Prologue

Since you’re already on the road home, then let’s keep going. I’ll see you there.

1

Today was New Year’s Eve.

The entire Si household stirred to life before dawn.

Amid the trio of freeloaders’ endless yawning, the threshold of the Si estate was nearly trampled flat by the streams of visitors arriving to deliver New Year’s greetings.

While Steward Miao was busy greeting guests, Tao Yao snuck a look at the mountain of gifts pouring in from every corner of the realm. The senders’ names on the cards seemed to cover nearly every faction of note in the martial world — aside from the handful of famous major sects, there were still seven or eight minor outfits with “Iron” in their names alone, like the Iron Sword Gang, the Iron Palm Sect, the Iron Hammer Clan, plus escort agencies and mountain strongholds of every stripe, dizzying in their variety. Though the visitors clearly held little regard for their fellow wanderers of the martial world, every one of them treated Steward Miao with the utmost respect, setting down their gifts, bowing, offering auspicious wishes for prosperity and a flourishing household, and asking him to pass along their regards to the two young masters. None would even stay for a cup of tea, worried about taking up too much of his time, and only accepted the estate’s prepared “safety pouches” after Steward Miao insisted repeatedly, leaving with profuse thanks.

She’d heard that some of these sects lived so far from the capital that they’d had to set out days in advance and lodge in the city just to arrive in time for New Year’s Eve — no small effort.

Tao Yao didn’t understand why they all insisted on converging today to deliver their gifts, but it was only today that she truly grasped the Si estate’s standing in the martial world. In her time living here, aside from the trouble she herself had brought by attracting demons, the Si household itself seemed to have weathered surprisingly little turmoil. She’d never really witnessed the brothers formally “settling disputes” for anyone — most of the time they seemed more like idle layabouts. Even Steward Miao was no different from the steward of any ordinary wealthy household, tallying up trivial daily matters on his abacus, so much so that she’d nearly forgotten it was he who’d taught the two brothers their martial skills… If she hadn’t seen this spectacle today, she might really have believed that the Si estate’s reputation as the “Little King of Hell” was just something they’d slapped on themselves for the sake of appearances — nothing more than a place coasting on their parents’ legacy, all show and no substance.

Standing before the gradually growing hill of gifts, the two young masters’ faces drifted through Tao Yao’s mind again. Looking at it this way, though the two of them each had their own brand of insufferable, their standing with people didn’t seem too bad after all. Most of the well-wishers seemed genuinely sincere, truly using this once-a-year occasion to express their respect and gratitude to the Si estate — though she had no idea what thorny disputes the two young masters had resolved to earn such devotion from these martial world figures. There were also a few visitors whose smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes; after setting down their gifts, they seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if they’d merely completed an obligatory task. Tao Yao thought that however much gratitude these people actually felt toward the Si household, their faces plainly read: I don’t like you, but I can’t afford to offend you, so I have to go through the motions. She remembered Si Jingyuan once saying that in their line of work, there were plenty who thanked them, and plenty who resented them too.

But either way, so long as the Si estate was lively and festive today, gratitude or resentment made no difference — as long as she was here, the estate had better stay in good standing.

Wait, why was she suddenly so invested in the estate’s fortunes this early in the morning? Tao Yao pursed her lips. Not one of these gifts was for her — what did she care whether the Si household prospered or not? She immediately took the thought back.

By the time the last group of gift-bearers had been sent off, the sun was already high.

Under Steward Miao’s direction, some were assigned to the year’s final sweeping, others to hanging fresh peach-wood talismans on every door and window. The kitchen, too, grew busy. As for the task he assigned to Tao Yao and the others, it was to catalog the mountain of gifts — recording exactly who had sent what and how much, down to the last detail, with no room for error.

At first Tao Yao was delighted, her curiosity finally satisfied, but before she’d even gotten through half the pile she was already groaning. There were simply too many gifts — just unwrapping them all took forever. Mo Ya moved so slowly, handling scissors like they were sticks of dynamite, terrified of damaging whatever was inside, that it drove her half mad. She eventually sent him off to go play wherever he pleased. Young Master Liu’s hands were nimble enough, but he couldn’t unwrap a single item without critiquing it — this painting was surely a forgery, that porcelain’s glaze was uneven and clearly inferior — and when he came across a beautifully bound collection of poetry among the gifts, he went on at length about how the sender had no literary talent whatsoever, scoffing that it dared call itself poetry when it wasn’t even a ten-thousandth as gifted as his own work. Tao Yao clicked her tongue and shook her head too, wondering what gave a man who could only compose lines about fish swimming in an unheated pot the nerve to mock someone else’s properly published poetry collection. What a sin.

The happiest of them all was Gungun, who scampered about excitedly, sniffing at every gift. If Tao Yao hadn’t been quick, a thousand-year-old ginseng root worth a fortune would have become its lunch. That sly fox knew exactly which treats were the priciest. Still, these senders were remarkably generous — glancing over the medicinal herbs and tonics, she could tell they were all top-grade goods, which only made her more envious of the two brothers. They hadn’t exactly accomplished anything world-shaking, and yet people showered them with such lavish gifts, year after year. Meanwhile all the demons she’d treated were dirt poor, not one of them had ever properly repaid her, and they badmouthed her behind her back besides. Hmph.

She kept at it until nearly noon, and finally, drenched in sweat, Tao Yao finished the task — one hand dragging the fox, the other hauling Young Master Liu, who was still locked in battle with the poetry collection — and tossed the ledger, now covered in her crooked handwriting, at Steward Miao.

“Don’t ever make me do this again,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Unless you give me half the loot.”

Steward Miao flipped through a few pages and laughed. “Not bad, not bad. I can actually tell it was written by a human.”

Young Master Liu burst out laughing, only to have Tao Yao viciously pinch his arm. “What’s so funny? You’re no better than me!”

“What I write was never meant to be read by humans in the first place,” Young Master Liu said, baring his teeth. “Steward Miao’s complimenting you! You used to just scrawl talismans — this is progress!”

Tao Yao shot him a glare, then turned to Steward Miao. “You were complimenting me?”

“If I weren’t, would my arm be in danger?” Steward Miao shook his head with a smile, studying the ledger. “It’s only natural to be a bit disorganized the first time doing this kind of work — it’ll go smoother from now on. Your handwriting may not pass muster, but every stroke is clear and legible. That’s no small feat.”

How could she ever pinch Steward Miao’s arm? Whatever came out of his mouth was always gentle and fair — even his criticism never carried a hint of mockery, which was why she never found him annoying. Unlike that sarcastic snake of a man!

“You do this every year? Record it every year?” she asked, puzzled. “It’s just gift-giving — does it really need to be this much trouble?”

“Little Tao, human relationships are built on the give and take of favors,” Steward Miao said, continuing to flip through the ledger. “Walking the martial world, it’s better to remember kindnesses than grudges — makes life easier.”

“Exactly, Steward Miao, well said!” Young Master Liu poked Tao Yao’s head. “Grudge-keeper!”

“You want to lose that arm?” Tao Yao made as if to hit him.

Young Master Liu darted behind Steward Miao in a flash, poking his head out and stubbornly insisting, “If I didn’t watch your back at every turn, forget your arm — with all the grudges you’ve racked up, I doubt you’d still have your head! Take some advice and stop keeping a little notebook of everyone’s grudges, especially mine.”

“Heh, too scared to talk unless you’re hiding, huh? Got the guts to say that to my face?”

“No thanks! You’ll pinch me. Steward Miao, you saw that clearly just now, right? This woman is utterly unhinged!”

“I’ll show you what real unhinged looks like!”

Tao Yao scooped up Gungun, who’d been scratching an itch, and aimed its paws at Young Master Liu. “Gungun, however many times you slap him today, I’ll reward you with that many jujube-paste cakes!”

Gungun, momentarily baffled, immediately perked up — yanking Young Master Liu’s hair and slapping his face were both well within its wheelhouse.

Seeing Gungun’s eyes light up with eager anticipation, Young Master Liu quickly shoved Steward Miao forward. “Steward Miao, this is technically your household’s fox too — control it!”

“Enough, you children — can you two never stop bickering wherever you go? Really, this won’t do.” Steward Miao scolded them, taking Gungun from Tao Yao’s arms, patting its head before setting it down. “Go find something to eat in the kitchen.”

Gungun trotted off happily.

“Our estate holds an ancestral offering every New Year’s Eve at noon,” Steward Miao said, turning back to address the two of them seriously. “You two should come along as well.”

The pair exchanged a glance and spoke in unison: “Us too? We’re not even surnamed Si.”

“So long as you bear the mark of ‘Si’ on your arm, you’re part of the Si household,” Steward Miao said with a smile. “It’s also a chance to formally inform the master and mistress that new members have joined our estate, so they may watch over you and grant you peace and good fortune going forward.”

So it was to go “meet” the two young masters’ parents… Even knowing full well it was only two wooden memorial tablets, Tao Yao still felt a flicker of awkwardness. If all the complaints — even the outright bad-mouthing — she’d voiced about the two brothers back in the plum grove had somehow reached the ears of the deceased couple, she really hoped they wouldn’t hold it against her, and certainly wouldn’t manifest to trip her up or embarrass her in some other way. She’d only been speaking her mind, after all…

Young Master Liu stared at her expressive face, puzzled. “Why do you look so guilty all of a sudden? What are you muttering about?”

“I’m not muttering about anything!” Tao Yao immediately snapped back to her usual disdainful expression and turned to walk away. “Food time!”

Young Master Liu hurried after her, chattering away in her ear. “The kitchen’s prepared dozens of dishes today! I snuck a look before dawn — the fish was sliced paper-thin, so tender! And there’s even the rare glazed palm, the delicacy of delicacies — you can’t grow anything that fresh even back in Tao City!”

“Is the glazed palm that thing that smells amazing even raw?”

“That’s the one!”

“Steamed or stir-fried?”

“Steamed, of course! Nothing beats the original flavor!”

The two of them had completely forgotten that, moments earlier, they’d been mortal enemies threatening each other’s lives; now they leaned together affectionately, mouths watering, fully absorbed in anticipation of the New Year’s feast.

Watching their retreating backs, Steward Miao smiled to himself and murmured, “Master, Mistress — these might just be the liveliest children our household has ever taken in.”

2

Tao Yao had guessed wrong.

The “Hall of Eternal Longing,” where the Si brothers’ parents were enshrined, bore none of the solemn grandeur one would expect of a great household’s ancestral shrine. Not imposing, not stately — it was, in fact, a hidden pocket of peach-blossom paradise tucked within the Si estate. Following a stone path threading alongside a trickling brook, its end opened onto a farmhouse ringed by a bamboo fence. Calling it a farmhouse undersold it — it possessed a quiet elegance beyond what one would find in the countryside. The water vat set in the courtyard was simple yet sturdy, its base speckled with fresh green moss; hoes, sickles, and brooms sat neatly in their proper places, and a long clothesline stretched across the yard. The plum blossoms were in full bloom, their faint fragrance drifting through the crimson petals, and beyond the house, the gentle sound of flowing water completed the scene — the kind of dwelling one might prepare for someone truly devoted to a pastoral life.

More importantly… there wasn’t a single memorial tablet in sight.

Standing in the modest room, Tao Yao looked left and right and found no tablet at all — only simple, unadorned bamboo furniture. The one thing that stood out was a moon-white curtain hanging at the center of the main wall.

Before long, the entire Si household had gathered inside — fortunately there were only a few dozen people, so there was room enough to stand.

There was no elaborate ceremony, not even incense, candles, or paper offerings. Steward Miao simply checked the time, and the moment noon struck, he gave a signal to two elderly servants to begin. The servants drew back the curtain on either side, revealing a painting. On paper faded slightly yellow with age, fine snow drifted down over a plum tree just beginning to bud red, and not far off stood the backs of a man and a woman — the man tall and upright, the woman graceful and gentle, the two leaning into each other, hand in hand, walking forward together. Though only their backs were visible and the brushwork utterly simple, every stroke carried the weight of a vow to grow old together, every line spoke of a bond as deep and inseparable as life itself. Even someone with no eye for painting, like Tao Yao, could see clearly — that was the painting’s greatest power.

The couple in the painting matched, as closely as possible, Tao Yao’s imagined picture of the two brothers’ parents.

On the table set before the painting lay a long, narrow black wooden box, its contents unknown.

The moment everyone saw the painting, they knelt in unison without needing Steward Miao’s prompting.

Tao Yao and Young Master Liu exchanged a glance, caught between kneeling and not kneeling. They’d rarely knelt to anyone back in Tao City — now that they were in the human realm, working as servants was one thing, but kneeling too?!

Steward Miao caught sight of them among the crowd and simply said, “When in Rome, follow Rome’s customs. Once you’re at the Si estate, you follow the Si estate’s rules and honor the Si household’s ancestors.”

Well… then kneel it was.

Tao Yao tugged at Young Master Liu’s sleeve, and the two of them knelt down, reluctant as they were, even pinning Gungun to the ground to keep it from bolting.

Steward Miao nodded, turned, and knelt himself, cupping his hands toward the painting. “Another year has passed. The Si household remains at peace.”

The crowd echoed, hands cupped: “Another year has passed. The Si household remains at peace.”

The two of them had no choice but to follow suit.

After repeating it three times, the ritual concluded.

Everyone filed out of the room one by one, returning to their tasks, leaving Tao Yao and Young Master Liu with question marks on their faces. Wasn’t this supposed to be ancestor worship? Didn’t humans treat this yearly ritual as something enormously significant, something to be taken very seriously? Yet this had been over in the blink of an eye — just a quick bow, a quick chant, and that was it?

“That’s… it?” Tao Yao walked up behind Steward Miao, who still stood before the table, quietly gazing at the painting.

Hearing her voice, he turned and smiled. “It’s the same every year. The master and mistress never cared for grand displays. For them, the best way to be remembered and honored is simply this — one line: the Si household remains at peace.”

“Not even a memorial tablet?” Young Master Liu asked, puzzled. “Isn’t the folk custom to set up one of those wooden tablets for the deceased?”

Steward Miao smiled again. “Does the Si estate strike you as the sort of place that follows ‘folk custom’?”

Young Master Liu thought about it and nodded. “Fair enough. Your whole family doesn’t have a single normal person in it.”

“The master and mistress are right here — mind your tongue,” Steward Miao shot him a look, then pulled the two of them closer and looked up at the painting again. “Master, Mistress, Little Tao and Young Master Liu are new arrivals to the household. I’ve brought them to meet you today. They’re good children, just a bit quick with their mouths — should they say anything you find displeasing in the future, I hope you’ll bear with them, for the sake of the fact that they once saved the two young masters’ lives.” Then, turning to the pair, he added, “Go on, greet the master and mistress.” Then, glancing at Gungun sniffing curiously around the room, he added helplessly, “Master, Mistress, there’s also a new fox with us. Everyone’s fond of it — I hope you will be too. It doesn’t shed much, and it eats only vegetarian food… um… Gungun, why don’t you come pay your respects too?”

Gungun ignored him entirely, too absorbed in wandering around every interesting corner of the room.

Tao Yao scooped Gungun up and, grinning mischievously, held up its paw and cupped it toward the painting. “Master, Mistress, I’m just someone who speaks her mind, and I’ve always held the two young masters in high regard, so whatever bad things I’ve said about them don’t count — only the good things are the truth! Please don’t hold it against me. Do bless me with good health, fortune in all four seasons, beauty beyond compare, and all my wishes fulfilled! And while you’re at it, please make sure this fox never goes bald and always listens to me!”

“Truly speaking her mind, indeed…” Young Master Liu rolled his eyes at her, then addressed the painting. “The two of you can just pretend you didn’t hear what she said — this woman cannot be trusted. If you’re handing out blessings, save them for someone like me — a person of extraordinary talent, tireless devotion, equally at home in the parlor as in the kitchen, a true treasure among men. Most importantly, please bless me to soon finish a poetry collection that will shock the three realms and be passed down through the ages!”

Steward Miao rubbed his temples. “You two… honestly, if they truly heard any of this, knowing the master’s temperament, you’d both be sentenced to kneeling on a washboard for sure.”

“They won’t.” Tao Yao giggled, then addressed the painting again. “Master, Mistress, blessing or no blessing, as long as I’m at the Si estate and the two young masters don’t shortchange my wages, I swear on my name — Tao Yao — that no one will ever bring misfortune to this household!”

Young Master Liu muttered under his breath, wiggling his eyebrows, “With her around, the household will never know peace!”

“What are you muttering now?!”

“Nothing, I said you’re absolutely right! Rest easy, you two elders!”

“Like hell I believe that!”

“That’s right, they believe me!”

…

Steward Miao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, momentarily regretting having brought the two of them here at all.

Once the pair finally settled down, Tao Yao’s gaze landed on the black wooden box before the painting. “Steward Miao, what’s in the box?”

Steward Miao looked at the box and answered readily, “Inside is the stringless zither.”

“The one used to call back Si Jingyuan’s soul?” Tao Yao blurted out.

“That’s the one.” Steward Miao nodded, pausing to think. “You must already know the eldest young master’s health has never been strong. The year he turned thirteen, he nearly didn’t make it — it was the second young master who traveled day and night, sparing no effort, to find that zither and bring it back, saving his brother’s life. In the years since, whenever the eldest young master suffers a relapse, it’s almost always this zither that pulls him through.”

“I know.” Tao Yao gazed at the zither’s box, the secret of Si Jingyuan being a “half-life person” surfacing vividly in her mind. Though she’d said plenty of unkind things about the two brothers, and had seen firsthand how the two little kings of hell dug pits for each other out of mutual disdain, that one night — Si Kuanglan playing the zither until his fingers bled — remained etched in her memory. In this world, the two of them had arrived together, and no one else could ever replace either in the other’s place. So this zither didn’t just protect Si Jingyuan — it protected Si Kuanglan too. This bond of blood, born together and inseparable, was the one thing in his life he could never afford to lose — beneath the surname Si, he had no other kin left.

At this thought, Tao Yao fell silent for a moment.

“Placing this stringless zither in such an important position — is it meant to invoke the master and mistress’s protection, to keep the eldest young master safe?” Young Master Liu glanced around the room. “This zither is no ordinary object either. Surely plenty of people in the world would want to get their hands on it — placing it somewhere so visible, aren’t you worried someone might covet it?”

“The frost blade, the blood sword, the stringless zither.” Steward Miao smiled. “For years now, word of the Si household’s three treasures has quietly spread through the martial world, yet not a single soul has dared come knocking.” He turned to look at the two of them. “Objects belonging to the Si family are only treasures in the hands of a Si family member. In anyone else’s hands, they’re nothing but scrap iron and rotten wood. No need to worry.”

“Fair enough. Even the zither itself isn’t something an ordinary person could play — anyone else who took it really would just have a piece of rotten wood.” Tao Yao snapped back to attention, glancing around again. “Wait, if these are the three treasures of the Si household, where are the blade and sword? They’re not on display.”

“Blades and swords have drawn too much blood — they’re instruments of destruction in the end. The master and mistress, though their lives were never free of blade and sword, were not people who reveled in fighting. So we don’t display them, lest it disturb their peace,” Steward Miao explained, then glanced at Tao Yao. “Though you did get to witness the blood sword yourself, didn’t you, when you traveled to Mu Prefecture with the second young master.”

How could she ever forget that! The thought of that sword — sharp and merciless as ice buried in blood — immediately brought back memories of that disgusting fish demon, and the humiliation she’d suffered in Mu Prefecture…

Tao Yao pursed her lips awkwardly. “Of course I witnessed it. Otherwise I wouldn’t understand why it’s called the ‘blood sword’ rather than the ‘frost sword and snow blade.'”

Steward Miao smiled. “When the two young masters were children, aside from their studies, one practiced the blade manual and the other memorized the sword scriptures — both quite reluctant about it, always needing the master to scowl at them before they’d settle down and focus.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted back to the painting on the wall, his tone growing gentler, as if speaking directly to the figures within it. “It’s a pity you two had so little time with the boys. They’ve grown up now — able to hold their own, though they’ve run into trouble and suffered their share of hardship along the way, they’ve always pulled through. You can rest easy.”

This was exactly why Tao Yao liked Steward Miao best of all — this man who had spent all these years standing in for the departed couple, watching over the Si estate, watching the two brothers grow up, who had clearly toiled the most yet always kept himself in the background, unmentioned. Whatever debt of gratitude he owed the late master, he was truly repaying it with his entire life.

“All right, let’s head back.” Steward Miao bowed three more times toward the painting, then let the curtain fall, and the room returned to its ordinary appearance. He let out a small breath of relief. “Another peaceful year has passed. Good.”

“Yeah, it’s the last day — the rest should just be relaxing and feasting,” Young Master Liu said, stretching, and turned to leave, only to stop abruptly and look back at Tao Yao. “Wait, does something feel off?”

“What feels off?” Tao Yao scratched Gungun in her arms, grinning. “You’re in for a treat today.”

Steward Miao stopped too, staring at the fox in her arms, suddenly remembering a question that had been long forgotten. “Where’s Mo Ya?”

Tao Yao blinked. “Oh, right. Where is Mo Ya?”

Young Master Liu sighed. “That little monk’s presence has never once registered with anyone…”

Ever since they’d shooed Mo Ya off, none of them had seen him again — hadn’t even thought of him…

“Probably off playing somewhere,” Tao Yao said, poking Gungun’s head. “We ignore him, and you’re ignoring him too? Saw that old ginseng root and forgot all about your beloved little monk?”

Gungun wriggled free from her arms, gave an indignant whine, and darted off in a flash.

Steward Miao thought for a moment, then smacked his forehead. “That’s right! Before lunch I ran into him outside the kitchen, carrying a steamed bun and heading out. I asked where he was going, and he said to buy something at the market. I was so busy today I didn’t think to ask further, and it slipped my mind entirely.”

“The estate has everything he could need — what would he need to buy?” Tao Yao looked out the window; the sky had turned ominously overcast, and it looked like it might snow again, the north wind growing sharper.

Young Master Liu agreed wholeheartedly. “Right, he’s never wanted for anything… besides, his year-end wages haven’t even been paid out yet.”

Steward Miao couldn’t help but worry. “I’ll send a few people to look for him. It’s New Year’s Eve — he should hurry home.”

“No need.” Tao Yao tilted her chin toward the window. “There’s already a fox out looking for him.”

Steward Miao looked surprised. “Gungun’s capable of that?”

“That’s about the extent of its talents,” Tao Yao said, patting his arm. “You just focus on preparing tonight’s feast. Young Master Liu and I will go fetch him.”

“Then hurry there and back! The weather’s bad, be careful on the road,” Steward Miao said. “Make sure you’re back before the feast — we won’t start without you.”

“Got it.”

“We will absolutely wait for you to start eating!!!”

“Right! Put on another layer before you go, and bring an umbrella! Looks like heavy snow’s coming!”

“We won’t freeze, no need. We’re off.”

The two of them hurried out of the Hall of Eternal Longing and, chasing after Gungun’s trail, left the Si estate.

A few stray snowflakes drifted down tentatively — this year’s heaviest snowfall was quietly brewing.

3

The cold wind gusted in relentless waves, broken branches and fallen leaves whipping against the flimsy windows, the thin paper window covering looking ready to tear at any moment.

A black shadow, like diluted ink, drifted slowly across each window, accompanied by an eerie hissing sound — like something being strangled yet still managing to laugh — neither quite human nor inhuman.

The shadow moved back and forth but never entered, even though the doors and windows offered it no real resistance at all.

The mountain god’s statue had stood for many years now, its painted colors faded and mottled. The old man’s face still wore the same benevolent smile it always had, gazing kindly at whoever paused before it — though all it could offer was spiritual comfort; after all, it was only a wooden carving, unable to kill an enemy or save a life.

No wonder the offerings had dwindled with each passing year.

Before the idol, a chipped porcelain plate held a few scattered pieces of fruit and pastry, clearly not to the local mice’s taste, gnawed messily and left unfinished. Two lotus-based oil lamps burned on, doing their best, though who knew when someone would next come to refill the oil.

On two cushions worn so old their original color was indistinguishable, one was occupied by Mo Ya. On the other sat a man in a wide-brimmed hat — thin, features refined and pleasant enough, around thirty years old, dressed in plain thin robes wholly unsuited to the season, made all the worse by the drafty, exposed shelter around them. Anyone’s gaze landing on him felt as though it had fallen into an ice cellar — one didn’t want to look at him a second longer. The man said nothing at all, only clutching tightly a small, worn cloth pouch with fraying threads.

Mo Ya, for his part, had no time to spare him a glance. Hands pressed together in prayer, prayer beads slipped off and wound around his fingers, eyes closed, murmuring something under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead one drop at a time — too hot, or perhaps too unbearable.

A girl of seven or eight, dressed in blue with a white skirt, her twin buns already coming loose, her hem tattered and torn, though her face was fair and delicate, stood before Mo Ya and the man, brows furrowed tight, a gleaming short blade still clutched in her hand, her bright eyes fixed on the black shadow endlessly circling outside the window. Looking closely, the girl bore a striking resemblance to the man — judging by their ages, most likely father and daughter.

And yet, from the look of things, it seemed she was the one protecting Mo Ya and the man.

“We can’t keep this up.” The girl gritted her teeth quietly, stepping forward. “I’ll have to go deal with that thing myself. Little monk, watch over him for me.”

Mo Ya didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid of losing his concentration, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “You mustn’t! If you could beat it, you’d have done so already! Going out now would be suicide!”

The girl turned and glared at him. “And how much longer can you hold out? I can see you’ve already pushed this technique to its limit. Give it half an incense stick’s time at most, and that thing will break through regardless. Better I go out now and fight it head-on.”

“I can hold on for at least another incense stick’s worth of time!” Mo Ya said indignantly.

The girl smiled. “And then what?”

And then… then he could hardly chant sutras at the thing outside and beg for its mercy, could he?

Mo Ya fell silent.

The girl turned back to watch the shadow drifting back and forth across the window, her smile fading. “Even if I’m torn to pieces, I won’t let that thing succeed.” Then her expression softened slightly with something like apology. “I never meant to drag you into this. In a moment, I’ll try to draw it away — you be quick and get him out of here the moment there’s an opening. Get as far as you can. Whatever happens, don’t let it fall into that thing’s hands.” She paused. “I never expected to pull you into this mess. I’m sorry. If we can’t make it… well, hope for a better life next time around.”

Mo Ya broke into a cold sweat, not daring to open his eyes. He’d only gone to the market to buy something — a matter of an hour or two at most. How had he suddenly found himself teetering on the edge of life and death? He truly hadn’t counted on the very last day of the year turning out to be this disastrous.

The cloth pouch… it was that unremarkable old cloth pouch!

If they hadn’t collided with him while rushing through the streets, the pouch wouldn’t have fallen in front of him. He wouldn’t have chased after them to return it. And if they’d walked just a little slower, letting him hand it back before they left the marketplace, he’d already be safely back at the Si estate by now — he never would have chased them all the way to this deserted forest with nothing but a mountain god shrine, let alone stumbled upon them locked in a life-or-death struggle with a demon.

What in the world was that thing? Even from a distance, the sight of it alone was nauseating, and the wind carrying its scent reeked of decay. At first it had mostly resembled a human, but as the fight went on, it transformed into something like a worm nearly two men tall — black like an earthworm, but with eight spider-like legs, and a pallid human face peeking out from its belly, its mouth spewing a cloud of black mist whenever it opened. Heaven only knew what would happen if that mist touched someone.

He’d hidden behind a tree, not daring to rush forward rashly, wondering how a traveling father and daughter had crossed paths with a demon in the first place. He didn’t recognize the demon, but it clearly wasn’t anything good — could this pair possibly be a match for it?

Watching halfway through the battle, he suddenly realized it was the girl alone wielding an ordinary short blade against the demon the entire time, while her father simply stood off to the side, expressionless, not even offering to help, not even sparing so much as a glance — utterly detached from the whole affair. The girl’s blade flashed up and down, again and again deflecting the demon’s attacks, yet she never gained the upper hand, and over time even seemed to be gradually losing ground. Several times the black mist the demon spat brushed against the hem of her skirt, burning a hole through the fabric the instant it touched — if it had touched her skin, it would have been disastrous!

Mo Ya’s heart pounded as he watched. He’d never been much of a fighter, but after all these years following Tao Yao and Young Master Liu, watching them discipline countless demons, he’d at least developed a decent eye for these things — this girl was clearly on the verge of defeat, and within ten more exchanges she would surely die at that monster’s hands.

What could he do? He couldn’t win either. Going out there would just mean throwing his life away for nothing. But pretending not to see and fleeing to save himself — that felt even harder than throwing his life away… Amitabha, may the Buddha protect him!

He suddenly summoned every ounce of speed he had and dashed toward the mountain god shrine, shouting as he ran: “Little girl! Get into the shrine!”

The girl, seeing a little monk suddenly appear amid the melee, felt some inexplicable rush of trust — or perhaps simply knew she couldn’t hold out any longer. In the moment she kicked the demon off balance, she grabbed the man’s hand and sprinted with him straight into the mountain god shrine.

Mo Ya slammed the shrine door shut, and with no time to explain further, only said, “I’ll try to hold it back!” At the same time, he quickly pulled the cloth pouch from inside his robe and tossed it to the girl. “You dropped this.”

With that, he dropped onto the cushion, slipped the prayer beads off and wound them around his fingers, pressed his palms together, closed his eyes, and began chanting the protective incantation Young Master Liu had taught him. Once, Young Master Liu had tried countless times to teach him various skills for killing demons, which he’d naturally refused — demons were living beings too; he had no wish to fight them, let alone kill them. When Young Master Liu pushed him too hard, he’d had no choice but to threaten to expose all of Young Master Liu’s petty rule-breaking back in Tao City as leverage, which finally made Young Master Liu give up trying to turn him into a demon slayer… But one thing Young Master Liu had said still moved him — Fine, you don’t want to fight, don’t want to kill, but when someone comes to fight you, to kill you, you’d better be able to save your own life.

So he’d reluctantly agreed to let Young Master Liu teach him a protective incantation for emergencies — the simplest of techniques, with a simple effect too: setting up a barrier around himself that neither body nor magic could breach, prioritizing survival above all else, everything else to be sorted out later. Unfortunately, he genuinely had no talent for the mystic arts — in fact he was remarkably dull at them. He could memorize the longest sutras word for word without a single mistake, yet no matter how hard he tried, he could never fully commit the incantation’s mnemonic formula to memory. After great effort he’d finally memorized it, only for it to frequently fail when he tried to use it — even a small bird could easily breach his barrier, which was maddening… After a while, he simply gave up trying, figuring life and death were fated, no point forcing it — besides, as long as those two were around, it probably wouldn’t come to some other demon eating him anyway…

But he’d never expected that there would be moments when they weren’t around at all.

The one saving grace was that he hadn’t forgotten how to use the protective incantation.

He really would have to try it now!

At the critical moment, he silently chanted the incantation, staking everything on his faith in the Buddha, staking every last ounce of his survival instinct, praying only that the mountain god shrine could become the last chance for the three of them.

There was a loud bang, the shrine door shuddering under the impact — but surprisingly, it didn’t so much as crack, still standing firm, sealing off the two worlds inside and out.

An enraged sound came from outside; every possible point of entry — the door, the windows, even the walls — erupted with a series of alarming crashing sounds.

Thankfully, it all held.

Mo Ya didn’t dare open his eyes, didn’t dare make any unnecessary movement. It felt as if a ball of heat had formed inside his body; as the incantation’s power deepened, that heat turned to fire, running wild through him. He couldn’t feel the winter cold at all, only an unbearable heat. That “fire” was hard to control too, as if his internal organs were all being scorched — he couldn’t tell if it was pain or something else entirely.

The girl seemed rather surprised by his abilities, while the man remained utterly wooden throughout, as though it wasn’t him who had narrowly escaped disaster — his gaze fixed only on the pouch in the girl’s hand, and he reached out for it.

“Thank goodness it wasn’t lost.” The girl placed the pouch in his hands and had him sit on the cushion to rest, though he didn’t seem like someone who needed rest at all.

The man clutched the pouch tightly, as though the entire world existed for him alone in that moment.

But Mo Ya’s barrier was visibly starting to fail.

The girl, having steeled herself for a final, desperate fight, glanced back at him once more and smiled. “Whatever happens, thank you. That pouch means a great deal to him.” With that, she turned and strode toward the shrine door.

“Wait!” Mo Ya cried out, mustering every last bit of strength. “There’s another way!”

The girl stopped, turning back in confusion.

Mo Ya gritted his teeth. “I have some paper on me — quick, take it out!”

The girl froze.

4

Gungun darted without hesitation into a bleak, withered stretch of forest.

Tao Yao, who had been following unhurriedly, suddenly slowed her pace, brows knitting together.

“Oh, you’re smoking again!” Young Master Liu beside her stared at the top of her head. “Whoever’s so desperate to find you for a diagnosis really has terrible timing.”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes upward, waving a hand wildly over her head. “As if my paper means nothing to anyone — treating it like kindling! What a waste, they deserve to be struck by lightning!”

“Who are you cursing at?” Young Master Liu asked, puzzled. “Last time it was Shuhu who made you go up in smoke — who’s splurging this big this time? Someone in that much of a hurry to find you — could it be a rash breaking out? I’ll leave the little monk to you.”

Tao Yao looked up at Gungun, who was about to vanish into the far end of the forest, her brow furrowing tighter. “It’s Mo Ya burning them. Says he’s about to die.”

“What?!” Young Master Liu’s face changed color.

“The mountain god shrine at Maotou Slope.” Tao Yao leapt forward, sprinting after Gungun at top speed.

Following Gungun’s earlier path, they had indeed passed a large boulder engraved with “Maotou Slope,” the terrain here higher than elsewhere. A desolate dirt road, more than half buried under this withered forest, led the way — and where Gungun ran without hesitation, a dilapidated little shrine could be faintly seen.

So it really was the little monk calling for help.

By the time the two of them raced to the mountain god shrine, they found Gungun baring its teeth at some hideous creature by the shrine’s entrance, fur bristling all over its body, hindquarters raised as though ready to attack.

But the creature only glanced at Gungun once before turning away, ignoring it entirely, pacing back and forth in front of the shrine door, all its attention fixed on whatever was inside. As for Gungun’s attack, the moment it charged forward, it clapped a paw over its nose and leapt back, then stood at a distance grumbling at the thing, clearly unwilling to approach any closer.

Seeing this, Tao Yao, hidden behind a tree, let out a breath of relief, then gritted her teeth quietly. “That little troublemaker, burning that much paper over a scene like this!”

Young Master Liu poked his head out from behind the tree to take a look, feeling considerably more relaxed too, and whispered, “That’s… an ink-worm, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tao Yao nodded. “A decently sized one — its human face has already formed, so it’s got at least several hundred years of cultivation. Its poison mist alone could kill a person. Still stupid as ever, though.”

With that, she crept around to the other side of the shrine, peering through a hole in the window paper, and couldn’t help but snicker.

Young Master Liu caught up and asked what was so funny; she pointed inside. “The little monk’s playing hero here — look at that head full of sweat, like he’s stuck on the toilet and can’t get anything out.”

Young Master Liu peered in too, reaching out to lightly touch the wall, his mouth curving upward. “Not bad at all — the little monk actually managed to pull off the protective incantation. All that teaching wasn’t wasted after all.” Then he shot Tao Yao a glare. “You’re not happy for him, just mocking him — you’re really something else!”

“A barrier that flimsy, thin as paper — what’s there to praise? Just proves what a lousy makeshift teacher you were,” Tao Yao said, pursing her lips, then peeked back around to check on the demon’s movements. “A measly ink-worm’s not even worth my effort. You handle it — one bite and it’s done.”

“Who wants to eat something that disgusting! I need to save my appetite for the New Year’s feast.” Young Master Liu refused immediately, peering in again, muttering, “Why’s he with these two strangers, though? That little girl looks like trouble — carrying a blade too. Could they have taken him hostage?”

“You going or not? Keep dawdling and the little monk’s really going to collapse. His foundation’s so weak, holding that barrier is seriously taxing on his body,” Tao Yao reminded him.

Young Master Liu shot her a fierce glare, holding up a finger. “That’s another one — mark it down carefully!”

With that, he strode out casually, picked up a small stone, and hurled it at the ink-worm’s head, calling out, “Hey!”

The stone bounced off the demon’s head; it slowly turned around, glanced at him, then turned away again with no interest at all, occasionally poking a limb against the wall to check whether the barrier was still holding.

“Idiot.” Young Master Liu shook his head, and abruptly revealed his true form.

“Hey!” he called out again.

The ink-worm slowly turned around once more, and this time found a massive green-scaled, red-eyed serpent rearing up right before it, tongue flicking with a hiss. Under Young Master Liu’s overwhelming presence, the ink-worm froze in place, caught in the absurd half-turned position, unable to complete the motion.

“Filthy and foul — get lost!” Young Master Liu said coldly, flashing a hint of his sharp fangs.

Whether the creature was scared witless or simply stupid, it actually rolled away, and rolled remarkably fast at that, vanishing into the darkening forest within moments.

Young Master Liu snorted in satisfaction and returned to his human form.

Tao Yao walked over and winked at him. “Takes something even uglier to scare off an ugly demon, I suppose. Good work.”

Young Master Liu’s eyelid drooped. “Do you really think I couldn’t have eaten you if I wanted to?”

Tao Yao giggled and pushed open the shrine’s main door.

Inside, the little girl still gripped her short blade, though her expression had grown remarkably calm, not a trace of fear on her face. She said only to Mo Ya, “Your method really worked.”

Mo Ya opened his eyes, lowered his hands from the prayer beads, and looked as though his whole body might collapse at any moment, saying miserably to Tao Yao and Young Master Liu, “You’re here…”

Gungun pounced on him, nuzzling and licking, while Mo Ya, momentarily without the strength to even pick it up, panted for a long while before managing to hang the prayer beads back around his neck.

Young Master Liu went over to help him up, patting his bald head. “Now you know I was doing it for your own good.”

Mo Ya wiped his sweat. “You never told me using an incantation would be more exhausting than climbing ten mountains.”

“That’s because your foundation’s weak, and you eat vegetarian besides, so you’ve got even less energy. Why not switch to meat?” Young Master Liu suggested with a grin.

“Sin, sin — even if a demon were to eat me, I still couldn’t eat meat. Take that terrible idea and shove it,” Mo Ya said, shaking his head with a sigh.

“You’re the one full of terrible ideas!” Tao Yao flicked Mo Ya’s forehead as she walked over, indignant. “Wasting resources like that deserves divine punishment!” Then she glanced at the girl and man. “You burned how many sheets!”

Mo Ya covered his forehead, stammering, “Two…”

“Liar! Two sheets couldn’t have made me smoke like that!” Tao Yao’s eyebrows shot up. “Aren’t monks not supposed to lie?”

“Two… three…” Mo Ya said guiltily, his voice growing smaller. “Four, five, six sheets, maybe…”

Tao Yao clutched her chest. “How generous of you! Do you have any idea what my paper goes for on the market these days?”

“Well…” Mo Ya gathered his courage and looked up at her. “Wasn’t it an emergency? If you hadn’t come, that demon at the door would’ve killed us!”

Tao Yao snorted. “Someone as kindhearted and brainless as you, any random stranger on the street could kill you.”

Mo Ya lowered his head again, muttering, “No feud between us, why would strangers want to kill me.”

“And you talk back!” Tao Yao made as if to twist his ear, only to have her wrist grabbed by a small hand — surprisingly strong.

“I know who you are.” The girl looked at the golden bell on her wrist. “But I’ve never bought your paper before, so I don’t know the price. Why don’t you name a number and I’ll pay you back. Just don’t scold the little master anymore.”

Knowing exactly who she was and still daring to grab her hand to stop her from disciplining someone… Tao Yao studied the girl’s fearless eyes and smiled. “I figured you’d be kneeling to thank me by now.”

The girl let go, saying earnestly, “I rarely kneel. But if I did kneel to you, would that settle the debt for those sheets of paper?”

Tao Yao’s eyes widened. “This little thing sure knows how to calculate a good deal. Even if your knees were made of gold, they still wouldn’t cover my paper.”

The girl glanced down at her own knees. “Then I won’t kneel.”

Tao Yao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry — every word out of this little thing’s mouth was unpleasant to hear, yet none of it was wrong either. The blunt, unyielding manner, taking neither flattery nor threats, was oddly not off-putting at all. And knowing exactly who stood before her, she still remained this composed — it only made Tao Yao want to tease her further.

“Fine, no kneeling then. Pay me with something else. I never save a life for free.” Tao Yao looked her up and down, rubbing her chin. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got money either…” Her gaze shifted to the man, who still sat woodenly on the cushion, clutching the cloth pouch tightly.

Tao Yao’s eyes lit up, and she pointed at the pouch in his hands. “Give me that, and we’ll call it even.” She reached out to take it.

A flash of cold light suddenly cut through the air — the short blade’s edge grazed past Tao Yao’s nose, embedding itself with a thunk into the wooden pillar behind her.

Mo Ya jumped in fright, crying out, “You mustn’t!!”

“Nice blade work!” Young Master Liu couldn’t help but applaud, whispering to Mo Ya, “She just did what I’ve wanted to do every single day — this girl’s got real promise!” Mo Ya slowly turned to look at him and murmured Amitabha with his palms pressed together.

By now the girl had positioned herself in front of the man, staring straight into Tao Yao’s eyes. “This pouch belongs only to him.”

Tao Yao rubbed her nose, feigning hurt. “This is how you repay your savior — by trying to slice off her nose?”

“Not just you — anyone who tries to take it from him, I’ll cut,” the girl said seriously. “Even a savior has no right to steal someone else’s belongings.”

“Ha, fair enough.” Tao Yao laughed, patting the girl’s head. “All right, no more messing around. You know who I am, so you should know my rules too. You’re the one who burned the paper, right?”

The girl nodded. “The little master told me to find the paper he had on him, write on each sheet ‘Maotou Slope, mountain god shrine, a demon wants to eat me, Mo Ya,’ and burn them all together.”

“That’s it, then.” Tao Yao said matter-of-factly. “You burn paper calling for me, and I agree to make the house call — that means whoever burned the paper owes me a treatment. No objections?”

“I object.” The girl said without hesitation. “I never asked you to treat me.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Tao Yao turned shameless. “The paper was burned by you, so that’s what counts.” She paused, then grinned. “Unless you can find an illness for me to treat right this second. Do you know how rare an opportunity this is? Plenty of people are lined up waiting for a chance like this.”

The girl shook her head. “I have no illness that needs treating right now.” With that, she walked over, drew the short blade from the pillar, sheathed it at her waist, and returned to the man’s side. “Let’s go.”

The man, seemingly able to hear only her voice, slowly rose from the cushion and followed her steps toward the shrine door.

After a few steps, she turned back to Tao Yao. “Once I’ve finished what I need to do, I’ll come back and you can tell me what compensation you want then. There’s plenty of time — take your time deciding. I don’t like owing people. Thank you for today.” With that, she nodded to Mo Ya as well and walked straight out of the shrine.

“Kind of reminds me of you,” Young Master Liu nudged Tao Yao’s arm. “Like you used to be. One-track mind.”

Tao Yao blinked, taking a moment to come back to herself, then rolled her eyes at him. “Even the old me had at least two tracks. She’s got nothing on me.” She paused, watching the two departing figures outside the shrine door. “But she really is sick. The sickly aura’s written all over her face. If it’s not treated, she might not make it past the New Year.”

Hearing this, Mo Ya was startled. “Tao Yao, are you serious?”

“Doubting my expertise now?” Tao Yao rubbed her hands together. “I’d say what’s on that little demon’s face isn’t just sickness — it’s the aura of death.”

“What?! Wait…” Mo Ya suddenly connected the dots, pointing toward the door. “She’s a demon?”

“A human girl that age, recognizing Tao Yao? Throwing knives like that?” Young Master Liu poked Mo Ya’s head. “You only noticed how pretty she was and didn’t stop to think that kind of presence doesn’t belong to a six- or seven-year-old girl. No eye for this at all — deserves to get eaten.”

Mo Ya rubbed his head, thinking it over, murmuring to himself, “That’s true… no human girl could fight a demon like that… so she’s a demon too…” Then he suddenly looked up sharply at Young Master Liu. “You just said I only noticed she was pretty?”

“Isn’t that right? You risked your life to save her.” Young Master Liu held back a laugh.

“Sin, sin — appearances mean nothing to me,” Mo Ya frowned. “If I’d stood by and let her die, all these years of chanting sutras would’ve been for nothing.”

“Fine, fine, my mistake.” Young Master Liu gave himself a light slap on the mouth. “Our little Mo Ya’s earned himself more merit today. Just a shame for us — freezing our tails off out here instead of eating well at home, having to trek all the way to this godforsaken place to help you build merit.”

Mo Ya looked apologetic, scooping up Gungun. “Sorry, I’ve caused you trouble. But it was urgent, I had no choice.” He leaned in close to Tao Yao, asking carefully, “So what kind of demon was she? And what was that thing that tried to eat us?”

“You’re a living being, the ink-worm wouldn’t have eaten you.” Tao Yao walked toward the shrine door; the ground, once mottled and worn, was now blanketed in a smooth sheet of white. At an hour when birds should have returned to roost, a flock of crows still flew erratically through the falling snow and gathering dusk.

5

Snow had already settled on the man’s wide-brimmed hat, his gait growing increasingly unsteady, the accumulating snow hiding the uneven ground beneath, making every step lurch slightly off balance. He held the pouch close to his chest, giving it the safest, most protected spot on his body.

The girl walked close behind him, never straying a step. Yet she moved with even greater difficulty than the man — every so often, she’d unconsciously press a hand to her waist, her pace slowing, then she’d take a deep breath, as though forcing down some discomfort, before quickening her steps to catch up again.

The two figures, one tall and one small, pressed silently onward through the New Year’s Eve dusk.

“Today’s New Year’s Eve, when every family reunites, even the mules and horses get to rest — and the two of you are still on the road?” Tao Yao appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, having cut through some side path, standing beneath a tree ahead of them, leaning against the trunk with a smile.

The girl, focused solely on the road ahead, was startled by her sudden appearance, but relaxed upon seeing who it was. “I won’t skip out on my debt. Once I’ve finished my business, I’ll come find you.”

Tao Yao laughed, walking up to her, studying her composed little face. “Will you even get the chance to come back?”

“You…” The girl frowned.

“Traveling in this bitter cold, the two of you dressed so thin — I really do worry you’ll catch something.” Tao Yao walked over to the man and, with sudden “kindness,” took hold of his wrist, pressing her fingers against it a few times, then looked back at the girl in mock surprise. “Something’s wrong with your father. No pulse at all.”

The girl stepped forward quickly, pulling Tao Yao’s hand away. “I don’t deny I owe you a favor, but must you toy with me like this? You already know the truth.”

Tao Yao smiled and said nothing.

The girl continued, “I don’t think I’ve caused you much trouble — I only used a few sheets of paper. Besides, you only drove off the ink-worm; sooner or later, if our luck holds poorly, we’ll run into another one, if not that one specifically then some other. Why not just let us continue on our way and settle this matter as soon as possible, so the two of us can finally be freed.” As she spoke, she instinctively pressed a hand to her waist again, then quickly let it drop.

“The little monk told me you fought that ink-worm head-on earlier today?” Tao Yao asked suddenly.

She nodded. “We’ve been careful this whole journey. I deliberately stick to crowded areas, using the presence of people to help mask our trail, hoping to avoid attracting unwanted attention. But that ink-worm was more formidable than most — not only sharp-nosed, but it had cultivated a human form and blended into the marketplace. Bad luck, I suppose, that we crossed paths with it. It chased us relentlessly, and with him in tow I couldn’t move fast. We ran into it right in front of the mountain god shrine, and I had no choice but to fight to the death.”

Tao Yao pointed at the man. “Let go of him, and you’ll survive.”

“I can’t let go.” She looked at the man and sighed. “I know today is a day for family reunion.” A snowflake landed on her long lashes and lingered there without melting. “You wouldn’t know this, but he’s on the road home too — he’s just been on it for many, many years without ever arriving.”

Young Master Liu couldn’t hold Mo Ya back, and he rushed out from the shadows anxiously, looking at the girl. “Miss, what exactly is going on here?”

Watching Mo Ya’s sincere, worried face — perhaps remembering his desperate act of courage earlier — some of the ice in the girl’s cold expression finally seemed to soften. She looked at these unexpected “strangers” and said calmly, “I am Xi Dao.”

“Xi… Xi Dao?” Mo Ya scratched his head, unable to place the name in his knowledge.

“In the mountains lives the blue rhinoceros, feeding on the light of sun and moon, its essence gathering in its horn. In later ages, people obtain this horn and craft it into a hairpin. Once it absorbs enough human presence, it becomes a demon known as Xi Dao — a hairpin-demon. Its nature is to guard its master, never abandoning them even in death, preserving their body from decay, as though still living. Such a demon is exceedingly rare in this world.” Tao Yao explained smoothly, answering Mo Ya’s question.

“Preserving from decay… as though still living…” Mo Ya mulled this over for a while, studying the girl and the man again and again, then, connecting it to what Tao Yao had said earlier after taking the man’s pulse, stared in shock at the man who always seemed so vacant. “He… he’s not your father? He’s dressed so thin, and doesn’t speak at all… Tao Yao said the demon wouldn’t eat me because I’m a living being, so does that mean he…”

“So he’s not my father. I’ve been with him so long that my human form naturally came to resemble his. Letting people mistake us for father and daughter has made traveling easier besides,” the girl admitted candidly. “Little master, the ink-worm’s true target was him. The longer someone’s been dead, the more delicious they are to an ink-worm’s palate, and consuming them boosts its cultivation. I didn’t tell you the truth earlier — partly because I didn’t know your background and feared frightening you, and partly because, while you’re no great cultivator, you clearly have some skill of your own. If I couldn’t hold off the ink-worm, you could still treat him as an ordinary man and help him escape the demon’s clutches in my place. That was my own selfish calculation. I’m sorry.”

Mo Ya fell silent for a moment, then said, “Even if you’d told me the truth from the start, I still wouldn’t have abandoned him.” He looked into her eyes. “You knew you were no match for the ink-worm, knew that even though it wouldn’t eat you, it could still kill you, and yet you still fought to the death to protect a… someone who doesn’t even need protecting anymore. Is your own living life worth less than a… shell? I truly don’t understand.”

The girl said calmly, “Little master, I know you have the heart of a bodhisattva, but I’m only doing what I must do. I don’t ask others to understand.”

Young Master Liu stepped forward, nodding toward the pouch in the man’s hand. “The answer’s in there, isn’t it.”

The girl said nothing.

Tao Yao smiled. “Tell you what — tell me what’s inside, and we’ll call it even on the paper.”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “You only want to know what’s inside? Not take it?”

“I’m a somewhat important figure in Tao City too, you know — would I stoop to coveting some ragged old pouch?” Tao Yao thought about flicking her forehead, to see if she could hear water sloshing inside.

“A deal’s a deal.” The girl set this remark aside, walked over to the man, and gently patted his hand. The man let her take the pouch from him without resistance, then sat down in the snow, silent and still as a statue.

Young Master Liu, watching this, asked with a smile, “He only understands what you say?”

“I’m not really talking to him — I’m just using my own methods to make him pause for a while. He can’t understand anyone’s words,” the girl said, cradling the pouch as she returned to them. “While he was alive, this pouch was always kept under his pillow, or tied tightly at his waist.”

She carefully opened the aged pouch. Two finger-thick gold bars fell into her palm — their glow small but golden, the most vivid color in this otherwise monochrome snowy scene; time, it seemed, could do nothing to gold. Then she pulled out a pale blue silk handkerchief, embroidered in the lower right corner with a begonia blossom, a few lines of poetry inscribed across its middle—

[Several lines of classical verse, describing a birthday wish and images of spring, phoenixes, and a zither]

The begonia embroidery was vivid and skillfully done, though the calligraphy of the inscribed poem was rather plain — still, every stroke was earnest and careful, carrying real depth of feeling, clearly a small keepsake exchanged between lovers to ease the ache of longing.

Tao Yao waited curiously to see what else might come out, but the girl simply turned the pouch upside down and shook it. “That’s all.”

That’s all?!

Neither Tao Yao, nor Young Master Liu, nor Mo Ya, nor even Gungun, craning its neck in anticipation, had expected that something so cherished would contain only these two unremarkable items. The gold, while valuable, wasn’t exactly a priceless treasure, and there were only two small bars at that… As for the handkerchief, it was even less remarkable — the kind of trinket found on every street corner.

“That’s everything.” The girl put the items back in the pouch and returned it to the man’s hands. “It’s been over a hundred years since that day, roughly, that I’ve traveled with him.”

6

Everyone said this year was unusually cold.

New Year’s Eve had come again; lanterns glowed throughout the small town, every family gathered together.

But none of that festivity reached this shabby dwelling out in the desolate outskirts, named “Ping’an Manor” — a place that took in unclaimed bodies with no family to claim them. If this place ever grew lively, that truly would be a haunting.

Xue Ping’an had been brought in that afternoon, cause of death: drowning.

Bad luck — the boat had capsized, and everyone else aboard was fine, but he alone had been dragged under by an undertow, and by the time he was pulled out, it was already too late. He was an outsider, and none of his fellow passengers recognized him. A search of his belongings turned up nothing that could identify him, so he’d been brought to Ping’an Manor tagged as an “unidentified body.” If the authorities couldn’t trace his origins in the coming days, he’d simply be dealt with in due course. At least the bitter cold weather meant they could keep him a little longer.

Right now, only it knew Xue Ping’an’s name, knew that he’d set out on the road home with an anxious, uneasy heart.

It could no longer recall which number he was among all the people it had followed to completion — the twentieth? Thirtieth? Whatever the count.

Most of the time, it took the form of a hairpin, tucked into their hair. The pale blue-green rhinoceros horn was smooth but unremarkable, never drawing anyone’s attention, and then it would spend their lives, long or short, as an observer — sometimes a participant too. For those bold enough, it was willing to reveal itself, as it had a few hundred years ago to a young scholar surnamed Yan, who, to save money, would sleep among wild graves and desolate fields, unafraid of ghosts or foxes or spirits, able to read and wield a sword, hating evil and standing firm in righteousness, determined to make a name for himself in that chaotic age — though he never managed to. In the end, he returned home to become an ordinary farmer, living out an unremarkable, mildly melancholy life.

One evening in Scholar Yan’s later years, he pulled out his dust-covered sword, drank a few cups of wine, and began to swing it about in the courtyard — the fire of his youth, the ambitions of a swan among sparrows, seemingly restored to him all at once.

Only, no one was there to cheer him on.

His only son, off doing business in another town, had just become a father the month before; his wife had happily gone to help care for the newborn, leaving him alone at home.

It remembered the moon that night was especially large, casting silvery light everywhere, and even old Yan’s sword dance seemed beautiful somehow — more valiant, even, than in his youth. Unable to resist, it transformed into human form and applauded beside him.

Seeing a girl of seven or eight suddenly appear in his courtyard, her features bearing some resemblance to his own, old Yan felt an odd sense of familiarity rather than fear, despite knowing something was amiss, and simply asked who she was.

She didn’t hide the truth, telling him she was the very rhinoceros-horn hairpin he’d worn for decades — a demon — and that she’d appeared today, moved by the splendor of his sword dance, to applaud in person.

Old Yan, astonished, said that in all his years sleeping among wild graves and abandoned fields, he’d never once encountered a demon — he hadn’t realized demons could look anything other than fierce and hideous. He told her that when he’d first spotted this hairpin in the marketplace years ago, he’d known at a glance it was different from the rest, and had grown fond of it, never once considering replacing it in all these years — he hadn’t realized it truly was a spirit fated to cross his path.

Old Yan spoke as though describing some wonderful stroke of fate between them, but she wasn’t so gracious about it. “You only picked me out of that pile of hairpins because the peddler didn’t know what he had and priced me the cheapest! You’re stingy and poor, that’s the only reason you never bothered replacing me with something new.”

Old Yan froze, his old face flushing red, then burst into laughter, patting her head and saying what an adorable demon she was.

“Still, it is fate between us, I suppose.” She poured him a cup of wine. “I never choose who to follow — it’s always you humans who bring me home through some twist of circumstance. Most people only share half a bond with me — those who grow tired of me and cast me aside, or lose me through carelessness, they’re the majority. You must be around the twentieth or so person I’ve followed all the way to completion.”

Old Yan asked curiously, “What do you mean by ‘followed to completion’?”

“Until your death, I’ll be with you,” she said plainly. “Once I’ve made sure you’re properly laid to rest, only then will I leave.”

Old Yan laughed again. “Once you’re dead, what does it matter whether you’re at peace or not?”

“That’s not necessarily true.” She pointed up at the sky and down at the ground. “Birds above, beasts below — if you happen to die somewhere unfortunate, the crows, rats, and wolves won’t spare you.”

“I see…” Old Yan took a sip of wine. “Though I don’t personally think it matters much whether a body stays intact or not, if rats really did gnaw off my nose, my family would be distressed to see it, even if I felt nothing. So you do have a point. But why go to such trouble for me? All these years following me, and I’ve never given you anything, not even known you existed.”

“Because as long as I can become a demon of some accomplishment, I have a chance at becoming an immortal,” she admitted candidly, a hint of longing crossing her face. “I’ve heard Kunlun takes in demons to become immortals, but only those with genuine accomplishment and ability — and they have to pass an extremely rigorous test. I’m not entirely sure what counts as accomplishment, but I once heard an old demon say the more people I follow to completion, the greater my accomplishment grows. True or not, I’ll just keep doing it for now.”

Old Yan nodded at this. “True or not, keep at it. Look at me — wasn’t I just like you in my youth, full of passion, unwilling to settle for the ordinary? Perhaps it’s my own fault I didn’t keep at it, or I wouldn’t have ended up living out my days in the fields.”

She didn’t understand. “What’s wrong with living in the fields?”

Old Yan paused, then laughed. “No one to watch me swing my sword.”

“I’m watching!” she said earnestly.

Old Yan chuckled. “Right, right, having you here cheering me on — that’s plenty good too.”

That night, she drank half the night away with old Yan. Before he passed out drunk, he wished her well, hoping she’d achieve her heart’s desire and ascend to immortality soon.

She accepted his blessing, believing too that sooner or later she’d earn her place on Kunlun.

The next day, once old Yan sobered up, he held his rhinoceros-horn hairpin in his hand for a long while, thinking the night before must have been nothing but a drunken dream — how could this thing possibly transform into a charming little girl? Surely it had been a dream.

A month later, old Yan’s heart condition flared up, and he collapsed on the road while gathering herbs in the mountains. He went quickly, without much suffering.

Because the location was remote, it took seven or eight days before anyone found old Yan’s body — and what left everyone astonished was that despite lying out in the wilds for so many days, in the sweltering heat no less, his body looked as though he’d merely fallen asleep, even a healthy flush still on his cheeks, without the faintest trace of odor, even though the herbs in his basket had long since wilted. The area, moreover, was thick with wild dogs and wolves, and others had died there before, only to be found the next day with their remains torn apart — yet not a single tooth mark marred old Yan’s body.

Only heaven knew how many wild creatures she’d fought off during those days. As long as she stayed by old Yan’s side without fail, he could remain in this sleep-like state.

She remembered when old Yan’s wife and son rushed back, weeping inconsolably as they held him, yet seeing his peaceful, lifelike face, they found some comfort in it too, believing he must have passed peacefully, certain some immortal spirit had watched over him — otherwise, how could he have remained so undisturbed all the way until their return?

Old Yan’s funeral was a lively affair. As they lowered the coffin into the ground, with his friends and family weeping outside, she lay inside the coffin calculating where to go next — whether to transform back into her hairpin form and mingle in the marketplace again, waiting for the next “fated one” to bring her home.

By the time it came to Xue Ping’an, she wasn’t bought — she was picked up out of the trash.

That day, she’d been unconscious.

To protect the remains of the person before him, she’d fought a brutal battle against her natural enemy — the carrion-eating ink-worm, which fed on decay. Fortunately that ink-worm had been small and low in cultivation, so she’d managed to finish it off directly, though not without taking serious injury from its poison mist herself, leaving a half-ring of blackened, corroded scarring around her waist, agonizingly painful, and the mark was slowly spreading. After that ordeal, she couldn’t even hold her human form anymore, spending her days in a daze, slumped against a wall in the marketplace.

Passersby occasionally picked her up, but seeing only an unremarkable hairpin, with a dark crack running through its middle besides, looking hardly durable, none of them felt inclined to keep it, and simply tossed her into a trash heap. A stray dog later dragged her out to play with, dragging her all over the place until she was dizzy — until Xue Ping’an, bringing over a bowl of leftover rice to feed the dog, spotted this small, pale blue-green glimmering thing.

Whether Xue Ping’an was just as poor and stingy as old Yan, or whether this hairpin had simply caught his eye by some strange twist of fate, he rescued it from the dog’s mouth, wiped it clean, and brought it home. Noticing the ring of cracks around its middle, he even took it to have someone reinforce the crack with a thin band of silver, then happily wore it in his hair.

Perhaps he really was just poor… The silversmith who did the repair was an acquaintance and hadn’t charged him a cent for such a small job. But perhaps by sheer luck, that small ring of silver had a remarkable effect in containing her injury — at least after that, the black mark around her waist stopped spreading, and the pain gradually faded.

She’d followed so many people over the years, never harboring any particular affection for any of them — she believed she protected them purely to “grow her accomplishment.” Even with Xue Ping’an, the most she’d ever said to him, in her heart, was, “Thanks for being so stingy.”

As time passed, she gradually learned the details of Xue Ping’an’s background.

He wasn’t a local; no one knew where his hometown was. He had few close friends — aside from the righteous young silversmith and a dockworker named Old Li, he kept to himself otherwise. He worked several jobs — dock labor was beyond his strength, but anything else that paid and was legal, he did. He never spent freely on what he earned, living frugally in food and clothing, saving every last coin.

During holidays, when everyone else was gathered together feasting and celebrating, he’d sit alone at home with a single bowl of rice and a dish of vegetables, and afterward he’d write letters — very long letters — only to tear them up once finished.

She didn’t feel like she was snooping, given she sat right on his head; the moment she lowered her eyes even slightly, there was no avoiding it. Not her fault.

Those letters never had a recipient. He seemed to be writing to reminisce about his past self on paper.

From his writing, she gradually pieced together the first half of Xue Ping’an’s life.

His hometown was likely in some mountain village far, far from here. His parents were still alive, and he had a younger sister.

Three years ago, he’d left home — the kind of leaving that meant running away.

In the three years since, he’d never given his family any way to trace him. He carried on as though he’d never been born into that family at all, alone and resolute, fighting against his own fate in this distant, unfamiliar land.

At the end of his letters, he’d often write strange lines like: “What does it look like, returning home in glory?” “I hope that when I go back, no one will dare look down on you again.” “If I can’t accomplish what I set out to do, just consider me dead.”

When spring bloomed, he’d sometimes sketch a spray of begonia flowers on the paper, then write a small “Xie” character beside it, before resting his chin in his hand, gazing out the window, his eyes drifting along the scattered willow catkins toward some place he longed to return to but couldn’t.

She guessed his beloved was probably a girl surnamed Xie, fond of begonia flowers. Perhaps, in the many days and nights after his departure, this girl too often sat beneath the eaves, waiting, hoping he’d suddenly appear on the path they’d walked together so many times, holding out a beautiful flower and running toward her, just like before.

His favorite poem to copy was that one written as a birthday wish for a wife — though the Xie girl wasn’t yet his wife, the longing of that ancient verse was, perhaps, his own greatest dream today.

As for why he’d left home, she could only guess — likely some moment of wounded pride, some slight or mockery from others, feeling he’d brought shame on his parents and disgrace to the family, so he’d resolved in secret to venture out and make something of himself, vowing that if he couldn’t return home in glory, he’d consider himself as good as dead.

And she didn’t need to guess how desperately Xue Ping’an longed to carve his own path out of everyone’s contempt, to finally stand at the pinnacle of a victory no one had expected, smiling as he told everyone who’d ever looked down on him: “I’m back.” Then, amid the crowd’s shock and envy, to bring the finest gifts to his parents, who’d endured such hardship for far too long.

But could it really be all right — leaving for three years without a word, all for the sake of a “glorious homecoming” that might never even come to pass?

She’d thought about it on his behalf, but what business was it of hers, really? A hairpin-demon like her only concerned itself with the dead, not the living — as long as she stayed with him until he was safely laid to rest, her accomplishment would grow, and her bond with him would be complete.

In front of others, including the silversmith and Old Li, she’d never once heard him mention his past. In their presence, his life seemed to begin only from the day he arrived in this city. Their gatherings, aside from everyday chitchat, mostly revolved around opportunities to make money — something Xue Ping’an cared about most of all. Still, on several occasions, she’d heard the silversmith and the others urge him not to work himself so hard, to settle down and start a family, that being alone all the time wasn’t good. Every time, Xue Ping’an brushed it off, saying there was no rush, he’d wait a bit longer.

She thought he must be waiting for that Xie girl who was probably waiting for him too. But how long would he keep waiting before he stopped?

This was the third year she’d followed him — which meant he’d been away from home for at least six years now.

This year, something especially important entered his life — a cloth pouch containing two small gold bars, his entire life’s savings. Previously, whenever he’d saved up enough, he’d convert it into small gold beads and hide them away; this year, at the start of the year, he’d handed all his gold beads to the silversmith to melt into two bars, saying it would be more convenient to carry that way. The silversmith had teased him, asking when he’d manage to turn those bars into a gold brick, and he’d laughed and said the sooner the better. But everyone understood — in times like these, just surviving was hard enough. The day he collected the gold bars, he’d also bought a handkerchief embroidered with begonia flowers at the market.

From then on, that pouch became his life.

Mid-year, both the silversmith and Old Li got married, and the celebrations were lively. Xue Ping’an attended and drank himself into a stupor, calling out names in his sleep that no one recognized.

At year’s end, after a whole night spent holding the pouch in a daze, Xue Ping’an suddenly decided to go home.

Two gold bars fell far short of a “glorious homecoming,” but six years was already too long… if he didn’t go back now, how many more sixes of years would he wait? Still, these savings should be enough to build his parents a comfortable new house in the countryside.

She heard him talking to himself about it for a long while.

Then let’s go home, she thought. She wanted to see whether that Xie girl was really as lovely as a begonia blossom too.

She followed Xue Ping’an as he set out on the road home. Though she didn’t know exactly where he was headed, she watched his expression along the way — a joy and anticipation she hadn’t seen in him in all these years, mixed, of course, with a fair share of unease.

She wondered whether his parents, upon seeing him again, would weep tears of relief, or beat him with a broom in fury. If she were his parent, she felt certain it would be the latter. Six years without word — how worried they must have been.

And then, the boat capsized.

Xue Ping’an died just like that, without so much as a ripple, on New Year’s Eve.

It was her rule to only ever follow, never to interfere in anyone’s life, let alone their death. But this time, if she could, she would have broken that rule.

But the river’s undertow was too fierce, too violent — it swept her away too, giving her no chance to break her own rule at all. By the time she woke, dazed, from a clump of water weeds at the riverbed, Xue Ping’an had already been pulled ashore.

At Ping’an Manor, she looked at his pale face, placed the pouch back into his hands, sighed, and sat down on the ground. She’d fought to get that pouch back for him — someone had casually taken it while examining his body. She rubbed her hand; that punch had landed hard, and it still ached.

The pouch belonged only to him. No one else could touch it.

Sigh. To die just like that…

She gazed toward the direction of Kunlun, regretting that her accomplishment had grown too slowly. If she’d already been an immortal of Kunlun, could she have brought him back to life? At the very least, he could have gone home once more before dying. Faced with a fulfillment that had seemed so close to realization only to be cut short so abruptly, it felt as though something of her own had been left unfinished.

Outside the shabby window, snow began to fall in scattered flakes.

“You still want to go home, don’t you?” she asked him.

The cold body, of course, gave no answer.

Yet a drop of water slid from the corner of his eye — perhaps just the frozen river water finally melting.

She thought it over for most of the night, and just before dawn, finally made her decision.

Since you’re already on the road home, then let’s keep going. I’ll see you there.

7

Tao Yao looked at the man sitting in the snow and said helplessly, “You’ve carried him for over a hundred years and still haven’t gotten him home…”

The girl sighed. “I’ve used every ability I have to keep him ‘as though still living’ — able to walk, jump, run, just a bit dazed. He may have lost his life, but he’d never forget the place he most wanted to return to. The direction of home is carved into his very bones. You see him looking like a man, but I know this body of his is nothing more than a single wish to go home — and that wish, no matter what, will never fade, will never lose its way. As long as I preserve this body of his, he can make it back.”

“If he can’t lose his way, then over a hundred years should have been enough to circle this whole world ten times,” Young Master Liu said, puzzled. “He’s clearly just lost, isn’t he?”

Mo Ya shook his head repeatedly. “So you just… let him ‘lead the way,’ and you followed him for over a hundred years?”

The girl smiled bitterly. “I’ve tried every method I could think of to find out more, don’t laugh, I even consulted more fortune-tellers along the roadside than I can count, but it was all in vain. He’d hidden himself too well — I’m not even certain ‘Xue Ping’an’ was his real name. And how many villages in this world have a pair of parents who lost a son, and a girl who might be surnamed Xie and fond of begonia flowers? I thought it would take a year, maybe a year and a half at most, for him to make it home — I never imagined he’d lose his sense of direction, that everywhere we went would be wrong, that everywhere we went, we’d only meet strangers who didn’t know him.” She looked at the man she’d protected all this way, reaching out to brush the snow from his head and shoulders. “I thought, perhaps it’s just temporary — let him keep searching a while longer, maybe one day he’ll find it. I never expected it would take this long.”

“You’re really stubborn…” Tao Yao scratched her nose. “Did you never consider just finding somewhere for him to rest in peace?”

“He can’t rest until he’s home. How could he be at peace anywhere else.” The girl remained stubbornly resolute. “Everyone I’ve ever followed to completion is laid to rest exactly where they most wanted to lie. I can’t just bury him anywhere at random, because that would leave me feeling like this task was never truly finished. I know I’m not a demon of great ability, so I rely entirely on these small tasks to fulfill my purpose. If I can’t even manage a small thing like this, what right would I have to seek immortality on Kunlun?”

The last traces of light finally faded from the sky, the wind and snow growing heavier, the joyful sound of firecrackers drifting from far away, a reminder that today was New Year’s Eve, a day meant for going home and reuniting with family.

The girl helped the man to his feet and turned back to them. “I’ve already repaid you for the paper. It’s freezing — you should head back too. Thank you for your help. We likely won’t meet again.”

With that, she supported the man and followed his lead, walking onward.

Tao Yao’s brow furrowed. She suddenly stepped forward, grabbed the girl’s shoulder, and without a word, lifted the hem of her top, revealing her pale, bare waist.

Mo Ya quickly covered his eyes, murmuring apologies for the impropriety.

A ring of blackened marks, like a coiling venomous snake, wound around her waist, nearly closed into a complete circle.

“What are you doing!” The girl shoved Tao Yao away, hastily straightening her clothes.

“You’re sick.” Tao Yao said flatly. “Once the ink-worm’s poison mist closes into a full ring, you’ll split in two, permanently, beyond repair.”

She looked up at Tao Yao. “I know this body isn’t going to last much longer.” She turned to look again at the man she’d followed for over a century, and suddenly burst out laughing — only to have her eyes redden. Her whole body seemed to lose all its strength at once, and she collapsed to the ground, crying like a child at last. “I can’t get him home. I can’t finish this. I’m just a demon without accomplishment, not fit to become an immortal.”

Her sobs rang out loud and clear in the snowy night, and terribly sad.

Mo Ya slowly lowered his hands, his own eyes red as well. Gungun sat atop his head, ears drooping, watching the scene before them listlessly.

Young Master Liu walked over to Tao Yao and whispered, “Should I… make another trip?”

“That’s your own idea, don’t expect me to owe you for it,” Tao Yao said, arms crossed, expression flat, watching the lifeless “living man” and the sobbing demon. “Can’t even get a proper New Year with this going on…”

“Tch, heartless,” Young Master Liu muttered, then walked over to the girl and wiped away her tears. “Give me the exact time and place of the shipwreck.”

“Huh?” She sniffled, staring at him in confusion.

“You want to keep wandering aimlessly for another hundred years?” Young Master Liu raised an eyebrow.

Another round of firecrackers sounded in the distance, the far-off lantern light filled with laughing faces, tables laden with a whole year’s worth of joy and anticipation — yet no one knew that here, in a place called Maotou Slope, there was still a group who hadn’t made it home.

The snow kept falling harder.

8

Steward Miao stared, dumbfounded, at the several “snowmen” of various heights standing before him, taking a long moment before he managed to say, “I told you to take an umbrella!”

The girl and the man followed behind Tao Yao, gazing uneasily at this unfamiliar great estate.

“Haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Tao Yao shook the snow off herself like a puppy, sniffing the air. “Smells great.”

“I told you we’d wait for you before starting the meal,” Steward Miao scolded. “None of you ever listen — coming back so late! Hurry and wash up, dinner’s ready!” Then, glancing at the girl and the man, he asked, “And who might these two be?”

“Friends we met on the road. Poor, nowhere to eat.” Tao Yao tugged pitifully at Steward Miao’s sleeve. “We’ve got extra food at the estate, right?”

“If they’re your friends, of course we’ll host them properly,” Steward Miao said, looking the pair over. “Why are you both dressed so thin? Relying on your youth and not taking care of yourselves — you’ll regret it when you’re older.” Then, turning to Tao Yao, “Go fetch some warm clothes for our guests.”

“Sure!” Tao Yao grinned. “Knew Steward Miao was the best to me.”

“Since you know that, try not to make me angry so often.” Steward Miao shot her a look, then glanced around. “Where’s Young Master Liu?”

“Don’t worry, he’s off handling something. He’ll be back soon.”

“Hmm. And Mo Ya, what happened to you? Went missing over buying something?”

“Amitabha, Steward Miao, I didn’t go missing, just… ran into a small mishap.”

“Oh, if we hadn’t been there, how could he possibly have gone missing! Steward Miao, I’m starving!!”

“All right, all right, let’s eat!”

Moments later, the Si estate’s great hall was filled with laughter and chatter, several large tables laden with delicious dishes, the entire household gathered together in a lively, joyous scene.

At the main table, the girl looked at the spread before her and whispered to Tao Yao, “I usually just absorb the essence of the sun and moon — I don’t eat.”

Tao Yao popped a large piece of crispy meat into her mouth, swallowed it eagerly, and whispered back, “Doesn’t matter whether you eat or not — the main thing is bringing you, silly girl, to experience a bit of the New Year atmosphere. Also waiting for that snake to get back.”

She nodded, following Tao Yao’s example and picking up a piece of meat too, chewing as she said, “You may be formidable, but I’m not a fool.”

“Think whatever you like.” Tao Yao glanced at her and smiled. “Better than crouching in the snow bawling your eyes out, isn’t it?”

The girl flushed, pouting. “I… I wasn’t crying, I just lost control of my emotions for a moment.”

“Eat,” Tao Yao said, placing a chicken leg on her plate. “Eat more — maybe there’s still hope for you.”

She froze, grabbing Tao Yao’s sleeve. “Can he really be found?”

“Tao City doesn’t keep useless mouths around,” Tao Yao said, glancing over at Mo Ya devouring vegetables with gusto and Gungun beside him. “Except those two.”

Hearing this, the girl looked displeased, saying firmly, “The little master isn’t useless.”

Tao Yao raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have lived long enough for you to arrive,” she said earnestly. “You didn’t see how desperately he fought, and we were complete strangers to him.” She shook her head. “He said he didn’t understand why I’d risk everything for Xue Ping’an — but isn’t he doing the same thing, risking his life for two strangers?”

“So you even considered entrusting Xue Ping’an to him?” Tao Yao smiled. “But you know, the moment you leave Xue Ping’an, it won’t take long before he reverts to his true state… over a hundred years, after all — he’d just be a pile of bones by now. He wouldn’t be able to lead himself home anymore.”

“But in that moment, it was all I could think of,” she admitted. “Entrusting him to someone was still better than letting that disgusting ink-worm eat him. And knowing the little master’s temperament, he’d at least never view his remains as something vile — he’d surely see to it properly. That’s all I could have done.”

“Was finishing this task really that important to you?” Tao Yao looked earnestly into her eyes.

“It’s exactly that important.” She nodded. “He died. So it’s my responsibility.”

Tao Yao smiled and went back to eating, saying nothing more.

Meanwhile, Xue Ping’an sat beside her, motionless, chopsticks untouched, his gaze fixed on the table.

Steward Miao ate while glancing at him, wondering whether to ask why he wasn’t eating, but decided against it — after all, anyone Tao Yao brought home might not be entirely “normal”…

The girl ate slowly, occasionally glancing at Xue Ping’an, and gradually something felt off. She nudged Tao Yao. “Does something feel wrong to you?”

Tao Yao looked at Xue Ping’an — indeed, something did seem off. His face, which had never once shown any expression, now carried the faintest trace of a smile.

“Is… something wrong? If there’s a problem, I’ll take him away right now,” the girl said quietly.

Tao Yao kept watching him, muttering, “Can’t say something’s wrong exactly, but nothing seems quite right either… maybe he’s seeing something he’s been longing for?”

“That’s not possible!”

“You’re not him — how would you know it’s not possible.”

“He’s just… a wandering thought given form… except for going home, there shouldn’t be any other reaction from him at all! I’ve followed him for over a hundred years, I’ve never once seen him smile.”

“You’ve never shared a New Year’s feast with him either.”

“I…”

Just then, Xue Ping’an slowly raised his cup, even though it was empty.

This startled the girl badly.

“Is this gentleman looking for a drink?” Steward Miao hurried to fetch the wine jar, but Tao Yao stopped him.

She smiled at Steward Miao. “He’s just going through the motions. Don’t mind him, just let him be.” Then she pointed at her own head and stuck out her tongue. Steward Miao immediately understood — so he’d guessed right after all, this gentleman really wasn’t quite “normal.”

Xue Ping’an raised his cup, then set it down, raised it again, set it down again — four times in total before he finally stopped.

The girl and Tao Yao exchanged a glance. Even Mo Ya was baffled, glancing nervously at Tao Yao. Fortunately, Xue Ping’an made no further movements after that, only the smile lingering on his face, never fading.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Seeing their strange expressions, Steward Miao asked, puzzled, “Wasn’t this gentleman toasting everyone just now? Why isn’t anyone responding?”

Toasting?! Tao Yao’s eyes flickered with sudden understanding.

“Steward Miao, he was toasting — but not to us,” Tao Yao said with a smile. “He was toasting the four people he misses most.”

The girl froze, murmuring, “His parents… his sister… and the Xie girl?”

Mo Ya’s expression turned mournful. “What he’s seeing right now might be a different New Year’s table entirely.”

The group fell silent, leaving only a puzzled Steward Miao, unsure what was going on but too polite to press further.

The girl’s eyes reddened again.

Tao Yao patted her head, smiling. “They say even plants and trees have feelings — you used your own abilities to grant him an extra hundred years. Surely he can manage to feel at least as much as a plant.”

The girl’s tears fell, plopping into her rice bowl. She wasn’t sure why she felt so sad and yet so joyful at once in that moment — was it because of the parting soon to come, or because he’d broken through some limitation to create a small miracle, or perhaps because she could finally set down a burden she’d carried for a hundred years. She couldn’t quite tell.

Now, all that remained was to wait for the result.

9

Bang, bang, bang!

Several beautiful fireworks burst in the sky, their brilliant colors illuminating the falling snow of the deep night.

In the back courtyard of the Si estate, the girl and Xue Ping’an stood facing each other, her hand holding his, gazing into his face as though meeting him for the first time.

Young Master Liu gnawed on a braised duck leg, asking Tao Yao, “This one’s on you — you’re better at this sort of thing.”

Half an hour earlier, Young Master Liu had returned to the Si estate, bringing back word: “Xue Kang, native of Xiangshui Village, Wu County. Parents and one younger sister. Poor family. Left home in anger after suffering humiliation from a fellow villager. Died six years later in a shipwreck on Zhechi River, age twenty-nine at death. His parents and sister all died of plague four years after he left home. Seventy years ago, Xiangshui Village was destroyed in a mountain flood, leaving no trace behind. There was indeed a girl surnamed Xie in the village who was close to him, but two years after he left, she married into a neighboring county, had a happy marriage, raised two sons and a daughter, and died at seventy.”

Hearing this account, the girl seemed momentarily stunned, taking a long while to recover, before finally smiling. “No wonder he could never find his way back. Everyone who truly remembered him was already gone.”

Tao Yao had anticipated this outcome, so she wasn’t surprised.

Mo Ya, naturally, was the most devastated of them all, murmuring, “What are we to do now?”

The girl looked up at Tao Yao. “I can only take him this far, can’t I?”

Tao Yao said nothing.

The lively firecrackers and brilliant fireworks couldn’t mask the regret and melancholy hanging over the Si estate’s back courtyard in that moment.

Now, the girl held his hand, gazing at his smiling face, and after a long while finally spoke. “You, listen well — next time you plan a long trip, tell your family first.”

He kept smiling, unchanged.

Tao Yao took a breath, stepped forward, a small white pill already pinched between her fingers. She deftly pried open Xue Ping’an’s mouth and slipped the pill inside, saying, “Disperse.”

A faint crackling sound followed, like a bubble bursting, and Xue Ping’an’s body, along with the pouch in his hand, instantly dissolved into a fine, glittering dust, spinning several times in the air, neither dispersing nor falling to the ground, before finally drifting off on a gust of wind, like a free-floating cloud, sailing over the courtyard wall, through the night, vanishing from everyone’s sight.

“Stubborn to the end.” Tao Yao smiled. “Maybe you’ll drift all the way back to wherever it is you wanted to go.”

Mo Ya lowered his head, chanting sutras, prayer beads slowly turning in his hand.

The girl gazed up at the sky, then her legs gave out, and she sank to the ground.

“Your task is finished.” Tao Yao crouched down beside her. “Do you still want to live?”

She looked up at Tao Yao, considering. “Is that possible?”

“The poison mist around your waist is only a finger’s width from closing. Even I can’t guarantee I can save you completely,” Tao Yao said, pulling out a red pill. “But I’m willing to try.”

She stared at the pill in Tao Yao’s hand, gritted her teeth, and took it, swallowing it down.

Tao Yao’s mouth curved into a smile as she extended her left hand. “Seal the deal — my rule.”

She placed her hand in Tao Yao’s. “In the future, if you ever need me, I’m yours to call on.”

“Let’s hope I actually find a use for you. Though I have no idea what use you’d even be — I’ll live a good long while myself, and even if I do kick the bucket, I won’t need you watching over me,” Tao Yao said, scratching her nose. “So, go ahead and sleep for now. When you wake up, I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind for you.”

“You’re not as unpleasant as the rumors say,” she said, studying Tao Yao’s face earnestly. “And not as ugly as the rumors say, either.”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes. “Whoever calls me ugly just has bad eyesight. I don’t bother arguing with people like that.”

She smiled, though her gaze was growing unfocused. “If I ever achieve something someday, I’ll gladly pay top price for your paper.”

“Good, my paper prices go up every year, so work hard!”

“I…” Before she could finish, a wave of dizziness hit her, and the single Tao Yao before her eyes multiplied into ten…

She swayed and collapsed. In the blink of an eye, her body was gone from the ground, leaving behind only a rhinoceros-horn hairpin, its pale blue-green glow steady as ever, marred only by a conspicuous black crack still wound around its middle, unsightly against the glow.

Tao Yao picked it up and sighed. “Another hot potato on my hands.”

“You’ve sealed her?” Young Master Liu asked.

“No other choice. If she’d walked even two more miles, not even ten of me could have saved her,” Tao Yao said, producing a small box she’d prepared in advance and carefully placing the hairpin inside. “This should at least buy her several more decades of life. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“It’s just one strain of poison — surely that’s not beyond even you to cure?” Young Master Liu asked, puzzled.

Tao Yao grinned slyly. “What if it really is beyond me? Worst case, I’ll have to go up to Kunlun and call in a favor from an old contact. If I can get someone from Kunlun to treat her, that’ll save me a lot of trouble.”

Young Master Liu suddenly caught on, laughing too. “You’re hoping this’ll get her…”

“Kunlun’s gates aren’t easy to get through — with her qualifications, she probably wouldn’t even pass the entrance exam. But if I deliver her personally, they’ll have to show at least a little face, won’t they? Whether she gets to stay after that depends on her own fortune.” Tao Yao looked at the box in her hand. “Sticking with something that seemed pointless and hopeless for a hundred years straight — that’s genuinely hard. Neither you nor I could necessarily have managed it.”

Young Master Liu pursed his lips, pointing at Mo Ya. “The little monk could, though! Look how many years he’s kept up chanting those sutras! That’s got to be more than a hundred years by now.”

Tao Yao sighed. “Exactly why it had to be him who picked up that stray pouch. Birds of a feather, I suppose.”

Mo Ya, finished with his chanting, opened his eyes, not the least bit offended — in fact rather pleased. He walked up to Tao Yao, looking at the box in her hand. “I knew you’d have a good solution.”

Tao Yao’s expression darkened, and she promptly twisted his ear. “You’ve earned yourself quite the reputation for ‘helping demons for fun,’ but do you have any idea how much trouble you caused me and Young Master Liu?”

“Exactly! Do you know how many favors I had to call in tracking down old Xue’s background? Little monk, you owe me your share of meat at the very least!” Young Master Liu added deliberately.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Mo Ya covered his ear, grimacing.

“Not on purpose, my foot! If you’d just stayed put at the estate, none of this would have happened!” Tao Yao let go, still annoyed. “Tell me, what were you even doing at the market?”

Mo Ya pouted, and reluctantly pulled out a small parcel from his robes, opening it to reveal a box of rouge and a small wooden carving of a plump field mouse.

“Today’s New Year’s Eve, and I thought I should get you both a gift,” he said, holding the two items out to them. “These days we’ve spent together — you two may be sharp-tongued, but I know you mean well by me. Tao Yao, you’re not exactly a beauty, but rouge might make you look a lot better. And though I don’t approve of Young Master Liu eating roasted field mice, I figured a wooden carving might satisfy that craving of yours — lick it whenever you feel like eating one! I even told the woodcarver to make it extra plump…”

Tao Yao and Young Master Liu exchanged a glance, momentarily at a loss for words.

Seeing them freeze up, Mo Ya added, pouting, “It’s fine if you don’t want them.”

Tao Yao snatched the rouge box, opened it, revealing a lovely peach-blossom hue. Suppressing her delight, she snapped the box shut with a look of feigned disdain. “Well, since it’s already bought, I suppose I’ll grudgingly accept it. Honestly, the color’s a bit tacky, but I’ll make do.” With that, she stretched and walked straight toward the courtyard gate. “Off to bed. What a tiring day, and I ate way too much.”

Young Master Liu took the wooden mouse, looked it over, and said, “I will absolutely not be licking this thing, that’s disgusting. But it’s decent craftsmanship, I’ll keep it.” He stretched too and followed Tao Yao out through the gate.

Mo Ya scratched his head, grinning foolishly at Gungun. “Knew they’d like it.”

Outside the courtyard gate, Tao Yao wiped at her eyes. “Never would’ve guessed the little monk could be this thoughtful — this rouge is gorgeous! First gift I’ve ever gotten for the New Year.”

Young Master Liu was wiping his own eyes too. “I’m actually touched. What am I going to do if I can’t bring myself to eat him now?”

The two of them nearly broke down crying in each other’s arms…

Back in their room, the first thing they saw was a red envelope the size of a pillow sitting on the table, inscribed with “Great Fortune for the New Year,” signed, of all people, by Si Kuanglan.

Tao Yao thought she was seeing things and immediately looked around to see when Si Kuanglan might have returned, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

Young Master Liu suggested, “Could Steward Miao have brought it over? You’ve been going on all year about wanting a pillow-sized red envelope…”

Tao Yao thought about it — that made sense. Someone as thoughtful as Steward Miao surely wouldn’t let her down on New Year’s, and maybe he’d mentioned it to Si Kuanglan long ago, so the envelope had been prepared well in advance?

Even if it wasn’t personally delivered by Si Kuanglan himself, did it really matter, as long as it was pillow-sized?! Ah, so happy!

She rushed over, eagerly tearing open the red paper, thinking to herself — an envelope this big, how much money could possibly be inside!

But… there wasn’t a single coin.

Inside the red envelope was a brocade box, and opening it revealed only a stack of calligraphy copybooks, a set of brushes of varying sizes, an ink stick, an inkstone, and a handwritten note from Si Kuanglan — “Your handwriting’s terrible. Practice more. The whole year’s plans start in spring. Don’t waste your time.”

If Young Master Liu hadn’t stopped her, insisting these calligraphy tools were probably all expensive quality goods, she would have thrown the brocade box straight out the window…

Young Master Liu thought to himself that Steward Miao really was a shrewd old hand — he must have anticipated exactly this reaction, which was why he’d quietly delivered it in advance. If Si Kuanglan had given it to her in person, and it ended up flying at his own head, that wouldn’t have gone over well at all.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Steward Miao had already lain down to sleep, and before drifting off couldn’t help muttering to himself, “Second young master, you really don’t take my old bones seriously at all… sigh.”

New Year’s Eve — truly, some rejoiced while others despaired.

Epilogue

By the latter half of the night, the snow had eased considerably, though the town’s festivities continued, fireworks and firecrackers still popping here and there.

The Si estate had grown much quieter. Steward Miao was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort, a habit unshaken even during the New Year. The older servants had all long since turned in; the younger ones gathered in warm rooms, eating, drinking, guessing riddles, and rolling dice. Tonight, the Si estate’s lanterns burned bright through the night, colorful lamps casting festive light into every corner — quieter than other households, perhaps, but still full of New Year spirit.

Having likely tired themselves out during the day, Mo Ya and Gungun’s snoring rose and fell in their room, starting early.

Tao Yao, however, couldn’t sleep. She sat on the threshold, chin propped on her hand, gazing up at the red lantern hanging beneath the eaves.

“You’ve been quietly letting Mo Ya carry your paper this whole time, just to indulge his good heart?”

Young Master Liu’s voice came from behind her.

Tao Yao didn’t turn around. “He’s always saying my hands are too stained with killing, and carrying my paper around to help poor demons is his way of earning me some merit too, so I suppose I benefit as well.”

Young Master Liu sat down beside her, smiling. “I think it’s because you’re afraid he won’t be able to find you.”

Tao Yao startled slightly, then scoffed. “Didn’t you say you were exhausted? Why haven’t you gone to sleep yet?”

“So today he went to the market to buy us gifts.” Young Master Liu ignored her, continuing on, the plump wooden mouse still in hand. “And he even learned to use the protective incantation properly… tsk tsk, the kid’s really come into his own!”

“Come into his own…” Tao Yao glanced at the wooden carving in his hand, and, rare for her, nodded. “Yeah. He really has.”

“I expected you to say something like ‘come into his own, my foot.'” Young Master Liu smiled, looking out beyond the courtyard wall. “What do you think it actually takes, in this world, to really ‘come into your own’?”

“Can’t speak for anyone else.” Tao Yao grinned. “Not killing, not burning things down, eating well, sleeping soundly — that’s coming into my own, far as I’m concerned.”

Young Master Liu nodded. “You’ve really come into your own, all right.”

“Much obliged.”

“Will Xue Ping’an make it back?” Young Master Liu watched a firework bloom and fade in the sky. “He was so stubborn about it — I bet he’ll drift his way back even to a place that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Writing a letter isn’t hard.” Tao Yao watched the firework too, until it vanished, then stood and dusted herself off. “People need to be able to find you, or you can’t find your way home either.”

Young Master Liu sighed, saying nothing more, only asking, “What are you going to do with the hairpin-demon?”

Tao Yao raised a hand and pointed. “Wait for a time when her body’s stable and I’m in a good mood, then head west, up to Kunlun.”

“You really think Kunlun will take in a stubborn, one-track demon like that?” Young Master Liu still looked a little worried. “Kunlun’s always been strict about granting demons immortal status.”

“It’s a matter of effort, isn’t it.” Tao Yao scratched her nose. “Her ‘stubbornness’ is exactly her greatest accomplishment. Besides, there are plenty of stubborn souls up on Kunlun too — who knows, maybe they’ll show her a little sympathetic leniency.”

“Fine, no rush on that, we’ll figure it out down the line. But there’s one thing I need to point out to you right now.”

“What?”

“You just pointed east.”

…

Bang, bang! Two more fireworks shot up into the night sky, showering countless streams of light below.

Inside the room, Mo Ya rolled over, still fast asleep, while Gungun, sprawled by the pillow, drooled, dreaming of who knew what delicious treat.

Tao Yao and Young Master Liu looked at the two of them sleeping and shook their heads, yawning. Able to eat, able to sleep, able to run, able to jump — you at peace, I at peace — that was the finest New Year’s Eve of all.

Tao Yao glanced once more at the surviving brocade box, pursing her lips, wondering whether New Year’s Eve at Luoyang’s Bright Moon Terrace was just as full of twists and turns, just as rich and varied.

Ah well, time to sleep. Wishing everyone fortune and prosperity, great luck in the new year.

On New Year’s Eve, may all dream well tonight.

Only, no one knew that at that very moment, the ink-worm that Young Master Liu had scared off, now in human form, was dragging its starving body through a graveyard several miles from Maotou Slope, searching for something to eat.

Not far off in the bushes, a pair of blue-green eyes watched the demon coldly — a large, long-haired black cat, easily twice the size of an ordinary cat, agile as a small tiger. Waiting for the perfect moment, it sprang forward, sinking its teeth precisely into the ink-worm’s throat…

By the time the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, not a trace of the ink-worm remained in the graveyard — only a dark, sticky puddle left on the ground.

The bustling capital, having celebrated through the night, began yet another round of festivities.

The sky was clear today. New Year’s Day. A new beginning.