Prologue

It was glad it was still a spirit. Probably no one else in the world was quite like it—happy as a human, happy as a spirit too.

Dawn approached, but the rain hadn’t stopped.

The Si estate had spent the whole night in a scramble—pots, bowls, and basins scattered everywhere, the scene at one point genuinely spectacular.

In the dining hall, Si Jingyuan’s snoring harmonized with the rain outside. He might well have been a rather handsome pig in another life—able to eat, able to sleep, and even sliding off his chair onto the floor didn’t stop him from instinctively hugging the chair leg and continuing to sleep.

Tao Yao held a cup of hot tea, sitting by the window watching the rain like someone with nothing on her mind. Beside her, Young Master Liu cracked melon seeds and yawned, eating one himself, then giving one to Gungun—he had to shell it first or risk getting scratched by the fox. Only Steward Miao and Mo Ya wore anxious, uneasy expressions, occasionally stepping outside to check, then coming back in with complicated looks on their faces.

All eyes kept returning to the unshakably composed Si Kuanglan. One might genuinely start to suspect he was some kind of spirit himself—the sort born of stone—otherwise how could anyone sit motionless for hours on end, nothing moving but his fingers turning pages and his eyes tracking the text? With that level of stillness, he’d surely never lose a game of Red Light, Green Light.

Tao Yao snuck a glance back at him, rolled her eyes, and turned back around.

It was always like this—she looked at him, he didn’t look at her; she asked him something, he didn’t answer. So close, and yet he seemed to exist in some other world no one else could enter.

Steward Miao, having run in from the door for who knows how many times already, brushed the rainwater off his clothes, glanced at Si Kuanglan, and, seeing no sign of any hoped-for change in him, sighed. He walked over to Tao Yao and whispered, “Girl Tao, is it just me, or… has Miss Shen changed color?”

Young Master Liu spat out a melon seed shell and said deliberately loudly, “She’s been standing in the rain for hours now, and she’s not exactly young—of course she’d change color.”

“Huh? Is Miss Shen’s life in danger?” Steward Miao grew anxious.

“What color has Shen Feng turned?” Tao Yao’s voice was even louder than Young Master Liu’s.

“Much paler!” Steward Miao said hurriedly. “Looks a lot like someone who’s lost too much blood.”

“Pale is fine, pale’s not a problem. She can hold out a few more hours at least. Once she turns black as charcoal, come back in and let your young master know it’s time to arrange her burial.” Tao Yao made sure to enunciate every word with perfect clarity, ensuring it would reach Si Kuanglan without fail.

Steward Miao frowned and pulled Tao Yao aside. “Let’s not wait on the Second Young Master any longer—we both know his temperament well enough. You’re from a place that governs spirits, aren’t you? Surely you could stop that little spirit outside yourself? Watching her throw her life away for nothing just doesn’t sit right.”

Tao Yao shook her head. “I only handle illness—she’s not sick right now. Besides, look how hard she fought just to get here for help. She’s clearly come prepared to die if it comes to that. Why should I ruin her resolve?”

“Lanlan, it’s leaking! If you won’t go help, I will! …mmph, chicken legs are so good…” Si Jingyuan’s sleep-talking dribbled out along with a trail of drool.

Seeing this, Steward Miao ran over with a headache, gently patting Si Jingyuan. “Eldest Young Master, don’t sleep on the floor, wake up.”

At that moment, the military treatise in Si Kuanglan’s hands finally reached its last page. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and said, “Let her in. The rain can stop now.”

“Has the rain stopped?” Si Jingyuan, having caught only fragments, leapt up from the floor bleary-eyed, wiping drool from his mouth. “Let who in?”

Now this was unexpected—the Second Young Master’s decisions were historically harder than stone, never once changed. Steward Miao paused for a moment, then shook his head with a smile, deciding that while decisions might be stone, the heart apparently wasn’t necessarily so. The Si household’s “little King of the Underworld” nickname was, in the end, just a nickname.

Tao Yao giggled and bounced her way out of the room.

Young Master Liu snorted, muttering, “Putting on airs.”

“Amitabha, amitabha, there’s hope after all.” Mo Ya let out a huge sigh of relief, turning to Young Master Liu. “You lose. Ten vegetarian buns.”

“He hasn’t even nodded yet, how am I the one who lost?” Young Master Liu said impatiently.

“Amitabha, the Second Young Master would never let her die.”

“How long have you even known him!”

“Either way… ten vegetarian buns.”

Tao Yao appeared behind the two of them without warning, her face dark. “You’re betting on this too? Do either of you have any decency?”

“I was never human to begin with, and I’ve got nothing better to do… wait, what right do you have to scold us? You’re the least qualified person here!”

“I’ve got every right—I worked hard to earn money to feed you two useless things!”

“Pah! We’re the ones who eat plain vegetables and tofu every day thanks to you being so poor!”

“Amitabha, the rain’s stopped!” Mo Ya’s single sentence finally silenced the two of them.

The pattering sound had indeed vanished. A clean white light was gradually brightening at the horizon, falling on the window.

Shen Feng, drenched like a half-drowned rat, stood once more before Si Kuanglan, her face genuinely deathly pale, her body trembling slightly.

“Willing to risk your life just to get us to save some river in your hometown?” Si Kuanglan looked at her with something between a smile and a smirk.

She bit her lip and nodded firmly. “I need to save people. Their lives matter more than anything else.”

“Muzhou, Huilong Village, the Jinlin River, the Baique River—correct?” he asked again.

Shen Feng nodded even more emphatically. “Does that mean you’ve agreed?”

“Of course!” Tao Yao jumped in before he could answer. “Look at our Second Young Master—he didn’t get a single word of what you said wrong. Clearly he’s taken your request seriously from the very start.”

Si Kuanglan said nothing, lifting his cup to sip his tea.

“Then… then why did you make me force your hand with the rain?” Shen Feng asked, confused and a little hurt.

Tao Yao giggled. “A heavy rain has a way of clearing people’s heads—especially useful for those stubborn, hard-headed types who think they know everything.”

“I don’t quite understand…”

“You don’t need to understand. What matters is that from now on, the whole Si household will be fully committed to your cause, right, Second Young Master?” Tao Yao turned and beamed a bright smile at Si Kuanglan.

Si Kuanglan smiled back at her. “Very well. This time, you and I will travel to Muzhou together to settle this spirit’s dispute. Everyone else stays behind to hold down the estate. This storm has caused quite a mess—there’s bound to be a great deal of cleaning and repair needed. All of you, do your utmost.”

Hm? You and I? Tao Yao mulled this over for a good while and still couldn’t quite process it. Resolving a dispute like this—surely bringing along his own Jingjing would be more than enough. Why her? She’d already planned out her blissful days while the two brothers were off in Muzhou—feed the horses whenever, no need to look at Si Kuanglan’s King-of-the-Underworld face every single day, no need to deliver chicken legs to that reckless fool Si Jingyuan, and with all that spare time she could tag along with Steward Miao to the market for shopping and free snacks… how could such a beautiful future collapse just like that?

She’d heard Muzhou was freezing cold now. She didn’t want to go!!

“I’m coming too!” Si Jingyuan pointed at Tao Yao. “If you’re bringing her along, and something unexpected happens, you two won’t even have backup.”

Si Kuanglan said flatly, “Once it’s light out, you’re continuing your confinement to reflect on your mistakes. By the time I return, I expect to see every single one of those young ladies’ birth charts copied out in full, in your own hand—no more having the servant boy write them for you, or you won’t be let out even next month.”

“Am I even really your older brother…” Si Jingyuan slumped, dejected. “Everything I do is for your own good!”

Si Kuanglan didn’t even bother looking at him, simply instructing Steward Miao instead. “While I’m away, everything is in your hands. Anyone who fails to follow the rules or respect proper order, deal with them according to household discipline.”

Steward Miao cupped his hands. “Understood, Second Young Master, rest assured.”

“Wait! Can I not go?” Tao Yao jumped forward anxiously. “Second Young Master, you’re brilliant and formidable—a mere river spirit, you could scare it to death with a single stomp of your foot!”

Si Kuanglan stood, walked up to her, and bent his head slightly. “You cannot not go. Following your master, attending to him at his side—isn’t that precisely your duty? Am I wrong?” With that, without waiting to see if she still wanted to argue, the corner of his mouth curved up, and he walked straight out the door, leaving only the words: “Everyone else, go rest.”

“Hey, hey! I don’t agree to this arrangement!!” Tao Yao tried to chase after him, but Young Master Liu grabbed her.

“What are you doing?” Young Master Liu glanced at her, then toward the direction Si Kuanglan had vanished, tilting his chin. “You’ve been drooling over your Second Young Master’s peerless charm every single day, and now that the perfect chance is right in front of you, you’re wailing like this?”

“Can I please not drool over him anymore?” Tao Yao’s face crumpled. “I’m terrified of going off alone with him now. He’ll find a hundred ways to kill me.”

“Amitabha, who’s killing whom is far from settled, isn’t it?” Mo Ya pressed his palms together. “Given how the Second Young Master helped with the Shuhu matter last time—and possibly offended some Bi’an official in the process—you personally accompanying him to Muzhou this time might just count as repaying that favor.”

Tao Yao pouted. “It’s so cold there… and what if he refuses to let me eat meat again? I can’t even beat him in a fight!”

“Then eat vegetarian! Vegetarian food’s great!”

“No! Young Master Liu, come with me!”

“No! I’m staying at the Si estate to perfect my roasting technique. And I need to hibernate.”

“Are you two even on my side at all?!”

“I’ll have venison roasted and waiting when you get back—how is that not being on your side?”

“I’ll chant sutras and pray for your blessing every single day! We’ll always be family!”

“…”

The two sturdiest horses in the Si stable pulled the carriage effortlessly out through the city gates, moving swiftly and steadily toward Muzhou.

Inside the carriage, Si Kuanglan sat with his eyes closed, resting. If not for the fact that he was still breathing, one might have been tempted to light incense and pay him proper respects.

Tao Yao and Shen Feng sat on opposite sides. Shen Feng kept lifting the curtain to peer outside, her anxious manner suggesting she wished they could arrive in Muzhou the very next instant.

“All right, it’ll take several days to reach Muzhou—stop lifting that curtain, all the cold air’s coming in!” Tao Yao couldn’t help but remind the restless Shen Feng. “These are already the fastest horses in the Si household. Just sit tight and wait.”

After being told several times, she finally managed to restrain herself, though not for long before she was turning to peer at the curtain again, only to be met with Tao Yao’s warning glare.

“I…” The closer they got to Muzhou, the more nervous she became, the fierce bravado she’d shown storming the Si estate seemingly stripped away by the cold wind, revealing the anxious, uncertain creature beneath. “Can you two… really solve the Baique River spirit problem for me?”

Tao Yao glanced at Si Kuanglan and smiled. “What, still doubting our Second Young Master’s less-than-imposing physique?”

Si Kuanglan paid no attention at all, not even a flicker of his eyelids.

“After all, I fought it for so long without managing to hurt it in the slightest, and I don’t have much time left. If this attempt fails too, I fear there won’t be another chance.” Her brow furrowed with worry, her confidence faltering, and she glanced at them both again. “You’re both flesh and blood after all, I…”

“Have you lived in Huilong Village since childhood?” Si Kuanglan suddenly cut in.

Shen Feng paused, then nodded.

“Wrong question.” Si Kuanglan opened his eyes with a smile. “You should be asked whether you’ve ‘grown’ in Huilong Village since childhood.”

Tao Yao pursed her lips and said nothing. This man—whatever came out of his mouth, however ordinary it seemed, always carried an undertone of dismissive mockery. Fortunate that Shen Feng wasn’t sharp enough to catch it, or she’d probably lose her appetite entirely for the rest of the trip.

“I couldn’t have grown in Huilong Village. I only remember being born beneath a great crowned maple tree, with a secluded spring in front and green hills behind, colorful stones scattered in the earth, glinting and vivid.” She struggled to recall, as though no one had asked her this question in a very long time.

“A Maple-Born doesn’t just appear under any random maple tree—it takes heaven and earth’s own workmanship, exquisite mountains and sacred waters. You think it’s like vegetables in your garden, sprouting whenever it pleases?” Tao Yao pulled a packet of crisp candy from her bundle, popped one into her own mouth, then offered one to Shen Feng. “You got caught, didn’t you.”

Shen Feng started, and the candy slipped from her fingers; she fumbled to catch it and stuffed it hastily into her mouth.

“You’re eating it even after it’s dirty?!” Tao Yao snatched it away and tossed it out the window, watching her with amusement. “Do you really love sweets that much?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s just been a long time since anyone offered me food…”

“It’s not that you love sweets—you’re just afraid of upsetting whoever offers them to you.” Tao Yao suddenly reached out and patted her head, laughing as if teasing a child. “No wonder you were caught so easily.”

Si Kuanglan glanced at the two of them, then closed his eyes again.

“If you don’t understand something, you can ask me—I’d be delighted to enlighten the Second Young Master.” Tao Yao turned to look at him, betting a hundred meat buns that he had no idea what a Maple-Born actually was, let alone what she’d meant by “caught” just now. Hmph—no matter how widely read and brilliant he was, even he had to face the awkwardness of wanting to know something he simply didn’t.

But Si Kuanglan had no intention of giving her the chance to show off, merely saying, “Excessive consumption of sweets does the body no good. You’re already lacking in any remarkable looks—if you put on another layer of fat, it would be even less bearable.”

Why could he always, in any moment, in any setting, on any topic whatsoever, find some way to attack her? And without even raising his voice—just a casual remark, tossed off lightly, and it was enough to make her want to poison him on the spot.

If it weren’t for Shen Feng’s earnest hopes riding on Si Kuanglan resolving her dispute, Tao Yao would have staked her very life on a proper duel with him right then and there, rolling him out of the carriage and grinding him against the ground eighteen times over just to settle the score in her heart.

Though if it really came to a duel, she’d probably be the one rolling out of the carriage instead… sigh.

“Hehe, I’m not afraid of getting fat, since I’m not aiming to be your future wife anyway.” Tao Yao forced every ounce of her anger into a carefree, thick-skinned smile. “Besides, the world’s a wonderful place—I’ve no intention of dying young like those unlucky girls.”

Mockery? Anyone could play that game.

“And yet I recall someone who used to hang off the wall spying, day after day.” The corner of Si Kuanglan’s mouth curved up.

“That wasn’t for—that was because of Ding San—” Tao Yao flushed, flustered, then noticed Shen Feng’s blank confusion and abandoned her attempt at a comeback, losing all appetite for candy. She packed the sweets away furiously, muttering under her breath, “Tsk, old dog remembers grudges from a thousand years back…”

Si Kuanglan heard every word clearly and smiled. “I’ve always had an exceptional memory, never forgetting a thing I’ve seen—it has nothing to do with age.”

Tao Yao deliberately dug at her ear, pretending not to hear, and looked at Shen Feng instead. “Wasn’t I right earlier?”

Shen Feng blinked again, taking a moment to catch on, then lowered her head, fingers fidgeting awkwardly.

“I really was caught… but I was happy about it.”

The sack was untied, and light streamed in through the gap, dazzling its eyes for a moment.

A young boy’s face, still round with childhood, swayed in the shifting light, his eyes bright—like pebbles worn smooth by years in a spring’s flowing water, round and delicate, gleaming without being blinding. Somehow, anyone who saw such eyes would feel certain their owner couldn’t possibly harbor a sharp or vicious heart.

“Papa, you were gone a whole month, and this is all you brought back?”

His voice was pleasant too, clear and crisp, reminding it of the sound of spring water it had listened to for years—no, even more pleasant than that.

“Silly child, this is something so many people dream of and never manage to find!”

The sack covering it was carefully drawn away, and it was finally fully exposed to the warm yellow lamplight. A talisman stuck to its head kept it from moving or speaking, forcing it to watch helplessly as father and son leaned over the table, chins propped on their hands, staring straight at it.

The room was crammed with all manner of strange objects—besides stacks of yellowed paper coated in dust, the desk was cluttered with a tangled ring of red string strung with grimy little bronze bells. The incense burner looked as though it hadn’t been emptied in centuries, ash piled into a small mound, with three sticks of incense burned to uneven lengths jammed crookedly into it. What sat enshrined before it wasn’t the statue of any deity, just an ordinary wooden tablet with a strip of red paper embedded in it, on which was written, in thick, heavy brushstrokes, a single character: “Divine.”

It had long heard that spirits fared worst of all against the world’s practitioners of arcane arts—men who studied strange techniques, roamed every famous mountain and river, hunting for anything that might help them attain immortality and slay demons: rare flowers and herbs, monstrous beasts and sacred birds, and spirits too. Once caught, they almost never met a good end—turned into elixirs, or bound as puppets and tools to be commanded at will.

So, was this just bad luck? It had hidden itself so perfectly, and yet this scruffy middle-aged man had still found it. It had heard, more than once, from spirits who lived near or passed through the secluded spring: don’t leave the spring if you can help it. Out there, there were people everywhere, and wherever people gathered, danger followed. A weak little spirit without much skill could easily end up as someone’s drinking snack in the blink of an eye. Humans, they all said, were truly vicious.

The trouble was, its brothers didn’t consider themselves the “no skill” kind of weak spirit. They often played tricks on travelers passing through the mountain paths near the spring, especially anyone dressed finely—they’d deliberately conjure a rain shower just to soak the poor traveler into a bedraggled mess, hiding nearby to snicker with glee. They’d come back afterward to brag to it, saying humans were nowhere near as fierce or formidable as legend claimed—just animals who couldn’t even dodge a bit of rain. Back then it had still been small, only half-formed into human shape, its feet not yet feet at all but rooted firmly in the soil. Its greatest amusement had been listening to its brothers recount, animated and gleeful, how they’d tormented some unlucky passerby that day, or spreading its own hands wide to see if any birds or butterflies would land there to dance and sing. Sometimes a few fallen leaves would keep it entertained for half a day, crouching down to arrange them into different shapes on the ground.

It couldn’t quite recall exactly when its brothers had stopped coming back.

It only remembered that the day before, they’d been chattering excitedly about a group of people arriving on the mountain path—finely dressed, riding fine horses, quite the commotion. They’d been debating how best to play a trick on this group, whether rain or ghostly mischief, since nothing delighted them more than watching humans panic in fear.

And then, there was simply nothing after that. By the time it was finally able to leave the soil and walk about in something resembling human form, its brothers still hadn’t returned. It asked every passing spirit it could find, and none had seen them. The kinder, more considerate ones, besides apologizing for being unable to help, invariably urged it never to leave the spring searching for its brothers—staying put was the only way to stay truly safe. Humans, they all said, were especially dangerous.

In truth, it hadn’t given much thought to leaving the spring anyway—it didn’t know the roads, was timid by nature, and worst of all, had very poor stamina; after only a few extra steps, its legs would feel as though they were treading on cotton, needing a long rest to recover. This helpless state had persisted through many springs and autumns before finally improving.

But looking back now, it almost wished it had stayed as weak as before. If it had, it would never have had the strength to cross that rocky riverbank, would never have discovered the man who’d fallen and injured his leg on the steep slope, and would certainly never have thrown him the herb that could stop bleeding and ease pain. If none of that had happened, it would still be dozing peacefully beneath the third great maple tree to the left of the secluded spring, whiling away its days.

Those spirits had been right—humans really were dangerous. It had thought it would never encounter that man again in this life, but only a few days later, it had run into him once more—and been captured this time. A yellow talisman suddenly slapped onto its forehead, and then a massive sack descending over everything.

It had never imagined it would leave the secluded spring this way. It had actually spotted the man from quite a distance—though it didn’t know how he’d found his way here, or what he’d come for, it knew one thing for certain: it absolutely could not let this man discover it! And yet, it clearly remembered turning back into a maple tree, surrounded by plenty of flowers and grass, with plenty of small stunted trees just like itself scattered all around—so how had that man managed to strike true on the very first try…

Now its head felt terribly dizzy, the air inside the sack stale, the journey unbearably bumpy the whole way.

So, where exactly was this place now?

The boy studied it thoroughly from every angle, looking rather disappointed. “Papa, what’s so special about this? Isn’t it just a small, stunted maple tree?”

“What do you know.” The middle-aged man swatted the boy’s head. “Let Papa show you something eye-opening.”

The boy rubbed his head, pouting, and stepped aside to watch how his father intended to open his eyes.

Lying on the table at that moment was nothing but a small stunted tree, no more than a foot tall, complete with roots, trunk, and branches, pale red maple leaves hanging among its twigs, and a yellow paper talisman stuck to its crown.

The man turned and retrieved a length of red string from the altar, carefully encircling the small tree with it, then formed a hand seal and murmured a few incantations at the string before turning to his son with a grin. “Watch closely, boy.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, he swiftly tore the talisman paper off the tree.

Father and son both held their breath, waiting for the earth-shattering moment.

Croak… croak…

Frogs in the pond outside croaked several rounds.

The boy blinked. “Papa… it still looks like… just a tree?!”

The man rubbed his eyes, then poked at the small, motionless tree lying on the table, finally confirming it was, indeed, still just a tree.

“This…” The man frowned, poking it again, harder. “Hey, hey! Are you sleeping?”

Not a twitch. He poked again—still nothing. Poked once more—still no response.

The boy’s expression toward his father shifted at last from disbelief to disappointment, tinged with a hint of “I knew this would happen.” It seemed this wasn’t the first time this particular father had bungled something like this.

The man scratched his head and coughed loudly a few times to cover his embarrassment—he could lose anything, but never his dignity in front of his son… He frowned, his eyes darting about, and suddenly pulled a fire striker from his waist, waving it in front of the little tree before lighting it and bringing it close. “Keep pretending you’re dead, and I’ll burn off your hands and feet!”

Ah, fire!! That was the most terrifying thing it had ever seen! It had witnessed fires at the secluded spring firsthand—a bolt of lightning from the sky, and some tree or other creature would meet a terrible fate. The worst had been a great serpent, burned alive into a heap of charred remains right before its eyes.

“Don’t burn me!” The small tree let out a shrill scream, a burst of white mist rising at once. Where the red string had been, there now crouched a trembling little child, no more than a foot tall, bare and unclothed, with long, tangled dark brown hair and rough, coarse skin—impossible to tell its gender, small and thin.

The boy’s mouth fell open, shock giving way to delight as he grabbed his father’s arm. “Papa, you really did catch a spirit!”

The man extinguished the fire striker, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Of course! Your great-great-grandfather was a Grand Master renowned throughout the land…”

“Yes, yes, I know, great-great-grandfather was an amazing Grand Master, you’ve told me a hundred times already.” The boy hurriedly cut off his father’s trip down memory lane, all his attention fixed on the little creature before him. “What exactly is this thing? How did it turn from a tree into a little person?” As he spoke, he couldn’t help reaching out to touch its head; startled, it flinched back, its body brushing against the red string, and it yelped as though pricked by a needle, lunging forward instead, rubbing its back and pouting miserably.

So a single red string alone was enough to trap it. Humans really were vicious.

“This spirit is called Maple-Born—formed through the workings of heaven and earth beneath a maple tree. Once grown, it can take human form, and revert back to a maple tree when danger threatens.” The man explained excitedly. “This is an exceedingly rare find—even your grandfather never had the chance to see one.”

“What’s so rare about it?” The boy still didn’t understand. “It doesn’t look anything like the impressive spirits in the books, and it’s so timid too.”

“Take Maple-Born wood and cast it into fire, and you can summon rain.” The man flicked his son’s nose. “You know how many practitioners out there can genuinely summon rain on demand—most of it’s nothing but tricks to deceive the common folk.”

Hearing this, the boy looked at the small creature trapped within the red string, and being young, couldn’t hide the emotion in his eyes—he immediately felt a pang of pity. “Papa, are you saying… you’re going to burn it to death?”

“This Maple-Born may be young, but it should yield at least ten pieces of Maple-Born wood,” the man said, not noticing his son’s shift in mood, already calculating to himself. “Even ten rainstorms’ worth would be more than enough to shut up those bastards.”

The boy’s head drooped, all his earlier delight instantly vanishing from his face.

It didn’t quite understand what the father and son were discussing, but trembling in front of them like this was awkward too—it had to do something. It shuffled slightly toward the edge of the red string and asked in a small voice, “Is your injury better now?”

The man startled. The boy startled too.

“Papa, you’re injured?”

“Ah… yes, I slipped down a steep slope and hurt my foot while searching for this spirit.” The man looked a bit embarrassed, then quickly grew smug again. “You have no idea—if this spirit hadn’t thrown me that healing herb, jade-ginger grass, I’d never have had the chance to track it down afterward by following the herb’s scent. You know how sharp your papa’s nose is, and jade-ginger grass has such a distinctive smell—even though it only brushed against it once, months ago, I could still track its exact location by scent alone. Turned out to be a blessing in disguise!”

Oh. So that’s how it had been discovered… If only it had left him be back then, sigh.

The boy frowned. “It saw you were hurt and gave you medicine, and you’re going to burn it to death for that?”

The man blinked, rubbed his hands together, and after a long, hesitant pause finally said, “Isn’t that just… the fate of a spirit?”

Something in that answer struck a nerve, and the boy suddenly turned to stand between the table and his father. “Papa, I don’t agree with this.”

“Don’t agree with what?”

“I don’t agree with you killing it.”

“It’s just a spirit.”

“It helped you.”

“Helping me doesn’t change what it is.”

“You’re wrong!”

“You’re the one who’s wrong! Young as you are, you don’t know anything, and now you’ve learned to talk back to your own father?”

“I hate you! Mama would never act like this!”

“If you hate me, then get lost, go to bed!”

It watched, utterly bewildered—how could these two, so happy just moments ago, suddenly turn so angry with each other? The older one ignored it now, crouching by a small table nearby to drink alone, and the younger one ignored it too, storming furiously into the back room and not coming out again.

It sat on the table, trapped within the ring of red string, having inexplicably witnessed a small family conflict unfold before it. And then, strangely, it still felt drowsy—it yawned, lay down, and curled itself up.

“Are you stupid or something… how can you sleep at a time like this.”

The boy’s voice, anxious and exasperated, drifted into its ears, along with the faint sound of rushing water.

It struggled awake from deep sleep, rubbed its eyes, and only then realized it was wrapped in coarse cloth, pressed close against a warm chest.

Dawn had already broken. But where was this place?

It turned its head. Ahead stretched an endless road; to the left wound a river; to the right rose oddly shaped mountains; and above… was a young chin.

“You’re finally awake.” The boy stopped his hurried pace, breathing a little heavily as he glanced down at it. “Everyone says spirits are ugly and vicious, but you’re nothing like that.”

It couldn’t tell if this was a compliment or an insult, yawned, sniffed, and said, “I’ve always looked like this. But I might still grow bigger.”

The boy laughed helplessly. “The way things are going for you, whether you’ll live long enough to grow up at all is anyone’s guess.”

“I’ll do my best.” It yawned again. Strange—it didn’t feel afraid in his arms at all, even when he spoke of matters as grave as life and death.

“I can only take you this far.” The boy carefully lifted it out from his chest and set it down on a smooth stone by the riverbank. “If Papa finds out I stole you away and let you go, he’ll probably beat me to death… I need to hurry back. If I’m lucky, I can still stop by Auntie Hu’s stall and buy a couple of baked cakes to eat—better to face a beating on a full stomach.”

He must have run a long way, sweat covering his face, his breathing still not fully settled.

“Then you should take me back with you instead, or if your papa beats you to death, I don’t think I’d feel very good about it either,” it said earnestly, looking at him.

The boy laughed heartily and flicked its forehead. “Are you really that dim? He’s my own father—he’s not actually going to beat me to death. A few strikes with a cane at most, just enough to let off some steam, that’s all.”

It rubbed its faintly aching forehead, thinking to itself how strange humans were—always shifting, one moment to the next. The ones who caught spirits were also the ones who let them go. So people really were different from one another after all?

“You should go now, quickly, while it’s still early and no one’s noticed you’re gone.” The boy stood and looked around. As his gaze landed on a large bluestone slab closest to the river, his expression shifted slightly. “Ah, not entirely no one, actually…”

On the stone slab, large enough to seat three people, sat an old fisherman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and straw rain cape, holding a fishing rod, motionless as a mountain.

It saw him too and found it quite strange. “Is that also one of you humans? A person with fur growing on him?”

The boy laughed. “That’s not fur, it’s a straw rain cape—clothing woven from rush grass, worn to keep off rain and wind. And that fisherman isn’t a person either—it’s just a large stone that happens to look like a fisherman.”

“If it’s not a person, why does it need protection from wind and rain? And if it’s a stone, what’s that rod it’s holding?”

“The hat and rain cape were made by Mama for the stone fisherman, and she’s the one who placed the fishing rod there too.” The boy looked at the fisherman and smiled. “Mama was a very interesting person. She always said everything has a spirit—that this stone, shaped so like a person, might have a soul of its own too, and that sitting alone by the river all the time must be lonely, so she gave it a fishing rod to pass the time. Sometimes when Mama walked by with food in hand, she’d leave a little in front of it too, treating it almost like a real person—she did this for years. Others probably thought Mama was being foolish, but I remember she once said that anyone who can keep doing the same thing for a long, long time is truly remarkable. To me, Mama was the most remarkable person there ever was.”

“Fishing…” It stared at the stone fisherman, finding the whole thing wonderfully interesting—no one at the secluded spring ever fished; whether birds, beasts, or spirits large and small, if they wanted fish, they simply went into the water and caught them directly, quick and simple.

As they spoke, the sky had brightened fully. The boy patted its head. “I won’t talk any more, I need to head back now. Take care of yourself from now on, and don’t get caught again.”

With that, he turned and started walking away.

Watching him grow smaller and more distant, something felt terribly wrong to it. It scrambled off the stone and hurried after him in little hops, grabbing hold of his pant leg.

He stopped in surprise and looked down. “What are you doing? I’ve set you free, why aren’t you leaving?”

“I don’t know how to get back,” it said, suddenly overcome with distress, and simply plopped itself down on the ground, tears actually beginning to fall in fat drops. “And I’m very hungry.”

He crouched down helplessly. “You’re hungry? What would you even eat?”

“Anything, just not stone.” It sniffled, looking down at its own shrunken belly.

“But there’s nothing edible around here…”

Before he could finish, a furious shout suddenly rang out behind them: “You little rascal! Haven’t learned a single useful thing, but you’ve learned to steal! Let’s see how far you think you’re going to get!”

The boy jumped, startled, and it was terrified too, scrambling up his leg like a cat and burying itself against his chest—too flustered to arrange itself properly, ending up head-down and feet sticking out, kicking frantically.

The man charged up to the boy, his face so furious he looked ready to grab a rock and smash it over his son’s head.

The boy wrapped both arms around it protectively, stepping back quickly, and said firmly, “Papa, even if you beat me to death, I’m still letting it go!”

The man froze for a moment, his expression still refusing to soften. “Say that again!!”

“I’ll say it a hundred times, a thousand times, it won’t change!” The boy had turned as stubborn as a stone. “Mama said repaying kindness with cruelty isn’t the way of a decent person. It helped you—you can’t harm it in return!”

By the quiet riverbank, the boy’s voice rang out remarkably clear, and something about the sudden resolve and steadiness in that instant made him seem, for a moment, not a boy at all, but a man grown.

The river burbled softly on. The stone fisherman’s rod hung motionless over the water’s surface, undisturbed, while only the passing wind stirred everyone’s clothes and hair—perhaps also calming two hearts on the verge of a life-or-death standoff.

The man looked up, drew in a long, deep breath, as if trying to release, all at once, every ounce of blame welling up inside him. He did this several times before finally lowering his head, looking at his unyielding son, and sighed. “Let’s go home.”

The boy startled, looking as though he could hardly believe it.

“What are you standing there for, let’s go! Time to eat!” The man glared, reaching out to twist his son’s ear. “Are your ears worse than your legs? Can’t hear a word I say, but you sure can run fast.”

The boy hesitated. “Papa… you’re not going to burn it after all?”

“We’ve got firewood at home, why would I burn it!” The man eyed his son’s chest with distaste. “Hurry up and turn it right-side up! Head down with its backside sticking out like that, what kind of manners is that! Have spirits no shame at all?”

“Oh!” The boy quickly pulled it out from his chest and tucked it back in properly, head up this time.

It had nearly suffocated, its little face flushed red, panting like a puppy.

The man glanced at it, shook his head, turned, and muttered to the empty air, “All that effort for nothing.” Then he stomped his feet hard a few times, gritting his teeth. “Serves you right that you’ll never amount to anything in this life, serves you right!”

Watching his father’s retreating back, the boy let out a breath of relief and looked down at it. “Once Papa starts stomping his feet like that, I know I’m in the clear. Whenever he does that, it means I won’t be punished.”

“Can we go back now? He’s really not going to burn me?” it asked, still not entirely certain.

He laughed. “If he’d really decided to burn you, you think I could have overpowered my own father? That’s just how he is—always putting on a fierce front, but he can never actually follow through on being cruel.”

It nodded, only half understanding. “So that means I don’t need to be afraid anymore?”

“Are you sure you want to come back with me?” He poked its head. “That’s a place full of humans—not just my family, but everyone around us too. Doesn’t that scare you?”

“As long as no one’s setting me on fire, I’m not scared.” It thought for a moment, then asked carefully, “If I learn the way back, I can leave whenever I want too, right?”

“Naturally.” He laughed. “But will you really grow bigger? If you stay this size forever, I worry you might not survive the walk home.”

It thought for a long while, then said, not entirely confident, “I probably will. My brothers all grew quite tall, after all.”

“You have brothers?”

“Mm-hm. But they all left me. I don’t know where they went, and they never came back.”

“Not captured, were they?”

“My brothers were very strong, not like me.”

“Other practitioners aren’t like my father either, so… never mind, forget it. Let’s go home.”

“Okay. Really not going to burn me?”

“…”

At the time, it hadn’t really understood, hadn’t even thought carefully about why the decision to stay came so easily, so naturally. It had always feared humans, never wished for its life to intersect with any of theirs—and yet, though it should have turned and fled without a backward glance, it simply hadn’t.

Years later, it still had no answer, only the memory of that boy, in the pale light of early dawn, tucking it against his chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world, something worth protecting with his life, then running a long, long way, breathless the whole time.

Old Sha wasn’t nearly as endearing. Whenever it dared pop out to startle people, a flyswatter, a paper fan, a book—whatever happened to be in his hand—would come swinging at its head, never with a kind expression. Not eating properly earned a scolding. Not adding a layer of clothes in the cold earned a scolding. Sneaking out to play earned a scolding. And Shen Mingshan wasn’t spared either—every scolding aimed at him went something like “all grown in height and nothing grown in sense, not a shred of an older brother’s dignity, running wild with your little sister all day long.” This scolding went on, off and on, for several years.

It had to be about three years by now, hadn’t it? In those three years, Mingshan had grown to sixteen, now a proper young man nearly as tall as Old Sha, more nimble at chopping wood and fetching water than his own father, and skilled besides at washing and mending clothes. The one thing that never changed was his dark, bright eyes, and his unwavering patience and affection for his little sister.

Yes, it had a brother again—an ordinary human one this time.

Ever since being carried back from the riverbank, Old Sha had never again spoken of burning it. Though he always wore an unhappy expression, that didn’t stop him from grumbling about having raised a useless son while clumsily sewing clothes for it with needle and thread, muttering all the while that even a spirit couldn’t go around bare-bottomed forever. And so it received its very first article of clothing—essentially a cloth sack with four holes cut into it, cinched at the waist with a belt. Though it had never minded going naked at the secluded spring through all four seasons, clothing turned out to feel quite pleasant once worn, especially in cold, windy weather, when its body felt wrapped in a warm suit of armor, settling even its heart into a sense of security.

Human food was delicious too. It wouldn’t starve without eating, but eating brought a kind of happiness all its own. Though the Shen household never offered any lavish feasts, mostly just simple, plain fare, on holidays Old Sha would bring home a few cuts of meat with just the right balance of fat and lean, cooking up the best flavor he could manage in the kitchen. Then the three of them would gather around the table and eat heartily, Old Sha always piling as much meat as possible into their bowls, grinning as he cradled his own wine gourd and drank deeply. Only at these moments was Old Sha at his happiest, never scolding, only urging them to eat more, eat more.

Perhaps because of eating human food every day, it was no longer the little spirit that could simply be tucked into someone’s arms and carried off. It had grown taller, its appearance had changed—since the previous year, it no longer needed to be hidden away to get by, because from any angle, it now looked exactly like a two- or three-year-old human girl, with no sign of being a spirit at all beyond skin slightly darker than an ordinary child’s and a bit more strength than most. Old Sha told everyone he’d found an orphan out in the world, taken pity on her, and brought her home to raise. None of the villagers ever doubted it—in these chaotic times, plenty of children had no parents, and plenty of parents had no children left. Besides, Old Sha, aside from his boastful streak and occasional eccentric mutterings, was known as a genuinely kind-hearted man, and it wasn’t at all strange that he’d bring home an orphan. And so, it gained a legitimate place in the Shen household, and a name too—given by Mingshan, who said that since it was Maple-Born, it should simply take the single character “Feng,” Maple, as its name. Shen Feng. At first it wasn’t overly fond of the name, but the moment Old Sha suggested “Shen Chunhua” sounded nicer instead, it immediately agreed to be called Shen Feng.

Huilong Village had barely a hundred residents in total, and everyone got along well. The villagers were kind to it, the adopted daughter of the Shen household. Most of its days were spent either following Mingshan into the mountains to gather firewood, or heading to the nearby Jinlin River at the village entrance to wash clothes and catch fish. In winter, the Jinlin River would freeze over, and its favorite game was sitting on a wooden plank tied with hemp rope while Mingshan pulled it across the ice at top speed—it was overjoyed every single time. Summer was fun too—wildflowers of every color would bloom along the riverbank, and glowing insects could be seen at night. On the hottest days each year, Mingshan would sit by the river for a long while, saying nothing, gathering wildflowers and weaving them into beautiful wreaths, then setting them into the river. During those days, Old Sha’s spirits would dim too, drinking more than usual, and once thoroughly drunk, he’d disappear, staggering home only the next morning.

That summer, it sat beside Mingshan and asked him why he threw such lovely wreaths into the water.

Mingshan said their mother had always loved wearing flower wreaths in her hair, so every year on the anniversary of her death, he sent wreaths to her.

“Does she receive them if you put them in the river?” it asked curiously.

Mingshan smiled. “Mama was cremated, and her ashes were scattered into the Jinlin River. That was her own wish—she said all the rivers, lakes, and seas of the world are ultimately connected, so no matter where Papa and I go from here, as long as heaven and earth remain and the rivers never run dry, she’ll always be with us.” He paused, then smiled self-deprecatingly. “That’s the kind of thing you tell a child to comfort them. But I’m grown now. I know she’s gone forever.”

Smiling while grieving—that had to hurt even more… It went off quietly and gathered a pile of wildflowers, trying to weave a wreath the way he had, but couldn’t manage it well at all. Seeing its clumsy attempts, he asked with a smile, “What are you doing?”

“I want to send wreaths to my brothers too,” it said, a little sad. “I still miss them sometimes, even though they never made me clothes or played with me. I don’t know if they got burned to death…”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he could only offer comfort, suggesting maybe they’d met someone like his own father too, and were perhaps living well somewhere right now.

It nodded, lips pressed into a small pout, and kept working at the wreath.

“Mama used to say every living creature’s fate in this world is different—no resentment, no anger, learning to accept what comes is the way to live well.” Mingshan lay back, pillowing his head on his arms. “As many stars as there are in the sky, that’s how many different fates there are on earth. Look at Papa—his whole life’s greatest ambition was to become a powerful practitioner, one who could command heaven and earth, slay demons and banish evil spirits. He used to travel to the capital every year for the practitioners’ competition, and he never once won. Mama always told him not to mind—winning or losing was fleeting as clouds, nothing compared to the three of us being safe and happy together, hot tea and warm meals on the table. But Papa always said he couldn’t disgrace his ancestors, and kept throwing himself into studying the arcane arts, refusing to give up no matter how many times he lost.” He sighed softly. “The year Mama fell gravely ill, Papa had gone to the capital again. She held on for a long time but never got to see him one last time. If only he’d come back a single day earlier.”

It finally finished a rather ugly wreath and set it into the river.

“But things are much better now. Papa’s become more and more like an ordinary village man—even his clothes have gotten better, and I rarely hear him mention my great-great-grandfather anymore.” He smiled up at the star-filled sky. “The funniest part is, a man who once dreamed of slaying demons ended up raising a spirit as his own daughter.”

It came back and sat beside him. “The spirits at the secluded spring never restrained their own behavior just for fear of upsetting someone. Back then, he only kept me because he was afraid of upsetting you. I understand that much, at least—it’s something I learned from watching the two of you.”

Mingshan turned his head to look at it, shaking his head gently. “It’s not that Papa feared upsetting me. He feared upsetting Mama. When she was alive, she was kind not just to people but to every living creature. She always said coming into this world even once isn’t easy—so as long as it’s not truly evil, better to let it go. Sometimes letting something live matters more than taking its life.”

It fell silent for a long moment, then said, “If your mother were still alive, I bet the clothes she made would look far nicer than your father’s.”

Mingshan burst out laughing. “There you’d be wrong. Mama was terrible at sewing—she couldn’t even mend a tear without making a mess of it.”

It looked down at the floral-patterned cloth clothes it was wearing, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed, and laughed along with him. “It really is ugly! Ha ha ha!”

A few tiny points of light rose up from the cluster of wildflowers nearby, apparently disturbed from their sweet dreams by the laughter, circling up and down in protest.

The Jinlin River’s waters ran especially gentle in summer, its murmur soft, the Milky Way reflected on its surface—beautiful enough to be anyone’s sweetest dream.

In truth, Old Sha had told it the way back to the secluded spring long ago, but it had no wish to go. Returning meant going back to a life of bare skin and nakedness, and the sensation of not starving without food but also never quite feeling satisfied wasn’t a comfortable one. Staying in Huilong Village meant having a father and a brother, kind villagers all around, and most importantly, it had lived as a person. And it was around this time that it slowly came to understand those spirits of its own kind who, though never born with human form, strove regardless to cultivate themselves into one.

Sometimes it went with Mingshan to buy household supplies outside the village, and whenever they passed the riverbank where it had once fled for its life, the two of them would always call out loudly in greeting to the stone fisherman still sitting there fishing. If they happened to have bought food, they’d quietly leave a little beside the “fisherman” too. All these years, who knew how many fish he’d caught, or whether it was ever enough for him.

Mingshan explained that this river was called the Baique River, originally a branch of the same river as the Jinlin, though at some point, for reasons unknown, a boundary had formed between them, and the two rivers no longer seemed to connect at all. Compared to the Jinlin, the Baique’s scenery was rather unremarkable—both banks lined only with stones, always monotonous and lonely-looking. Whenever people wanted to stroll or play, they always headed toward the Jinlin instead; the only one who ever frequented the Baique regularly was, it seemed, the stone fisherman.

Its life could be summed up in four words: tranquil and content. As time passed, its abilities kept growing. Beyond household chores, it secretly brought a modest, well-measured rain to Huilong Village during dry seasons—though it lived like a human, its gift as a Maple-Born never faded. Every time it watched the villagers rejoice with gratitude in the falling rain, it felt glad to still be a spirit after all. Probably no one else in the world was quite like it—happy as a human, happy as a spirit too.

It was content, wanting only to keep living this way—as Old Sha’s daughter, as Shen Mingshan’s little sister, as that girl named Shen Feng in Huilong Village.

“But you don’t look like a happy young lady at all right now.” Tao Yao lifted the carriage curtain, letting a few snowflakes drift in; the cold made her hunch her shoulders, and she quickly let the curtain fall back down.

This spirit was nothing like the bright, endearing version of itself she’d carried in her memories of the story—it had taken several days, told in fragments, to finish recounting its past life. Sometimes Shen Feng seemed to need a long while just to piece together a single scene, much like many forgetful elderly people, and more than once Tao Yao had nearly dozed off listening. These mundane, uneventful family anecdotes were, frankly, quite boring to her.

“I can’t be happy. The spirit in the Baique River insists on being my enemy,” Shen Feng said, her brow deeply furrowed. “Without water, everyone will die.”

Tao Yao studied her. “Have you been making it rain on Huilong Village this whole time?”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Once the Jinlin River runs dry, there’s no saving anyone.”

Si Kuanglan, seemingly perpetually resting with his eyes closed, suddenly spoke. “By your own account, the Baique River isn’t particularly far from your village. Why not simply go draw water from there directly?”

“It’s not exactly close either, all things considered—it’s inconvenient regardless.” She shook her head. “Besides, the spirit in that river is far too vicious and unreasonable; ordinary people risk real danger just approaching it. So diverting water into the Jinlin River is the only option left.”

“I see.” Si Kuanglan smiled and asked nothing further.

Just then, the carriage began slowing, and with a whinny from the horses, the driver’s voice called out from outside: “Reporting to the Second Young Master, we’ve arrived at Huilong Village.”

Tao Yao immediately perked up and leapt out of the carriage in a flash.

The moment her feet touched the ground, she wanted to jump right back in—Muzhou really was freezing. Huilong Village sat north of Muzhou proper, entirely exposed with nothing to block the wind, and the few distant hills nearby offered no shelter at all from the raging snow and wind. Looking out, everything was blanketed in white, the small path hidden beneath withered branches looking as though no one had walked it in centuries—difficult even to make out as a path without looking closely.

The moment her feet touched ground, Shen Feng pointed impatiently toward the end of that path. “Through Huilong Village, then another mile north, is the Baique River. Let’s hurry.”

“We’ve come all this way—won’t you invite us in for a hot cup of tea before we set off?” Si Kuanglan stepped down from the carriage, straightening his slightly rumpled robes, a white longsword in hand. The scabbard bore no ornamentation at all, smooth as jade, only a single character—”Si”—carved into the center of the hilt, left uncolored, so understated one might miss it without looking closely. Not just the blade itself but even the sword tassel was the color of pristine snow, cold and striking.

Tao Yao had noticed his sword back when they left—she’d never once seen him wield a blade before, and had thought to herself that surely wherever they were headed wasn’t dangerous enough to require a weapon.

Shen Feng paused, then thought it over. “That’s fine too. It’s so cold—let’s stop by the house first.”

Si Kuanglan told the servant boy to wait where they were, and the two of them followed Shen Feng along the winding little path, their footing uneven with each step.

Before long, a figure appeared ahead in the distance—an old woodcutter, bundled in thick winter clothes, his face indistinct, calling out to Shen Feng from afar. “Back home already, girl? Your father’s been asking about you for ages!”

Shen Feng waved back at him. “Heading home right now. Uncle Niu, mind your footing—the roads are slippery in the snow.”

“Will do!” The old man passed them by and ambled slowly off in the other direction.

They walked on a while longer, passing a group of children having a snowball fight, their laughter ringing out constantly. Further ahead, village houses came into view—it was midday now, smoke rising peacefully from several chimneys. Life here didn’t seem nearly as dire as she’d described.

After exchanging greetings with several more villagers along the way, she finally stopped in front of a house, pushed open the bamboo fence gate, and said, “We’re here.”

An ordinary rural cottage, kept quite tidy.

Once inside, she quickly invited Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan to sit, but before they’d even settled, a man in his forties or fifties emerged from the kitchen—square-faced, somewhat rough in manner, wielding a kitchen cleaver, his greasy sleeves rolled up past his elbows, his voice loud. “Where’s that dead girl gone off to? Only coming back now!”

Before he’d even finished, a boy of fifteen or sixteen came hurrying out from the inner room—thin but not frail, his features clean and refined, a pair of eyes as dark and bright as gemstones. Seeing Shen Feng, he scolded her with concern, “Where did you run off to? Weren’t you just going out for a bit? Papa and I were so worried!”

She hurried over and took the young man’s hands, apologetic. “I went to find a couple of friends. They’d heard about the river spirit in the Baique, and came back with me to see if there’s anything they could do to help.”

“I see, then thank you both for your trouble.” The young man cupped his hands toward Tao Yao and Si Kuanglan. “May I ask your names?”

“This is Miss Tao, and this is Young Master Si,” she introduced hastily.

Hearing this, the middle-aged man’s expression brightened considerably, and he called out loudly, “Distinguished guests, no less! Hurry and pour them some tea! I’ve got food on the stove—you’ll stay for lunch!” With that, he ducked back into the kitchen.

Soon, the young man brought out two steaming cups of tea and set them before their guests. “It’s just a humble country household, nothing much to offer—please don’t take offense.”

“You must be Shen Feng’s brother, Young Master Mingshan?” Tao Yao smiled at him. “We’ve come at a poor time, interrupting your midday meal.”

The young man waved his hands quickly. “Miss Tao is too kind. That you’d honor us with your presence is our great fortune. Please, just call me Mingshan—’Young Master’ is far too grand a title for me.”

Si Kuanglan lifted his teacup, sniffed at it beneath his nose, then set it back down, asking with a smile, “It seems the villagers aren’t nearly as anxious about this looming water crisis as your sister.”

Tao Yao chimed in, “Right, everyone seems perfectly content and at ease.”

Mingshan looked a bit embarrassed, and said only, “However hard things get, life still has to go on. People simply don’t like to show their worry in front of others. Xiao Feng must have already told you—the Jinlin River has been steadily drying up, and it won’t sustain us much longer. The whole village, young and old, our fields and crops, all depend on that river. How could we possibly be at ease?”

Si Kuanglan nodded slightly. “Fair enough—not everyone breaks down in tears over the slightest upset, disregarding all dignity.” As he spoke, he shot Tao Yao a glance somewhere between a smile and a smirk.

There it was, there it was, again! Did this man live purely to mock other people? Never mind, never mind—she wouldn’t waste her breath today on a lifelong bachelor who couldn’t land a wife no matter how hard he tried. Tao Yao snorted and turned her head away, pretending not to have heard.

Mingshan asked carefully, “Might I ask what plan the two of you have in mind?”

Tao Yao frowned slightly, her hand resting on the pouch at her waist, and said seriously, “People fall ill, spirits fall ill too—and truthfully, rivers and mountains can fall ill as well. Illness itself isn’t the problem, so long as one’s willing to see a physician honestly and not hide the symptoms. Generally speaking, that’s survivable.”

“Rivers and mountains can fall ill too?” Mingshan asked, confused, hurrying to press further. “If that’s truly the case, how would one go about curing it?”

“Take medicine, what else.” Tao Yao shrugged. “But like I said, only if you’re not deliberately hiding the symptoms.”

“That’s precisely my thinking as well,” Si Kuanglan said, smiling as he looked between Mingshan and Shen Feng.

Mingshan and Shen Feng exchanged glances. Mingshan continued, “There’s no concealment here. The Jinlin River’s water level has always been stable, but in recent years it’s begun drying up for no clear reason. Its level is now less than half what it once was, and rainfall alone isn’t enough to make up the difference. Diverting water from the Baique River is the only viable solution—except the Baique is home to a river spirit that guards its waters fiercely, refusing to allow any diversion whatsoever. Xiao Feng, being hot-tempered, has fought it several times, but she’s no match for it. That’s the entirety of our ‘illness.’ Is there anything else the two of you wish to know?”

Si Kuanglan rose, sword in hand, his gaze sweeping curiously around the room, as though something particularly interesting had caught his attention.

No one knew what he was looking at, and even Tao Yao found his behavior strange.

Suddenly, his eyes turned sharp as blades, and the long sword in his hand shot from its scabbard in an instant—so fast that everyone present saw only what looked like a fierce crimson dragon slashing horizontally through the air, surging toward the ceiling with unstoppable force. And then, the sword was back in his hand once more, its blade not forged steel or dark iron, but something resembling ice that never melted through ten thousand years, its pristine white surface shot through with a thread of vivid crimson qi, sharp and radiant, its entire bearing utterly unlike anything of this world—much like its wielder, carrying an air of effortless superiority over all things, both in bearing and in strength. And that “crimson dragon” that had shot skyward was nothing more than a single, casually loosed blade of sword energy.

Tao Yao only saw a sudden flash before her eyes, and the roof directly above them vanished without a trace, leaving only a few lonely wooden beams jutting out—yet no broken planks or debris fell.

Another burst of sword energy shot toward the corner of the room, and in the blink of an eye, half of the once-intact cottage was destroyed—tables, chairs, benches, and every other piece of furniture toppled every which way, draped now in cobwebs, the once-whole walls reduced to crumbling ruins.

“Now I’m curious how any of you managed to live in such a run-down place.” Si Kuanglan said, sword in hand, a faint smile on his lips.

Tao Yao stared at him, no trace of surprise in her eyes—if anything, a flicker of grudging reassessment.

This man—fine, he liked mocking people, that much she could accept. But the most infuriating thing was, you couldn’t even find grounds to call him all talk and no substance, because he genuinely had substance to back it up…

Mingshan and Shen Feng stood frozen, utterly speechless, unable to react at all.

“Time to eat!” The man emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate, but before he could get out another word, he dissolved into a faint wisp of vapor under the sword’s energy, vanishing without a trace in an instant.

“Papa!!” Shen Feng screamed, instinctively lunging forward to grab at him, only to stumble and fall right at the spot where he’d disappeared.

Si Kuanglan looked coldly at the dumbstruck Shen Mingshan, the corner of his mouth curving up. “Time flies swiftly, pressing us all toward age—yet I wonder where Young Master Shen Mingshan learned the art of eternal youth, that he still looks like a fresh young man even now.”

“I… I…” Shen Mingshan grew even more frantic, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

Si Kuanglan advanced another two steps, the cold air off his blade pressing close, the sword’s tip aimed straight at his throat. “With such a wondrous secret, why not share it and benefit everyone else?”

“I, I… no, no… please…” Shen Mingshan’s face filled with terror, backing away while waving his hands desperately.

Tao Yao made no move at all, watching with an expression of pure entertainment, resolved to see exactly what the Si household’s Second Young Master was capable of.

The only one truly terrified by this scene was Shen Feng, who didn’t even have time to wonder why the story had suddenly taken such a dark turn—the one she’d viewed as her savior had, in the blink of an eye, turned his blade against the person who mattered most to her.

“Young Master Si!!” She scrambled up in a panic, yet didn’t dare rush closer, so frantic that tears threatened to spill. “What are you doing? We haven’t wronged you in any way!”

Perhaps it was the blinding light of the sword before her, but even Si Kuanglan’s usually placid eyes now seemed to reflect a trace of killing intent.

“No! Please, Young Master Si, I beg you! He’s my brother, my only family left!” Shen Feng dropped to her knees with a thud, weeping and pleading. “I was wrong! I don’t want the Baique River’s water anymore, please, just spare him!”

Si Kuanglan didn’t so much as glance her way, saying idly, “Too late.”

Before the words had even finished, the sword pierced straight through the heart, without the slightest hesitation, and Shen Mingshan dissolved instantly like smoke.

“Brother Mingshan!”

Shen Feng’s voice was no longer a cry but a piercing, anguished scream, ringing so sharply it made even Tao Yao’s ears ache.

“I’ll kill you!”

Branching, blue-black veins burst forth beneath Shen Feng’s skin, her eyes flooding blood-red, both hands suddenly warping into terrifying branch-like claws, sharp as blades, and she lunged with reckless abandon toward Si Kuanglan, who stood with his back to her.

Si Kuanglan didn’t move an inch, not even bothering to turn around—until a dull thud sounded behind him, and only then, expression unchanged, did he turn to look at Shen Feng lying face-down on the ground, shaking his head.

“The Second Young Master really is unshakably composed.” Tao Yao clapped her hands, a trace of remaining medicinal powder drifting down from her fingertips.

Si Kuanglan glanced around the room. “If you’d been even a moment slower, she wouldn’t have a body left intact to bury.”

Tao Yao frowned. “Would you really have killed her?”

“Whoever strikes first with murderous intent must naturally bear the risk of being killed in return.” Si Kuanglan didn’t sheathe his sword, instead walking to the center of the room and unleashing several more bursts of sword energy in every direction. What remained of the cottage crumbled entirely under the force, leaving nothing that could be called the Shen household at all—only ruins that couldn’t even properly be called a house anymore.

The cold wind howled. Beyond the ruins, the village still stretched out with its overlapping rooftops, smoke still curling peacefully from chimneys, and the village children still played and laughed obliviously nearby.

Seeing this, Si Kuanglan walked straight out to the open ground beyond the ruins, and suddenly thrust his sword into the earth with considerable force—in the blink of an eye, the blade sank more than a foot deep into the ground.

Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Tao Yao felt the ground beneath her feet tremble, some indescribable force spreading outward from somewhere, as though it meant to lift the entire village of Huilong into the air.

Almost simultaneously, the bright sky darkened abruptly—not because the weather had genuinely changed, but because the surrounding scenery, along with the very earth beneath their feet, began fracturing and twisting, coalescing into a massive, pitch-black, gaping-mawed monster, resembling nothing so much as a grotesquely swollen black fish, its sky-blotting bulk surging straight toward them.

“What a massive spirit!!” Tao Yao gasped in astonishment. “What size pot would you even need to stew that thing!”

Even as she spoke, her hand had already moved to the pouch at her waist.

But she was a beat too slow—before she could act, Si Kuanglan had already shoved her behind him, and with his strength alone, as the monster’s gaping maw bore down on them, he leapt into the air, sword flashing down in a single stroke, cleaving the massive creature clean in two.

Amid the chaos of flying dust and debris, Tao Yao caught only a glimpse of a fearless figure, seemingly fused with the sword in his hand, becoming the brightest, sharpest light in the world—one that made you believe, without question, that no darkness, however deep, could ever swallow it whole.

Frost-blade, blood-sword, turning back the tide… so his name hadn’t been an empty boast after all.

The daze lasted only an instant before the sky brightened once more. Looking around, there was no trace left of the peaceful, smoke-curling scene from before—only ruins resembling what remained of the “Shen household,” the desolation of years without human presence now magnified starkly in the dead of winter, pressing down like something that could steal the breath from your lungs.

Where the monster had dissolved into nothing, a small creature about the size of a toad had fallen—its body black and round, plump, like a blackened, sulking pufferfish. If you called it a fish, it had two leg-like limbs sprouting from beneath its belly, and it was now scrambling frantically toward the Jinlin River, moving with astonishing speed.

“A fry fish…” Tao Yao’s expression changed instantly, all trace of her usual playful indifference gone, and she immediately moved to chase after the little creature.

Si Kuanglan grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

“Chasing it down to kill it, obviously! Why are you holding me back!” This was likely the first time Tao Yao had shown genuine anger in front of Si Kuanglan. “Let go!”

“That expression on your face doesn’t look much like my household’s little servant girl.” Si Kuanglan didn’t let go. “This isn’t the right state of mind to face an enemy in.”

“Let go!” In terms of raw strength alone, Tao Yao couldn’t break free, and if this went on any longer, she wasn’t sure she could afford to keep being polite with him.

“What is it? Tell me clearly, and I’ll let you go.” Si Kuanglan held firm no matter how she struggled.

“A fry fish! Born in a sea of corpses, fish-like but with human feet, knows people’s hearts, skilled in illusion techniques!” Tao Yao rattled it off rapidly. “Can you let go now?”

Si Kuanglan still didn’t release her. “Doesn’t sound like a particularly malicious creature. Why react so recklessly, as if your life depended on it?”

“If you don’t let go this instant, don’t blame me for what happens!” Tao Yao’s eyes, always crinkled into crescent moons with laughter, suddenly filled with a cold so absolute it could freeze anyone who dared look at them for even a moment longer.

Si Kuanglan released her.

Without another word, Tao Yao took off running.

Amid the wind and snow, a crisp, ringing sound echoed—

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling.

With a soft hiss, the sword slid back into its scabbard. Si Kuanglan’s gaze shifted from the direction Tao Yao had vanished, back to the unconscious Shen Feng, before finally settling on the desolate ruins before him.

Tao Yao had run too fast to hear it, or perhaps he would have told her that the night before they’d set out for Muzhou, Steward Miao had brought him a thick ledger to review.

“Second Young Master, your memory serves you well. Huilong Village in Muzhou was destroyed by a plague over twenty years ago—not a single soul in the entire village survived. The bodies piled up like mountains, burned for three days straight without pause, the ashes and remains all cast into the Jinlin River. No one has lived there since; it’s long since become a ruin.”

“Understood.”

“You’re still going?”

“Since I’ve already given my word to that spirit, of course I’m going.”

“Do be careful.”

“I will.”

“Shall I have you take the blood sword?”

“That would be wise.”

Now, as the wind and snow raged more fiercely than ever, Si Kuanglan murmured to himself, “A fry fish… how interesting.”

With that, he carried Shen Feng to a spot where she could shelter somewhat from the wind and snow, then strode off toward the Jinlin River.

That girl had been acting quite unlike herself. He rather wanted to see how this particular scene would play out too.