point?”

“What do you mean?” The little lord didn’t understand.

“Staying or traveling far—the latter makes it easier for her to be happy.” He smiled.

“Is it because you think you’re poor?” The little lord seemed to be pondering. “Seems like you really are poor…”

He laughed out loud; if they hadn’t been standing some distance apart, he’d have been tempted to rap the little thing on the head.

“It’s not about money.” He gazed absently at the moonlight rippling on the water. “The thing she wants most, I can’t give her.”

“Not money?” The little lord scratched its head. “Then it must be that she thinks you’re ugly?”

“How am I ugly!” He rolled his eyes, saying helplessly, “Never mind, you’re a spirit, you wouldn’t understand, so don’t ask.”

The little lord thought about it and said, “What if you regret it someday?”

Regret… her voice suddenly echoed in his ears—any time, if you just say the word, I’ll come back no matter how far.

“Xiaoyu said, any time, if I just tell her, she’ll come back no matter how far.” The moonlight rippled in his eyes, stirring up a faint sense of loss.

Hearing this, the little lord immediately perked up, standing at once and patting its chest. “Come to me, come to me! If one day you want her back, tell me, and no matter how far the distance, I can deliver your message to her within a single day.”

“I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this day. You’re the spirit Qingji, after all, best at traveling a thousand li in a day, carrying messages.” He looked at the little lord, smiling. “Thank you again. If someday I miss her, I’ll ask you to carry my message.”

“It’s settled then!” The little lord said earnestly. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Good.” He nodded.

If he remembered correctly, he’d known this spirit called “Qingji” for two years now. To be precise, he was the one who had truly brought this spirit into the world.

His father had said Mirror Flower Marsh was a place of spiritual energy, embraced by green hills, its water clear as a mirror, the perfect breeding ground for spirits. The Guanzi, Chapter on Water and Land even says—”where the valley does not shift and the water does not run dry, Qingji is born.” This naturally carriage-driving little spirit could be called a creature born of mountains and waters. For as long as he could remember, he’d seen Qingji’s form in their household more than once. Every few years, his father would bring one home from outside, keeping it in the large water vat at home. He said Qingji spirits typically hid within bodies of water, but needed a human to call out their name before they could manifest from the void into physical form. Yet as time passed, with forests burned for farmland and waters drained for fish, and war spreading everywhere, the good mountains and waters of this world grew ever fewer, and Qingji spirits grew ever rarer too.

How did his father know so much? Because he was a shaman-healer. Those who liked him called him a living immortal; those who didn’t called him a charlatan. His family had practiced this trade for generations, and naturally knew spirit-lore inside and out. It was just his misfortune to be born frail, unable to learn even a bit of the family trade—at most he could help his father buy incense, candles, and paper money. Three years ago his father died of illness, and his sister, of mediocre talent, hadn’t been able to inherit the trade either; the family survived on his mother’s sewing work alone. By their generation, the ancestral trade had finally come to an end.

He remembered that on his father’s death anniversary, after paying respects, feeling melancholy, he’d gone alone to Mirror Flower Marsh to clear his mind. It was nearly midnight by then, no one around; gazing at the vast green water, he’d inexplicably felt moved to shout “Qingji” three times toward the marsh—an idle impulse, never expecting it to actually summon the spirit.

Seeing the tiny figure, tiny carriage, and tiny pony on the water’s surface, he hadn’t felt afraid—after all, he’d seen this little creature before and knew their temperament was gentle and harmless to people. But he was amazed—so this really was how Qingji appeared.

“You called me?” The little lord in the yellow robe climbed out of the carriage, hopped onto the little yellow pony up front, and looked up at him.

He momentarily forgot how to speak, only nodding vigorously.

“Oh. Thanks.” The little lord happily shook its hands and stretched its legs. “I’ve been drifting beneath Mirror Flower Marsh for quite a while now, never able to reach the surface, worried no one would ever call my name.”

He patted his own face, finally snapping out of his daze, and asked, “You’re the legendary spirit born in bodies of water… Qingji?”

“That’s right.” The little lord nodded.

“Then… why didn’t you appear before, when I called your name at Mirror Flower Marsh in the past?” This truly wasn’t the first time he’d called this name—his father used to visit Mirror Flower Marsh often, and had called Qingji’s name each time; a few times, following behind his father, he’d curiously called out too, but had never gotten any response. His father had said perhaps the timing wasn’t quite right yet. But he’d been too young then to really understand what “timing” meant.

“Because I was only born two years ago,” Qingji said earnestly. “Good mountains and waters need many years to accumulate enough spiritual energy before someone like me can be born. Until then, I’m like a fish without a physical body, swimming back and forth beneath Mirror Flower Marsh. If no one calls my name, I have to keep swimming like that forever, and if one day the mountains and waters here change and the spiritual energy is damaged, I, having no physical form to support me, would vanish along with it. So you see, you came at just the right time—not too early, not too late.”

He suddenly understood—not too early, not too late… this, probably, was what his father had meant by “timing.”

“So now that you have a physical form, you can leave here and go wander around, right?” He studied this good-natured little creature—so every Qingji looked the same. He recalled the other Qingji his father had brought home before, also driving a little carriage, docile as a doll.

“You called my name, so I must deliver one message for you before I leave,” Qingji said earnestly. “Traveling a thousand li in a day, there and back in an instant, is my natural gift.”

He was stunned for a moment, then said, “But I don’t have any friend a thousand li away who needs a message delivered.”

“Maybe you will someday? It’s fine, I’ll wait for you.”

And it kept its word—for two years, it never went anywhere.

He never told anyone about Qingji’s existence, not even Xiaoyu. Late at night, he’d sometimes sneak out to visit it at Mirror Flower Marsh. Truthfully, he worried it might be bored, wanted to keep it company, talk with it. But it always said it wasn’t bored at all—there were plenty of chatty fish spirits and crab spirits beneath Mirror Flower Marsh, and just listening to them gossip and tell jokes was enough to pass the time.

Last Qixi Festival, he’d taken Xiaoyu to the lantern festival at Mirror Flower Marsh, where they’d watched fireworks bloom in gorgeous patterns across the night sky, drawing countless men and women to stop and admire, laughter ringing out everywhere. Amid the bustle, he’d happened to glance back—not far off on the water’s surface, Qingji, who never showed itself in front of people, was using a lotus leaf as cover, riding its little pony, gazing up at the fireworks filling the sky with an expression of pure contentment.

Between the lively shore and the lonely water, there was only a single step’s difference.

The next evening, he went again to urge it to leave—with the gift of traveling a thousand li a day, it shouldn’t have to wrong itself by staying confined to this small marsh. But the spirit was stubborn, insisting it couldn’t go back on the promise it had made him.

He thought he’d never have a day when he needed Qingji, because everyone he cared about was right beside him. He’d thought about many things regarding the future, but the one thing he’d never imagined was Xiaoyu’s family leaving.

But she should go. He sat by Mirror Flower Marsh all night, coughing the whole night through.

Near dawn, he said goodbye to Qingji, telling it his mother had found him a master to learn woodworking from, and he probably wouldn’t be able to visit as often as before. Qingji said it understood, that it didn’t need him to visit—all it was waiting for was his request, to travel a thousand li for him, to deliver a message to Xiaoyu.

He bowed to it solemnly, said thank you solemnly, once.

Then, as always, it sank back into the water; on shore, his retreating figure grew smaller and smaller, gradually fading into the misty morning fog.

A month passed. He didn’t come to Mirror Flower Marsh.

Three months passed. He didn’t come to Mirror Flower Marsh.

A year passed. He didn’t come to Mirror Flower Marsh.

Only after two full years without seeing him did Qingji conclude he must have gotten a strict master who left him no free time at all.

It had left Mirror Flower Marsh only three times in total. Once, it secretly followed him back to his village, where his family’s window bore a pretty red paper-cut. The second time, it quietly watched from a distance as he and Xiaoyu said their farewell, watching him leave with reddened eyes. The third time was this one—it had snuck to his home again at night.

A copper lock hung on his family’s gate. It slipped in through a broken window; the house was empty, no one living there, no sign of anyone having lived there—the few remaining tables, chairs, and cabinets covered in dust.

He’d moved away!

Lacking the ability to transform, it couldn’t disguise itself as human to ask his neighbors. It found a few mice in the house, but couldn’t understand mouse-speech; after much gesturing back and forth, it gathered the mice meant the people who’d lived here had moved away.

It returned to Mirror Flower Marsh, dejected. Thinking it over, perhaps his woodworking skills had turned out well, and his master had taken him to the city? After all, that place was so much more prosperous than this rural area, and he still had his mother and sister—as the only son in the family, he had a duty to give them a better life.

Yes, that must be it. Thinking this, it stopped being upset—surely he’d never forget it, nor could he ever forget Xiaoyu; someday he’d surely come back to ask for its help.

So it would wait. Right here at Mirror Flower Marsh, it would wait.

Tao Yao rested her chin on her hand, yawned, and asked, “So you’ve just been waiting here for him to come back?”

“How could you call it just waiting? Mirror Flower Marsh used to have water.” Qingji said earnestly, then pointed regretfully at the houses on the bare hill. “Years ago someone built a dye workshop up there, wastewater flowing everywhere, and many old trees were cut down too. Something about it must have damaged the mountain and water somehow, because after that Mirror Flower Marsh slowly dried up, becoming this mud pit.”

Mo Ya sighed repeatedly. “Amitabha, what a waste, what a waste.”

“How long have you been waiting for him?” Tao Yao suddenly asked.

Qingji thought about it. “Several decades now, I think…”

“Never once thought of leaving?”

“If I leave, he won’t be able to find me when he comes back.” Qingji scratched its head. “What if he regrets it, and there’s no one to deliver his message—that would be terrible.” As it spoke, it knelt down and, with great solemnity, kowtowed to Tao Yao. “So I mustn’t die. Lady Tao Yao, please save me.”

Mo Ya quickly picked it up. “Don’t worry, she’ll definitely save you. Curing poison is child’s play for her.”

“Child’s play?” Tao Yao twisted his ear. “Then you go make some ‘child’s play’! What use are you besides talking too much?”

“I can chant scriptures!” Mo Ya held his prayer beads in one hand, stroking Gungun in his arms with the other. “I can also take care of foxes.”

“Is one useless thing taking care of another useless thing really something to brag about?” Tao Yao poked his bald head without mercy, then looked at the half-dead loach spirit on the ground. “This kind of poison isn’t hard to cure, and you don’t look like you’re at death’s door. I can treat you, but my rules still apply—once I cure your body, you become my ‘medicine.’ When I need you someday, even if it means cutting your flesh, you mustn’t so much as frown. The pact, once made, cannot be broken.”

“Deal!” It nodded without hesitation. “But, if you’re going to cut my flesh, could it wait until after I’ve delivered his message? I’m afraid if the pain kills me, I won’t be able to keep my promise.”

Tao Yao burst out laughing, looking at this little green thing. “I’ve seen countless spirits and demons in my time, but a demon with a mind as simple and foolish as yours is rare indeed.” She paused, her smile fading, turning to look at the ruined Mirror Flower Marsh. “Have you ever considered that he might never come back at all?”

Qingji froze, fell silent for a long while, then said, “What if he comes back and can’t find me?”

Round and round it went, back to the same point—this little spirit’s head was probably stuffed with nothing but mud.

Tao Yao couldn’t even bring herself to scold it anymore.

“Hand over here.” She extended her own hand. “Seal the deal.”

Two hands, one large and one small, one pale and one green, pressed together while the little monk and little fox looked on.

The next day, the young red-clad girl, leading a little monk, appeared in Wang family village, several li from Mirror Flower Marsh.

Wang Xiaoniu, drawing water at the well, recognized them from a distance.

“Sister Tao Yao?” Wang Xiaoniu was quite surprised. “Give it up, the fish already went to Grandpa Miao! Also, how did you know I lived here?”

“Don’t worry about the fish. We’ve decided to eat vegetarian after all.” Tao Yao chuckled. “We didn’t know you lived here either—we’re not here for you today.”

Relieved, Wang Xiaoniu asked, “Aren’t you outsiders? Do you know someone in our village?”

Tao Yao looked toward a certain house ahead. “I’ve come to see the old residence of Immortal Wang.”

“Immortal Wang?” Wang Xiaoniu was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of anyone like that in our village.”

Tao Yao poked his head. “At your age, of course you wouldn’t know. Your elders would definitely know.”

Wang Xiaoniu scratched his head. “Then let me take you to ask my grandma. She’s the oldest person in the village, she’ll definitely know.”

The enthusiastic Wang Xiaoniu led them to his home, where a white-haired old woman was stitching a shoe sole, remarkably sharp of hearing and sight for her age.

“You’re asking about Immortal Wang?” Once she understood their purpose, the old woman opened up. “He was quite something, you know—knew magic, could cure illness, even subdue demons, they say. Many people in our village back then benefited from his family’s kindness. You’d think such a good man would have good fortune, but sadly he died young, leaving behind a widow and orphan struggling to get by. And even sadder, his son died at just fourteen.”

“Died?” Tao Yao was taken aback.

The old woman sighed. “Fell ill, couldn’t be cured, passed that winter. After that his mother took the daughter and left Wang village, never came back. A place of grief like that, losing both husband and son—better to leave, I suppose.”

Mo Ya glanced at Tao Yao, said nothing, silently fingering his prayer beads.

Tao Yao thought for a moment, then asked, “I heard his son had a childhood sweetheart, a girl named Xiaoyu?”

“Xiaoyu?” The old woman nodded repeatedly. “Yes, there was such a girl, the prettiest in our village back then. But the year before he died, Xiaoyu’s whole family moved north. That was fifty years ago now, in a blink. A few years back, someone who’d gone out to do business came back and said Xiaoyu had married a high official, had three children, living quite the fine life.” The old woman shook her head. “Everyone has their own fate.”

Tao Yao smiled. “I’m a distant relative of his family, passing through Lizhou, thought I’d stop by to see. Has the house been empty this whole time?”

“Empty. Fewer people in our village every year, young folks all want to go make their living in the city, no one wants to stay in a rural place like this.” The old woman scraped the hemp thread against the shoe sole. “Before Sister-in-law Wang left, she entrusted the house to my care, along with some books their son used to read—said they were too heavy to take and a shame to burn, so she left them with me too. I’d just given birth to my eldest son then, thought even though I couldn’t read, maybe he could look at them someday. Who knew none of my four sons would take to reading, barely know their own names. Not like their child, could read and recite poetry at three, tsk tsk. Since you’re a distant relative, why not take the books with you? No use to me here.”

The books he’d left behind?!

In a corner of Wang Xiaoniu’s house, under the old woman’s direction, Tao Yao dragged out an old wooden chest, about two feet square, from beneath a pile of odds and ends.

Opening it, a jumbled stack of various books lay scattered inside; fortunately the old woman had been careful enough to tuck in a few pieces of camphor wood, so though the books were yellowed with age, they were still fairly well preserved.

She flipped through them one by one—mostly idle reading. But a journal tucked among them caught her attention.

Written in his hand, presumably—every character neat and careful, recording daily life, each entry dated.

She sat down and turned the pages one by one—

“Seventh day of the tenth month—Father brought home another Qingji. I believe this makes the eighth one to come to our house. Father says with the wars raging now and the mountains and waters so ravaged, fewer and fewer places can give birth to this spirit. It’s been kept in the water vat again, same as before, treating Father as a friend, and being kind to me too. But the kinder it is to me, the more unsettled I feel.”

“Second day of the eleventh month—Father sent Qingji off to deliver a message for someone. Father said happily that this time it was for a high official, delivering an urgent message to his son a thousand li away, so the official paid generously—no going hungry this year. That evening, Qingji came back, driving its little carriage. As always, it told Father: message delivered. Then, it died. Father buried it in the back garden, with its fellow spirits. Father said Qingji are naturally swift travelers—ordinary travel is fine, but once they use their demonic power to travel a thousand li there and back within a day, they cannot survive it. He also said it would be good if there were more of this kind of spirit, since so many people in this world need such things—sending a message far away through normal means, if it’s a matter of life and death, the person might already be dead by the time the message arrives. But still, seeing that empty water vat, I still felt unsettled. Father delivers messages for silver; Qingji delivers messages simply because it feels it should help Father. I asked Father if Qingji knows it will die from this. Father said this kind of spirit is somewhat foolish, so it probably doesn’t know—otherwise the instinct to survive would make them refuse human requests.”

“Eighth day of the sixth month—There really is a Qingji in Mirror Flower Marsh! A shame Father can’t see it, though I don’t wish he could, either.”

“Twenty-third day of the third month—Xiaoyu left. My illness seems to be getting worse. Mother says when she was pregnant with me, Father had once been targeted by an enemy skilled in magic, who cursed her, saying the child in her womb wouldn’t live past fourteen. I don’t quite believe it, but it’s true my health has never been good. I know Xiaoyu likes me, but what if I really do die? I can’t even bring myself to promise her a lifetime together. Better to let her go—once I’ve safely lived past fourteen, I’ll go find her. I haven’t told anyone this, not even Qingji. Today, too, I said goodbye to it. My cough has been getting worse lately.”

“Twentieth day of the twelfth month—Haven’t been to Mirror Flower Marsh in a long time. I’ve been throwing up the medicine I take, I think I really am dying soon. I dreamed of Xiaoyu last night, she’d grown taller, prettier. I wish I could call her back, talk with her. If only I could dream of her again tonight. Qingji said it’s still waiting for me, ready to deliver a message calling Xiaoyu back for me… I think I’ll let it go, though. It’s a life too, after all.”

The calm, uneventful record ended there.

Tao Yao closed the journal and said to the old woman, “Could I take this journal with me?”

Along the straight, wide road, an old man drove an ox cart forward.

On the cart, Mo Ya munched away at a steamed bun, while Gungun, bun crumbs at the corners of its mouth, lay contentedly on the hay, drooling in its sleep.

Tao Yao glared at Mo Ya, clutching the paper packet of buns tightly to her chest, scolding, “Are you a pig? You’ve eaten four already! I’m telling you, your lunch already included dinner, there’s no more for tonight!”

“You ate five yourself!” Mo Ya retorted without missing a beat.

Tao Yao looked at the sky. “You counted wrong.”

“Tao Yao,” Mo Ya suddenly asked, “are we really just leaving like this?”

“What else? Stay behind and roll around in that mud pit before we go?”

“Aren’t you going to comfort Qingji at all? It’s rather pitiful.” Mo Ya set down his bun. “Staying alone in that place for fifty years, all for the sake of a promise. And now, the person it’s been waiting for will never come at all.”

“Killing demons, I’m good at. Saving demons, I’m good at too. But comforting demons… when have you ever seen me do something so pointless?” Tao Yao glanced at him disdainfully.

“But…” Mo Ya thought hard but couldn’t come up with a rebuttal, so he stuffed the bun back into his mouth in frustration.

The ox cart clattered onward, the hard-of-hearing old driver singing a local folk song loudly.

Sunny today—the coldest days were probably over now.

Tao Yao looked at the receding hills and fields, saying, “People think demons and spirits are all-powerful, both fearing and hating them. What they don’t know is that among demons there are plenty like Qingji—insignificant creatures, maybe unable to even beat an arrogant loach spirit, some so weak they can only do one single thing in their entire lives. But even so, they’re still willing to keep their promises, unwilling to be careless about it, harboring no hostility toward this world from birth to death.”

Mo Ya sniffed, chewing his bun with something close to tears.

Seeing this, she smiled. “Which is why these little spirits are the most foolish, and the easiest to lose their lives. Take you, Mo Ya, for instance, in the human world—if I hadn’t saved you, taken care of you, protected you, who knows how many times you’d have been eaten by now!”

The faint sadness was suddenly interrupted by this bizarre remark, wasn’t it?! Mo Ya glared at her. “When I fell into the mud pit, didn’t you say it’d serve me right if I drowned?”

Tao Yao stuck out her tongue. “Young Master Liu would save you anyway, I was just joking around. Don’t hold a grudge.”

Mo Ya snorted hard, then said, “So tell me, does Qingji know that using its power to travel a thousand li in a day will kill it?”

She lay back on the hay, hands behind her head. “Even if it knows, they’d still keep their promise, willing to travel a thousand li for the first person who ever called their name, until the very last of their strength is spent. Probably, in the hearts of these foolish spirits, keeping a promise is the entire meaning of being alive.”

Mo Ya swallowed the last bite of bun, saying thoughtfully, “Then Wang Xiaoniu is a foolish kid too, bringing that old cat fish every month.”

Tao Yao smiled. “Yes, that kid’s plenty foolish too. But, doesn’t seem so bad, somehow.”

“Ah, isn’t it wrong for us to gossip about people behind their backs like this? At least the buns were a gift from Wang Xiaoniu.”

“He can’t hear us.”

“But the Buddha can hear.”

“The Buddha will only hear you calling Wang Xiaoniu a foolish kid. I don’t believe in Buddha, he can’t hear me.”

“Nonsense!”

“Little master, you’re accumulating bad karma!”

“Amitabha…”

Epilogue

The journal was so long that Qingji lay on top of it, reading for many days before finishing.

So, he really was never coming back.

It sat blankly on the last page of the journal, wiping its eyes.

On the final page of the journal was a passage not in his hand, crooked and clumsy—

“Your body now belongs to me. Until I permit it, you’re not to go making reckless promises to deliver messages for people anymore. This human world is far bigger than one Mirror Flower Marsh—it wouldn’t hurt to go take a look.”

Then… perhaps it should go take a look?!

It rose, walked to the now utterly unremarkable Mirror Flower Marsh, a few mud bubbles rose, and a large loach poked its dim-witted head out, then ducked back in.

She’d said the loach spirit’s crimes didn’t merit death—stripped of its cultivation, it was just an ordinary loach now. Might as well leave this mud pit to it.

Everyone said Lady Tao Yao of the Peach Capital was ruthless by nature, killed demons without a second thought… perhaps the rumors had it wrong?

It scratched its head and hopped onto its carriage.

Under the moonlight, a small yellow carriage sped out of Mirror Flower Marsh, and under cover of night, galloped off toward a distant place it had never been, free of all attachments, light as air.

In this life, you never took my life, and I never failed my promise to you—no regrets.