That night, until the lights went out at bedtime, Fucang never saw that female ghost again.

The snow-white nine-headed lion and snow-white golden carp she had given him—he placed them by his pillow, slowly playing with them with his fingers. Her cultivation must be extremely profound. The white snow didn’t melt even in the dog days of summer, and wisps of cold yin energy drilled out from them, making the stifling summer night feel cool and refreshing.

Why did she suddenly cling to him, give him things, and then suddenly disappear? In that half-asleep state, this question drifted through his not-quite-clear mind. Then he instinctively recalled those various lingering and romantic stories between scholars and female ghosts he had read before. Just as a thread of wariness was about to arise, he fell asleep.

He woke up freezing in the middle of the night. When Fucang opened his eyes, he immediately saw that the female ghost who had vanished was now lying by the bedside, her two eyes bright and alert as she stared at him.

Startled, he quickly turned over and sat up. Utterly helpless and thoroughly suspicious, his voice still carried the hoarse drowsiness of sleep as he spoke, with an added note of coldness: “Humans and ghosts walk different paths. Even if you keep pestering me, it’s useless.”

Who would have thought that her eyes would shine brilliantly like stars, looking at him with nothing but expectation as she asked: “When will you talk in your sleep again?”

Talk in his sleep? For the first time in Fucang’s life, he felt truly powerless: “…I don’t dream and talk in my sleep every time I sleep.”

She nodded and said softly: “Then next time when you’re about to talk in your sleep, remember to call me.”

…How was he supposed to call her? Was she deliberately playing the fool?

Fucang rubbed his temples, his voice growing colder: “Or are you just going to keep following me?”

She floated gracefully to the moon window: “No, I’m leaving right away.”

As if he’d believe that. Fucang had completely lost his sleepiness because of her. After tossing and turning in bed for a long while, he couldn’t help but call out “Hey,” and in almost the blink of an eye, that mass of cold air pressed against his face. She leaned by the bedside, somewhat happy: “Are you going to talk in your sleep now?”

He let out a breath and looked at her for a long moment before saying helplessly: “If I were really about to talk in my sleep, there’d be no way to call you. Don’t you understand this? Just speak plainly—what do you want by pestering me?”

Xuan Yi hesitated for a moment, sat on the meditation cushion by the bed, and cleared her throat: “I came to apologize. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

After speaking, she stared at the space between his brows, but still didn’t see a light spot appear.

Fucang turned to lie on his side: “Apologize for what?”

Xuan Yi said softly: “I’ve been pestering you. I’m sorry.”

His gaze fell on her pale face, truly somewhat baffled: “Since you know to apologize, why do you keep on pestering?”

Xuan Yi didn’t speak. Seeing that he had placed the snow-white nine-headed lion and golden carp by his pillow, she picked them up to stroke them, then suddenly asked him: “Do you like these?”

Fucang said indifferently: “They’re alright.”

Xuan Yi spun the golden carp round and round in her palm, saying in a small voice: “Then if I don’t pester you, and send you one of these playthings every day… would you be willing to forgive me?”

The word “forgive” was too heavy. He hadn’t reached that level of feeling—he was simply wary and resistant at being suddenly entangled by a beautiful female ghost. But for some reason, he felt somewhat unwilling to let her have her way. With that expression carrying a hint of unwillingness and anxiety, how could this be considered an apology?

“That depends on my mood.” He propped his head on his hand and reclined, grabbing the snow-white nine-headed lion and bouncing it in his palm.

Xuan Yi frowned and glanced at him. Even after becoming a mortal, this guy still had that nose-in-the-air, full-of-himself attitude. She suddenly reached out to snatch the snow-white nine-headed lion from his hand. His reaction was remarkably quick—he drew his hand back. Her ice-cold hand gripped his wrist, freezing him with a shudder, but the nine-headed lion was still snatched away by her in the end.

He’s so weak now! Xuan Yi felt triumphant. She extended a finger and tapped his forehead: “Then be careful, or this time it’ll be my turn to be the brute.”

The spot on his forehead where she had touched also carried heavy coldness. With such bone-chilling cold, she really was a female ghost.

Fucang suddenly felt that his earlier banter with her was somewhat absurd. Without saying a word, he turned over and covered his head with the blanket, saying coldly: “I need to sleep. Leave.”

Unexpectedly, she actually climbed onto the bed and forcibly pulled open his blanket with her hands. The ice-cold aura drew near as her gentle voice came like a cool breeze: “Are you angry?”

He opened his eyes again and looked at her cheek, which in the moonlight was like frost and jade porcelain. Suddenly he had an impulse—he wanted to reach out and touch this ice-like skin and jade-like bones that seemed not to exist in the mortal world. He did extend his hand, but in the end was conquered by a thread of reason. His fingertip lightly touched her hair, which was also ice-cold.

An inexplicable silky softness arose from within his body. Fucang said in a low voice: “I’m not angry.”

The hazy moonlight of the lower realm all melted into his eyes, as if that Fucang Shenjun with tender eyes had returned. Xuan Yi’s eyes stung a little. She shifted her gaze to look at the small silver moon at the edge of the sky. After a while, she heard him ask: “…What’s your name?”

She was silent for a moment, then shook her head: “I don’t have a name. Sleep now. Have a pleasant dream.”

Just as she had suddenly appeared, she suddenly disappeared again, leaving only a trace of cold air in the wind.

The next morning when he got up, as soon as Fucang pushed open the door, he saw her standing lightly on the pear tree. Seeing him come out, she descended before him like a feather and opened her hand. In her palm was a small sword made of white snow—it was Chun Jun, his sword from when he was in the upper realm.

Xuan Yi placed the small sword in his hand, smiled faintly, and didn’t say a word.

“What’s this?” Fucang didn’t know where she came up with these strange and peculiar things. This sword had an extremely ancient and simple design—he had never seen it before.

Xuan Yi kindly reminded this Shenjun who had become somewhat stupid and weak after becoming a mortal: “This is a sword.”

He of course knew this was a sword.

Fucang didn’t know what to say. Seeing her turn around to float away again, he subconsciously called out to stop her: “Where are you going?”

Xuan Yi had already transformed into a clear breeze and floated far away, leaving only her voice lingering in the air: “Not telling.”

Fucang completed his morning lessons somewhat distractedly. After breakfast, he went to the academy. Not far from the Green Emperor Temple, a group of women had stopped again to look at him. No matter how the guards shouted, their chattering voices only grew louder and louder.

Fucang stood before the carriage and looked around. Where exactly was that female ghost hiding? As if possessed by a ghost himself, he suddenly asked: “Are you there?”

The next moment, that mass of cold air emerged from behind the stone sculpture in front of the Green Emperor Temple: “What’s the matter?”

She really came out! Fucang felt awkward for a moment and said hesitantly: “Do you want to… ride in the carriage together?”

She tilted her head to think about it, then nimbly and decisively dove into the carriage: “That’s fine. I’ve long wanted to try riding in a mortal’s carriage.”

Fucang silently and wordlessly got into the carriage. The carriage turned around and slowly proceeded toward the academy. He turned his head to look at her. She was lying against the carriage window, and whenever she spotted something, she would point and ask: “What’s that?”

He had no choice but to also lean toward the carriage window and crane his neck to look. For a moment, he couldn’t help but feel amused: “That’s an inn. You don’t know?”

She knew some things and didn’t know others, but she definitely knew about inns—last time at the Green Emperor Palace, Gu Ting had explained them over and over countless times.

“I know. It’s just a place with several rooms where people eat and sleep.”

His smile deepened: “Mm… that’s also correct.”

Before long, she pointed at another place and asked: “What’s that? Is someone holding a banquet to entertain guests?”

Fucang looked over. It turned out to be the breakfast vendors on Jade Water Bridge—steam was billowing wildly when the bamboo steamers were opened.

“That’s a place to eat.”

The moment the words left his mouth, she had already transformed into a gust of wild wind and rushed out. When she came back, she was holding several piping hot steamed buns and mantou in her hands. Not bothered by the heat, she took a small bite and ate while looking particularly disdainful: “Awful, awful.”

Fucang was simply stunned by her: “…Did you pay?”

Xuan Yi asked strangely: “What is paying?”

Fucang rubbed his temples: “Never mind. Just eat.”

Without warning, she held those buns and mantou out before him, not turning her head: “They’re not good. Here.”

After speaking, she froze herself—the bad habits from the upper realm had reared their head again. Xuan Yi slowly drew her hand back and said indifferently: “I was just kidding. Don’t take it seriously.”

But he took those buns and mantou that she had bitten into, wrapped them in white paper, and seeing her stare at him, he was rarely somewhat embarrassed: “I’ll take them to feed the flower cat.”

Xuan Yi became happy again. Seeing that along the way there were always women chasing the carriage from afar, she asked: “What are they doing?”

Fucang avoided this topic and brought up the matter of money again: “You have to pay to buy things. Money is this.”

He fished out a string of copper coins from a box. Xuan Yi picked them up to look at them: “Can you buy anything with this?”

“More or less.” Actually, he wasn’t very clear either—he basically never had anything he needed to personally go buy himself.

He didn’t notice the gleam in Xuan Yi’s eyes. When they arrived at the academy, she disappeared again. An ordinary day passed quickly. In the evening when the lights were put out, Fucang had just laid down on the bed when he suddenly heard several dull thuds, as if something heavy had been thrown hard on the ground. He turned over and looked in horror at several enormous wooden chests that had appeared in the room. Inside them, piles and piles of gold bars dazzled his eyes.

That mad female ghost was crouching by the bedside, looking up at him with anticipation: “I spent all day going around, and heard mortals say this is the most valuable thing. I brought this many—is it enough?”

Fucang was bewildered and astonished: “…Enough for what?”

“To buy forgiveness.” Xuan Yi was extremely serious.