Prologue

A fate that cannot be reversed in the sea may perhaps be reversed on land.

1

Scattered snowflakes drifted, barely visible in the biting wind, and the dull gray sky showed no sign of clearing. Ever since returning from Luoyang, the blue skies and bright sun Tao Yao kept hoping for hadn’t shown up even once—every morning she opened the window to disappointment, and probably a sneeze, followed inevitably by a round of sniffling curses. Sometimes she cursed the sun for being lazy, worried it might sleep so hard it never woke up again; sometimes she criticized the capital’s location for being stuck in the north of all places, so annoying in this dead of winter; and sometimes she blamed the capital’s roosters for not crowing loud or clear enough to summon the sunlight. In short, every morning she found a different target for her temper.

During these dangerous early-morning moods, Mo Ya never dared urge her to stay calm for the sake of her health—he only muttered that the capital’s roosters were being treated unfairly, then whispered to Gungun, “Let’s try to get up even earlier tomorrow, and not wander around in front of her—otherwise she might blame you for being a gray fox, thinking that’s why the sky’s so gray, and you’ll get yelled at for nothing.”

Young Master Liu, standing nearby, wore a mischievous grin. “Little monk, you really don’t understand a woman’s heart. She’s not upset about opening the window and not seeing sunlight—she’s upset about opening the window and not seeing so-and-so come back!”

Before Mo Ya could respond, two murderous glares were already shooting over from the other side. “Who’s ‘so-and-so’?”

“Did I say anyone?” Young Master Liu gave an innocent yawn.

“You clearly just said someone!”

“Who do you think I meant?”

“Of course I know who you meant!”

“Then go ahead and say it!”

Mo Ya, holding Gungun, looked back and forth between them, thoroughly confused. “Who is it, exactly?!”

“Whoever it is, they know who they are.” Young Master Liu laughed, grabbed Mo Ya by the collar, and shot him a look. “Housekeeper Miao’s waiting on us to help—let’s go! Didn’t you want to see what top-grade mountain delicacies look like?”

“Huh?! Oh…”

In the blink of an eye, Young Master Liu had already dragged Mo Ya out the door, and the two of them vanished from Tao Yao’s sight in a flash.

“Boring snake!” Tao Yao huffed and slammed the window shut.

Who, who? Who else could it be!

She sat back down at the table and listlessly combed the end of her braid in front of the bronze mirror, then grabbed her braid and messily coiled it into a sloppy bun atop her head. A glance from side to side and she’d already made herself ugly—she quickly undid it and tossed the comb back down, irritated. Unable to stand her own smile-less face, she leaned in close to the mirror, pushed the corners of her mouth up with her fingers, and said to herself, “smiling,” “Is Luoyang really that great? How could some Bright Moon Terrace possibly be more comfortable than your own home? New Year’s almost here, and if you don’t come back, who’s going to give me a red envelope as big as a pillow?!”

With that, she let her fingers slip, her face falling again as she pushed the mirror away. “Fine, don’t come back, I’ll get myself a red envelope some other way! See if you can just stay in Luoyang forever, for all I care.”

Flicking her braid, she pouted her way out the door.

It had only been six or seven days since returning from Luoyang, yet it felt like seven or eight months had passed. Her bad mood wasn’t entirely because of the weather or the absence of her red-envelope benefactors—Mo Ya had also been unbearably annoying, nagging at her every other day about the Compendium of a Hundred Demons, what was she going to do, could she really find any leads just squatting around the Bureau residence all day, couldn’t she show a little more initiative on something this important, weren’t they the “Peach Capital Beggars Trio” and not the “Peach Capital Suicide Trio,” that person wouldn’t let them off the hook, please save the children, and so on and so forth—while Young Master Liu stood by fetching him tea to wet his throat in support.

Being lectured like this every single day, no wonder her mood was foul.

At first she still shot back, “This can’t be rushed, I have it under control.” But once she was thoroughly sick of hearing it, she stopped responding entirely—either grabbing Gungun’s tail to stuff in Mo Ya’s mouth, or simply making herself scarce, refusing to appear until mealtime.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t being proactive—it was that the Compendium of a Hundred Demons, now with legs of its own, was genuinely difficult to catch. Without a foolproof plan fully prepared, charging around like a headless fly would just be a pointless waste of effort. The confrontation at the general’s residence with that wretched girl was still fresh in her mind—not even fully fledged, and it had already managed to put her in real danger. Not only did it have power, it had brains too, wearing the skin of a little girl while operating with the calculated care of someone playing a long game. Looking back on that encounter, although she’d sensed something off about “Tang’er” from the start, before the other party summoned a Lingjiang to attack her, she’d only assumed the girl was someone dangerous with a mysterious background, not even certain whether she was demon or ghost. The Compendium of a Hundred Demons itself was unlike ordinary demons—many methods for tracking or seeing through a demon’s true form simply didn’t work on it, which was why she’d kept that red cord, tainted with iron dust from the iron box in the Eight Netherworld Caverns, tied in her hair at all times. It was the only method that could verify its true face—but useful as it was, it was mostly useless too, since the Compendium could take countless forms, and even with the cord in hand, she couldn’t test everything in heaven and earth with it; it was only ever a “better than nothing” precaution. Truth be told, Tao Yao had never actually planned to rely on that cord to find the Compendium… If Tang’er hadn’t summoned a Lingjiang that day—a creature that had no business appearing in the bustling mortal world—she might never have grown suspicious enough to think of testing her with the cord. Thinking it over further, the most frightening part of that whole encounter was exactly what Tang’er herself had said at the time—that she hadn’t actually planned to hide it from Tao Yao even without the test. The whole thing hadn’t been Tao Yao seeing through her identity at all; rather, Tang’er had used the Lingjiang as a deliberate hint from the very start, provocatively goading Tao Yao into confirming who she was. In the end, she wasn’t afraid of Tao Yao. Not even a little.

Having grown used to being the fearsome, untouchable figure in most demons’ eyes, the Compendium of a Hundred Demons had needed only a little cunning to knock her off her pedestal. However much she refused to admit it out loud, at the general’s residence, she really had lost, thoroughly.

But there was no need to get too worked up about it—there was still plenty of time, still a second round and a third round to come. This time it won, next time might not go the same way. Her “having it under control” was never an empty excuse for having no plan at all.

Tao Yao stretched. All that greeted her outside the door now was the north wind—not even a servant boy or girl passed through the corridors and courtyards.

With the two young masters gone, the already sparsely populated Bureau residence felt even more desolately quiet—after all, Si Jingyuan’s noise and mischief alone was worth an army’s worth of commotion. Fortunately, with the New Year approaching, even a place as indifferent to formalities as the Bureau still had to observe some traditions to some degree, and under Housekeeper Miao’s management, all sorts of festive New Year preparations were underway. Even the three of them had taken to tagging along with Housekeeper Miao these past few days, running around everywhere—and far from feeling worn out, they thoroughly enjoyed it, all because Housekeeper Miao was, as always, generous and warmhearted. Even knowing their peculiar backgrounds, he treated them no differently than any doting elder in the world would treat children—whenever they went out to buy supplies and ingredients, he never failed to buy them extra treats and toys. Especially whenever they went out together, though it was supposedly to help him, it felt more like he was taking them out to enjoy the city’s sights on the side. He’d let them carry only the lightest of the goods at most, while food and delicacies of every kind were constantly being pressed into their hands along the way—even Gungun ate itself plump and round, belching contentedly. With such a good deal on offer, who wouldn’t be eager? Tao Yao practically wanted to glue herself to Housekeeper Miao, terrified of missing out on any benefit.

Whenever they used the excuse of “helping” to eat and drink their fill, Housekeeper Miao always watched them with a warm smile, handing them more treats while reminding them not to eat too fast or they’d choke—truly someone impossible not to like. Whenever Tao Yao happened to catch him eating and drinking unhurriedly, she couldn’t help but wonder privately how such a gentle, considerate person, seemingly without a temper to his name, had managed to successfully raise those two little devils… She’d wanted more than once to ask Housekeeper Miao about the two young masters’ childhoods—especially curious, given those two creatures’ temperaments and styles, how many times the Bureau’s roof had collapsed, how many fire and flood disasters they’d endured, how many people they’d tricked and how many had tricked them in return, and whether Housekeeper Miao, at the end of his patience, had ever once considered tying the two of them together and tossing them in the river…

But in the end, she never asked. Since this wasn’t a place she’d stay long-term, and these weren’t people who’d remain by her side long-term either, why bother knowing so much?

No one needed to remind her—from beginning to end, Tao Yao was simply Tao Yao, from Peach Capital, bound for Peach Capital in the end. Everything else was just passing through.

Tao Yao rubbed her nose and wandered forward slowly, momentarily unsure where to go. With nothing to do today, she figured she might as well join the commotion in the kitchen. She’d heard a new batch of ingredients had arrived yesterday, some rare and delicious goods from some far-off mountain, requiring especially careful unpacking and handling—no wonder not a single soul was around, they were probably all in the kitchen broadening their horizons, Mo Ya and Young Master Liu included. If there really were some extraordinary delicacy involved, she couldn’t let anyone else get the better of her—especially not these good ingredients falling into Young Master Liu’s hands. A man who could turn steamed buns into squares had no business cooking, walking disaster that he was.

So she stopped and was about to change course toward the kitchen when another gust of cold wind swept past, carrying a faint sweetness with it. She sniffed instinctively, taking a moment to place it—plum blossoms. “When he has time, he likes to brew a sugar syrup called ‘Ru Jie Yi’ from plum petals.” Tao Yao paused for a moment—what did “Ru Jie Yi” even taste like? Compared to knowing all about the distant past, this syrup that so far only existed in legend intrigued her far more.

Never mind, the kitchen already had enough people in it. She turned back to her room, grabbed the cloth bag for collecting petals, and headed resolutely toward the plum grove.

The closer she got to the plum grove, the more intoxicating the fragrance became. Ever since being roped into this chore, she no longer looked down on plum blossoms the way she used to—back then, all she cared about was winning against people, with no time or inclination to spare a glance elsewhere, and she’d genuinely missed out on this little beauty hidden within the cold winter frost and snow. Picking through petals in the grove, she found herself falling more and more in love with this cold, proud fragrance that refused to keep company with the mortal world, yet still managed to bring forth a kind of stubborn joy in this season when all else turned pale. She’d even catch herself unconsciously murmuring that poem she’d heard from Housekeeper Miao—of all the world’s fine colors, only the snow among the calyxes deserves song. Though she had no talent for poetry, and having long been “poisoned” by Young Master Liu’s so-called “literary talent” had only made her even less interested in verse, repeating it enough times gradually let her glimpse, in those few sparse words, both the beauty of the world and the loving days of that immortal couple from years past. In idle moments, she’d also imagined what the Si brothers’ parents must have looked like and behaved like—surely they’d been very good-looking people. Someone who could command respect and decisive authority in the martial world, yet remain gentle and doting toward wife and children, and fair and kind even to servants—Master Si surely wouldn’t have been as careless and messy as Si Jingyuan, nor as strange-tempered and insufferable as Si Kuanglan; he must have been a fine man, exceptional in martial skill, brave and resourceful, cold on the outside but warm at heart. As for Madam Si, her beauty and bearing went without saying—nine times out of ten, she’d have been a refined, graceful woman as well, seemingly delicate on the surface, painting her brows and composing poetry in her spare time, yet underneath steadier and more resilient than most men, gentle as water at every turn while never once being outdone by them. That was Tao Yao’s theory, anyway—in her imagination, it would take a pair like that, dragons and phoenixes among people, to be worthy of such a match made in heaven, worthy of Housekeeper Miao’s lifelong loyalty. But then… if the parents really were such immortal figures, how had the two sons turned out so strange? Every time she thought of the older brother who furiously went around checking girls’ birth charts, and the younger brother who was insufferable and practically begging to be hit, Tao Yao couldn’t help but sigh on their parents’ behalf, and would treat the plum trees the brothers had planted with their own hands in the grove as stand-ins for the Master and Madam, muttering through the brothers’ absurd behavior in great detail while picking petals, as if filing a complaint.

Today was no exception—while carefully selecting whole, pretty petals in the plum grove, she muttered for the two-hundredth time about the two brothers lingering in Luoyang, forgetting family for the sake of pretty faces, not even coming home for New Year’s, practically driving the trees in the grove to distraction with her complaints.

Not until she’d filled half the bag with petals did she pause her work, sitting down on the stone bench in the grove, cradling the cloth bag and calculating how many more petals she’d need to fill that plump white porcelain jar. Per Housekeeper Miao’s instructions, she was to put every batch of collected petals into this designated jar, which he said would be enough for the second young master to brew syrup once full—but the number of petals that fell to the ground each day was limited to begin with, and she had to pick only the whole, pretty ones, and he’d also said she absolutely could not touch the blossoms still on the branches, only the fallen ones—wasn’t this just needlessly troublesome? After all this time picking, the jar still wasn’t full. This second young master, even making a simple food item had to be this particular, enough to make anyone want to cry…

But what could she do? She still had to pick them one by one—no one to blame but her own greedy appetite.

She plucked up a fresh, tender petal, held it under her nose to sniff, imagining it transformed into a single crystal-clear drop of “Ru Jie Yi,” and then drooled shamelessly.

Just as she was lost in reverie, a strange creaking sound suddenly came from behind her, exactly like the cold, chilling sound of iron chains scraping against each other.

Tao Yao’s heart clenched; danger flickered at the edge of her vision, but her reaction came a beat too slow—several chains, each as thick as an arm, coiled toward her like living snakes, binding her at impossible speed. Her waist and chest tightened instantly under a massive, merciless force, crushing her so hard she nearly spat blood.

“What demon dares… to ambush me…” She couldn’t even get her own name out before her breath was cut off—her entire bloodstream felt sealed and compressed into a single knot by this sudden assault, with nowhere to release. This was inside the Bureau residence, of all places—how could such a powerful, malicious attack suddenly appear, catching even her off guard?

Before she could find any chance to break free, the chains surged with even greater force, hurling her violently into the air. The world around her dissolved instantly into a chaotic blur of lines, the momentary lightness in her body immediately replaced by a dizzying, panicked plummet. With a tremendous crash, the stone bench she’d been sitting on shattered beneath her own impact; her vision went black, a rush of blood surging to her throat, choking there, unable to go either way. Of all the pain and discomfort her body had ever endured, none of it came close to this—it wasn’t simple pain or suffocation, but a terror rising from somewhere deep within, spreading uncontrollably through every limb and organ…

As Peach Capital’s Ghost Healer, sparring and tangling with demons large and small over the years had long become routine. Before meeting Young Master Liu, she’d always fought alone, allied with no one—though she usually won, and often boasted that anyone who wanted to fight her usually died before they even got the chance, tough talk aside, she’d inevitably taken her share of losses at the hands of brute strength. If not for her mastery of medicine, after all these years, forget countless scars old and new, she might not even have all her limbs intact. And yet, she had never once been afraid. However great the pain, however deep the wound, however arrogant the opponent, she treated it all as nothing, simply carrying through with whatever she set out to do, true to her own nature. She’d once believed herself incapable of “fear” as a function—or rather, she never allowed herself that emotion. She could hurt, could be wounded, could even die, but she could not be afraid. She despised, down to her very core, that feeling of panic and despair crawling through her veins, every organ shrinking back in retreat. Joy and anger could at least give you unexpected strength—what could fear possibly give you? Nothing but endless retreat and humiliation, cowardice too afraid to fight back, shameful regret. What use was any of that?!

But right now, she’d somehow become exactly the kind of person she despised…

What exactly are you afraid of?!

Shattered stone flew wildly in every direction, blasting great holes wherever it struck; everything before her suddenly seemed like a paper painting, flimsy and fragile. Behind the countless holes, surging gray-black currents churned, widening the holes further and further, swallowing the trees of the plum grove one after another, even heaven and earth vanishing as quickly as burning paper. She couldn’t move, watching helplessly as the world slipped away from her.

How could you do such a thing?

If not for you, how could this disaster have happened?

It’s your fault!

It’s your fault!

It’s your fault!

Shadowy figures flickered within the swirling currents, coldly repeating the same accusations over and over, near and far, mixed with crying, with laughter—every sound like a stone striking her, heavy, painful, cold.

The chains cinched tighter and tighter, then violently flung her forward before suddenly releasing her, letting her drift down like a withered winter leaf, falling lightly into the deepest darkness.

She felt herself land, yet beneath her was only a sense of emptiness; her bones seemed to be breaking inch by inch, unable to stand, barely able to move her arms. And… she was hungry, terribly, terribly hungry, her stomach growling like thunder. Her body in such a wretched state, and still thinking about food? Even she almost laughed at herself. But hard on the heels of hunger came an unbearable dryness and burning in her mouth and throat—a lifetime of never drinking water might feel like this. How could this be? She’d never once shorted herself a meal in her life.

What counted as true torment? Losing someone you love and weeping endlessly? Longing for something you can never have, tossing and turning through sleepless nights? A hopeless future, body and mind exhausted? No, no, no—none of that. Being unable to eat, unable to drink—this most basic, most necessary satisfaction tied directly to the survival instinct—this was the kind of torment that could break a person down into someone else entirely.

Hungrier and hungrier, her parched mouth couldn’t even produce saliva; from mouth to throat to organs, not a trace of moisture remained. She felt she was truly turning into a dead red fish, one dried so thoroughly that someone could crush it into powder with just two fingers.

Suddenly, a bottle fell from the sky, a small speck of white bouncing away in front of her.

Her eyes lit up—there was water in that bottle!!

She didn’t know how she was so certain, but she was certain.

Broken bones or not, she still crawled forward with everything she had, like a newborn snake, clumsily twisting her body, pouring the last of her strength into her outstretched hands, finally seizing the bottle just before it rolled out of reach.

If ever there was a moment of pure ecstasy, this was it.

But before she could even uncork it, countless filthy claws suddenly reached out from the void, seizing hold of the bottle meant to save her life.

“That’s mine! Don’t any of you dare take it!” She roared, furious and desperate, but the louder she shouted, the more claws came grabbing, and the strength in her hands kept draining away.

She couldn’t let go. To survive, she absolutely could not let go.

Gritting her teeth, as if setting her very life ablaze, she roared, “Give it to me!!!”

2

“Here, here! It’s all yours!”

Tao Yao’s eyes snapped open. Directly above her was Housekeeper Miao’s face, wearing a look of utter helplessness. Glancing down at herself, she found she was clutching an abacus tightly to her chest… sandalwood frame, ink-jade beads, a neatly carved character “Miao” in one corner—this… looked oddly familiar?!

She blinked, turning to look around. The plum grove was still there, the stone bench unbroken, and she was lying perfectly fine on top of it, only the cloth bag of petals had fallen to the ground.

She scrambled up in one motion, wiping the fine cold sweat off her forehead.

“I fell asleep?” She stared at the abacus in her hand. “What am I doing holding this?”

Housekeeper Miao sighed. “You silly girl, falling asleep in the plum grove in this freezing weather—if I hadn’t happened to pass by and spot you lying here from a distance, even with your iron constitution, sleeping any longer out here, if you didn’t come down with something from the cold, I’d write my own name backwards!”

“I really did fall asleep…” Tao Yao muttered, hastily shoving the abacus back at him. “This is yours?”

“Whose else would it be?” Housekeeper Miao chided her. “I was about to wake you, but you reached out as if your life depended on it and grabbed my abacus, wouldn’t let go—that’s when I realized just how much strength a sleeping little girl like you could have! Even someone with my skill couldn’t wrestle it back from you, had to just let you have it, or my poor old companion here would’ve been torn to pieces. So, what strange dream were you having?”

“Ah… that… I think I dreamed I was fighting someone over food and drink.” Tao Yao gave an awkward laugh, not bothering to explain further, and pointed at his abacus. “Glad your old companion’s alright.”

Housekeeper Miao rapped her on the head. “Still well before lunchtime. If you’re really hungry, go find something ready-made in the kitchen to tide you over, then come back and finish your work once you’re full.” He glanced sideways at the cloth bag on the ground and smiled. “You’ve all been running around with me these past few days, you’re bound to be tired. There’s no rush right now—the blooming season is still long, you can do this whenever you have time.”

Tao Yao pouted. “I just wanted to fill that fat jar quickly.”

“Really eager to taste Ru Jie Yi, aren’t you?” Housekeeper Miao laughed heartily. “Some things never change. But don’t rush yourself—the second young master and the others won’t be back so soon, you can fill your fat jar at your leisure.”

“They’re really not coming back for New Year’s?” Tao Yao blurted out.

Housekeeper Miao nodded. “Doesn’t look like it this year. Miss Nian Sheng’s birthday falls on New Year’s Eve. Every even-numbered year of her age, the two young masters accompany her at Bright Moon Terrace for her birthday and New Year’s together. On odd-numbered years, they celebrate her birthday ahead of time but make sure to return to the residence before New Year’s Eve. This custom hasn’t changed in years.”

“Oh… so this isn’t an odd year for her.” A flicker of disappointment passed through Tao Yao’s heart.

“That’s right.” Housekeeper Miao watched her with a subtle smile. “What’s the matter? Don’t you usually bicker with the young masters? If they’re not coming back, shouldn’t you be enjoying a more comfortable New Year’s?”

Catching the subtle look on Housekeeper Miao’s face, Tao Yao quickly swept away that flicker of displeasure and held out a hand to him with a cheeky grin. “If you, old sir, give me a red envelope as big as a pillow, whether they come back or not won’t matter one bit.”

Housekeeper Miao laughed heartily and swatted her hand. “A servant who can fall asleep just picking flower petals—where do you get the nerve!”

“I’m poor!” Tao Yao put on a pitiful face, grabbing his sleeve and shaking it hard. “I’m stuck working at the Bureau every single day now, don’t even get a chance to go out and try my luck gambling! Living on wages alone, it’s hard to support a family!”

“Quit that gambling habit of yours right now—nothing good ever comes from the gambling table, stay away from it. Our Bureau has rules too—anyone caught in a gambling den more than three times gets expelled from the residence, permanently.” Housekeeper Miao warned her sternly, then asked, puzzled, “But what do you mean, support a family? What family do you even have? Any relatives back home?”

“Young Master Liu and Mo Ya, of course.” She said it with a completely straight face. “One’s got a bad temper and cooks food that’s both overconfident and terrible, the other nags on and on all day, too scared to kill a chicken or touch a fish, and treats a useless fox like a treasure every single day. Look at them, old sir—given how they perform, isn’t it only a matter of time before they get thrown out? And then, without wages, who else would have to support them but me!”

“I had no idea their reputation with you had sunk quite this low.” Housekeeper Miao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Those two, while not exactly outstanding, are diligent and steady enough—they haven’t made a single mistake in all their time here. Gungun, though just a fox, is a rare bit of playful joy that’s added quite a lot of life to our residence. Their flaws don’t outweigh their merits, hardly grounds for expulsion.” He glanced at Tao Yao again. “As for you, little Tao—not to mention napping on the job, wasn’t it you who put that little demon up to flooding the whole Bureau in chaos last time? That’s not something you can talk your way out of, is it?”

“Who saw me putting anyone up to anything! That was Feng Sheng causing trouble on his own, what’s it got to do with me!” Tao Yao stamped her foot, refusing to admit it, her face falling. “Housekeeper Miao, in my heart you’re the best person in this whole Bureau, you can’t go ruining your own good name like this! Even if I indirectly flooded the Bureau, I was just trying to help out of good intentions! And besides, I’ve saved your family’s eldest young master’s life before too! Not just that, your second young master also owes his good fortune to me…”

“Alright, alright, I know your merits, I was just teasing you.” Housekeeper Miao couldn’t keep up with her rapid-fire talking and quickly cut her off, laughing for a good while before he finally stopped. Then he looked at Tao Yao’s face, reached out and touched her head, and said with feeling, “You know, girl, you haven’t been at the Bureau all that long, yet somehow I feel like you’ve already been here for ages. I suppose that’s what they mean by feeling like old friends at first meeting. Since fate has brought us together like this, set your mind at ease—I’d be more than happy to have you stay at the Bureau for a good long time.”

These words were clearly sincere, and Tao Yao could tell. But how long could “a good long time” really be? Even she didn’t know.

She snapped out of her brief moment of distraction and blinked happily at Housekeeper Miao. “Well, since you put it that way, I won’t be shy about that pillow-sized red envelope then, can’t let our fated connection go to waste!”

Housekeeper Miao poked her head again. “All you think about is food and red envelopes, honestly!”

“Then it’s settled!” Tao Yao clapped her hands, satisfied, then, thinking it over, couldn’t resist asking, “That Miss Nian Sheng—is she really someone the young masters have known since childhood?”

Hearing this, Housekeeper Miao smiled. “I heard from Young Master Liu and the others that you all ran into Miss Nian Sheng and the young master at the Luoyang market, quite the lively scene apparently.”

“Lively? Ah, well of course it was lively, there were so many people at that market!” Tao Yao deflected guiltily, privately wondering just what that big-mouthed snake had exaggerated to Housekeeper Miao—surely he hadn’t mentioned that whole peach-blossom fortune-slip business too, otherwise why would Housekeeper Miao be smiling so meaningfully…

“Young people should get out to lively places more often, that’s good.” Housekeeper Miao clearly saw through her awkwardness but chose not to press it, adding instead, “Miss Nian Sheng has always preferred quiet, rarely goes out—for you to run into her was quite the coincidence. Seems you’re not only fated to know people at our Bureau, but fated to know our Bureau’s friends too.”

Tao Yao’s eyelids drooped. “What do I need all this fate for… can I eat it or wear it?”

“Don’t cause too much mischief, who knows, maybe next year the young masters will take you along to Bright Moon Terrace too.” Housekeeper Miao took the cloth bag, tied the string, and placed it in Tao Yao’s arms. “Since you already know who Miss Nian Sheng is, you should also understand that her residence is essentially no different from an imperial stronghold—only the most trustworthy people are allowed in and out.”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes. “Why would I want to go to that terrace place anyway! That Miss Nian Sheng isn’t even my childhood friend, there’s plenty of places to have fun during New Year’s without going somewhere with more rules than an anthill.”

Housekeeper Miao, expecting this reaction, merely glanced up at the gray sky and said, “One more person always means a bit more liveliness. The heavier the status, the easier it is to be lonely.”

Tao Yao froze for a moment.

Was he talking about Song Nian Sheng—or someone else?!

Just as she was about to ask more about Song Nian Sheng, a servant boy came rushing over urgently, stopping in front of Housekeeper Miao and cupping his hands. “Housekeeper Miao, Master Dou has arrived, waiting in the back courtyard.”

Housekeeper Miao nodded. “Understood. I’ll head over now. Go tell the others to proceed as per the usual yearly allowance.”

“Yes!”

Just as the boy was about to leave, Housekeeper Miao called him back. “Wait. It’s especially cold this year, add another thirty percent compared to last year.”

“Yes!” The boy hurried off to carry out the order.

Housekeeper Miao turned back to Tao Yao. “I have some real business to attend to. Don’t bother yourself with petals anymore today—if you’re really bored, go help out in the kitchen. Young Master Liu and Mo Ya are already there, some excellent ingredients arrived today, go broaden your horizons too.”

“No matter how fancy the ingredients, they still just end up getting eaten, I’m not going.” Just thinking about Young Master Liu’s chatty, market-gossip demeanor this morning was enough to put her off setting foot in the kitchen. She hopped in front of Housekeeper Miao instead. “Who’s Master Dou? We hardly ever get visitors at the Bureau.”

Housekeeper Miao shook his head. “Fine, come along with me then.”

“Okay!”

3

Master Dou—quite an impressive-sounding name. But the person behind that name was anything but impressive.

Standing in the courtyard, exchanging pleasantries with Housekeeper Miao, was a man in his forties, half a head shorter than Housekeeper Miao, though sturdier built than the average person—clearly someone with real physical strength. His clothing, though, was strange—he wore a rain hat meant only for rainy weather, and a straw rain cape draped over his shoulders. The bits of sleeve and pant leg visible beneath were so grimy it was impossible to tell how many years they’d gone unwashed, stained black and glossy with filth everywhere. And it wasn’t just his clothes—his face and hands were even worse, barely recognizable in their original color, black as though he’d just finished digging through a coal pit.

Tao Yao reached her hand out experimentally for a good while—no rain at all, not even a stray snowflake. Being prepared for rain was one thing, but this seemed excessive. And looking closer at his rain hat and cape, they seemed different from what ordinary people wore too—much thicker and denser, as if even the heaviest downpour couldn’t soak through. Then again, considering how filthy and worn his inner clothes were, maybe he was simply too poor to afford winter clothes and had no choice but to wear a rain cape for warmth in the cold?

While she was busy guessing wildly, five or six servant boys each carried a large basket of charcoal out through the courtyard gate.

Seeing this, she heard Master Dou thanking Housekeeper Miao profusely.

“No need to stand on ceremony—if anything, I should be thanking you, for accumulating merit on our behalf, year after year for a decade.” Housekeeper Miao smiled. “It’s colder than usual this year, so I added thirty percent more for you. It’s not much, but every bit helps.”

“A great kindness needs no thanks, so I won’t bother saying it.” Master Dou was deeply grateful. “These years I’ve relied heavily on Housekeeper Miao’s help, otherwise doing this alone would be truly difficult.”

“Life’s hard for everyone, we just do what we can.” Housekeeper Miao patted his shoulder and pulled out a bulging pouch to hand to him. “It’s bitterly cold out there, so add a little extra where needed.”

“I can’t take both charcoal and money, no, no, I’ve earned a fair bit this year myself, still have some left over, this is enough.” Master Dou refused.

Housekeeper Miao insisted on pressing it into his hands. “What’s yours is yours, and what I want to give is my own business—you just keep helping me out. Refuse again and it’s like you don’t consider me a friend.”

Master Dou hesitated a moment before finally accepting. “Thank you.”

“And here you just said a great kindness needs no thanks.” Housekeeper Miao laughed, then asked, “Won’t you come in and sit a while? Not even a cup of water?”

Master Dou waved his hands repeatedly. “No, no, your residence is always so clean and tidy, I’d ruin any seat I sat in looking like this. Once a year at your courtyard gate is more than enough for me.”

Housekeeper Miao didn’t press further. “Well, I know there’s no changing your ways—always grab the charcoal and head straight off. Alright then, let me see you out.”

“Haha, let’s go.”

Tao Yao, standing off to the side, hadn’t gotten a word in the whole time, and Housekeeper Miao hadn’t gotten around to introducing her to the visitor either. But as Master Dou passed by her, though his gaze had been fixed entirely on Housekeeper Miao and the baskets of charcoal, it swept over Tao Yao briefly and swiftly, a flicker of confusion crossing his grimy face for just a moment.

With Tao Yao’s sharp eye, she naturally didn’t miss that “casual” glance. She watched them walk out through the back courtyard gate, sniffed the air—still dry and cold, but there seemed to be just the faintest trace of seawater in it now.

Looks like today wouldn’t be boring after all… Her eyes gleamed, and she followed them out.

The cart parked outside the gate was already piled high with charcoal. Master Dou was pulling open a sheet of dark oilcloth, with Housekeeper Miao helping him, efficiently covering the charcoal on the cart with care.

Charcoal disliking water made sense, but this man had wrapped himself up even more tightly than the charcoal—he really did seem terrified of rain.

Tao Yao said nothing, just leaning idly against the doorframe, watching the two grown men finish their work. After a few more parting words from Housekeeper Miao, the two said their goodbyes. She watched as Master Dou expertly slung the well-worn, glossy rope of the cart over his shoulder, bent forward with effort, and steadily hauled the fully loaded cart of charcoal off down the road.

Housekeeper Miao watched him go the whole way, respect visible in his eyes.

“I’ve seen people begging for money, seen people begging for food, never seen anyone begging for charcoal.” Tao Yao crossed her arms and stood beside Housekeeper Miao. “He really does come here to take it for free, doesn’t he?”

“Every year around this time, Master Dou comes here to collect charcoal—must be over ten years now.” Housekeeper Miao said. “Though it’s not really him asking for it—I’m the one who offers it.”

Tao Yao asked, “Judging by his getup, does he make his living selling charcoal?”

“More or less.” Housekeeper Miao nodded.

“Then I don’t understand.” Tao Yao was puzzled. “If he’s a charcoal seller, why would he come to our residence not to sell charcoal but to take it? Don’t tell me he takes our free charcoal to resell it? Does our Bureau have so much surplus charcoal we’re just giving it away?”

“Of course not.” Housekeeper Miao said. “Charcoal may not be as valuable as gold or silver, but it’s still quite scarce every winter—even under the emperor’s own feet, not everyone can afford it, and our Bureau doesn’t exactly have excess to spare either.”

“Then why supply him for free for ten years?” Tao Yao was even more confused.

“He gives it away to others.” Housekeeper Miao smiled. “We have the shelter of a household, worry-free through winter and summer, never lacking food or warmth—but outside our gates, that’s another matter entirely. There are frozen bodies by the roadside every single year. We can’t take care of everyone, but we do what we can, enough to ease our own conscience. With Master Dou’s help, we’re accumulating a bit of merit ourselves too.”

Tao Yao clapped her hands. “Taking our free charcoal to give as charity, then selling the charcoal he burns himself for profit? That’s quite the win-win business, accumulating merit and making money at the same time, brilliant!”

“You, girl, might as well have been an abacus in a past life.” Housekeeper Miao didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. “Calculating everything down to the last detail, no matter what it is.”

“Did I say something wrong? Every account should be settled clearly, isn’t that exactly your usual attitude, old sir?” Tao Yao watched the direction Master Dou had disappeared in. “Free charcoal, free money too—helping us accumulate merit and good deeds, sure, but also a business that only profits and never loses, that’s true too.”

“Little Tao, not everything needs to be calculated down to the last detail, and not everything needs to be treated as a business.” Housekeeper Miao smiled again. “You and Master Dou aren’t well acquainted—once I have some free time, I could tell you a bit about him.”

Just as he finished speaking, a servant boy came running out in a panic, shouting loudly, “Housekeeper Miao! Something’s happened!”

Housekeeper Miao only frowned slightly. “What is it?”

“Young Master Liu got into a fight with that big fish in the kitchen! They’ve made an absolute mess of the place!”

Housekeeper Miao was speechless for a moment, then turned to Tao Yao. “You all, every single one of you, mischievous through and through, not a peaceful soul among you!” With that, he hurried off toward the kitchen, asking the servant boy along the way whether any other ingredients besides the big fish had been affected. The boy hurriedly reported back on everything. All in all, it looked like Housekeeper Miao wouldn’t get any free time today after all.

Tao Yao watched Housekeeper Miao’s hurried retreating figure, then glanced toward the direction Master Dou had left in.

Should she go watch the spectacle of Young Master Liu and a fish fighting, or go do something more meaningful instead?

Tao Yao scratched her nose and smiled slyly.

4

What’s so interesting about watching a snake fight a fish? This over here is much more entertaining.

At a pond out in the wilds, water splashed and sprayed as several startled little fish darted about in panic, while a rain hat and a straw cape floated innocently on the water’s surface.

Beneath the water, a dark shadow gradually rose, splitting the surface open with a great splash to reveal a huge, dark head—its features a blend of tiger and qilin, its skin covered in patterns like tree rings, its eyes a deep, ghostly blue, and a sharp single horn growing from its forehead. Though its body remained underwater, its coiling, dragon-serpent-like shape was still faintly visible, thoroughly menacing.

Fortunate that no one else was around—otherwise, this creature need do nothing more than surface its head to be lethal enough to take a life.

On the shore, the charcoal-laden cart sat parked at an angle to the side, several baskets of charcoal spilled across the ground. Tao Yao stood in front of the cart, clapping her hands with an easy smile as if nothing were wrong, addressing the great head in the water. “So it really is you—I was worried I might’ve kicked the wrong person.”

Anyone witnessing this scene would assume the monster in the water was about to make short work of Tao Yao…

Two visible streams of white breath puffed from the creature’s nostrils, its sharp blue eyes reflecting the reckless figure of Tao Yao, who seemed utterly unaware of the danger she was in. It regarded the unarmed girl on the shore coldly, mouth opening slightly, cold mist curling out with each breath—the two rows of sharp teeth within looked as though they could outmatch even the finest blade ever forged in the mortal world.

At that moment, one stood unbothered on the shore, the other watched with predatory intent from the water, and only the gray sky and sweeping north wind dared witness this standoff. Another second, and it seemed heaven and earth themselves might change color.

The creature’s breathing grew more rapid, edging a few steps closer to the shore, the fury in its eyes growing ever clearer. Just as it seemed about to lunge and bite off Tao Yao’s head in one furious motion, two aggrieved sentences burst out of its wide-open mouth instead: “Why’d you kick me down here! Can’t you just let me leave in peace!”

Hearing this, Tao Yao crouched down, putting on an equally aggrieved expression herself. “After staying in the human realm so long, my sight, smell, and taste aren’t nearly as sharp as they are in Peach Capital—without testing you with some water from the ground, I really couldn’t be sure of your identity.”

The creature let out a great sigh, thoroughly exasperated. “And what if you were sure? You get to stay in the human realm, and I can’t?”

Tao Yao smiled. “I don’t care where you stay, but given your background… a charcoal seller?!” Her eyes suddenly turned cold. “You can fool Housekeeper Miao, but you can’t fool me. Since there’s nothing physically wrong with you, by rights I shouldn’t even bother with you—but Housekeeper Miao’s been good to me, and if your motives for getting close to him are anything less than pure, I won’t let you off!”

The creature blinked a few times, then chuckled. “Isn’t Peach Capital’s Ghost Healer supposed to only deal with demons, never with humans? Why the sudden change of rules today? I saw you back at the Bureau earlier—even with your killing intent as sharp as ever and the gold bell in hand, if I hadn’t crossed paths with you before, I wouldn’t have been certain either. After all, how could the great Lady Tao Yao possibly lower herself to live in a human household? And when you came in with Housekeeper Miao, I heard him calling you ‘little Tao’ at every turn, and you seemed to accept it quite happily too—hardly your usual style. And now you’re going out of your way to make trouble for me over him… could it be that something’s wrong with you, Lady Tao Yao?”

“Haha, I thought you were only good at fighting and killing, didn’t expect a few years as a human would sharpen your tongue too.” Tao Yao, surprisingly, wasn’t angry at all—instead, she smiled and pointed at the cart of charcoal behind her. “Compared to whatever’s ‘wrong’ with me, you—with those blood-stained claws of yours—pathetically begging for handouts and hauling a cart of charcoal down the street, that’s more than just something wrong, that sounds like a terminal illness, doesn’t it?” As she spoke, she made a show of reaching into her cloth pouch for medicine.

Seeing her reach for medicine, the creature panicked immediately. As an old acquaintance, it well knew that whatever Tao Yao pulled out would either cure or kill, and this girl’s eccentric ruthlessness was already legendary among demons. It had just offended her in a moment of carelessness—how could she possibly let that slide easily? If it really lost its life here, whatever it needed to do would never get done…

“Lady Tao Yao, that was my mouth running wild just now, if you’re angry, slap me a few times, I won’t fight back.” It said quickly. “Just, please skip the medicine, I don’t think I could handle it…”

Hearing the note of submission in its tone, Tao Yao’s temper immediately eased, and she withdrew her hand from the pouch, raising an eyebrow instead. “With hide as tough as wood like yours, hitting you would just hurt my own hand. At least you know your mouth ran wild, which means you’re not that far gone. But going forward, no more nonsense with me.”

“Coming to the Bureau really was just to collect charcoal, nothing else. My relationship with Housekeeper Miao is one of mutual respect between gentlemen—years ago, when I was in dire straits, he happened to help me, and that’s how this connection formed. I’ve never harbored the slightest intent to harm him.” It paused, seeming to smile faintly. “No, that’s not quite right—I should say, ever since I fully settled into life on land, I’ve never harmed a single innocent life.”

Hearing this, Tao Yao looked it over and nodded. “Sounds like the truth. The bloody smell on you really has faded quite a bit compared to before.” She meant it too—if she hadn’t been certain it was different from before, she’d never have dared tail it the whole way and kick it into the water without hesitation. Even she wouldn’t casually mess with this thorny character. She frowned and pinched her nose. “I really don’t want to get close to your kind. Every single one of you reeks something awful. I’ve never met a living creature that could smell worse alive than dead.”

“Do we really smell that bad?” It muttered awkwardly. “Good thing we can’t smell ourselves…”

Tao Yao rolled her eyes at it, stood up, and walked over to the cart, tapping one of the charcoal baskets on top. “You’re really working as a charcoal seller in the human world?”

“Really.” It nodded.

Tao Yao thought it over for a long while, then shook her head. “I still don’t believe you, this can’t be possible!”

“Lady Tao Yao is willing to let a mere mortal call her ‘little Tao’—why couldn’t I leave the sea for land and become an ordinary charcoal seller?” It grinned, an ugly but genuine smile. “How we choose to live our lives, that’s up to us.”

Tao Yao paused for a moment, then said, “No good, unless I see it with my own eyes, I still can’t believe you.”

“See it with your own eyes?” It sighed helplessly. “What exactly does Lady Tao Yao want to see? Come along while I deliver charcoal, or come see my home?”

“Both.” Tao Yao said decisively. “Get up already!”

“Sigh, then I’ll need to trouble Lady Tao Yao to light a few pieces of charcoal for me.”

“Hm? Are you ordering me around?”

“You know full well I can’t be seen with water on land—if I don’t dry off quickly, how am I supposed to return to my true form?”

“Just stand in the open and let the north wind blow on you, that’ll dry you off in no time!”

“My lady, it’s almost New Year’s, it’s so cold…”

“You’re afraid of the cold?! Then tell me, when you’re rampaging through the coldest ocean waters, do you carry a waterproof charcoal bucket with you too?”

“I’ve been living as a human for a hundred years now, can’t I be allowed to feel a little cold?”

“…”

5

He hadn’t actually been afraid of the cold to begin with—after all, beneath his human form, he was a demon called Dou Mu.

Dou Mu. An unremarkable name, utterly at odds with their true nature.

“In the deep sea there lives a demon called Dou Mu, its head like a tiger’s, its body like a dragon’s, a single horn upon its brow, blue eyes and blade-sharp teeth and claws, its hide thick and coarse as wood, marked with rings like tree growth. Fierce and combative by nature, exceedingly ferocious, it feeds upon jiao-dragons, its scent detectable from a hundred li away, such that jiao dare not approach. On land it can take any form; in water it reveals its true shape. In death it becomes a piece of wood no larger than an inch, which, worn aboard ships, wards off sea monsters and hidden reefs, ensuring safe passage.”

He’d seen descriptions of their kind written by others in several old texts cataloging demons, and they were fairly accurate. Only, whenever his elder brother came across a book with any record of them, if he was in a good mood, he’d tear out that page; if in a bad mood, he’d burn the whole book; and if in a particularly foul mood, he’d even give the book’s owner a beating.

Back then, he hadn’t understood, and asked his brother why—these were just idle books circulating among humans, after all, something everyone read for entertainment, no one took it seriously.

His brother never explained much, only saying: to be recorded is to lose one’s freedom.

Years later he finally learned there existed a thing in this world called the Compendium of a Hundred Demons, containing records of a hundred kinds of demons—their names, origins, and natures all within. Though called “a hundred,” it in fact catalogued nearly every demon in existence between heaven and earth. Legend held that this thing was born alongside the Three Realms of heaven and earth itself, its origins mysterious, known in full to almost no one. What had endured through the ages was its “innate power”—any demon recorded within it, whatever its size or nature, good or evil, would vanish from the mortal world entirely the moment its record was erased from the Compendium, gone without a trace, never to return! As such, few demons these days paid the Compendium’s origins any mind—they only feared that the slightest misstep would see them owe their bloodless death to this thing, wiped out completely, without even a trace that they’d once lived. And yet, laughably enough, though every demon feared and resented it in their hearts, they also couldn’t help but hope the Compendium remained strong and intact, since only if it stayed safe could they stay safe themselves—a contradictory feeling that was truly its own kind of torment. Setting aside the fact that this thing was every demon’s nightmare, whoever could control and wield it for their own purposes would effectively hold the lifeline of every demon in the world in their grasp—with such leverage in hand, there was no telling what great undertaking one might accomplish… or what great disaster one might cause. Legend held that in ancient times, chaos had once erupted over the struggle to seize the Compendium, but it was eventually quelled, after which this troublesome thing was sealed away within Peach Capital’s borders, and from then on, no more chaos was ever stirred in its name across heaven and earth.

Thinking about how his own life hung on this thing, no wonder his elder brother took his anger out on those innocent old books—after all, he couldn’t very well vent his anger at the Compendium itself, having to treat it with the reverence due an ancestor instead. Though he too found this invisible stranglehold rather uncomfortable, since things stood as they were, it seemed better not to dwell on it—besides, the Compendium had been guarded within Peach Capital for many years without incident, and as long as it didn’t fall into the hands of someone with ill intent, everyone’s lives remained safe enough.

Besides, going by the actual experiences of their Dou Mu clan, the Compendium of a Hundred Demons, fearsome as it seemed, had never truly given them trouble—it was the gods of the Heavenly Realm who had wiped out most of their kind.

He hadn’t lived through that great battle himself, but his elder brother had told him about it many times, through countless sleepless nights. The Dou Mu clan had lived in the sea for generations upon generations, fierce and agile, feeding on jiao-dragons, though occasionally they’d eat other meat for variety—fish, whale, the flesh of other sea monsters, and unlucky humans who happened to fall overboard. But who could have known that once they’d tasted human flesh, they found it even more delicious than jiao meat, and no longer content to wait for careless humans to fall into the sea, they began attacking on their own initiative—not only assaulting passing ships, but coming ashore to snatch people whenever the craving struck, unleashing a storm of bloodshed that spiraled out of control. With the human world suffering such calamity, the Heavenly Realm grew furious and dispatched the Thunder God to wipe out the Dou Mu. After a great battle, the Dou Mu clan lost more than half their number, the vast ocean stained red for a thousand li. Everyone assumed the clan would vanish from the world entirely without even needing the Compendium’s power, but unexpectedly, the Thunder God did not exterminate them completely—he spared those who had never tasted human flesh, along with the young and the pregnant, then issued a divine decree: they were never again to bring chaos upon the human world, and were to restrain their nature and stay within bounds from then on—or else, should even one violate the order, the entire clan would be held accountable, with no mercy shown again!

At the time, he was still in his mother’s womb, and his elder brother was still young.

In his memory, the warning he’d heard most often was to stay far from the human realm, and never, under any circumstances, get entangled with humans—or they would be the ones to suffer for it.

So the most rebellious thing he’d ever done was quietly approach the coastline at night, gazing up from beneath the water at the bustling lights of the human world. He’d never hated this place—in fact, even when the older members of their clan bitterly complained about how harshly the Heavenly Realm had punished them back then, he privately thought they weren’t entirely right either—after all, they’d been the ones to charge in and eat people first…

Sometimes, his elder brother would join him in gazing at the human world from afar, but his brother’s eyes always held something different—calm yet hungry, the way he looked when hunting prey in the sea. And he also knew his brother had secretly gone ashore into the human realm before.

Time flew by, and he grew from a young Dou Mu into a “sea overlord” who paid no mind even to whales and sea beasts many times his size. And yet, life only grew harder. Their once-stable existence slipped further and further away; they migrated more and more frequently, and many of the older Dou Mu died off one by one—most not even living out half their natural lifespan.

The reason was simple: food had become too hard to find.

It was rather sad, really—it wasn’t that their own skills had weakened over the years, but that through repeated clashes, the jiao-dragons had grown increasingly cunning, now able to catch their scent from a great distance and flee before they could even get close. So they were forced to expend enormous effort searching vast stretches of ocean for any trace of jiao-dragons—lucky days meant finding a nest and eating their fill, but more often than not, they went hungry. Though fish and other sea creatures were available in endless supply, without the energy provided by jiao meat, a Dou Mu’s lifespan suffered greatly. It was said that all things in the world existed in cycles of dominance and restraint—the Dou Mu, born fierce and dominant in the sea, never needing to fear becoming prey themselves, had nonetheless found themselves at the mercy of the seemingly helpless jiao-dragons they preyed upon. The workings of heaven’s design truly defied prediction. As for human flesh, though not as nourishing as jiao meat, it was at least better than fish—but who would dare eat it? The Thunder God never made idle threats.

To outsiders this might sound almost comical, but it was simply the truth—the ocean’s overlords, unable to fill their stomachs, had entered the most dangerous, most difficult period of their existence. Their numbers dwindled further and further, until one day, their mother closed her eyes for the last time.

The remaining young Dou Mu scattered in every direction, saying there was no use staying together—better to make the most of their youth and remaining strength, spread out across more of the ocean to seek a living, each fending for themselves.

That day, the two brothers stared blankly at the occasional passing fish and shrimp in the empty waters for an entire day.

The next morning, his elder brother surfaced and said simply: “To the human realm.”

He followed without question, even feeling a flicker of excitement.

To survive, one had to learn to adapt. His brother’s original intent, of course, wasn’t to sneak off and eat human flesh—he said the human realm, though not as vast as the ocean, held treasures the sea did not, along with people who possessed extraordinary skills. His goal was to find some treasure or formula that could mask a Dou Mu’s presence.

Unfortunately, the two brothers wandered the human realm for years without success.

But heaven never seals off every path—even demons who’d taken human form benefited from that saying. Just as they were losing hope, one chance encounter changed their future entirely.

Around that time, they’d been lingering in Yanzhou, a small coastal city. Though not as famous as Yangzhou or Quanzhou, it was a necessary stop for the “tide-runners” heading out to sea for trade. Going out to sea to trade wasn’t itself especially unusual, but not everyone who traded by sea earned the title of “tide-runner”—only those who departed from Yanzhou, sailed north through a stretch of ocean called Skull Head, and traded with the mysterious sea nation beyond earned that name. Tide-runners generally kept a low profile, avoiding contact with outsiders, following their own rules for everything, carrying an air of mystery about them. What exactly this “mysterious sea nation” the tide-runners visited actually was, no outsider knew—only that it offered trade opportunities found nowhere else, and tide-runners who returned safely from it brought back goods rarely seen elsewhere, rare treasures indeed.

Their connection with the tide-runners came about because the two brothers had stowed away on a merchant ship just setting out from Yanzhou harbor. They’d initially heard the ship’s owner often had rare, unusual medicines for sale, thinking they might find what they were looking for—but before they could even figure out who the ship’s owner really was, the ship ran into serious trouble.

Passing through Skull Head, several vicious jiao-dragons attacked the merchant ship under cover of night, and just as it seemed the ship would capsize, with everyone aboard certain they’d meet their end in the jiao’s jaws, two unfamiliar young men suddenly leapt into the water. Moments later, the churning waters abruptly bloomed crimson, and the terrifying jiao-dragons vanished without a trace. Just as everyone stood frozen with shock, two tiger-headed, dragon-bodied beasts burst from the sea and landed side by side on the deck, one of them with a length of jiao tail still hanging half-swallowed from its mouth… Terrified, everyone dropped to their knees, kowtowing and crying out for the Sea God’s mercy.

One of the beasts swallowed the remaining tail, let out a satisfied belch, and said, “Does this ship have a charcoal stove?”

A talking beast?! The crowd grew even more shocked and terrified. The ship’s owner, a tide-runner surnamed Chu, nodded hastily. “Yes, yes, we have some!”

“Bring them all out so my brother and I can warm ourselves,” the beast added.

No one dared delay, quickly bringing out stoves of every size for them to warm themselves by.

Moments later, the beasts gradually dissolved into shimmering afterimages, and sitting before the stoves were instead the two young men who’d leapt into the water earlier.

Everyone present was stunned beyond words, including the well-traveled Old Chu, the ship’s owner. Fortunately, as a seasoned tide-runner who’d weathered storms and seen much of the world, he understood the vastness of existence held countless wonders, and managed not to lose his composure too badly. Whatever these two beings truly were, if not for their intervention, the entire crew would surely already be lying at the bottom of the sea. Seeing the two of them simply sitting calmly by the stove, warming themselves, expressions ordinary, showing no sign of malice, Old Chu finally worked up the courage to step forward. “You two… immortals, might I ask your origins? For this life-saving grace, this old man will surely repay you!”

He exchanged a glance with his brother, never imagining he’d live to see the day someone worshipped him as an immortal. He wanted to laugh, but oddly enough, that feeling of being looked up to for the first time in his life… wasn’t half bad.

After that, with hardly any effort at all, the grateful, near-death Old Chu spilled every detail about themselves, including their identity as “tide-runners.” They, of course, had no intention of revealing their true identities to these humans—since these people believed they’d encountered the Sea God, they figured they might as well play the part graciously.

Through the course of questioning, besides learning that this profession of “tide-runner” existed and that there was a mysterious sea nation beyond Skull Head, they also learned that vicious jiao-dragons had long plagued the waters beneath Skull Head, and in considerable numbers. Since Skull Head was the necessary route to the mysterious nation, merchant ships had, for years, thrown live cattle, sheep, chickens, and ducks into the water there to ensure safe passage. This had worked well enough in the past—with these offerings, the jiao-dragons would leave them be—but in recent years it had stopped working. The jiao were no longer satisfied with these small “tributes,” constantly finding ways to attack anyway. Many merchant ships had to reinforce their hulls, and some even hired skilled individuals adept at dealing with demons and evil creatures to accompany them, but even with all these precautions, only six or seven out of every ten ships made it back safely. So over the years, no small number of tide-runners had lost their lives to jiao-dragons for the sake of business.

“Knowing you might lose your life, you still go out to sea? Does it pay that well?” his elder brother asked, looking at them.

Old Chu sighed helplessly. “My family’s been tide-runners for generations—can’t abandon the family trade, and times are hard, there’s no other way to make a living besides this. My whole family needs to eat, I really can’t afford to slack off.”

His brother smiled. “If you lose your life, what family trade is there left to inherit?”

Old Chu gave a bitter smile and said nothing.

At that point, a young crew member, his face pale with fright, couldn’t help but speak up. “To be honest with you, Sea God, there was actually a foolproof method…”

“Oh?” His brother grew curious. “Go on, tell us.”

The young man glanced at Old Chu again, hesitated a moment, then said, “Chicken and ducks don’t work. People do.”

The two brothers froze for a moment, understanding immediately what this meant.

Given their preference for human flesh, it seemed the jiao-dragons in these waters were among the most vicious and greedy of their kind. For Dou Mu, the more ferocious the jiao, the more delicious its meat—no wonder the ones they’d just eaten had tasted so wonderful. Even with their stomachs full at that moment, just thinking back on the taste made him and his brother nearly drool again. He quickly swallowed, unwilling to lose face in front of this crowd—after all, they were now, quite impressively, Sea Gods.

“Throwing living people into the water…” Old Chu forced the words out through gritted teeth, his brow knotted almost into a single line. “Living people!! How could anyone throw a person into the sea! Is that something a person could do?”

No one spoke, until finally, after a long moment, a small voice said, “We’re living people too…”

Old Chu took a deep breath and looked at the crowd. “Before boarding this ship, we all willingly signed contracts accepting the risk of death. Once we’re back on shore, I’ve never shorted anyone a single coin of the wages I promised. I said from the start, this trade means earning money with our lives—whoever can accept that terms comes aboard.” He paused, looking directly at the assembled crew. “What others choose to do is their own business, but I won’t do it. Earning money with our lives means our own lives, not someone else’s.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but every word landed with weight, and the crowd fell silent.

His brother said nothing, watching them all like an outside observer.

As for him, he simply felt that if someone like Old Chu got eaten, something would feel deeply wrong about that… well, good thing they were here.

The atmosphere on the ship grew heavy, the sea wind gusting past, carrying its briny, fishy scent.

Then, his elder brother suddenly laughed and stood up, looking at everyone. “If you don’t want to throw living people in, then throw us instead.”

“What?!”

Old Chu was startled, and everyone else exchanged bewildered glances.

“We won’t pry into your business dealings, and you won’t fixate on our true identities—if we can manage that much, we might just be able to strike a deal.” His brother looked at Old Chu.

“A deal?” Old Chu went from shock to feeling utterly honored. “Figures like yourselves, and our life-saving benefactors besides—whatever you need, just say the word, this old man would go through fire and water to help however he can, how could we dare strike a deal with the two of you!”

“You’re a businessman, of course we’re going to do business.” His brother laughed and patted his shoulder. “From now on, whenever you set out to sea, just hire us as crew. We’ll guarantee your safe passage through Skull Head. As for payment, a ship comparable to this one will do—no rush, though, give it to us whenever we need it.”

“Just one ship, and the two of you would guarantee our safety?” Old Chu could hardly believe such good fortune was possible.

“Yes.” His brother nodded.

He looked at his brother, unsure what he had in mind—what use would they have for a ship, out of nowhere like this? Weren’t they going to spend most of their time in the sea anyway?

“Deal, deal!! It’s settled!!” Old Chu was so overjoyed he nearly leapt up. The biggest problem that had plagued him for years had just been solved this easily, it felt like a dream—a merchant ship wasn’t cheap to build, but trading it for a whole crew of lives, plus more and bigger business down the line, was more than worth it any way you looked at it!

“It’s settled!” His brother’s eyes held a joy he was clearly working hard to suppress, and then, looking at him, said quietly, “We won’t need to search for that miracle medicine anymore.”

He froze for a moment, then suddenly understood what his brother meant.

Indeed, no more need to desperately search for some treasure or elixir to mask their scent—the workings of fate truly were unpredictable. Years ago, the Dou Mu clan had been severely punished because of humans; now, on the brink of ruin, it was through humans that they’d found their turning point… If they hadn’t boarded Old Chu’s ship, they might never have known that as long as they stayed aboard alongside humans, the jiao-dragons wouldn’t be able to detect their presence at all—and human scent not only helped mask their identity, but also served as the perfect “bait” to draw the jiao in. Two birds with one stone.

After that, they spent nearly three years helping out aboard Old Chu’s ship. Old Chu and his ship remained safe, business flourished, and he honored their agreement fully, never once mentioning the two brothers to outsiders—even when fellow traders often questioned why only his ship made it back safely time and again, he’d simply say it was probably divine blessing from burning incense and praying to the Buddha. The crew, too, grateful for the brothers having saved their lives, never leaked a word no matter how others pried. As for the two brothers, each time they only escorted the ship through Skull Head, never venturing a single step further. Over those three years, both sides prospered from the arrangement, each getting exactly what they wanted—Old Chu made a fortune, and they ate their fill and were satisfied. Skull Head, the nightmare of every seafarer, had become their own personal blessed ground—not only did vicious jiao-dragons lurk there, it was practically a rare, ready-made jiao nest.

Still, Skull Head wasn’t a permanent solution either. However vicious, the jiao-dragons had keen senses, but their intelligence remained limited—greedy and dull-witted by nature, even after three years of losses, they never realized their natural predators had been using humans as bait all along. Eventually, being picked off so thoroughly was inevitable. Once passing merchant ships gradually noticed they could pass safely through Skull Head even without throwing live offerings into the water, the two brothers formally took their leave of Old Chu, collecting the payment they’d agreed upon—a ship capable of holding some ten to twenty people.

With a ship, and with people, the ocean was vast—why worry about finding the next promising ground?

At their parting, his brother gave Old Chu a piece of black wood, three inches square, marked with patterns like tree rings, giving off a strange, wonderful fragrance. He told Old Chu to embed this piece of wood into the ship’s hull, saying that as long as the ship carried this wood, no matter how treacherous the waters it passed through, it would always sail through safely.

Old Chu, who’d originally been worried about losing their protection once they left, instead received this treasure and was moved to tears, kneeling and kowtowing in gratitude, saying that whatever their true origins, in his eyes, the two brothers were figures beyond even immortals, and insisting they must return to Yanzhou whenever they had the chance—they would forever be honored guests of the Chu family.

A fated connection, brought to a satisfying close.

After this encounter, he suddenly felt that not every forbidden thing was necessarily bad—the human realm was no longer some place he could only gaze at from afar, forbidden to set foot in. A fate that couldn’t be reversed in the sea might yet be reversed on land.

His brother had probably realized this even before he did.

From then on, they returned to the ocean, only now spending most of their time aboard ships rather than beneath the waves, periodically hiring a fresh crew of human sailors for their ship and heading, under the guise of trade, toward various coastal cities. They took on all kinds of business, though what they excelled at most was bodyguard work. With them aboard, no matter how dangerous the waters their clients’ cargo-laden ships sailed through, whether facing pirates, bandits, or vicious jiao-dragons and demons, there was never anything to worry about losing. The Dou brothers gradually built a reputation among seafaring merchants, with people seeking them out by name—though their ship’s whereabouts were always unpredictable, and unlike ordinary businessmen, they took jobs purely based on mood, never caring much about payment, their temperament rather eccentric.

As it happened, times were different now—food was no longer scarce, and the jiao meat they “fished” for along the way, using their own methods, was more than enough, with extra to spare to bring back to their struggling elders and young ones in the deep sea. Still, they never told the rest of their clan what they’d been doing in the human realm. He’d once asked his brother why he wouldn’t share their method of finding food, so the others wouldn’t have to keep going hungry, but his brother said no—not every member of the clan would be lucky enough to have the same fortunate encounter they’d had, and not everyone in the human realm was like Old Chu. If things went wrong, the suffering the Dou Mu clan endured might turn out to be far worse than simple hunger.

He didn’t fully understand, but since his brother said so, there was surely a reason behind it—after all, his brother knew far more than he did.

And so, life settled into a steady rhythm. Over the years, they not only solved their food problem but, even treating their business dealings as something of a front, accumulated no small amount of wealth. They were always generous, giving nearly all their earnings, beyond necessary expenses, to their crew as wages, and when it came time to part ways, they’d give an extra severance payment on top. No wonder everyone who made a living at sea wanted a spot on their ship—though as casually as they conducted business, they were anything but casual when it came to choosing crew members.

After all, their crew weren’t merely sailors—they were also, crucially, “bait.”

Epilogue

After a heavy summer rainstorm this year, their ship docked once again at Yanzhou harbor—not deliberately for nostalgia’s sake, but because they’d just taken on a job transporting porcelain, with Yanzhou as the destination.

His brother said this crew had already been aboard for a full year now, time to bring on new hands. Yanzhou had no shortage of seafarers, so finding satisfactory replacements shouldn’t be hard.

He nodded. This was their rule—crew rotated once a year.

As usual, they posted word at the teahouse on the docks that they were recruiting crew, tipped the teahouse owner a little for his trouble, and went back to wait for responses. Unsurprisingly, given the terms they offered, over a hundred people came forward within just a few days to volunteer themselves. From among them, they selected ten according to their usual criteria, gave each a bronze token engraved with the character “Dou” as formal proof of hire, and told them to go home and settle their affairs, returning to set sail in three days.

Taking advantage of the free time, they made a trip to Old Chu’s home, hoping to visit their old friend—only to be told by his servants that the master and young master had both gone off on a long business trip and hadn’t been home in six months. They could only leave their gifts behind, along with a note asking Old Chu to take care of himself, saying they were doing well and that he could still reach out if he ever needed help, along with other such pleasantries.

On the way back, he laughed and said to his brother, “This old man must have fallen head over heels for money—by rights he’s already made enough to spend several lifetimes over, and he still won’t retire.”

“Some people are just born unable to sit still, has nothing to do with money.”

“If we could live well without hunting jiao, I’d never go back to sea again. I’d find some comfortable little city to settle down in, drink wine, eat meat, grow flowers and plants, sleep in every day till the sun’s high in the sky!”

“Born and raised in the sea, a regional overlord, and yet you want to move ashore—how spineless.”

“Regional overlord… since the day I was born, I’ve never once felt like we were actually ‘lords’ of anything… couldn’t even fill our stomachs half the time. What kind of overlord has it this hard?”

“That’s because you never saw us in our glory days.”

“You’re the one saying ‘in the old days’ now…”

As the two brothers chatted, a smoky, acrid smell drifted over, mildly choking. It had only just gotten dark, and already several fires of incense, candles, and paper money were burning along the nearby street, with people kneeling before the flames, murmuring prayers, hoping their ancestors in the afterlife would bless their descendants and the like. Only then did they remember—by human reckoning, it was nearly Ghost Festival, the time when humans honored their ancestors. Thinking of their own ancestors, and the current state of the Dou Mu clan, the two brothers fell silent for a while.

They were setting off tomorrow. Back on the ship, his brother tidied himself up and went to bed early, as always disciplined, never indulging in excess in his daily habits.

He, however, couldn’t sleep no matter what he tried, that smoky, acrid smell still lingering in his nose.

Lying in bed until deep into the night, he finally got up and stood at the bow to get some air, spotting people still selling paper money and water lanterns on the dock in the distance. On impulse, he got off the ship and casually bought a few paper lanterns.

Just as he turned to head back, he bumped into a woman who was scolding a young child beside her, yanking on the child’s ear. His bump only made her angrier—she rolled her eyes skyward, cursing him for being so big and not watching where he was going, before turning back to scold the child again, something about playing by the water so late at night, weren’t they afraid of being dragged off by a water ghost.

He watched her storm off, half amused, half exasperated—compared to ghosts, wasn’t the demon standing right in front of her, capable of biting her head clean off, far more terrifying?

He shook his head, carried his paper lanterns to a quiet spot by the water, lit the paper boats and lotus lanterns, and, imitating the human custom, set them adrift on the water.

Who to send them to? His mother, perhaps…

She had spent her whole life honestly in the deep sea, having seen fish and shrimp, sea monsters, water plants and reefs, and the occasional shimmer of light filtering down through the water’s surface—beyond that, nothing but ceaselessly flowing seawater, dark in varying shades. She had never seen the sun rise over distant mountains, never seen a bustling teahouse full of chattering voices, never smelled the aroma of a freshly roasted chicken leg fresh from the fire. She hadn’t even known what a whole ship looked like, because of the Thunder God’s warning—she’d never dared even approach the ocean’s surface, living cautiously and carefully to her very last day.

He crouched on the shore, silently watching the paper boat drift away.

After a long while, a gust of cold wind woke him from his thoughts. The water lantern had already drifted far off; guessing at the time, he figured he should head back to sleep.

Just as he was about to stand, from the depths of the water beneath his feet, a ghostly pale hand suddenly shot out and seized his ankle in a firm grip!

Demon or not, it was hard not to be startled.

He gasped, jerking back, landing hard on the stone steps—but the hand gripping him didn’t loosen its hold in the slightest. His own motion pulled a head up out of the water along with it, disheveled black hair hanging down, its face unrecognizable from either side.

That woman’s words from earlier suddenly exploded in his mind—weren’t you afraid of being dragged off by a water ghost!

And wouldn’t you know it, it just happened to be Ghost Festival too…

A layer of cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Before he could even think it through, the “regional overlord” instincts finally kicked in at just the right moment, and he kicked the head in front of him as hard as he could.

“Ow!”

A shrill, pained cry rang out, and the hand gripping him let go at once.

Wait, do human-world ghosts also cry “ow”?!

Something felt off about this…