Prologue

I am a demon, yet I love this world just as it is.

Both Jiu Jue and I let out a deep, invisible breath of blood.

This woman of unknown origin told us she was Ao Chi’s mother…

That was not something either of us could immediately take in stride.

Neither of us had ever looked into Ao Chi’s background — after all, we were all so close. But precisely because we were so close, what we knew of him was this: he was a dragon with a terrible temper, the grandson of the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea, heir to the throne, who had once had a wretched twin brother, who was jealous by nature, and who loved to eat — especially sweets. All of it. That was the sum total of what we knew.

Neither of us had ever given his parents a second thought, and he had never brought them up. We’d had passing questions about it before, but had quickly forgotten them — there was always so much to do, and who would keep something like family background in mind? I had married Ao Chi, not his parents, and certainly not his history. It was for precisely this reason that when a question none of us had ever considered a question suddenly detonated before us with the force of a nuclear bomb, I hoped I could come to terms with it quickly — even if that was, admittedly, a little difficult.

“Bring that child back quickly,” the woman said, her tone turning urgent as she looked at the uncle. “He came here, recognized me, and forced his dragon pearl into my body — only then did I wake from my previous state. He has vowed to free me from this form I’m trapped in. But if he keeps going like this without end, even a body of iron and steel will be exhausted to death. Right now, he can still be saved — and only you can save him!”

“This fool is quite generous — handing over something as important as a dragon pearl to a demon without a second thought!” The uncle let out a cold snort. “A devoted mother and filial son — why not simply accept this kindness.”

“I beg of you! There is little time. They have been searching for Ao Chi’s whereabouts. I have used my demon power to temporarily conceal his scent, but I cannot sustain it much longer. I have no control over my own condition or state of mind — I do not know when I might sink back into my stupor. If this body still had any hope of being saved, do you think I wouldn’t want to fulfill his wish? But I am trapped too deeply. There is no cure. This body has become something entirely different from what it once was. If you don’t want to watch Ao Chi die before your eyes, then act now.”

The uncle still did not move.

“I don’t care what grievances lie between the three of you. But if you stand by and let Ao Chi die, I will never forgive you.” I seized the uncle’s arm. “Or if there’s something you want in exchange, just say so.”

“Forgive me? I have not yet forgiven you, and yet you presume to lecture me!”

The uncle didn’t even glance at me. He furrowed his brow and walked around to stand behind Ao Chi. He opened his mouth slightly, gathered his energy, and from between his lips slowly breathed out a thread of brilliant golden light — small in volume, yet blazing like the Milky Way itself, impossible to look at directly. In an instant the golden light melted into his palm. He drew a deep breath, pressed his hand firmly against Ao Chi’s back, and closed his eyes in concentration. His right arm began to tremble — first slightly, then violently — as scattered points of light flickered in and out of existence just below the woman’s brow. The more his movements intensified, the brighter those points of light on her face grew, and they began to move downward along her features. Several minutes later, a rounded mass of violet-gold flame “flowed” into the woman’s hand. The uncle opened his eyes, pressed harder — and with a sharp hiss, the flame shot along their tightly clasped hands and surged into Ao Chi’s body, violently wrenching them apart.

The uncle slowly exhaled and lowered his hand. Great drops of sweat fell from his brow to the floor — and there they became pearl-white orbs, bouncing and rolling away.

I had only ever heard that the tears of mermaids turned to pearls. How could the sweat of a lecherous old uncle do the same?!

Pakal stared blankly and picked up one of the pearls that had bounced to his feet, mouth agape.

Not that I had any interest in that right now, even if someone had told me the uncle’s sweat could refine gold. I rushed over and propped up that wretch who had collapsed to the floor, letting him lean against me, anxiously testing his breath and feeling for his pulse, slapping his face and calling his name without stopping. Soon enough, color gradually returned to the man’s face, and his eyes slowly opened.

“You… what are you doing here?” He looked at me, not yet fully conscious.

I let out a great sigh of relief and asked, “Whose wife am I?”

“Have you lost your mind?” he shot back. “Or do you think I’ve died, so you’ve remarried?”

That set my mind at ease — his brain was working fine. I helped him sit upright, then gazed deeply into his eyes — and slapped him across the face.

“You—” Ao Chi was stunned, hand flying to his cheek as he started to explode.

I held up two fingers. “Twice!”

He blinked. “What?”

“Going missing.” I pinched his ear. “I’ve said it more than once — if you pull a disappearing act on me one more time, I’ll cut off your ears and feed them to the pigs!”

I couldn’t help it. My eyes had gone red.

“I… I’ll explain later.”

Ao Chi gripped my hand tightly, climbed to his feet, and strode quickly back to the woman’s side. It was only then that he noticed the uncle standing across from him — severe and cold, more like a statue than a man with breath in his lungs.

“How did you end up here too?” Ao Chi frowned, clearly very unhappy to see the uncle’s face. They clearly knew each other — and well.

“I thought your first words would be ‘thank you,'” the uncle said, glaring at him. Then he threw a fist into Ao Chi’s stomach. “You are absolutely reckless! Is a dragon pearl something you can just take out and hand over to anyone?!”

Ao Chi stumbled back several steps, then straightened up and said, “Anyone else could ignore her. Only I could not. Other than this method, I couldn’t think of another.”

Upon hearing this, the woman resting with her head on the table slowly raised her face, staring blankly at Ao Chi, tears spilling from her eyes.

The uncle jabbed a furious finger at his nose. “You are all the same… you never listen to anyone! If I had known you would be this foolish today, I never should have told you everything back then.”

With that, his furious fist rose again — but it stopped in midair, less than half an inch from my head. I had stepped between the two of them at just the right moment. Had I miscalculated by even a fraction, that fist would have found me.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Ao Chi cried out, alarmed and furious at once.

I ignored him and said to the uncle, “If you’re doing this on my behalf, I’ll accept it. But if not, I cannot let you strike someone from my family.” I looked at the woman. “And if she truly is Ao Chi’s mother, then you have even less reason to hit him.”

“You foolish girl, you know nothing of this,” the uncle said, lowering his fist.

I turned back to Ao Chi. “Is she really your mother? Was everything you just did only to help her?”

“Yes,” Ao Chi replied without hesitation.

“Then now I know everything I need to know.” I turned back to the uncle. “I see no problem with what he did. Unless you simply don’t want to see Ao Chi’s mother alive.”

“For a very long time, my greatest wish was that this calamitous woman had never appeared in this world at all.” The uncle made a strenuous effort to calm himself. “Everything you’ve said is correct. My greatest mistake was allowing her to live back then.”

With that, he suddenly lunged at the woman. In his raised hand, a half-transparent long blade appeared from nowhere.

“Stop!” Ao Chi threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around the uncle’s waist. The two men grappled together, and I couldn’t get between them — so I had no choice but to plant myself in front of Ao Chi’s mother and serve as her human shield.

“Shaluo, you are…” the woman said urgently from behind me.

“I don’t know what happened between you and the others in the past, but you are Ao Chi’s mother.” I glanced back at her. “Protecting family — it’s a habit of mine.”

“You child…” The woman’s tears broke free, and she suddenly seized my hand. “I have no gift to give you. The only thing I can offer you is this.”

She seemed to use every last bit of her strength to pull me around to face her. Our eyes met, and those bright, expressive eyes — like the clear autumn waters — suddenly swept me into a field of blinding blood-red light. My consciousness folded together with memories that were not my own—

Between a crescent moon, a low hill lay blanketed in haze. In the crevice of a rock, she let out a yawn and stared vacantly at the moon — her only entertainment after dark.

She was a demon: a small green blade of grass was her true form. Unlike the other wild creatures in the mountain, this tiny body of less than two feet bore faintly raised markings of violet-blue — patterned like human ears. She could mimic every sound she heard, luring the small beasts of the mountain close, then extending from those “ears” a long, silk-thin tendril to coil tightly around her prey and drain it of its flesh and blood. The other demons in the mountain looked down on her. They said she couldn’t walk, couldn’t leap — all she could do was eat tiny things. She was destined to be a worthless Whispering Thief.

This made her a little sad. It wasn’t as though that was all she could do. Over the years, countless people had passed through the mountain, and she had heard every one of them clearly — what they said aloud, and what they kept locked in their hearts. She heard the woodcutter’s silent worry over his sick wife. She heard the passing scholar praying to place at the top of the imperial examinations. And there were those groups of children who ran into the mountain to play — each one’s heart full of thoughts of delicious things and wonderful games.

She had never once thought of eating any of them. Though she subsisted on small beasts and insects and was never quite full, she simply couldn’t bring herself to eat people who were alive and breathing. She still remembered the elderly couple who had sat down beside her to rest after a long walk, chatting idly about that year’s harvest, about a son far away. She remembered the hot-headed young man who swore at the sky and the empty air that when he went home, he would train twice as hard, and next time he would absolutely not lose to that fat boy Li Er-gou. And there were so many others — people who passed by her on sunny days, leaving behind all kinds of laughter.

She was fond of these people. How could she eat them? Without them, her world would have no pleasant sounds at all.

Then came that night, when thunder and rain crashed down together, and she watched with her own eyes as an injured fox demon, unable to flee, was struck by lightning and turned to cinders.

The scorched smell of burned flesh and fur drifted all around. Looking at the fox demon’s remains, she felt, for the first time, a genuine terror — and a desperate longing to leave this place.

In the end, she did eat a person. A beautiful young girl of fifteen or sixteen, who had come into the mountain searching for her lost cat. She heard the girl’s longing in her heart, and imitated a cat’s cry — it was far too easy.

Human flesh, warm and tender — and with it, she shattered her constraints and transformed into a child who looked exactly like that girl. No — more beautiful than the girl had been. For she was no human, but a demon: a creature of ten thousand graces, unlike any other.

And yet, the happiness she had imagined did not come. She looked at the new reflection in the water and wept through the entire night.

When dawn broke, she swore she would never devour a person again. The screams of human terror and despair were like knives in her heart. For many years afterward, she heard the girl’s cries and pleas in her dreams nearly every night. She wandered far and wide — until one day, she crossed paths with a thousand-year-old bat demon hunting for prey. She could not beat it, and when it was about to drain her of her vital blood, a great winged serpent surged from the shadows and swallowed the bat demon whole.

The serpent transformed into a lean, pale young man who called himself Lord Liu. She followed her savior to his residence beneath the earth — a sprawling manor where hundreds upon hundreds of snakes of every kind gathered, all of them calling Lord Liu their king.

With no home to return to, she came to regard Lord Liu as a second set of parents. At his invitation, she took up permanent residence in the Snake Den. At least here, she was safe. Sometimes Lord Liu would bring her to the market, to let her listen for what was most on a particular person’s mind. She had always assumed this was simply his idle curiosity. He treated her well, and so did the snakes of the den — they would often take the form of people of all ages, and when they weren’t busy, they would keep her company in conversation. She was content with this life. Yet a shadow in her heart refused to fade — until the day she began learning medicine from an old snake in the den, following it into the city to treat the sick and injured. When she saw those who had been at death’s door regain their lives, she felt at last that she had found the way to put her own heart at ease.

And so she set up a thatched cottage in the city, offering consultations for free, throwing herself into saving lives. Those who received her care all called her the Celestial Woman Doctor.

She fell in love with this life. The old shadow, in the gratitude of patient after patient, gradually fell away.

But she could never have imagined that one day, she would meet such a person.

That afternoon, the sunlight was blazing and bright. Outside the cottage, the fishermen along the river cried out in alarm and scattered in all directions. She had no time to pay attention to what was happening outside — she was focused intently on bandaging a patient with burns.

When the tall, handsome man appeared in the cottage doorway, swinging by its neck the head of a nine-finned venomous shark, her heart lurched several times — though she gave no outward sign.

The man asked strangely: Why haven’t you run? They were all frightened away by me.

She only said: You’re blocking my light. Would you mind stepping aside.

The shark’s head was still dripping blood, its ferocious eyes not yet closed. She glanced at it, then bent back over her work.

The man left. She breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the matter had ended there.

She was wrong. From that day on, the man seemed to have found his most entertaining new toy — he was constantly coming by, trying to frighten her in every manner conceivable. But she remained entirely unmoved, her attention always on her patients and her medicine.

In the end, having exhausted all other methods, he simply revealed his true form: a great, magnificent dragon of silver-violet, who seized her in his jaws and lifted her into the air, then tossed her down with glee, wanting nothing more than to watch her scream and go pale with terror.

She didn’t make a sound. She turned herself into a blade of grass and drifted safely to the ground.

What is it you actually want? she said, having resumed her human form, finally losing her patience.

You’re a demon? He grabbed her.

She met his gaze without fear. I know that dragons like you specialize in slaying demons. Go ahead.

He released her and laughed. You are nothing like the women in the Eastern Sea — tease them even a little and they go to pieces. Since you are not afraid of me at all, killing you would be no fun. When you finally do fear me, we’ll revisit the subject.

She laughed at that, without meaning to, and said: How could there be someone as strange as you in this world.

A Whispering Thief, saying: How could there be someone as strange as you in this world.

After that day, he came to find her almost every day, and gradually stopped trying to frighten her. He said he loved watching her smile — yet she rarely smiled, always seeming burdened by something.

He asked around widely and gathered everything that was said to make a woman happy, piling it all into her cottage. Dazzling jewels, a somersaulting little dog, beautiful flowers — he wanted her to be happy. He said that whenever she smiled, his heart lit up like a lantern.

She distributed the jewels to the poor and kept the little dog and the flowers.

Gradually, the two of them went from being adversaries to people who could sit side by side on the riverbank and talk.

She soon came to know everything about him — he hid nothing.

Ze. The Dragon King of the Eastern Sea had spent three full days thinking of that name before bestowing it on his only son.

He had never disappointed his father. From childhood he had been courageous and perceptive, intelligent and refined. As he grew, he became a formidable warrior, sending the demons and monsters near the Eastern Sea fleeing at the mere sound of his name. His temperament, however, was willful — he had never placed much value on rules and propriety.

On that particular day, he had spent seven days and seven nights in pursuit of a venomous shark that had fled into an inland river before finally striking it down. He laughed heartily at the sight of all the people he’d frightened away — and then, among those fleeing, caught sight of her, sitting perfectly calm in the window of the cottage.

If I had known, I would have run too, she said, laughing.

Now that I’ve come, he replied, half-joking and half-earnest, you won’t be able to run.

From time to time, men who coveted her beauty would find excuses to come and make trouble. Not a single one escaped without a bloodied nose and bruised face. She watched the man who stood guard at her door through the entire night without sleep, and something she had never felt before quietly took root in her heart.

But — could it be? He was the Dragon King’s son. She was only a demon. A Whispering Thief — a lowly creature universally despised.

Nothing could come of it.

After a night of careful thought, one afternoon when the weather was fine, she told him the whole truth of her past, calmly and plainly.

This way, he would certainly leave her. A dragon who slew demons — how could he stay with a lowly demon who had once eaten a person?

But he seemed not to have heard any of it. He only said: So what.

She began to avoid him, never returning to the cottage. The friends in the Snake Den all advised her to sever ties with him — they said she must not provoke the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan; if they ever discovered the Snake Den, the old and the young would surely pay with their lives.

He searched for her like a madman. Finding nothing, he stopped eating and drinking and stationed himself at the cottage to wait.

She watched from a distance. Recalling everything that had passed between them, she could not bring herself to leave him like this. In the end, she walked to his side.

Let us marry, the two of us. He heard her footsteps and didn’t raise his head, turning a wild blade of grass over in his fingers.

I am a demon. She had ten thousand things to say. What came out were those four words.

You are you, he said with a smile. A woman I cannot frighten.

And so? She smiled too.

And so I want to try — whether marriage is something that will frighten you. If you say yes, it means I’ve failed again. He stood and looked into her eyes.

She had thought she could only hear human hearts. But in that moment, she heard his heart with perfect clarity.

She said: Then you are destined to fail again.

One pair of red candles. One round bright moon. One pair of newlyweds — and just like that, the marriage was made.

Whispering together at each other’s ears, wandering beneath flowers and moonlight — they became the most ordinary, and most extraordinary, of blessings. She felt she had reached the very peak of happiness. But when something reaches its extreme, the road ahead grows harder to walk. She began to feel uneasy, began to fear that one morning she might wake and find it all dissolved into nothing.

Soon enough, the Dragon King — whose eyes and ears were everywhere — learned of their situation. He said nothing. He simply sent someone to notify Ze that there was an important matter to discuss, and that he should return to the Dragon Palace at once.

Ze told her he would be home within three days.

But ten days passed, and he did not return.

Then, while she was in a state of anxious confusion, Lord Liu came to see her — and told her that Ze had gone back to the Eastern Sea to be married. The news of the marriage between the Eastern Sea Dragon King’s only son and the Western Sea Dragon King’s youngest princess, Ming Ji, had already spread throughout the realm. How could the dragons of the Eastern Sea have any real feelings for a demon? Lord Liu expressed his sympathy and patted her on the head.

Her heart ached a little — as though a tear had been ripped in it. But wasn’t this a good thing? A perfectly matched pair, equal in every way.

I understand, she said, smiling at Lord Liu. And then she quietly went on with her days.

On the third day after Lord Liu left, Ze returned — and wrapped his arms around her and refused to let go.

Where did you go? she asked, smiling.

Where I went is not important. What matters is where I came back to, he said.

And she asked nothing more — simply set out the hot, steaming meal as she always had.

The next day, while he was still asleep, she left the house and returned to the Snake Den.

She told the old snake she would not be going back.

Several days later, Lord Liu returned from outside. He was overjoyed to see her. Deep in the night, he came to find her, brought her to a secluded corner of the Snake Den — and then suddenly dropped to his knees, weeping, begging her for help.

She was astonished and asked what had happened.

Lord Liu said the Snake Den was on the verge of a great catastrophe. Without the green amber eyes from the Spiritual Phoenix’s Twelve Coffins, the old and the young of the den would not escape disaster. Only she could obtain those twelve green amber eyes.

She had always trusted Lord Liu and had no suspicion of his words. But what could a small demon like her possibly do?

Lord Liu told her: these items belonged to the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan.

She understood at once.

After brooding in the Snake Den for several days, she returned home.

That night, the exhausted Ze came home after searching everywhere for her in vain. When he saw her, he was so overjoyed he couldn’t contain himself — he didn’t even ask where she had gone, only said that she was back and that was all that mattered.

She didn’t meet his eyes. With her head bowed, she told him that a close friend was gravely ill — only the green amber eyes from within the Eastern Sea could save her life. She produced the ink-jade gourd that Lord Liu had given her, saying it was a vessel made for carrying the amber eyes, and she asked him, for the sake of their marriage, to save her friend.

She felt herself how clumsy the lie was. She felt a little guilty — but not very. She even hoped the lie would be exposed immediately, so he would shout “liar” at her and be done with her, and go back to the person who was his equal.

Is it truly your friend who needs the green amber eyes? he asked.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

He took the ink-jade gourd, said not another word, and walked out the door.

Several days later, he returned home covered in wounds and placed the ink-jade gourd in her hands.

Go save your friend, he said, touching her cheek.

I… Her heart was in chaos. She wanted to tell him she had lied. But in the end she said nothing, took the gourd, and hurried out of the house.

She had not expected that Ze — who had always trusted her — would follow her all the way to the Snake Den this time.

Lord Liu laughed and accepted the ink-jade gourd, lavishing praise on her abilities. He declared that he had known all along only she could make that foolish dragon risk his life. Now that they had the amber eyes, great things could be accomplished!

There was no catastrophe threatening the Snake Den? she asked, bewildered.

Lord Liu smiled but said nothing.

But no one had anticipated that the true catastrophe would arrive so quickly, so easily.

He transformed into a dragon, eyes blazing with fury and killing intent unlike anything she had ever seen. Flame roared from his jaws — and in an instant the Snake Den was filled with screams, the old and the young turned to ash. Even Lord Liu could not escape. He was gutted by Ze’s dragon fangs and swallowed whole.

She crouched in a corner of the Snake Den and stared at the raging dragon, dumbstruck.

These twelve green amber eyes were kept deep within the Eastern Sea, in the Dragon Tomb. I came to blows with my father over them. He said plainly — what you wanted was only this gourd, not me.

The man who had returned to human form looked at the ink-jade gourd he had snatched back from Lord Liu’s hands.

She pressed her lips shut and said nothing.

He said that demons are vile and inferior creatures — they bewitch people, harm living things, and above all, they deceive. To prove his judgment wrong, I decided to follow you and see for myself. How much I hoped you would prove him wrong — that we could openly defeat my father’s prejudice together. But what I gave my life and my place among the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan to obtain was handed over in this manner, to those wretched demons and monsters.

He spoke word by word, his face betraying neither joy nor sorrow.

Go back, she said, drawing a deep breath. Go back to your Princess Ming Ji. She is the wife who truly matches you — noble and worthy.

He seized her wrist with a grip that could have shattered bone. She set her jaw and refused to make a sound.

In his blind fury, he hurled the ink-jade gourd to the ground. The twelve green amber eyes flew out like startled birds and scattered in every direction. He reached out on instinct to catch them — but one amber eye pierced straight into his palm of its own accord, leaving no trace. The remaining eleven burst out of the Snake Den and were gone.

She chased after them out of the den and saw him panting, standing with his back to her in the last sliver of evening light.

I never even lifted her veil.

He threw out those words and walked away without looking back.

She sank down, powerless. She could never have imagined that this parting would be permanent.

She went to a distant small town, carrying within her the life that was quietly stirring. Yes — she was with child. She had not yet had the chance to tell him, and now they were lost to each other forever.

The child was born safely — a pair of twins who looked so much like their father.

Several days later, a stranger came to her home. He looked at her coldly and said: You caused a father to lose his son forever.

Are you going to kill me? she asked.

The man shook his head. That would dirty my hands.

The two infants let out a wailing cry.

The man’s expression shifted as he glanced toward the inner room. He clenched his jaw and turned to leave.

Wait. She called out to him. One month from now, go to the base of the mountain deity’s statue behind the mountain. Someone will be waiting for you there.

He paused for half a second, then walked out the door.

She returned to the inner room, gathered the two swaddled infants in her arms, and slowly began to sing a lullaby.

A month later, she left the children beneath the thatched cottage behind the mountain. Tucked in each bundle was a name she had embroidered with careful stitches — in the elder brother’s: the character Shuo. In the younger’s: the character Chi.

You cannot live as the children of a failed demon — small and shadowed and ashamed. You are sons of a dragon. Lives blazing with brilliance, burning with pride — that is the path meant for you.

In the pouring rain, she watched the children be carried away, and her heart hurt so deeply that it stopped hurting altogether.

In the years that followed, she drifted like a living ghost — wandering with no apparent purpose, yet always moving in the direction of the Eastern Sea.

So it turned out — the longing in one’s heart could not be severed after all.

She settled in a fishing village near the Eastern Sea. Every day she sat staring out at the vast waters. Whenever a soldier-shrimp or soldier-crab from the Eastern Sea happened to pass, she would find every excuse to ask them about the Dragon King’s grandson.

Then one day, a drunken old turtle told her that the Dragon King’s younger grandson was terribly mischievous — always sneaking off to the shore to play with the human children of the fishing village, no amount of scolding making the slightest difference.

A sudden hope bloomed in her, and from that day on she lingered in the village every day, hoping it would be as the old turtle said. Even just one glimpse would be enough.

That day, after the rain had cleared, a rainbow hung in the sky. She sat at the village entrance as usual. In the distance, a child of five or six years old came bounding toward the fishing village in a fine purple-red robe, full of delight. He was still so small, and yet his features and bearing were already so handsome and upright — one could only imagine what a remarkable person he would grow into.

She held back the tears threatening to fall. While Ao Chi was playing with the village children she strolled over, pretending to be casual, and asked: Child, what is your name?

Ao Chi! He was not shy in the least. He tilted up his rosy little face and answered with natural ease. And you? Who are you?

I… She bit her lip, reached out and patted his head, and smiled. I’m just someone staying in the village for a while. I love the children here — they are all very sweet.

That’s right! I love playing with them too! They know so many games, not like home, where no one wants to play with me. They just tell me to study, study, study. Ao Chi pouted, looking utterly adorable.

Studying is a good thing. You should listen to your family. She held back the pain in her heart and gently asked: Your parents — won’t they play with you either?

I don’t have parents. Little Ao Chi shrugged. Grandfather says they’re both dead.

Don’t cry, hold it back, hold it back. She steadied herself, smiled, and asked: Would you like to try the sesame biscuits I make? All your little friends love them.

Yes! he said without hesitation.

Two people — one big, one small — meeting for the first time, yet with not a trace of unfamiliarity between them. That delight in each other, that complete lack of guard, seemed long buried in the blood.

Because of her, and because of her fragrant sesame biscuits, Ao Chi came sneaking up to shore more and more often. He grew increasingly fond of clinging to her. When he lost a game with his friends, he came to her in a huff demanding justice; when he hurt himself, he always had to run to her before he would let out a wail; he loved pressing his sesame-smeared mouth to her face, getting it all over her, then throwing his head back and laughing his heart out; when he was tired, he would curl up in her arms and drift off to sleep, and in his dreams he would always be clutching her hand tightly.

She asked him: Why do you love being with me so much? You don’t even know my name.

I don’t know, Ao Chi shook his head. You smell like something really good — I’ve never smelled it anywhere else. But being with you just makes me happy. He grinned. Will you come home with me?

She startled. Why?

Ao Chi poked out his lower lip. Even the little crab who makes my bed has a mom and dad. A few days ago I saw them come to find him — it was his birthday, and they brought him all kinds of delicious things. The whole family was so happy. And me… he bowed his head, I have nothing. My brother spends all day studying and doesn’t pay me any attention. If you come home with me, I’ll tell Grandfather — let him make you my mom, okay?

She pulled Ao Chi into her arms and held him tight. Her tears broke free. When you’re grown up, she said, things like this won’t make you sad anymore.

What else could she say?

When little Ao Chi was once again coaxed and herded back into the Eastern Sea by the soldier-shrimp and soldier-crab, she hid far away and watched her son’s figure disappear into the waves above the sea. In her heart, she said I’m sorry ten thousand times.

The next day, she quietly left the fishing village. Knowing the child was being looked after well — she could rest easy.

She went to a distant, deep mountain, returned to the form she had first taken, and stopped eating. With nothing left to hold her, she let herself slowly sink into endless sleep.

She did not know how much time had passed when a cold sensation jolted her awake.

She opened her eyes but could see nothing clearly. Through the blur, she only sensed that someone was pouring a green liquid with a strange fragrance into her body — yet it felt pleasant, like the deep satisfaction of a full meal. Her dissipated strength rapidly gathered back, seeming even stronger than before. But her vision remained clouded. In the end she only saw a hand reaching toward her before everything went dark again.

After that she drifted in and out of consciousness several times, finding herself inside a wooden house, blurred walls on all sides, and a familiar yet utterly unfamiliar figure supporting her shoulders, slowly feeding that green liquid into her mouth. She could not move — her body seemed fixed in place. Everything grew more and more wrong. She felt increasingly hungry, a hunger that crawled from her heart down to her feet and spread rapidly outward. Her thoughts grew more and more disordered. All day long her mind held only one thing: eating. She could not control it. In her stupor, she felt her body expanding and changing — splitting apart, traveling through the earth beneath her, learning her old abilities: listening into hearts, mimicking voices, swallowing countless prey. She was in anguish but powerless to stop it. When she was lucid, she could still force herself to stop feeding. But as the green liquid was forced into her in greater and greater quantities, her moments of lucidity grew fewer and farther between. Sometimes she felt dark figures moving around her; sometimes she felt as though she and the world were alone together. But most of the time she was sunk in an abyss, her mind blank, with only one vague compulsion — upward. Until Ao Chi came.

He had not only recognized in her the woman who had once made him sesame biscuits — he also knew she was his mother.

When he sent his dragon pearl into her body to purify her, she came back from another episode of blankness. Seeing the grown Ao Chi, she was naturally too shocked for words.

She asked how he had found her. Ao Chi said he had simply followed a familiar scent.

While Ao Chi poured all his strength into driving the evil power from her body, mother and son — bound in spirit — met in consciousness within the void. She heard her son’s voice, heard him console her not to worry, that he would certainly restore her to normal. He kept encouraging her, told her she had to keep living well and leave with him, that she absolutely must come meet his extraordinary tree-demon daughter-in-law, that she had to come back with them to Bu Ting and drink a cup of the most awful yet most wonderful tea in the world.

She was so happy. How she longed to go see the little shop called Bu Ting with her grown and settled son.

But it was too late. Her body could no longer be saved. She knew how deep-rooted that power had become. Yet Ao Chi had no intention of giving up — he kept pouring in his own strength, his consciousness growing more and more scattered…

Bang!

The sound of the uncle and Ao Chi hitting the ground yanked me back from that distant, detached world.

I had only been adrift for an instant — and yet it felt as though I had lived through several lifetimes.

Looking at the woman’s face, now even more haggard than before, I wiped the cold sweat from my brow and said, disbelieving: “You just…”

“Gave you my memories.” She smiled a little. “I hope you don’t mind this sort of gift. I was unable to accompany Ao Chi as he grew up, unable to see him take a wife and build a home. I am entirely absent from your lives. In a better world, these memories should have been shared over good weather, a family sitting together in the sunshine, the two of you listening patiently while I rambled on. But I’m afraid…” she paused. “There is no more time.”

“There must be a way to restore you to what you were before!” I seized her cold hands.

“Ao Chi is a guileless child — proud and at the same time fragile.” She looked into my eyes with complete sincerity. “I can feel how much you mean to him. Shaluo, I beg of you — as a mother — no matter what happens in the future, don’t do what I did. Don’t cast him aside. Fate is a strange thing. The way things ended for me and his father… and the way things are between the two of you now — you are so like us. Please don’t become what we were. People who love each other should not tell lies… never, ever!”

“I understand. I promise.” I nodded hard. Her hands were growing colder, her very body beginning to convulse.

“Stop fighting! Just stop it!” I whipped around and screamed at the two men. “Ao Chi, get over here!”

Across the room, Ao Chi started, ducked under the uncle’s fist, and came rushing over.

“Ao Chi…” The woman’s trembling hand reached up to stroke his face, straining to speak. “I’m sorry… if you ever meet your father… tell him… tell him…”

Her words cut off abruptly. Her eyes flew wide open. The faint color that had still been in her lips began to turn dark purple. Her entire body shook violently.

“Mom…” Ao Chi gripped her hands helplessly. “Don’t — you still have to come back with me! Don’t do this!”

At the same moment, the entire room and the ground beneath it began to tremble. A sense of imminent catastrophe swept over us — as though the sky were about to fall and the earth split open.

“They’re coming…” The woman’s teeth knocked together as she forced out those few words. After that, she could no longer speak. Exposed on her pale skin, threads of green — veins, branching and pulsing — spread from shallow to deep in grotesque, shifting patterns. The shaking of the house grew more violent. The blossom buds carved into the walls and floors burst open all at once, each one thrusting out a disgusting green tongue and issuing a frenzied hissing noise.

Inside the room, things were looking very bad. Outside, things were no better — the gauze curtains hanging in the doorway were torn apart by rough hands as a large group of black-robed figures, faces hidden, swarmed in from outside with violent intent.

Part 2

The enormous display screens were no longer showing strange laboratory footage — only perfectly ordinary news, the content monotonous and yet uniformly alarming. Catastrophic rainstorms; vast death tolls across the world. Abnormal tectonic activity; earthquakes of varying magnitude striking repeatedly in multiple cities. In a vast quarantine zone somewhere in Africa, countless bodies were being carried to incinerators. A new infectious disease still had no cure. From the political world to the military to the scientific community, every authority and expert was claiming to work diligently on a solution — but in reality, no one had any answer.

The sky had truly been punctured and could not be sealed.

On one channel, a deserted street played in the rain. A raving vagrant ran through the downpour and came to a stop at a wall, seized a can of paint, and splattered frantically across the surface: 2012! THE END!

The world above was growing more and more pitiable.

He smiled as he walked to the window.

The orange sky overhead had, at some point, begun to absorb a surge of black vapor — spreading layer by layer from above, descending.

It worked… it worked… His expression of delight rivaled that of a child confronted with candy.

He leapt from the window and soared into the air with breathless urgency, gulping in the air as though trying to inhale the entire corrupted sky into his stomach.

The world, once suffused with warm color, was gradually turning cold.

He climbed higher in exhilaration, spreading his arms wide, drinking deep, his face overcome with ecstasy.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. He seized his own throat. His face bloomed purple-dark. His feet kicked in anguish in the empty air. A bolt of white light, like lightning, exploded from within his body and bleached half the sky white. He twisted violently — and the sky held him no longer, only a great serpent lashing its tail, beating its wings, struggling upward for a short distance before plunging headlong toward the ground.

From the window of the temple, a blurred figure stood in silence, watching it all.

“Kill all the outsiders in the house — not one to be left!”

Outside the wooden house, the man called Lü Yao had fastened on a suit of hard armor. Weapon in hand — something resembling a firearm — his expression was one of cold, ruthless determination as he commanded his subordinates.

“But sir, did the Shenjun not give orders that no one was to approach the wooden house?” one of the black-robed figures — stocky, with the air of a minor captain — hesitated.

Lü Yao snarled: “He has abandoned all concern for the ‘Source’ and for our survival. He has no intention of continuing to brew the Final Road. So this time — even at the cost of my life — I will not obey him! Do as I say! Quickly!”

“Not brew the Final Road?” The black-robed figure was thunderstruck. “Then what do we live on? Without it to replenish our energy, not one of us can survive! What has happened to the Shenjun? Does he want us all to die?!”

“Then if you don’t want to die, get in there!” Lü Yao clenched his jaw. “He has abandoned us — we can abandon him.”

Part 3

The black-robed figures were not human. They reeked of demonic energy, and their method of attack was extraordinary — the moment they saw us, they clapped a hand over their mouths and blew hard. Their bodies swelled like enraged puffer fish, sprouting row upon row of spines, and from the tip of each spine emerged a triangular, vivid-red serpent head. A row of densely-packed spiny-ball creatures thus came hurtling toward us — and everywhere their bodies touched, reality ceased to exist, leaving only empty ground.

Pakal gripped his machete and slashed hard at a spiny-ball lunging at him. The blade sank deep into the creature’s body.

“Let go!” I smacked his hand sharply — the handle slipped free, and in an instant both the machete and the spiny-ball vanished. In their place on the ground lay a small black snake’s carcass, barely a foot long.

Jiu Jue first erected a barrier to protect Old Huang and his wife, then produced a wine jug, murmured a short incantation, and sloshed the contents out in a single motion. The fine wine instantly transformed into a shower of razor-sharp miniature blades, dispatching dozens of spiny-balls in one go.

Ao Chi and I channeled our spiritual energy into currents of air to strike the spiny-balls — but no matter how hard we fought, their numbers showed no sign of decreasing. The snake carcasses on the ground kept disappearing after a short while, making me suspect they were dying and reviving to rejoin the fight.

Ao Chi’s mother was being closely protected among us. I had no time at all to look at what she had become, but I felt vaguely that something behind me was growing at a rapid pace.

Everyone was fighting — except that damned uncle, who stood perfectly still behind us, not making the slightest move to intervene.

Then, a sharp cracking sound came from all four directions at once. From the broken walls and floor, thick green vines erupted — each one studded with purple-blue flowers that thrust out green tongues — twisting and writhing as though freed from restraint, surging from the darkness to engulf the entire space.

At that moment, a roar unlike anything I had heard in my entire life exploded directly behind me. Its magnitude was not merely enough to destroy my eardrums — it nearly shattered my very soul. On its heels came a surge of brutal, icy force — like a pair of merciless giant hands — flinging every one of us violently outward.

I was hurled helplessly into the air. The spiny-balls, blasted apart at the same time, shattered into segments of snake carcass that pelted the ground with wet, foul impacts.

I had no time to cast any spell — I crashed hard to the ground. Fortunately, Jiu Jue and Ao Chi were quick enough to catch Old Huang and his wife and Pakal in midair, or they truly would have been smashed to pieces.

I fought through the pain and scrambled to my feet, turned around — and froze.

The wooden house was gone. The earth around it was devastated. Where the house had stood, the ground had caved inward to form a massive pit, and the great monster that had been growing beneath the surface was now exposed to the sky. Countless green vines and scattered purple-blue flowers erupted from its trunk, churning together, moving rapidly in every direction.

Everyone stood stunned. Our true shock was not at any of this — but at the fact that the monster’s trunk, which shot straight up into the sky, was draped in a billowing skirt, and below that skirt were not feet, but limbs that had grown together with the trunk itself.

Ao Chi’s mother now stood high above us all. Her beautiful face had been entirely consumed by those green-veined patterns, her loose hair a wild tangle in the wind. Beneath her, every writhing vine, every devouring purple-blue flower heaved and twisted — those strange convulsions and contortions moving like the dance of something demonic.

No wonder she couldn’t move. She had grown into this place. What we had seen before had only been a part of her.

Then the uncle suddenly reached into his robe and drew something out — how bright!

Ao Chi saw it and went pale. He shot forward and grabbed the uncle’s hand. “No.”

I rushed over. In the uncle’s hand was a needle about three inches long, carved from bone and etched with intricate patterns.

“As long as she lives, the energy feeding the other demon creatures will not be cut off. You can kill as many of the small ones as you like — it makes no difference. They will cycle back to life. The evil power she has absorbed is too great. Your dragon pearl purification will not only fail — it will be absorbed and twisted into new power for her, making her demonic transformation even stronger. If we don’t act now, none of us will leave here alive.” The uncle’s voice was low and heavy.

“There will be another way!” Ao Chi said through clenched teeth.

The uncle pressed the bone needle into his hand. “You decide.” With that, he grabbed the back of Ao Chi’s neck and forced him to look upward. “Look carefully — the last trace of her original self is about to be extinguished. If you don’t act, this place will become an inferno. If you don’t stop her, she will keep growing — possibly expanding into another world within a single day. More people will become her food. More evil spirits and demons will be empowered through her, feeding on each other in an endless cycle.”

This was critical. If it were me — what would I do? I didn’t know. But someone had to set their heart to stone and work through a calculation: how many people would be harmed if she remained — divided by how many would be saved if she were gone. The answer was entirely one-sided.

Yet Ao Chi’s grief — the responsibility of a son — how could that ever be calculated?

I reached out and gripped Ao Chi’s shoulder firmly, speaking from behind him: “If you ever become like this, I will be the one to make you disappear. And if it were me — please, don’t hesitate. Because if any part of my original self still exists, my only hope would be for you to stop me. Better to rest as a peaceful soul than to become a monster beyond all recognition.”

Ao Chi’s eyes were mapped with threads of blood-red. He fixed me with the fiercest gaze of his life — then suddenly turned, leapt into the air.

Beneath the sky that was growing darker by the moment, he stopped before his mother. He looked into her eyes — now transformed into two green orbs — and slowly raised the bone needle in his hand.

Ao Chi, how can you bear to kill your own mother?

A sorrowful voice emanated from her body, spreading like contagion. Every vine, every purple-blue flower began to carry those same words. The phrase rang out in endless repetition from all sides, constricting every heart that heard it.

The Whispering Thief’s unique demonic art — turned against Ao Chi.

Ao Chi’s hand shook violently. The bone needle stalled in midair. Then several green vines coiled over, wrapping tightly around his body, and countless tongue-flicking flowers pressed their advantage and surged toward him.

Not good!

The uncle and I flew upward simultaneously. He was faster than me — he waved a sheet of flame that burned the monstrous flowers to ash, seized Ao Chi, and in the same motion snatched the bone needle from his hand. He drove it toward Ao Chi’s mother’s brow, without a moment’s hesitation.

Ao Chi and I both instinctively turned our faces away.

But a long moment passed with no sound.

We turned back. A pointed serpent’s tail was coiled tightly around the uncle’s arm.

Enormous wings had blotted out the sky. A suffocating shadow locked down everyone below. A crushing pressure drove down from overhead straight through to the soles of the feet. A pair of deep-grey eyes rotated slowly in the massive skull covered in purple-white scales — lifeless, no light in them, no gleam of anything outside capable of reflecting back from those eyes. That grey — deeper and darker than any true void — was the most hopeless color in all the world.

This was the largest serpent I had ever seen in my life.

Its immense, sinuous body was motionless in the air, rippling light patterns flashing across every scale — blazing and brilliant, in stark contrast to those lightless eyes. Currents of orange and black swirled ceaselessly around its body. I had seen serpent demons before — at most they harassed villagers or knocked over a monk’s pagoda. That any creature of this kind could reach such power was without precedent. If not for the absence of horns and claws, I would have thought I was looking at a dragon. No wonder it was called the Feathered Serpent God. Whatever its nature, good or evil, the sheer force of its presence was enough.

Old Huang had already fainted. Pakal was shaking so badly he could barely hold his machete.

“She belongs here,” the Feathered Serpent God said, rows of thin, densely-packed fangs exposed, its dark forked tongue flickering between its teeth. With each word, a wisp of grey mist drifted from its mouth.

In that instant: it and the uncle were locked in a standoff. Ao Chi was coiled in vines like a bundled dumpling. I had the most freedom.

In one thousandth of a second I made a decision that might make Ao Chi hate me for the rest of his life.

I lunged forward. In the moment when everyone’s attention was elsewhere, I snatched the bone needle from the uncle’s hand with the speed of lightning, staked every ounce of strength in my body on it, aimed precisely at Ao Chi’s mother’s brow, and drove it down — without hesitation.

“Sha—” Ao Chi’s eyes went wider than lanterns. He was so startled he couldn’t even finish saying my name.

That grotesque face opened its mouth. The eyes that had become green orbs stared at me with lethal intensity — as though they might pop from their sockets at any moment. She — or it — raised the vine-covered hands to seize me, but abruptly froze. The bone needle had sunk deep into its brow, leaving barely half an inch exposed. Golden light shot out in all directions. My eyes may have been playing tricks — but within that golden light I saw countless dragons surge forward, horns raised and tails swaying, and plunge one by one into her head. A dark, blood-red color began simultaneously from the tip of every vine across the floor, the center of every purple-blue flower, spreading rapidly upward. The trembling of the ground was stronger than it had ever been, the range extending far beyond where we stood — it seemed as though the entire underground city was shaking. Beneath the earth, something was thrashing in its death throes. With a deep rumbling, the underground city’s soil began to churn, the brown earth suddenly turning blood-red. The plants atop it withered in an instant. Among them, animals of every size screamed and fled — a scene of absolute apocalypse.

Again I heard that brittle cracking sound. The trunk beneath her was being torn apart by tremendous force — from bottom to top, every vine and every grey-blue flower that had sprouted from it crumbled into blood-red ash and drifted through heaven and earth.

The force did not stop there. Only when her outstretched hands, her body, her face crumbled to dust before me did the earth finally cease its trembling, and all fell still.

Ao Chi tumbled to the ground and stared blankly at the ash drifting through the sky. A single thin blade of grass floated down from above and landed in his arms.

I had no time even to catch my breath before an infuriated fireball came hurtling at me. I scrambled aside — and still the passing flame singed off a corner of my clothing. The Feathered Serpent God had clearly fixed its sights on me, ignoring even the uncle, dropping him entirely to come for me. Up close now, I could see with brutal clarity just how large that gaping serpent mouth was — two of me, even without going on a diet, would barely fill the gap between its teeth.

Run! If I can’t win, I run — that’s my creed. I was about to fly higher into the air when I realized I was stuck — no matter how hard I kicked my legs or wrenched my body, I couldn’t take flight. Worse, a force was actively dragging me backward. I looked back: smoke from the Feathered Serpent God’s mouth had transformed into something like silk threads, adhering to my back like industrial adhesive.

A tug-of-war — how could I possibly beat something this massive? Heavens above — please don’t tell me my 2012 ends with being swallowed by a giant snake. What an absolutely heartbreaking way to go.

Part 4

While I was panicking and flailing through these thoughts, a burst of violent radiance erupted directly behind me. Even facing the other way, my eyes stung. My restraint abruptly vanished. I lurched forward — and someone came charging up from behind, grabbed my arm, and pulled me into their arms. I turned around: Ao Chi’s face, grave as night — and of course also that huge open mouth swearing to be the end of me, its dense serpent fangs inches away. It could not advance another fraction of an inch further.

Who was holding it?! Who had enough strength to hold it?!

Ao Chi carried me down toward the ground. Only as I put distance between myself and the Feathered Serpent God did I see the jaw-dropping spectacle — a dragon even larger than it had sunk its teeth into the creature’s tail and was swinging its neck backward with force, sending the serpent flying. It crashed hard to the ground. The silver-white dragon — magnificent-horned, eyes blazing like torches — hovered sovereignly in the air, gazing coldly at its enemy below. Every movement the dragon made, whether raising its head or lifting a claw, sent a dazzling silver light arcing outward. Its magnificence was self-evident. Beyond all of that, it possessed a composure that needed no display — a dignified authority that asked nothing of the viewer. The feeling was that this creature needed only to stand calmly aloft, and every eye that found it would bend instinctively in reverence.

Where had a dragon like this come from?! I stared, stupefied, recalling that the only person closest to the Feathered Serpent God in that moment had been the uncle.

The uncle?!

Naturally, a fall like that was nothing to the great Feathered Serpent God. It surged up from the crater it had smashed into the earth and launched itself at the great dragon. The two massive beings locked in combat — for the moment, neither gaining the upper hand.

Ao Chi and I landed on the ground. Without a word, he reached into his robe and drew out that small blade of grass, placing it solemnly in my hands. “Guard this well.”

“You—”

Before I could speak, the man had already discarded me without a shred of mercy, revealed his true form, and shot at high speed toward those two combatants above — still locked in their desperate struggle.

The sky was deteriorating. What little orange remained was being swallowed wholesale by rolling black waves. One silver and one purple dragon — breathing their ocean-blue true flame, heads raised and claws slashing — combined forces against the Feathered Serpent God that had fancied itself capable of overturning heaven and earth. I had once heard Ao Chi say that when a dragon’s anger rises, the heavens and earth change color — so one should not make a habit of provoking him. I had always assumed this was exaggeration: in all his previous rages, he had done nothing more than breathe some fire. Only now did I understand he had not been lying.

At this moment the entire sky had gone pitch black, thunder crashing, lightning screaming, gale-force winds unleashed. Countless rolling fireballs detonated around them all. Dragon claws were sharp; the serpent’s head was vicious. Every time their bodies collided, blinding radiance erupted — the whole world forced to oscillate between darkness and daylight through this battle without historical equal. The falling fragments of fire, carried by the wind, scattered everywhere, igniting the dry vegetation with ease. In moments, it connected into a sea of flame.

Fire terrifies me. If they kept fighting like this, the Feathered Serpent God’s defeat was uncertain — but this patch of earth would be incinerated clean within moments.

“To the west! There is a lake to the west!” Pakal called out urgently, pointing into the distance.

“It’s no use. The water is too far. And the fire is spreading too fast.” I appreciated his intent, but I was helpless — I had no ability to command large volumes of water, and neither did Jiu Jue. In the few minutes that had passed, the fire had already doubled in size. Through the rolling black smoke, the smell of scorching grew ever more intense.

“Take shelter on top of the temple!” I called out.

The temple roof was very high from the ground. Even if the area below became a sea of fire, this solid pyramid would hold for a while longer.

I looked up: the fierce combat overhead showed no sign of stopping. But it was clear the Feathered Serpent God was gradually losing ground.

A clash at this level was not something Jiu Jue or I were qualified to join. I had confidence in the two dragons, so I simply crossed my arms and left them to it. What needed doing now was finding a way to extinguish the fire — otherwise, by the time they settled their fight, the rest of us would be roasted alive.

The only option left was to call for reinforcements. I mentally ran through every person I knew, and when a certain name surfaced, a spark of excitement flared — then immediately died, as I remembered: even if that person might help, how could I get word to him? We were sealed off. There was no way through that sky.

I drew a breath, then suddenly shot upward. I had to try one more time. After Ao Chi’s mother’s demonic body had been destroyed, I had a feeling the equilibrium and stability of this space had been disrupted, that whatever force had been holding this world in place had gone into disarray. If that was the case — had the boundary that could not be broken also begun to waver?

As it turned out, I had thought too much.

That “boundary” remained solid, and slapped me back to the ground without mercy. Landing, I realized a thin layer of frost had formed on my skin.

My heart contracted. The Huangquan Boundary?! Only now did I recognize it — the impenetrable barrier above our heads was the Huangquan Boundary!

“You’re telling me that above us is the Huangquan Boundary — forged from the souls of countless dead demons and humans, an inescapable trap for any living thing, whether demon or mortal? That to leave, one must either receive permission from whoever set it — or die?” Jiu Jue asked in shock.

“The Huangquan Boundary — only the dead can pass through.” I nodded. This was a serious problem.

“No other option? Not even brute force?” Jiu Jue asked.

“Even to break it by force, the force would have to be applied from outside the Huangquan Boundary. That cannot be done from in here.” I shook my head. “Every one of us combined — and those two dragons above — it would still be futile.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier!” a voice burst from my trouser pocket. White Steed shot upward and flew in front of my face. “Innkeeper, are you certain the dead can pass through this Huangquan Boundary?”

Heavens — how had I forgotten? White Steed was precisely a genuine, certified departed spirit, dwelling in a folding fan!

I grabbed White Steed, overwhelmed by too many feelings to speak.

A breath of cool air floated from my hand. I loosened my grip — the fan dropped to the ground with a clatter.

I knew White Steed had come out. Before me hovered an insubstantial white shadow.

“When you go back to Bu Ting,” I said with careful instruction, “look in the third drawer beneath the front counter. Inside is the guest ledger. I keep the names of everyone who owes me money — directly or indirectly.” A pause. “Find the page with ‘Zuo Zhanyan’ written on it, and tear it out and burn it.”

“Mm, mm. And then?”

“Then bring him here! Remember the path you took out. Come back the same way — don’t get confused and bring the wrong person!”

“He appears just from burning the paper?”

“You’ll know what to do when you get there. Now go — hurry!”

“All right.”

A white shadow shot skyward, and was quickly absorbed into the sky, nothing falling back down.

And yet — why was my heart growing more and more uneasy?

“Who is Zuo Zhanyan?” Jiu Jue asked.

“He is a flood dragon. Not as powerful as a true dragon, but he is born with mastery over water. With him here, this fire has hope.”

“Wait — if he comes, the fire is put out, and then what? We are simply one more person who cannot leave.” Jiu Jue frowned suddenly. “Isn’t this Huangquan Boundary one-way? Into it but not out?”

I froze. I had been too excited in the moment and hadn’t thought of that at all. If he came, he couldn’t leave either! Calling him here to help was throwing him into the same pit as us!

Calling White Steed back was impossible now. I fell from the peak of exhilaration straight to the bottom of despair. To make such a basic error — truly the greatest disgrace an innkeeper could suffer!

“Though perhaps not necessarily,” Jiu Jue said, stepping forward and patting my shoulder with the ease of someone who had nothing to worry about. “Don’t you always say — no matter how terrible the situation, try to see the positive side?”

“The fact that I miscalculated is a fact,” I said, frowning.

“I don’t think it was a miscalculation.” Jiu Jue showed his signature smile. He glanced up at the sky overhead and said, with apparently no connection to anything: “The time has come to test your character.”

Part 5

With a thunderous boom, the serpent whose wings had been broken plummeted straight down, and the earth it struck erupted in plumes of mud several meters high.

It was covered in wounds from head to tail, lying on the ground gasping for breath. Even with a roaring fire burning nearby, it had no strength to move.

The two dragons stood not far away, watching it in silence.

“Whether then or now, you have brought disgrace to the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan.” The silver dragon’s voice was cold.

The serpent’s body slowly shrank. What lay on the ground was now the wounded man, blood running from the corner of his mouth, smiling. “I have nothing whatsoever to do with your Eastern Sea.”

“Do you decide that?” Ao Chi had returned to human form and leapt down, grabbing the man by the collar. In his eyes, beyond fury, was an anguish he struggled to conceal but could not quite hide. “Why do all of this evil? Why harm so many innocent people! Couldn’t you simply go on living in your own territory? Couldn’t you?”

The man looked calmly at Ao Chi and the silver dragon. “The ones who should be living quietly in their own territory are the two of you.”

“You—” Ao Chi’s rage flared to his core. He threw a punch at the man’s face, trembling with fury. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who I am?!”

“I do.” The man smiled. “You are Ao Chi. You said that the moment you saw me, and you asked me to come with you to meet someone. And you are a dragon of the Eastern Sea. I smelled your scent…”

The silver dragon landed. A thin mist dispersed — the dragon was gone. In its place stood the uncle, not seen for some time.

The uncle looked down at the man from above. “I came for one thing only: the twelve green amber eyes.”

“The green amber eyes?” The man sat up and wiped the fresh blood that had trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” the uncle said with absolute certainty.

The man shrugged. “They’re gone.”

“Gone?!” The uncle grabbed him. “Are you telling me you were hungry and ate them?”

“A very, very long time ago — they seem to have been shattered.” The man smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to have made you come all this way for nothing.” He added: “Truly. I have no intention of making sport of you.”

From between clenched teeth, the uncle produced three words: “Worthless disgrace.”

Those three words, without warning, struck at the most fragile nerve.

The man’s face went suddenly deathly pale. One hand pressed hard against his own chest; the other dug into the ground. He was drenched in sweat. A moment later, as though from nowhere, he found the strength to surge upright — and transformed back into the form of the Feathered Serpent, struggling upward toward the top of the temple. As he rose, his serpent tail coiled and struck repeatedly against his own wounds, each impossible blow of self-inflicted agony wringing a low roar from him.

Sometimes, pain is the surest way to stay awake.

The great serpent descending from the sky smashed the stone slabs on the temple roof into a deep depression, sending the entire temple shuddering, and frightened everyone nearby half to death.

Jiu Jue and I shielded the others behind us, every nerve taut, eyes fixed on this central culprit — ready to fight at any moment. Though looking at his current state of devastation, even rising to his feet seemed barely within his power.

The two dragons, who had arrived close behind, saw he had no intention of attacking anyone, and returned to human form, landing in front of me.

I stared at the man. As expected — the uncle was the great dragon!

The great dragon… could it be that the one who had pulled me from the water before was him? So that hadn’t been a hallucination after all. But the uncle clearly detested me — why had he helped me? And who exactly was the uncle among the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan?

The Feathered Serpent’s wings were broken. I didn’t know what force of will had carried him here. Now, his entire body had barely a patch of undamaged flesh. Even his black forked tongue hung limply from his mouth without strength.

“No more fighting… kill me… kill me…”

Had this creature hit his head when he landed? Had he started talking nonsense?

“Hurry up and do it…” Before the words were finished, he stopped — mouth open, locked in place, as though something had caught in his throat, or as though someone had seized him by the neck.

Quickly, a thick breath of dark black vapor expelled from his mouth — and then came a laugh entirely unlike the one before, sinister and cold: “No, no, how could I let you kill me.”

He laboriously lifted his head and rested it against the stone wall at the edge of the roof, his grey, hazy serpent eyes gazing down at the scorched ground below. He laughed. “This beautiful world I have built with my own hands — I hope you’ll share it with me. I told you — once you’re here, don’t think of leaving.”

He was not joking. Within the handful of words were a venom and a despair that rolled in from all sides like thick smoke, choking its way into every person present.

“No — I won’t—” Suddenly the serpent’s tail that had been dragging beside him shot up and struck hard against his own body. “Below… below…” His voice became urgent yet normal once more — he desperately wanted to say more but couldn’t — and those eyes that held not even a flicker of light were now, for reasons unknown, beginning to glow faintly. But quickly, the tail dropped lifelessly. The light in his eyes vanished. From within his body came a strange gurgling sound. His great head, as though struck by some invisible impact, slid from the wall and struck the ground hard.

The long serpent body now lay in a heap of twisted, tangled flesh — completely still.

Ao Chi, seeing this, rushed forward and actually cradled the limp head in his hands, roaring: “Are you faking?! Get up! Get up!” He beat the serpent’s head with his fists. It looked like an attack — but watching it, I could only think: this is someone trying to beat the other back to consciousness.

The uncle’s brows were furrowed so tightly they were nearly knotted together. He watched it all with cold eyes, fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked.

Then, the seemingly dead Feathered Serpent convulsed violently. A massive spherical protrusion formed within its body, rolling back and forth among its organs — a deeply unsettling sight. The moment Ao Chi stepped back, the serpent let out a deafening roar. Its dying body was like something suddenly electrified — it surged from the ground and shot straight upward. As it ascended, it inhaled. The black mist from all around was drawn toward it by sheer force and poured in torrents into that impossibly wide-open serpent mouth. The whole scene was strange beyond words, and spectacular.

“Is it trying to swallow the sky?” Jiu Jue frowned.

No — it wasn’t trying to swallow the sky. It was greedily absorbing those black mists seeping in from somewhere beyond. Looking at its body, the rolling sphere within had grown larger — large enough now to seem as though it might burst the serpent apart.

“What’s happening?” Ao Chi asked the uncle with agitation.

“Unknown.” The uncle watched the sky, jaw clenched. “Whatever happens, it is a result of his own making.”

The words had barely fallen when everyone’s eyes were blinded for half a second by an enormous surge of green light from above — the Feathered Serpent’s abdomen had simply torn open, as though cut apart simultaneously by countless surgical blades. That green light burst free from the flying shreds of flesh and blood. As it faded, a creature unlike any I had ever seen went careening through the air in every direction. How to describe it — like a black bull that had been sliced vertically in half, with only the half that remained bearing an outsized head, shapeless, like a sack stuffed full of something, with a single grey eye glued to the center — raised high, ringed by a blood-red translucent web-like membrane that pulsed rhythmically. No visible limbs, only a single appendage at its abdomen — long, thin, soft, like a tentacle.

The Feathered Serpent was gone. A man without consciousness was falling from the sky.

The uncle reflexively leapt up, caught the man’s arm in midair, and brought him steadily back to the rooftop.

Only then did I get a clear look at the Feathered Serpent God’s other form: a black-haired man lying crookedly on the ground, mouth full of blood. From his chest to his abdomen gaped a massive, bloody wound — horrific to look at. An ordinary person with injuries like that would have been dead long since. Remarkable that he still drew breath.

Ao Chi scrambled anxiously to his side, not knowing whether to prop him up, afraid to hurt him further.

Even the uncle lost his composure this time. He slapped the man’s face hard — once, twice. “Hey! Enough with the act! Get up!”

Ao Chi’s reaction was truly beyond my expectation. A man whose nerves were thicker than steel pipe — and yet he showed this level of distress, and over a man who had been no particular friend to any of us.

I set aside my astonishment and studied the three men clustered together closely — and suddenly recognized a truth that struck me to the core.

These three men looked alike.

Not an absolute similarity in features — but something embedded in the set of their eyes: the same stubbornness to the point of death, the same disregard for consequences.

I found myself pushed toward a conjecture I felt was absurd even to myself — these three men had an unbreakable bond between them.

But how could a dragon and a serpent share blood? Let alone the fact that the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan had always taken such pride in the purity of its lineage… this made no sense. None at all.

“Get up! You worthless disgrace! Do you intend to present yourself to your father and your son looking like this?!”

The uncle’s roar made me blink.

I took three deep breaths, and said to Jiu Jue — who was equally wide-eyed beside me — “Pinch me.”

“I won’t.” Jiu Jue shook his head. “We are not dreaming.”

The uncle, the man, Ao Chi… grandfather, father, grandson — three generations?!

My thoroughly disordered brain began repeating to the heavens and the earth in an endless loop: Do you want me to meet the in-laws this badly? I know even the ugliest bride must face the mother-in-law eventually, but could it please be slightly less of a shock? I’m not as young as I was — my heart can barely take it.

If I hadn’t heard wrong, things were quite lively right now. Ao Chi’s entire family had appeared on stage all at once — and here I stood before them, a face that hadn’t even been washed properly. Moreover, if the uncle was Ao Chi’s grandfather — that would make him the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea that no one could dare even look at? The legendary Dragon King? And I was fairly certain that not very long ago, I had kicked the Dragon King in the—

“Is it true?” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I pressed close to Ao Chi’s side and grabbed his hand tightly. “The two of them — are they your…”

“Grandfather and… father.” Before he said the word father, Ao Chi paused noticeably.

The image I had constructed in my mind of the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea shattered utterly. Even after Ao Chi’s mother had given me her memories, I had never realized that the person who came to take the brothers away was the Dragon King himself — I had assumed it was some trusted lieutenant. He wasn’t supposed to be young and striking, confusing his grandson’s wife with his appearance! He was supposed to be an old man in lavish robes, long white beard, the kind who might cough a few times with every few steps! And then there was Ao Chi’s mother — a demon, which I could accept — but his father had been a dragon. How had he become a serpent?!

Under the Dragon King’s repeated slaps, the man finally opened his eyes.

Those were now, in every sense, perfectly normal eyes. Even the color of his irises was identical to Ao Chi’s.

“Look at this carefully!” The Dragon King seized him. “This is the child you and that woman brought into the world!”

The man was stunned. A light of astonished joy woke in his eyes.

“Is it true?” He looked at Ao Chi urgently. “Are you the child of me and A’Yu?”

Ao Chi nodded firmly.

He let out a long, slow breath. The rims of his eyes grew faintly red.

“I’m sorry. The green amber eyes are lost.” He said slowly, his exhausted gaze resting on the Dragon King’s face. “When I discovered that A’Yu had lied to me, I smashed the ink-jade gourd in my fury. They all escaped — I only caught one. It bored into my palm. I had intended to return to the Dragon Palace and tell you everything — but you refused to see me. You only had me banished from the Eastern Sea forever.”

The Dragon King clenched his jaw. He said nothing.

“Why did things come to this? The elder said you weren’t like this before?” Ao Chi pressed him urgently.

“You came before?” The man looked at the Dragon King, a flash of surprise in his eyes.

“More than once,” the Dragon King said gravely. “I only watched from a distance. I saw you pull a child from the jaws of a wild beast. I saw you summon clouds and bring rain to water the earth. I saw the people you protected — every one of them held you in deep respect and love.”

“Did things like that happen?” He smiled faintly. “It was so long ago. I truly cannot remember.”

“What turned you into this?!” Ao Chi roared, raising a fist — then stopping it in midair, unable to bring it down.

“Thirty years ago, I went above ground. Someone seemed to come and find me — invited me to drink. The wine was so good. Green.” He strained to recall. “Then I felt my body fill with something — every vein burning as though on fire. And right after that — a pain that reached the very marrow, as though something was devouring my organs from the inside, even my soul. I lost all control over my memory and emotions. A power of despair took root within me — not belonging to me — and consumed everything. I began to sleep. The times I woke grew fewer and fewer. Sometimes I could see what was happening outside, could see what the other me was doing. But I was powerless to stop it. When you came to the gambling house, I could vaguely see you — and felt something strange inside. When the other me wanted to harm you, I instinctively blocked it. But very soon I was pulled back into sleep.” He paused, then shifted his gaze to the Dragon King. “Until just now, when you said worthless disgrace. It was like a knife in my heart — and I woke again, vaguely. This body has always been saturated with despair. But now that feeling of dying in it has vanished. And my body truly feels light.”

He coughed. The great wound in his body was changing — from its center, it began to turn grey and spread outward.

“So it turns out my body harbored such a creature.” He looked somewhere in the sky above, his voice growing weaker, growing incoherent. “Kill it… and the wine pool and the spirit spring — what is in there is not good. It has gone above… it is already very dangerous… you must find a way.”

Ao Chi quickly steadied him, wanting to stop his body from turning to ash — but powerless to do so.

“Ao Chi — you are the greatest surprise of my life.” He gazed at Ao Chi in a daze. “Your eyes look so much like hers.”

His eyes turned to the Dragon King. His lips moved silently for a moment. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said slowly.

The Dragon King’s hand moved — as though reaching out — then he forced himself to pull it back. The sharpness and severity in his brow and eyes had become a mask one touch would shatter.

The small blade of grass I had carefully tucked in my pocket suddenly stirred. Like a butterfly, it lifted and flew, using its last reserves of strength to settle on his face.

The eyes that had already gone dark suddenly blazed bright again. “You are here… I looked for you, never could find you… you’re still alive…”

“Still alive.” The blade of grass had no face, and yet everyone present saw one — hovering, real yet intangible, looking at him in sorrow. “I was the one who was wrong… and not only because I lied, but because I kept trying to run away. So — how about we start again? Live one more time…”

“All right.” He laboriously lifted his hand. His fingers brushed softly against that fragile little blade of grass. “But we’ll have to wait for the next life… in the next life I won’t be a dragon, you won’t be a demon. We will both be ordinary people — common people. What do you say?”

“Yes…” A single dewdrop of a tear fell from the body of the little grass.

“Ao Chi…” He closed his hand around his son’s.

“I’m right here, Father,” Ao Chi said, his eyes red — and he called out that word he had never once been able to say before, and it came out perfectly naturally.

He looked at him one last time, and smiled. “Don’t be like me.”

Three words — and his hand fell. His eyes did not close. His gaze rested permanently on that small blade of green grass.

I saw clearly a woman step out from within the grass, gently embrace the man’s body, and grip his hand tightly. Then the grass lost its power to float, and came to rest over the man’s heart.

Ao Chi crumpled to the ground.

The grey spreading from his father’s chest had already covered every part of his body. When the last of his original color was consumed, flakes of ash spiraled upward — along with that small green blade of grass — and drifted into the air.

“Father! Mother!” Ao Chi came back to himself, leapt to his feet, and reached out screaming to catch his parents’ bodies.

There was nothing to catch. A handful of ash, from between his arms, scattered free — like birds released — and vanished forever into the boundless stretch of time and space.

I didn’t know how to comfort him. Lost and found, found and lost again — barely recognized before the parting became eternal. Was it Ao Chi the fortune-teller’s crow-mouthed prophecy had spoken of — not me after all?

The wild fire and the ruined earth reflected in Ao Chi’s eyes. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t weep. He only stood there, hollow.

Part 6

“At least, in the end, they were together.” I took hold of his tightly clenched fist. I truly didn’t know what would be fitting to say.

He slowly raised his head. “Rest assured, I have no intention of spending time on grief.”

His blood-red eyes locked onto the hideous figure still moving through the air above. Then he shot skyward, transformed into the most furious dragon in the history of dragons, and launched himself at the creature.

Something was wrong — that creature seemed larger than it had been moments ago. When it had first appeared, it was roughly the size of a small calf. Now it was well on its way to being the size of an elephant. From the time it emerged to now, it had not attacked anyone, nor made any move to break through the Huangquan Boundary. It simply went on careening through the air, greedily absorbing the black mist that seeped in steadily from somewhere — with every breath it took, the mist thinned a fraction, and the creature’s body seemed to grow a little more.

The Dragon King stood morosely in one spot, looking at the empty ground. He gave a self-mocking laugh. “I said — it is all the result of his own making!”

“Aren’t you going to help?!” I watched Ao Chi, who had already caught up to the creature and was attacking like a madman — ripping chunks of flesh from it with his teeth. Yet the creature showed no reaction whatsoever, not even a cry of pain. It was as though it regarded Ao Chi as nothing. It simply continued to careen and absorb black mist and grow. I couldn’t worry about what the Dragon King intended to do. Ao Chi attacking like this would exhaust him before long. I shot toward them, summoned a long sword from my palm, and fought shoulder to shoulder with Ao Chi — hoping only to deal with this unknown but clearly extremely dangerous creature as quickly as possible.

I soon discovered that our attacks were essentially futile. Every wound on the creature — whether ripped open by Ao Chi, scorched by the true flame of the sea, or carved out by my sword — healed almost immediately. And the more black mist it absorbed, the greater its body grew; the greater its body, the faster its wounds healed. In addition, when it had grown to the size of three elephants, it began to fight back — in a single instant when none of us was paying attention.

That tentacle of its snaked with sudden swiftness beneath my foot — no great motion, just a small jab at the sole of my foot — and a numbing pain shot straight to my heart. My eyes began to sting intensely. My vision blurred. A compulsion slammed into me — something has gotten into my eyes — and every thought in my mind stopped dead. All that remained was the certainty that something terrible had crawled in, and the more I thought it the more certain I became, until I couldn’t stop myself from raising my hand and instinctively reaching for my own eyes.

At the very last moment, a sharp flash of light cut across my blurring vision. My sight cleared instantly. A large hand closed around my wrist and yanked it back. The Dragon King’s face appeared before me, eyes fierce. “Would you like to keep those eyes or not?!”

The tentacle he had cut through bare-handed was already growing back to its original shape. Only then did I notice: at the very tip of that tentacle was something hair-thin, flashing with a fine, cold, deadly gleam — like the smallest of embroidery needles.

That was what had struck me. A single jab on the sole of my foot — and I had been compelled to claw at my own eyes. What would happen if it did that to someone else?

I’d barely had that thought when the soft tentacle, looking for all the world like nothing, shot at lightning speed toward Ao Chi’s back.

The Dragon King, seeing it, reached out and seized the tentacle by force. It recoiled toward him — and that needle-tip was suddenly driving straight for the back of his hand.

This time, my sword was what saved him. I hacked the tentacle in two. My hand was fast, but it grew back even faster.

“Don’t let that needle touch you — it will make you lose your mind and hurt yourself!” I shouted the warning to both of them.

“Hee hee hee hee, so you’ve figured it out.” A voice — strange and unplaceable, neither clearly male nor female — crawled out from that enormous head.

So it could speak. I had been mistaken all along in thinking something built like this had no capacity for thought or language.

Ao Chi was breathing hard. By my estimate, the chunks he had torn from the creature could have been stacked into a small mountain by now. The uncle and I were faring no better — the lengths of tentacle we had severed could have kept a barbecue stall running for a week. We attacked without ceasing, but the creature grew without ceasing. We could find no weak point, and everything we did was treating the symptom without reaching the cause. Even the most powerful two dragons of the Eastern Sea being here could only extend the length of the fight — the outcome was impossible to predict. Our strength, after all, was finite.

“I so love fighting with you all — watching you tire yourselves out like dogs makes me very happy!” the creature said, swaying its enormous head, cackling. “I’ve waited so many years to be free, and now you’ve come at exactly the right time. Perfect witnesses — watch this world transform into something entirely different! Hee hee, from now on I will never go hungry again. Wonderful!”

With that, the creature’s body swelled to twice its size! The Dragon King and Ao Chi were now, by comparison, little more than two small snakes. As for me — a good sneeze from this thing could scatter me to dust. And that tentacle — what had been a needle-thin embroidery pin had grown into a cone thicker than a rolling pin. If it struck anyone now, there would be no opportunity for self-harm — it would simply end them.

If it was allowed to keep growing like this… I truly didn’t dare imagine what would follow. By this point the three of us were already fighting only to survive. My footing slipped, my body lurched — and that cone-tip was already driving straight for my head. I didn’t even have time to raise my sword.

I heard Ao Chi shout — but what could be done? It was faster than me.

In the moment I had resigned myself to losing my head, the cone brushed past my ear — and fell, along with half the tentacle, to the ground below.

According to the established pattern, this thing was certain to grow back immediately. But I blinked three times. The severed end remained severed. The creature’s cycle of regeneration appeared to have been halted.

“How did you get this thing to come out?”

A somewhat familiar voice came from just behind and to my right. I turned: Ling Shang, dressed in his signature impeccable style, frowning at the massive presence before us, cleaver in hand that gleamed with cold light.

“You—how did you—” I was stunned.

“Not only me — everyone who could come has come.” Ling Shang darted to my front and shouted to Ao Chi and the others: “Stop attacking it! The more you fight without winning, the more demoralized you get — and the more demoralized you get, the faster it grows! This creature cannot be dealt with by ordinary blades and swords!”

“Who are you?!” The creature, its bottom line exposed, lashed out in fury, and from its single eye shot twisting, worm-like needles directly at Ling Shang.

I hadn’t even caught how it happened, but Ling Shang’s cleaver had already shattered every single worm-needle to fragments.

“You dare hit me?” His gaze sharpened. He tightened his grip on the handle, leapt high — soaring until he was level with the creature’s head — and let out a great shout: “When I entered this world, you were still being nursed!”

Then, as swiftly as the description — Ling Shang’s cleaver traced a sharp diagonal through the air. The point of severance: aimed directly at the creature’s thick neck.

Truly a stroke without equal in history. Truly a cleaver forged for the slaying of demons. The blade rose and the head fell — body parted from head — and in less than a second, the enemy that had been so overwhelmingly arrogant became two massive slabs of rotting meat that went flying toward the ground. Their landing points were unfortunately chosen — the eastern side of the temple was demolished. Fortunately, Jiu Jue on the ground below moved fast enough to keep Old Huang and his wife from being crushed along with it.

Our group descended back to the ground and gathered before the creature’s two mountain-like halves, confirming that its self-regeneration had completely ceased. Only then did I look around — the roaring fires had been largely extinguished. Not far away, a powerfully built flood dragon flew steadily through the air, ceaselessly spraying clear water from its mouth.

I let out a long, relieved breath — and then my heart lurched right back up into my throat. I spun around and seized Ling Shang. “How did you get here?”

“You really are mean, you know. Secretly writing our names in the ledger and burying a forced-summons curse in it — afraid you wouldn’t be able to track us down to collect the room fees someday?” Ling Shang humphed. “Your little messenger burned the entire ledger. Bu Ting nearly burst at the seams from all the demons coming at once. You ran into trouble — could we not come?”

I suddenly understood why Jiu Jue had said: the time to test my character had arrived.

You ran into trouble — could we not come? Those words, in some inexplicable way, settled my chaotic heart completely.

“We’re not the only ones — others are on their way. We’re just the advance party.” Ling Shang looked at me and Ao Chi — both of us coated in filth, completely disheveled — and at the Dragon King, who was faring little better. He scolded: “Look at the state of you. You’re her husband, right? You’re supposed to keep an eye on this woman! Why not stay back at the shop being the innkeeper — why go running around everywhere!”

“Who do you think you are! When did I give you the right to lecture me!” Ao Chi flared at once, poking Ling Shang in the shoulder.

Ling Shang threw an arm around my shoulder, raised his eyebrows, and smiled. “She and I have a pact for eternity — the moment she nods, I’m hers anytime!”

Ao Chi glared at me. I glared back, too tired to explain — now was not the moment to get hung up on trivialities!

He turned to look at Ling Shang — fists clenching, veins standing out on his hands, eyes blazing. Not good, his old habit was about to surface again—

“Thank you for helping us slay the demon beast.”

No one expected it: Ao Chi suddenly dropped to one knee, offering Ling Shang the highest form of courtesy used by the Eastern Sea Dragon Clan, with the most sincere gratitude.

At this, Ling Shang was actually the one caught off guard. He quickly put aside any teasing impulses and helped him back to his feet. “When the messenger described the situation to me, I knew you were trapped in the Huangquan Boundary — so I came as fast as I could. Under all of heaven, only I am capable of opening an exit for you.” He looked at me. “You were impressively oblivious when you were being oblivious — so focused on getting Zuo Zhanyan here to put out the fire that you forgot all about me. If White Steed hadn’t been clever enough to call everyone, you probably wouldn’t be here talking to me now.”

I slapped my forehead. How had I forgotten him! The Huangquan Boundary could potentially be attacked from outside — and Ling Shang, as an ancient demonic blade, could cut through dragon veins as easily as breathing. A mere Huangquan Boundary was nothing to him!

“Alas, it wounds me deeply. You truly don’t have me in your heart!” Ling Shang shook his head.

A fist flew into his stomach, drawing an ow from him.

“I keep private matters and public matters separate. You helped us enormously, and I’m genuinely grateful from the bottom of my heart. But you can’t keep being lovey-dovey with her!” Ao Chi yanked me over to his side and shook his fist at Ling Shang.

“Oh, drop it! Now you think to be jealous? Where was all this before? You never told me anything — your grandfather, your mother, your father!” I pushed Ao Chi away — then almost immediately regretted it. He had just lost his parents, after all. Bringing it up was like driving a blade into his heart.

But Ao Chi seemed like a completely different person from moments ago, already back to the carelessly breezy manner I knew. He murmured in my ear without any sign of suffering: “I didn’t expect you to come looking for me here. I’ll explain everything to you later.” Then he turned to Ling Shang: “From what you said just now, you know this creature?”

“One of the most troublesome ancient beasts — the You Qu.” Ling Shang clutched his stomach and pointed a finger at Ao Chi’s nose. “Out of respect for the considerable number of years I have on you, I won’t argue about this punch. Next time you offend me, I’ll chop off those claws of yours!”

You Qu. What a strange name. I had never heard of it.

“But why did it come crawling out of someone’s body?” I asked.

Ling Shang looked at the rotting flesh with contempt. “The You Qu is a demonic beast formed from the crystallized despair released by all living things in heaven and earth. Their numbers are extremely rare — even in the age of my birth, they had already gone extinct. But records of them were still everywhere at the time. This demon beast is itself very small in its natural form. It wanders the world, feeding on the ‘bad thoughts’ of living creatures — and as long as it keeps feeding, its body can grow without limit. If left unchecked, the demonic energy it secretes will in turn infect limitless numbers of humans — more terrifying than any plague. As for ‘bad thoughts’ — when people suffer setbacks and fall into despair, they tend to imagine things getting worse and worse. Those imaginings are what the You Qu feeds on. And in reverse: anyone infected by You Qu’s demonic energy will have even ordinary, balanced thoughts pushed toward the worst possible version — even without any real setback to prompt it.”

“What does ‘pushed toward the worst version’ mean?” I didn’t follow.

“For example: a normal person walking past an old, dilapidated building might occasionally think, That place is so rundown — could be dangerous, might collapse. Or, if they hear an unfounded rumor that there will be an earthquake here or a tsunami there, a normal person might think: Could there really be an earthquake or a tsunami?” Ling Shang frowned and continued: “These are perfectly ordinary emotional responses. But once infected by the You Qu, these thoughts become corrupted. The infected person becomes obsessed — driven to think, over and over: That building absolutely will collapse. There absolutely will be an earthquake, absolutely a tsunami. The more they think it, the more terror and despair grow in their heart, until they generate a powerful demonic-evil thought-force. The result of this thought-force is that the building that would not have collapsed truly collapses — the earthquake that would not have come arrives with unprecedented ferocity. The more people infected, the stronger this force of malicious thought becomes. This is why the You Qu was regarded as an extreme threat and was exterminated by the celestial gods long ago. I have seen illustrations of the You Qu, and this creature looks exactly the same — the impression stuck with me vividly.”

“No wonder — when that needle hit me, my eyes stung, and I went as though bewitched, completely convinced something terrible had crawled into them, on the verge of digging them out!” I said, still shaken.

“Exactly. That was the You Qu’s demonic energy affecting you. It forced you to imagine the worst possible scenario until it came true. Fortunately, You Qu’s demonic energy only works on humans. If merely inhaled, its effect on demons or other species is minimal. Thank heavens for that — if demons could be infected too, this world would have been finished long ago. Just now, it went directly after you — that’s why you were affected. Luckily this creature doesn’t have an indestructible body. Cut in two, it can no longer cause more harm.” Ling Shang kicked the You Qu’s remains hard. “But you’re saying this thing crawled out of a person’s body? How is that possible?”

“The green amber eyes from the Spiritual Phoenix’s Twelve Coffins.” The Dragon King, who had been standing behind us in cold silence without saying a single word, finally spoke. “Green amber is an ancient material of extraordinary rarity, used exclusively for binding and containment. Think of it as a vessel. Whatever is sealed inside has almost no opportunity to escape — unless a powerful external force destroys the amber. He said the ink-jade gourd holding the amber was smashed. The amber eyes scattered. One of them bored into his palm. If the You Qu was what that particular amber eye had been used to contain — then I surmise that the You Qu, with its attraction to despair, found in that man — at the height of his despair and fury — the most suitable host imaginable.”

That was indeed a coherent explanation. And in those memories, I had clearly seen that round, bright object bore into Ao Chi’s father’s palm.

“Even you had no knowledge of what was inside those amber eyes?” I asked the Dragon King. “Weren’t they Eastern Sea property?”

“They were only being kept in the Eastern Sea. No one in the Eastern Sea knew what was inside them,” the Dragon King said.

My unease deepened immediately. If what had bored into Ao Chi’s father’s palm was indeed a You Qu — then by extension, what might be inside the other eleven scattered amber eyes?

“I think all of this should wait until we return above to be discussed.” Ling Shang interjected. “I made sure to keep the Huangquan Boundary out of the way when I came — the thing is finished now. Let’s get out first. Standing here staring at two slabs of rotting fat, I am getting rather nauseous. And how am I supposed to enjoy twice-cooked pork after this.”

“Yes, let’s go. The fire is all out, and I am exhausted to the bone!” Zuo Zhanyan’s voice came from directly behind me — I didn’t know when he had landed there.

Seeing his face, I lost all composure and pulled him into a fierce embrace, saying from the bottom of my heart: “Thank you!”

“And you — the one who caused me trouble at Bu Ting was Shen Qiangwei, not me. Why write my name down? I don’t owe you money!” Zuo Zhanyan pulled away from me. “This time, it’s you who owes me.”

“Fine — come stay at Bu Ting as long as you like, whenever you want!”

“As if I’d trust you being that generous!” He laughed. “I’m teasing you. Helping you — I don’t mind. Right, Ao Chi?”

As friends who had met before, Ao Chi’s manner toward him was considerably warmer than toward Ling Shang — and for all that Zuo Zhanyan had witnessed the embrace between us, Ao Chi raised no objection, and even enthusiastically clapped Zuo Zhanyan on the shoulder. “Of course! Who are we to each other — the best of brothers!” The exaggerated warmth was a transparent fear that Zuo Zhanyan might let slip the embarrassing story of Ao Chi nearly drowning.

“That said, things up above are very bad as well — possibly worse than down here,” Zuo Zhanyan said. “You had best prepare yourselves mentally.”

“What happened above?” I asked in alarm.

“Ever-worsening rainstorms, flash floods, earthquakes. And a mysterious infectious disease. Everyone is saying it: the 2012 apocalypse is destined to come.”

2012 — the apocalypse?!

“Hee hee, it’s already too late.”

The strange laughter suddenly came in broken fragments from within the You Qu’s severed head — the creature was still alive!

“Everyone move back!” Ling Shang roared, raising his cleaver and swinging it directly at the head.

“Wait!” I grabbed his arm with all my force. Let it finish speaking!

“Final words? Hee hee — the ones who should be leaving final words are them. All the people up above!” The You Qu’s single eye gleamed with the satisfaction of a victor. “I starved inside that useless body for so many years. By the time I was finally free, you came at exactly the right time — perfect witnesses to see how this world transforms into something else entirely. Hee hee. This time, the entire world stands with me.”

“You’re the ‘General’ behind 4E?” I had once heard Chocolate mention this figure. This You Qu — cut in two and still refusing to die — was indeed well suited to be the leader of that deranged organization.

The You Qu only continued to laugh in its hee-hee way and didn’t answer me.

“What exactly are you planning?!” I found its laughter unbearable. “What is happening above — does it have something to do with you?”

“4E cannot create an apocalypse on its own — we don’t have that kind of power,” the You Qu said, its enormous head trembling with laughter. “It is the people above who are the true creators.” It narrowed its single eye and lowered its voice in mock mystery: “The underground city is a wonderful place — there are exactly four spirit springs here. Over these years, every time it rained above, I had my people pour all of the Final Road wine into the springs. The springs sent this extraordinary vintage into the vast underground water below, which then flowed up through the natural wells on the surface and spilled backward into the air, clinging firmly to every rain cloud in the sky. A cloud that has drunk wine does not disperse — it keeps its original form and is carried by the wind to every corner of the sky. Then, every time it rains after that, these clouds bring the same rain along with them, wrapping around countless ordinary raindrops, spreading at a speed you cannot imagine — and falling on the earth, landing on people, on umbrellas, beating against windows. Rain, as you know, is the broadest-reaching, most all-pervasive, most undetectable tool in existence.”

Natural wells. Rain flowing backward. I immediately recalled those wells I had seen outside the hotel on the surface — the green-hazed rain falling upward… This creature had dissolved something called “Final Road wine” into the groundwater, then channeled it through surface outlets to pour it up into the sky’s rain clouds. Because these “corrupted” clouds didn’t dissipate but drifted everywhere, the result was that in more and more places across the world, any rain that fell was co-mingled with rain from these “poison clouds” — then fell on entirely unsuspecting humans.

I felt cold from the inside out. Recalling what Ling Shang had described about the You Qu’s nature, combined with everything currently happening in the world, I felt I was very close to the final answer.

“Your Final Road wine — does it taste good?” I had to keep calm, even though inside I was in turmoil, and even though I desperately hoped my deduction was wrong.

“Did the people you rescued ever tell you why they came to my casino?” the You Qu asked in return.

“You had people use despicable means to lure them in. Their lives were already difficult, and you piled disaster on top of disaster.” I said coldly.

The You Qu blinked its single eye. “No. I love them. I love all the desperate people in this world. I love their habit of imagining the worst of everything. All I need to do is give them a small flicker of hope — and I can make them fall even more deeply into despair.” It laughed, pleased with itself. “Opening the Celestial Apex Hotel was one of 4E’s greatest plans. We searched the world for those who had come to the end of their road — whether they had truly reached the end or merely believed they had. I prepared the most lavish prizes for them — though no one ever claimed them. But at least before that point, they were excited. And that excitement followed by utter despair sealed them inside playing cards, to be sent to the underground city, where the beloved ‘Source’ could consume their flesh and blood, which then ripened into wonderful prison-fruit — the main ingredient for brewing the Final Road wine. Though the prison-fruit alone isn’t quite enough — my own palm must be cut and my blood added, to make it perfect.”

The gamblers who came clutching their last hope — turned into prison-fruit. A wine brewed from those driven to the edge of existence — no wonder it was called “Final Road.”

“No gambler ever won? No one ever escaped?” If that was the case — what was the winning young man White Steed had mentioned?

“Once in a while there were one or two who slipped through the net — but those were ones we deliberately released as ‘promotional ambassadors.’ After all, you need people to genuinely believe such a remarkable hotel exists, so that more will be willing to come,” the You Qu said, thoroughly shameless. “You, however, were an anomaly. From the moment the few of you entered the casino, I knew you were different from the rest. As it turned out, you came for the sake of an Eastern Sea dragon.”

Ao Chi’s fists clenched with an audible crack. He charged forward and kicked the creature’s arm several times in a row.

Its head — already somewhat deformed from the blows — somehow still managed to produce a smile. “I’ve told you all of this because I know that even with the full truth, you are helpless. You cannot save the world above. And so I will not die.”

“Stop it!” I pulled Ao Chi back hard, then called to everyone present: “Up to the roof. I need to discuss something with all of you.”

You Qu — now I finally know what you’re trying to do.

Part 7

Standing on the roof of a tall building, I looked out over the rain-drenched world below.

In the shortest possible time I had urged Ao Chi to carry me on his back and fly a full circuit of this world — it was not yet a hellish landscape, but it was battered and broken in a thousand places. Sunlight was entirely gone; storm clouds everywhere, black vapor coiling. After returning to the surface, I also learned that today was already the 13th of December. Time in the underground city ran completely differently from time in the world above. I had felt I’d been underground for only a day or two, but in reality so much time had passed.

By the look of things, this world was truly living up to that Mayan prophecy, racing toward the end with increasing speed. People were in a state of panic: struggling in raging floodwaters, rescue teams and excavators working desperately before the collapsed buildings of earthquake zones, rescue vehicles, ships, and aircraft all stretched to their limits across every manner of disaster.

In the quarantine zone of some African nation, I heard the cry of a frail mother clutching her barely-breathing child, weeping as she said to those around her: “This disease will take every one of us! There is no cure! Why? Why is this happening?”

Every disaster was slowly expanding its territory; every death toll was rising faster and faster; every declaration that the end of the world was certain was coming more frequently and with more conviction — this world had already begun to imagine its own death.

Ao Chi shouted: “There is no way all of these strange disasters could be happening simultaneously by chance! It’s all that murderous You Qu’s doing!”

“Let’s go back underground,” I said, steadying myself. “Don’t panic — there must be a way.”

Ao Chi roared in fury and turned back the way we had come.

We dove again into that natural well in the jungle — the one we had just emerged from. With the Huangquan Boundary that Ling Shang had broken no longer able to stop us, what lay above that intangible “sky” was a vast, deep underwater domain. Fortunately, Ao Chi the dragon carried me along the whole journey up and down. Without him, I wouldn’t have been able to swim my way out in ten years.

Before leaving the underground city, I had told the others to stay behind and keep watch over Old Huang and his wife. For humans, staying in the underground city now was actually safer than the surface.

The moment we landed on the temple roof, the others gathered around. “How was it?”

“More and more people have come to firmly believe the apocalypse is here, that they are going to die, that the world will be destroyed,” I told them truthfully. “The You Qu has every reason to feel confident — it has genuinely succeeded.”

Yes. Before Ao Chi and I left the underground city, our entire group had held a meeting together here.

The intelligence gathered from two dragons and several old demons was not going to be low. The full truth of the situation had been assembled piece by piece, and the core of it was simple: the scheming You Qu, using its casino to lure people at the end of their rope, processing them as one ingredient of the “Final Road wine,” then adding its own demon-energy-saturated blood — and at that point this was no longer wine but poison, lethal poison. The Final Road-contaminated groundwater was pumped into the sky, and as the poison clouds drifted, clean rain was quietly corrupted. This rain falling to earth was the equivalent of broadcasting the You Qu’s demonic energy across the population again and again. South America’s abundant rainfall meant the creature could keep pouring Final Road wine in continuously, manufacturing poison clouds endlessly and extending its demonic energy throughout the world. Over time, humans were gradually poisoned, and combined with the pre-existing talk of apocalypse, all it took was a small rumor, a minor disturbance, and they would instinctively imagine things at their worst. What was in reality a normal heavy rain: they saw it and thought, This rain is terrifying, it won’t stop, isn’t this the omen of the apocalypse — an unending downpour? The more they thought it, the harder the rain fell, the more torrential it became, and so they fell deeper into despair and wilder imaginings — a vicious cycle, until every disaster grew relentlessly worse. By the same logic, different people imagined the apocalypse differently — some thought earthquakes and tsunamis, some thought plague — and what would not have happened began to happen. Humanity had already locked its hands around its own throat, and remained entirely unaware of it. All while those black vapors seeping into the underground city were the accumulation of human fear, human despair, and human “bad thoughts” — the You Qu’s food and source of power — which was why it had so greedily consumed them, its body swelling with each mouthful. After escaping its host, it hadn’t been in any hurry to leave the underground city, because its “food” would automatically flow toward its scent. All it had to do was wait.

This was why the You Qu — cut in two — was so self-satisfied. If this world was truly “choked to death” by humanity itself, the apocalyptic despair that resulted would fill heaven and earth and become the largest single meal it had ever consumed. If things developed that far, after swallowing something that large, its power would multiply beyond all reckoning — and not just humanity, but demons, including the Dragon Clans of the Four Seas, could forget about any hope of a peaceful existence.

That was the situation. If we could not stop humanity from “destroying themselves” with their thoughts, it truly would be the apocalypse.

And yet — even now that we understood everything, we could only stare at each other, completely at a loss. The You Qu’s confidence came entirely from its certainty that we had no way to “correct the hearts of people” in a short amount of time. And it was correct. People who had long been poisoned by demonic energy — their convictions were deep-rooted. Even if I stood before them with ten megaphones and shouted that they should stop imagining the worst, stop believing in the apocalypse, that this world is fine and there is nothing wrong with it — what then? They would never take a stranger’s words to heart.

Changing a person’s conviction is ten thousand times harder than ending their life. And the people who needed changing were not one — they were tens of millions.

I looked at Ao Chi. Ao Chi looked at Ling Shang. Ling Shang looked at Zuo Zhanyan. One after another they looked at each other — all of them silent. Down below the temple, the You Qu’s two halves were still slowly growing. Even though we had used our spiritual energy to temporarily seal the sky of the underground city and block the black vapor from seeping downward, these formless things were still gradually seeping through. And our strength was finite.

An unprecedented helplessness swept over me. Every brow was furrowed. Old Huang and his wife and Pakal — though they couldn’t understand what we were saying — also showed extreme anxiety, the old couple and Pakal huddling close together, trembling.

I couldn’t let anything happen to them. Old Huang and his wife still had a wish that hadn’t been fulfilled. Pakal was still so young — he had never even truly seen the world. And up above, there were so many newborn infants who had only just arrived, who hadn’t even called out to their fathers and mothers yet…

Wait… newborn infants?

Ding! A light blazed to life in my mind with the brilliance of ten thousand watts. A sudden thought set my near-frozen blood boiling. An excitement impossible to put into words swept over my entire body — I broke into goosebumps, and couldn’t help jumping up in excitement as I cried: “I have an idea! I have an idea!”

Everyone was startled. Ao Chi pressed his hands on my shoulders and refused to let me jump again. “Say it!”

“The reason those people are so susceptible is that most of them are adults — though even teenagers already have developed enough cognition to be vulnerable. The older a person is, the more complex their thoughts, and the more easily influenced they become.” I did my best to speak clearly. “Infants! Newborn infants — their minds are like clean white paper, utterly pure. They would never in any way think about the apocalypse or disasters! And the You Qu has a weakness: all it knows is spreading the malicious thoughts of despair! So — let’s try using their opposite — the cleanest, most pure, most single-minded hearts this world has — to neutralize it! Do you all understand what I’m saying?”

The Dragon King considered for a moment, then fixed his eyes on me: “Are you suggesting we round up all the world’s newborn infants and stuff them into the You Qu’s mouth to destroy it?”

“Destroying it is pointless! As long as people’s thoughts return to normal, it won’t be able to survive on its own! What on earth is your comprehension?” I lost my patience — the more urgent I felt, the more I struggled to articulate myself.

Ao Chi thought for a moment. “My father once said we should destroy the wine pool and the spirit spring. The Final Road wine — this ‘disease’ — comes through the wine pool, then through the power of the spirit spring to enter the underground water and rise into the sky. If the You Qu spreads its demonic energy through rain, then if we had an antidote to the You Qu’s demonic energy, we could use the same method to save people! Fight fire with fire!”

I was so pleased I kissed him. “That’s exactly what I mean! We don’t need to bring the infants here. We only need to catch one sneeze from each of them — they will naturally breathe out a breath of true heart. We just need to store these breaths together, concentrate them, and make them into a kind of wine — then use this heavy rainfall to spread it out!”

“Will it work?” Zuo Zhanyan asked.

“It’s the only option. Better than waiting to die.” I said. Truthfully, thinking about it calmly, I had no certainty. But — let’s carry the greatest possible hope, and imagine things turning out for the best!

“Alas — a rabble,” the Dragon King said, glancing over us assembled demons, and turned to leave.

This old man had always looked down on demons — now I understood why he had been so consistently hostile to me. The noble Dragon King of the Eastern Sea could not be seen in the company of demons. His rabble stung.

“Where are you going?” Ao Chi called after him. “Not going to help?”

“Back to the Eastern Sea.” He glanced at me with my disgruntled expression. “The world has so many newborn infants. If I don’t go back and mobilize more hands, how will we manage the numbers?”

I blinked. Ao Chi was slightly surprised too.

“Stop standing there gaping — do what needs doing! We’ll reconvene here when the time comes!” With that, the Dragon King had already transformed into the silver dragon and surged out of the underground city.

Strange — I suddenly found I no longer disliked him.

Except for Zuo Zhanyan, who stayed behind to look after Old Huang and his wife, all of us left the underground city. Never before had I so dearly wished I knew more people.

Ao Chi and I rushed at top speed back toward Bu Ting. Ling Shang had said: White Steed had called everyone.

In truth, our bodies were utterly exhausted — but we were more alert than we had ever been.

The rain battered my face — patter, patter — stinging painfully. But the moment I looked at the world below, I urged Ao Chi to fly faster still. I harbored no grand compassionate ideals about saving the world. I was throwing everything at this for one simple reason: I didn’t want to see my Bu Ting someday built on rubble. I didn’t want to see the restaurants I loved buried under mudslides. I didn’t want to feel small arms wrapped around my legs while a child said they couldn’t find home. I didn’t want those passing before my eyes to be only the wandering souls of the hopeless.

I am a demon — but I love this world just as it is.

Far ahead, a group of familiar figures appeared. At the very front, something tiny as a mosquito — wasn’t that Chi Pian’er? Behind it, the gaudy figure dressed like a Romani traveler — who else but Wan Qiansui? The closer we drew, the more familiar faces I recognized: Gu Wuming, Kevin, A’Liao, Chocolate, Cang Tongkai, Xuan — even Ku Yue and the fox A’Tou had come. A great crowd of demons came surging toward us.

“Innkeeper!” Chi Pian’er, the moment it saw me, hurled itself at me without regard for its own safety, clinging to my face and weeping. “You’re alive — I was so afraid you weren’t coming back!”

“Get off! Could you please say something lucky for once?!”

I had barely pulled it off when Wan Qiansui rushed up to me. “White Steed and Ling Shang were too fast — we couldn’t keep up. The rain was so heavy and we lost our bearings, so we came a step late!”

“Things all worked out?” Kevin asked — his body perpetually blazing with sunlight-like radiance, especially reassuring to see in a moment like this.

“Did you get hurt?” A’Liao, always the most warmhearted, asked anxiously, looking at both Ao Chi and me.

Gu Wuming scrutinized me with a frown. “Looking this disheveled? Tell me who gave you trouble — I’ll beat them to a pulp!”

“I’m fine. You all came at exactly the right time!” I cut them off urgently and told them our situation concisely, hoping they would help as much as they could.

“Gather a single breath of true heart from a newborn?” Cang Tongkai and Xuan looked at each other.

“Yes! The more the better — but only one breath per infant. They’re too young, too small.” I spoke with conviction.

Cang Tongkai nodded. “Understood! I’ll send all my people out! Xuan — let’s go!”

The two cat demons departed swiftly.

“You don’t have to say more — my divine power isn’t fully restored yet, but the little demons of Yingyue Mountain, I can still send them out to do something!” A’Tou shook her ears at me and turned to leave.

“I’m going to find my people!”

“I’m going back for more help too!”

Everyone came rushing in like the wind and left like the wind. Not a word of refusal, not a single wasted syllable. Even Chi Pian’er went to help — it said it knew plenty of reliable fellow gossips who could be at least a little useful.

At the crucial moment, not a single one of them said no to me.

“These people are considerably more endearing than usual.” Ao Chi looked back. “Sit tight — we can’t fall behind either.”

“Of course!”

The rain was still coming down hard. The darkness piled ever deeper in the sky. But I was no longer afraid this world would sink into hell — because every person around me carried a light on them.

Family, friends — not just names, not just words.

Part 8

That day, in hospitals around the world, a strange phenomenon occurred.

In neonatal wards everywhere, the sound of infants sneezing rose in endless chorus. Some nurses even noticed certain babies laughing toward empty patches of air and reaching out with their small hands. Even more astonishing: in one hospital, a physician saw several infants floating a few feet above their cribs, as though being held by invisible arms. After each one sneezed, they were gently laid back down. The doctor was terribly shaken, convinced they must be having some kind of hallucination. Similar incidents occurred at the same time all around the world, in hospitals and in homes where new babies had just arrived.

Every helping hand we could find had been mobilized. In places invisible to the humans who feared and even reviled them, demons were working with all their might.

Just a few hours later, Ao Chi and I returned to the underground city carrying an assortment of peculiar containers. Wan Qiansui had given me a small bowl covered with a sheet of plastic wrap. Gu Wuming had handed over a bone. Cang Tongkai and his people had given me a brocade pouch embroidered with a cat’s face. Kevin had pressed a small box of solid gold into my hands. A’Liao had given me an apple. Chi Pian’er had given me a paper-folded frog.

Within each of these individually distinctive containers, they had stored every breath of true heart collected from newborn infants, and with great care and solemnity had passed them on to me. I had told them not to follow me back underground — urged them to stay above and, if my plan failed and the world truly ended, to save as many as they could.

Racing back to the temple, the Dragon King was already waiting. He tossed a large pearl to me from above and said: “The Eastern Sea — every hospital and every home in the surrounding area — we covered them all.” Then, with visible indignation: “I, the great Dragon King, had to let a tiny infant sneeze directly onto my face. What a calamity!” He was still wiping at his face as he said it.

“Think of it as a facial mask,” I consoled him.

The Dragon King was rendered speechless by my consolation. Old grievances and new accumulated across his expression.

“Let’s set the facial mask discussion aside for later,” Jiu Jue quickly stepped between us, “leave the rest to me.”

I met Jiu Jue’s eyes with full sincerity: “Do your best.”

“I am doing what I do best,” Jiu Jue said with a smile.

“Come with me,” Ao Chi said, making a gesture.

“You know exactly where the wine pool is?” I said without thinking.

“I came out of it.” Ao Chi said. “I lost a bet and was sealed inside a playing card, then sent to the wine pool along with other cards containing gamblers. A single playing card couldn’t hold me for long. I had already seen through the rigged game long before, so I deliberately didn’t resist — I let them catch me, wanting to see their cards face-up.”

As ever, only acting after accounting for consequences! What a typical move!

“What do we do with him?” Zuo Zhanyan suddenly grabbed someone from a corner behind us and tossed the person at our feet.

“Don’t hit me! Please don’t ruin my looks! I already told you everything!” a young man with green-tinged skin cried out, terrified, throwing his hands over his head. From the waist down he had a long, thin green serpent’s tail, flicking in frantic agitation.

I recognized this man. In the chaos of fighting the spiny-balls inside the wooden house, he had been the one standing at the outermost point, commanding the black-robed figures to charge in wave after wave. So he was a green serpent demon.

“Pakal has sharp eyes — he spotted this one sneaking out from one of the lower levels beneath the temple, and I noticed the snake demon lurking suspiciously and snatched him up on impulse. He says he’s the Feathered Serpent God’s right hand, goes by the name Lü Yao. Here — he was carrying this when I caught him.” Zuo Zhanyan handed me a thick book with a leather cover: Complete Compendium of Demon Modification Techniques.

I opened it and looked inside. The content was composed of text, symbols, and illustrations in various scripts, meticulously documenting every single “experiment” 4E had ever conducted. These “experiments” — exactly as Chocolate had once described — were nothing but using external force to violently alter the bodies and nature of demons, reshaping them into new and bizarre species to serve the creator’s purposes.

But what shocked me most was the content on the very first page. What was recorded there was precisely how to take a feeble Whispering Thief and transform it into a massive man-eating demon.

I drew a deep breath, snapped the book shut, and said: “Bring him along.”

This time Ling Shang stayed behind to watch over the You Qu and protect Old Huang and the others. Everyone else followed Ao Chi, escorting Lü Yao, and leapt quickly down from the temple.

Strangely, this entire temple had only one floor-to-ceiling window — and only on its topmost level. As I descended past it, I felt inexplicably that a gaze had passed through it from behind the glass and swept over me. My spine ran cold. The thought there is someone behind that window appeared in my mind at once. I stopped midway, shot urgently back, and flew to hover outside the window — but the clear glass showed only my own reflection. The room beyond the window was completely empty.

We pressed on, and the temple was soon left behind. I looked back once — that single window, like a black eye, watched everything in quiet silence.

Part 9

As it turned out, the wine pool was directly beneath the ground at the midpoint between the temple and the wooden house. We crawled through the break Ao Chi had made getting out, and within minutes came to a spiral stairway of stone descending in a coil. At the far end of the stairs, a vast expanse of faint green light shimmered. The air was permeated with a light, fermented scent.

On the stairway, the corpses of black snakes lay everywhere. A few were still alive, managing barely a faint twist of the head before going still again.

Descending all the way, past the last stone step, a half-open floor-length glass door stood before us. This four-sided space, entirely sealed in hard, transparent glass, held at its center a green, semi-transparent dome — roughly ten meters in diameter. Looking through it at what lay beneath: a sunken pool, its bottom holding a thin remaining layer of green liquid that barely reached the surface, casting its pale glow upward, dyeing even the dome above it in the same color. Around the pool, four long, thick stone-carved serpent heads jutted outward, their wide-open mouths each positioned beneath five or six beautifully crafted silver open-mouthed jars. Against a rack beside the pool sat a collection of implements whose names I did not know.

Jiu Jue tapped on several of those serpent heads — hollow inside, one of them still dripping a few drops of green water.

Well-equipped and orderly. Very good.

Jiu Jue looked around. “All of you wait outside the door. I don’t like being watched while I brew.”

“Will you be all right?” I was a little anxious.

He patted my shoulder. “My reputation is no fabrication!” He produced the fruit he had picked earlier from his pocket, beaming. “If I add these Six-Leaf Fruit while brewing, the wine’s fragrance and concentration will both be dozens of times greater than the base. I didn’t expect them to come in useful so soon. If your theory is correct — if the true heart of children can counteract the You Qu’s demonic energy — I can amplify that power at least tenfold. So, don’t worry!”

With that, he shooed everyone outside and closed the glass door.

Now all we could do was wait. I sat down with my back against the glass and prayed without stopping in my heart.

“We’ve done everything we can. I refuse to believe that with so many of us, we still can’t deal with one You Qu.” Ao Chi sat beside me and pulled me tightly against his shoulder. “You have a rare moment of brilliance — it will certainly work!”

This was what he called a comforting remark!? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Please let me go — I beg of you!” The restrained Lü Yao suddenly dropped to his knees and gasped in great gulping breaths of genuine suffering. “I’ve worked so hard to get this far! I don’t want to die! If I stay here any longer, I’ll end up like those black snakes!”

He was actually weeping.

“Tell me why — tell me the truth, and I may free you.” He was, at this point, the only person still alive who knew the secrets of the underground city.

“It’s the ‘Source’!” Lü Yao blurted quickly. “Everything we had — all of it was supplied by the Source. Everything in this underground city was ‘fed’ by it.”

With our promise of lenient treatment, Lü Yao poured out one underground-city secret after another, his account a jumbled torrent.

Thousands of years ago, Lü Yao had been only a small serpent living on the surface world. He had kept a careful existence, because the ancient Maya people nearby often caught snakes for their bile, and many of his kind had died this way. One day, he had gone to a village to steal a chicken — and a man drenched in blood had fallen from the sky, nearly crushing him. The villagers gave the man medicine and herbs, and pulled him back from death. But this man had never once spoken. Even after his wounds healed, he sat in his room every day, staring east.

It smelled the scent of its own kind on this man and crept into his room out of curiosity. When the man noticed it, he suddenly said: “Have you come to take revenge for your kind?”

Strange — it understood his words. Revenge? What revenge? It shook its head at him.

“I will never kill any of you again,” the man said, and then paid it no further attention. “I’ve had enough.”

What a peculiar person — yet he carried the scent of a serpent. The villagers treated him well, giving him food and drink, and his manner gradually softened. Though still silent, he began to voluntarily help the villagers with their farmwork.

But the peaceful days were shattered by a group of outsiders who arrived by large ships. They had a different complexion from the local people, wore strange clothing, and came armed with sharp weapons. They seized the village elder and demanded he surrender a certain item. The elder refused, and the outsiders threatened the lives of the villagers. Blood flowed in the village in moments, and every villager’s life hung in the balance.

At the critical moment, a great winged serpent appeared in the village and tore every one of the outsiders to shreds.

The villagers who were saved by the great serpent regarded it as a divine being sent from heaven to rescue them, and called it the Feathered Serpent God. The elder even brought out a white stone tablet from a secret place and presented it as an offering, saying that such a thing should be in the keeping of a deity. One face of the tablet was carved with a map leading to the “underground city.” The other face bore the “prophecy” of the ancestors regarding the future destiny of this world. The item the outsiders had wanted was this very tablet. This kind of plunder had already happened more than once before.

All the villagers knelt and prayed for the Feathered Serpent God’s protection.

The serpent looked at them and said only: “Then go somewhere others cannot find.”

And so, after devoutly carving an account of the Feathered Serpent God’s deeds on the village walls, all the villagers followed their “deity” according to the tablet’s map and stepped with trembling reverence toward the secret path to the underground city. Before, they had not dared go near that place — it was said to be the dwelling of the divine. Now that they had the Feathered Serpent God to lead them, they had no further hesitation.

The migration took a full month. Between the surface and the underground city lay a vast, deep underwater region, and a sealed stone passage embedded in the water led all the way through to that beautiful, unknown land.

The underground city in those days was far richer and more beautiful than the world above. No day or night distinguished itself there — it was always bright and warm, the climate temperate. Many prehistoric animals lived there in free contentment.

The villagers were overjoyed. No one wished to go back to the surface. They built their village here, and over the course of decades, in gratitude for the Feathered Serpent God’s protection, they also constructed a temple in its honor.

And the small serpent had quietly followed them underground too — and discovered a secret: what was called the Feathered Serpent God was in fact the man the villagers had once saved. It had watched from hiding as he withdrew to a distance from the villagers and took back his human form.

Compared to its own weakness, it deeply admired this “kindred spirit’s” power. It pestered him repeatedly, begging to be kept at his side — it was willing to serve him as a slave, handling everything for him. After several rounds of earnest pleading, he agreed.

After that, the time simply flowed, peaceful and uncomplicated. The villagers flourished through generation after generation in the underground city. Perhaps this underground world truly did possess some mysterious power — each generation lived longer than the last. Eventually, one person could live two or three years. And so they revered the Feathered Serpent God all the more, believing he had granted them life.

Over this long span of time, he accepted the villagers’ worship and kept them safe. Every predatory beast in the underground city was captured by him and confined in the dungeon beneath the temple. Occasionally he would also leave the underground city and go above ground for a time, traveling to many different places — less like leisure and more like searching for something.

It had always followed this master of its. In those days, it felt he truly was something like a deity — powerful, and kind.

It had assumed the days would always continue this quietly. But thirty years ago, after he brought back a small blade of green grass from above, everything changed.

He planted this grass not far from the temple, watered it from a silver jar filled with green liquid of sweet and intoxicating fragrance, and kept vigil at its side without leaving.

Seven days later, where the grass had been planted, a woman of striking beauty appeared — but she could not speak, and had no expression, like a marionette. He was very pleased and continued to water it with the green liquid. And not only that — he began to drink large mouthfuls of it himself. He also called it over and asked its name, as though he didn’t recognize it at all.

It said carefully that it was his servant and had only its own name.

Hearing this, he was very pleased, and gave it a cup of the green liquid, saying this was something good and not a drop should be wasted.

After only a single mouthful, it was completely captivated. Nothing had ever felt like this before — the green liquid brought it a strength it had never possessed. In all its years it had practiced cultivation, hoping at least to take on human form, but had never managed it. Yet after drinking this substance, its tail could transform into human legs.

From that point on, its master traveled to the surface more frequently than ever. Each time he returned, he brought back a jar of this “divine brew.”

A year later, Lü Yao’s cultivation had advanced by leaps and bounds, and he had at last taken on a human form. And the woman who had transformed from the small blade of grass: her feet had grown countless thin green tendrils that burrowed into the earth. The master used spells to construct a unique wooden house for her, and she sat at its heart, her long skirt concealing the feet below — and below that skirt, the tendrils grew faster and faster, deeper and deeper underground.

In that same year, the master brought back from the outside world countless small black snakes. He transformed them into black-robed figures and had them construct the wine pool beneath the ground between the temple and the wooden house, near the spirit springs.

His power grew greater and greater, and his temperament became utterly different from before. He sealed the sky with the Huangquan Boundary, and destroyed the sealed stone passage — making the underground city a prison with entry but no exit. He told the small serpent that they had entered a kingdom called 4E, where no wish was beyond fulfillment.

Not long after, the master established the Celestial Apex Hotel on the surface, with a hidden barrier erected outside — only those who held a “key” could perceive the hotel’s existence. And the hotel elevator led directly down to the casino concealed beneath the underwater domain. Some of the black-robed figures were selected as couriers, dispatched to seek out the desperate from across the world. These people came full of hope — and in the end fell into an even deeper despair.

That was what he wanted. He sealed the gamblers into playing cards and fed them to the woman in the wooden house. After she consumed them, the tendrils beneath her would bear prison-fruit shaped like human faces. This fruit was delivered to the wine pool, and watching the green liquid flowing from the outlet in abundance, he smiled and said that learning to make this wine was the greatest fortune of his life. He called this wine Final Road.

The gamblers poured in in an endless tide, and the Final Road was brewed in an unending stream. He fed on the wine himself, and beyond that, poured the remainder into the body of the woman. Within a few years, those tendrils had grown massive, spreading far and wide — not only deep underground, but hidden within the other vegetation above ground. And beyond feeding on what was supplied to it, the tendrils had also learned to hunt. These green tendrils bearing “ears” could mimic any sound they heard — beast or human. And these things seemed to have the ability to spy on the minds of humans as well: when anyone drew near, the tendrils would emit sounds that were of interest to that person, and many villagers going out to work were drawn in and became their food. After consuming their prey, the tendrils expelled residue mixed with a particular mucus — and when this mucus seeped into the soil and was absorbed by other plants, those plants grew extraordinarily well. In addition, the mucus’s scent that drifted into the air became “oxygen” for the black-robed figures, who absorbed it greedily, growing stronger and more robust with each breath. And not only them — Lü Yao himself had also become a beneficiary.

And so they came to call the woman in the wooden house, and everything she produced, the “Source.” She had become a source of power for the underground city. They grew increasingly dependent on this source. Later, a network of interconnected conduits was built underground to collect the Source’s mucus and channel it to various pools, spreading the mucus’s scent more broadly. To go a day without breathing it in would bring deep discomfort.

Over time, the surface casino and the underground city formed a perfect “supply cycle.” The gamblers drawn in grew more numerous by the day, and the abundant Final Road made both the master and the Source grow ever more powerful — and the more powerful they grew, the more vigorous all those beneath them naturally became.

He grew more and more brutal, without mercy for anything. Even Lü Yao — once his most capable lieutenant — had changed greatly from the past. Once it had only been a timid little green serpent, happy to steal a single chicken. But now, its happiness had become watching those who struggled and cried out in the grip of the Source, watching the innocent villagers swallowed into the Source’s maw, watching 4E’s power grow ever stronger.

It knew 4E had countless experimental sites in the outside world — demons modified into shapes they wanted, obedient to their every command, going out into the human world to complete specified tasks.

But beginning two years ago, every time it rained on the surface, the master began ordering that large quantities of Final Road wine be poured into the spirit springs, with his own blood mixed in. He had always been extremely protective of the Final Road — no one else was permitted a single drop. But no one dared defy his orders.

While this was being done, he sent Lü Yao to the experimental sites outside to select suitable specimens, deploying these now-puppet creatures into the human world in a calculated manner — using their inherent demonic energy to cause various kinds of destruction: inexplicable fires, ground collapses, rail fractures, aircraft failures — spreading a pervasive undercurrent of unease. Another portion of the modified creatures took on human appearances and blended into ordinary society, spending years disseminating rumors: that the apocalypse was absolutely coming, that all of this was only a prelude, that the world would grow worse and worse — floods and earthquakes, plagues without cure, every catastrophe arriving in sequence, the annihilation of humanity inevitable.

Lü Yao had no idea why 4E was doing these things. At that time, all it cared about was whether the “oxygen” the Source provided was plentiful enough, and whether it could live comfortably. Whatever the Feathered Serpent God said, 4E said, it did.

But no one had anticipated that not long ago, an arrogant-mannered man came to the casino, and won hand after hand through the third round before finally losing. It watched from the shadows as the master regarded this gambler with a strange expression, and the gambler’s face, when looking at the master, was similarly unusual. Several times, the master seemed on the verge of calling off the game — but immediately returned to his composure. In the end, the man was sealed into a card. The master looked at the card in his hand and gave a sinister smile, saying: This is a dragon of the Eastern Sea.

After that, the rest of the story no longer needed telling. We had come crashing in, destroyed the Source, and reduced the entire underground city to its current state.

“I never knew that such a creature was living inside his body!” Lü Yao shuddered — all his vicious authority from when he had commanded others to come kill us was entirely gone. “You destroyed the Source, so the oxygen was cut off, and we weakened quickly. I’ve fared better than most — at least I’m still alive. All the black-robed figures are dead. I just want to go back to the surface! If I stay here any longer I’m going to die!”

“If that was your intention, why were you carrying this?” I pointed to the book.

“I’ve seen the power of 4E. If I could also learn the techniques for modifying demons, I might be able to live a better life.” Lü Yao didn’t dare conceal anything. “I… I…”

His face suddenly went very bad. He collapsed on the ground and began convulsing violently. Green scales sprouted from his upper body, squeezing his form smaller and smaller until he had transformed entirely into a small green snake, barely three feet long, crawling in a frightened frenzy on the ground — before losing all its strength, writhing for a moment, and going still.

Looking at Lü Yao’s remains, none of us felt any particular satisfaction. He hadn’t truly been a bad creature — he should have spent his life as a timid little serpent demon, living quietly in the world above. Even when he had first followed the Feathered Serpent God into the underground city, both of them had possessed ordinary, kind hearts. Everything had changed from thirty years ago.

At that moment, the glass door suddenly swung open. Jiu Jue came running out, drenched in sweat, wine jug cradled in his arms, shouting in excitement: “It worked! It worked!”

My heart lurched.

Part 10

The spirit springs that led to the underground water domain were less than ten meters from the wine pool — four circular openings roughly one meter in diameter, arranged to face the four cardinal directions. A peculiar illumination drifted within each opening, the faint halo reaching upward through each shaft like four enormous torches shining skyward.

Around the edges of the openings, some green residue still clung.

Everyone held their breath, eyes fixed on Jiu Jue’s wine jug.

He rolled up his sleeves and stepped to the edge of an opening. From the jug he poured a thread of wine — as clear as water. Just that little — and a rich fragrance pierced straight through to the lungs. Something of renewal swept through every cell, driving away fatigue, low spirits, grief, and every other unwelcome feeling. The phrase “clear-headed and refreshed” — this was exactly that sensation.

“This is wonderful,” Zuo Zhanyan breathed in deeply. “I feel lighter in my body.”

Jiu Jue, with focused attention, distributed the wine evenly among the four openings until the very last drop was spent. Only then did he exhale with relief.

A ring of white mist — dotted within with bright points of rainbow light — rose slowly from each spirit spring, flowing along four invisible channels straight upward, flowing in an endless stream.

Would it work? The breath of true heart, distilled from tens of millions of pure and innocent souls…

Everyone held their breath in suspense.

After waiting a good while longer — once it was confirmed the spirit springs were working normally — we left and returned to the temple.

There, Ling Shang took one look at us and called out in urgent excitement: “Come quickly! Come look!”

Had something gone wrong?! Everyone rushed over.

“Look — the creature has gotten smaller!” He pointed at the You Qu’s remains, thrilled. “It seems our ‘sneezes’ are working!”

I looked — both halves of the You Qu had shrunk to the size of a single sheep, huffing and puffing, looking utterly spent.

A surge of exhilaration swept through me.

“The sky is beginning to brighten,” the Dragon King said, looking up. A wave of orange light was steadily reclaiming what had always been its rightful place. The black vapors that had been seeping down were completely gone.

Ao Chi sniffed the air. “Can you all smell it — seems like we can smell that wine even here.”

Indeed. The power we had created through such great difficulty had not let us down. It was growing with strength, flourishing, fighting.

“Time to go back above,” I said, looking at everyone — a wide smile spreading across my grimy face.

Before the words were even finished, a strange cry rang out. The You Qu — no longer receiving its food supply — launched both halves of its body from the ground in furious, wounded pride and came at us.

Laughably, however, its speed had slowed to that of a snail. While still a considerable distance away, Ling Shang’s cleaver had already made easy contact.

Just one stroke — from head to tail — but this creature did not split from two pieces into four, as one might have expected. Instead, with a pop, like a balloon burst, it scattered into ash particles the size of mung beans in the air. From among that scattering of ash, a single jade-like, brilliantly shimmering object fell to the ground at my feet with a clear ting.

I picked it up: no larger than a pigeon’s egg, cool and luminous, like the finest jade — though, regrettably, bearing a visible crack across its surface.

“A green amber eye!” the Dragon King said in surprise.

This was a green amber eye? I looked at it, then held it out to the Dragon King. “Take it. Though it seems a little damaged.”

The Dragon King took it, said nothing, and carefully put the green amber eye away.

Over there, the ash the You Qu had become had already become fine dust and sifted to the ground. After a wisp of smoke, there was not a single fragment left.

I cheered three hundred times in my heart. Everyone present let out their breath in relief.

The group made their way up to the temple roof. Now we could finally bring Old Huang and his wife home.

I passed that window again. The sensation of being watched swept over me once more. I stopped outside the glass and peered in — still, unmistakably, no one there.

The more I thought about it, the more wrong it felt. I steeled myself, struck the glass window with my palm and shattered it, and landed inside without ceremony.

This room should have belonged to the “Feathered Serpent God” — enormous, almost impossibly so.

And that 4E symbol carved into the wall was a conspicuous eyesore. Willingly or not, it was Ao Chi’s father who had built 4E with his own hands. Now that 4E’s “General” was gone — would those experimental sites scattered everywhere dissolve alongside it?

This “General” had caused so much trouble — setting up the casino to use people for brewing wine, capturing and modifying demons — was all of that truly only because the You Qu living within his body was using him to manufacture “food”? There had always been one thing I couldn’t quite account for: if the You Qu had crawled into his body a thousand years ago, why had there been no sign of it for so long? Lü Yao had said that at that time, he was a kind deity.

Thirty years ago… Could it be that someone, thirty years ago, had deliberately “awakened” the You Qu within him?! What he had brought back at that time was not only Ao Chi’s mother — but also a jar of green wine. Could that wine have been the “food” that awakened the You Qu? I understood the nature of demons: certain long-imprisoned demons would have their power reduced to its lowest, essentially harmless state — unless someone supplied them with energy. Without that, they could never become active again. If Ao Chi’s father, not knowing a You Qu lived within him, had accidentally consumed food that a You Qu craved — the rest would follow logically. The You Qu that woke would grow more and more demonic, and its nature would quickly overwhelm his original self, driving Ao Chi’s father into a stupor. The same thing had happened to Ao Chi’s mother — a Whispering Thief living in seclusion, force-fed that same green liquid, left to drift in a daze while others remade her body into a man-eating monster.

And Lü Yao had also mentioned that Ao Chi’s father had “learned” the method for brewing the Final Road wine. If he had learned it from someone — then whoever taught him was in all likelihood the very person who had poisoned both him and the Whispering Thief!

My head was full of unanswered questions. I had already circled the entire room once. There was truly no one here.

Could it really have been a hallucination? I shook my head, turned back to the window to climb out.

Then a small thing caught my eye — a plain sticky note, affixed neatly to the window frame.

I leaned close. My heart received a blow as though struck by lightning. On this piece of paper were written only four short lines:

Stop and drink my tea, One night, a dream of life adrift, Just go, ask nothing further — White clouds, boundless and endless.

The ink was still fresh. This beautiful, casual handwriting — I knew it better than anything. The lantern hanging at Bu Ting’s entrance, the very first gift received when the shop opened — the handwriting on that lantern and the handwriting on this paper were identical.

Except that this piece of paper carried an additional signature —

The General.

I returned to the top of the temple in a subdued mood. Ao Chi asked what I had been doing in that room. I told him I had gone to see if there was anything valuable worth taking. He believed me.

Zuo Zhanyan picked up the book and held it out: “This — are you taking it with you?”

I looked at this record of every cruelty inflicted on demons, and said to Ao Chi: “Start a fire. Burn it.”

In the roaring flame, the book reeking of evil was reduced to scattered ash.

“All right. Let’s go up.” I reached out my hand to Pakal. “Come with us.”

But at these words, the child stepped back one pace and shook his head. “This is my home. I was born here. My family is all here — alive or dead.”

“You can’t stay here alone — you’re the last one left. So many places have been burned. You can’t possibly remain.” I took his hand. “Come up above with us. I believe you’ll come to love another new world.”

“We made an exchange of promises,” Pakal said, looking at me. “I promised I would come back alive to rebuild my home.”

My heart ached. “But I didn’t keep my promise. I couldn’t bring your family back to you. They are gone.”

“I know.” Pakal did not cry. He spoke like a small adult: “Actually, I had already guessed. They were eaten by that creature. Is that right?”

I couldn’t bear it — but I had to nod.

“But you made me survive. So I thank you anyway.” Pakal embraced me. “Hurry home, all of you! Even if I’m here living alone, I’m not afraid. Mom and Dad are still with me. The burned land will grow grass again. The lake is still here — I won’t die of thirst. There’s so much food in the ground now that’s already been, let’s say, well-cooked — I won’t starve either. The underground city is so large — there are many places I haven’t seen yet. Maybe in other parts there are children like me. I don’t really understand everything that happened here or what you all did — but I know you are all good people. I’m glad I met you.”

“Pakal…”

What else could I say? People who do not despair of the future will survive, wherever they are.

“Then give me one more promise.”

“What promise?”

“Promise that the next time I come to see you, you’ll feed me food you grew with your own hands.”

“I promise! I promise!”

“Then… goodbye!”

“Goodbye!”

Part 11

I lifted my face. Raindrops fell, pitter-patter, striking my skin.

We were standing on an unnamed street in some foreign city. Several cars sped past, spraying water on pedestrians.

The rain was still falling — but it had clearly grown noticeably lighter. The sky was beginning to show the faintest hint of brightness.

People had come outside. Colorful umbrellas formed a bright river flowing through the streets and alleys. Ahead, a heavyset shop owner opened the restaurant’s door, looked up at the sky, and his face broke into a smile. He went back inside and brought out the “Open” sign, and hung it on the door.

A group of young people stood not far from us at a bus stop. I heard one of them say happily: “See? I told you this rain would stop sooner or later! It’s already gotten smaller — look, the sky is brightening up!”

“Oh, come on! Who was it who went completely crazy saying 2012 had arrived and humanity was going to be drowned and the rain would never stop?!”

“You were saying the apocalypse was coming too! Everyone around us was saying it!”

“And now I think the apocalypse is just a joke, okay?!”

“I don’t know what happened — why were we so convinced the end was coming a little while ago? Ha ha.”

“Possessed, or something? Either way, my mood suddenly got so much better these past few days. Let’s go eat something good tonight!”

A bus pulled up, and the young people climbed aboard with laughter. The bus honked its horn a few times and charged through the rain, heading cheerfully forward.

Such an ordinary scene — yet looking at it now, it was precious enough to make me want to cry.

Watching the bus drive away, Jiu Jue let out a long whistle and smiled. “We succeeded.”

My legs gave way beneath me, and I simply sat down on the wet ground. Every bit of strength I had was gone. Even if someone told me there was a ton of gold up ahead, I couldn’t run toward it anymore.

“Pathetic creature,” Ao Chi said, giving me a white-eyed glance. He bent down and scooped me onto his back. “Let’s go home.”

“Good.” I draped myself across his back, eyes vacant, murmuring away: “I want to eat something proper too. And sleep for a week. And then listen to you give a deeply felt confession about the monstrous crimes you committed this time!” I pointed at Old Huang and his wife. “But first — take them home. I still have one more thing I need to help them with.”

Soon, we delivered Old Huang and his wife back to their home in a small Mexican city. I looked at Old Huang lying in bed — blank and dazed — and said to Old Huang’s wife: “Give me your son’s phone number.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly wrote a string of numbers on a piece of paper.

I went to the phone and picked up the receiver.

“Hello!”

“Is this Mr. Huang?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Are you still not coming home?”

“What?”

“Listen carefully. Your father has always kept the spare key to the house under the third red brick by the front door. You used to take the key from there when you came home from school.”

“What do you mean?”

“No matter how many years you’ve been away, your father has never changed where he keeps the spare key. He hopes that one day you will come back, pick it up, and use it to open the door and walk to him. The door of this home has never closed against you.”

A long silence on the other end of the line.

“Your mother is ill. Whether to come home — you decide for yourself.”

I hung up, then wrote down Bu Ting’s phone number and handed it to Old Huang’s wife. “If he comes back, you won’t need to call me. All right — we have to go now.”

“Wait, child.” Old Huang’s wife held my arm. She looked at me, and at all of us. “Are you… are you celestial beings?”

I smiled wickedly. “No — we’re demons!”

Old Huang’s wife laughed too. “If you are demons, you are good demons, just like celestial beings. Thank you for bringing us home. I’ll try to live a little longer — even if the old man, when he wakes up, no longer has feelings for me.”

“A promise is a promise!” I took from around my neck the key she had once given me and returned it to her. “I don’t need to pass it on for you anymore. Put it back where it belongs.”

At that moment, Jiu Jue let out a cry of delighted surprise, pointing at the windowsill, too happy to speak.

A thread of long-missed sunlight had found its way through the just-clearing sky, and cast a brilliant stripe of color across the sill.

I walked over. Its warmth, passing through what had once been cold, settled on my face. I reached out instinctively. The light turned my palm to gold. I closed my fist tightly — a little greedy, wanting to hold more of this regained warmth. The things one takes most for granted are precisely those one misses most fiercely when they are lost. Like sunlight. Like family. Like being alive. Like an ordinary, peaceful life.

On the windowsill, the few potted flowers still held a few glistening drops of water — like tears not yet wiped away. But no matter. Tears are made of water, and water evaporates.

Walking out of the Huang family’s home, more than half the sky was draped in golden evening clouds. A gentle breeze lifted the long hair of the girls on the street. Across the way, shops and cafes were blazing with cheerful neon lights. Customers came and went in twos and threes, voices and laughter spilling through the doors.

Ao Chi’s stomach and mine, in perfect marital harmony, rumbled together. In this small Mexican city, the air was full of the fragrance of dinner.

The Dragon King walked at the very back of our group. A moment ago, I had caught a glance at him — he had paused for a few seconds before the front steps of the Huang family home, staring at the row of red bricks beneath the stairway.

“I’m hungry. Eat before we go.”

We all turned. The Dragon King stared at Ao Chi and me, and pointed toward a small restaurant slightly ahead.

“Didn’t you say you find me very unpleasant?” I studied him with suspicion. “Aren’t you afraid eating with me will ruin your appetite?”

“I heard from Ao Chi that you often pester the customers who come to your shop to tell you stories, and force them to drink some kind of awful tea?” he countered.

That incorrigible habit of spreading false information — it was Ao Chi’s single most unforgivable quality. I grabbed his ear furiously. “What do you mean, force them to drink tea?!”

“I only said your tea tasted bad! Anyone who can drink it is remarkable!” Ao Chi covered his ear and shouted at the Dragon King. “Why are you making things up?!”

“If it tastes that bad, who would voluntarily drink it? Given that terrifyingly domineering nature of hers, she certainly takes pleasure in compelling others. What’s wrong with that reasoning?” the Dragon King said, with perfect righteousness.

Goodness — neither of them was helping.

Jiu Jue, Ling Shang, and Zuo Zhanyan wanted to laugh but didn’t dare.

“Ah — I think the people waiting for your return at Bu Ting are probably quite a crowd right now. Since the three of you are all hungry, why not eat here before going back. We’ll head out first — no need to intrude on a family gathering.” Jiu Jue winked at me and hustled the other two into making a quick departure.

“Why didn’t you ask them to come back with us? The food at Bu Ting must be far better than here, surely?” Ao Chi asked.

“Oblivious, are you?! Did you not see those three are all firebrands?! If they can’t agree on something and start fighting, they’ll peel the roof off Bu Ting! Better to let them have it out here — even if a table gets flipped, at least it won’t be ours. The furniture at Bu Ting cost quite a lot. If it all gets smashed, she’ll be looking for ways to have a collection from all of us again!”

“I wonder if that Mexican restaurant has bought any accident insurance.”

Part 12

A hungry person thinks anything tastes delicious!

The passing server stared in bewilderment at the pile of empty plates in front of Ao Chi and me, and asked with great care and trepidation whether we would like a little more.

“No thank you — just bring us a pot of tea. Any kind will do, to settle the grease.” I rubbed my round, bloated stomach. My appetite these days had grown considerably larger than before — nearly a match for Ao Chi.

The Dragon King sat across from Ao Chi and me, sipping red wine with elegant posture. With a face as young and fine as his, even I found it difficult to accept that he was technically a “grandfather.” And there was the fact that he was the one who had declared his hunger and dragged us here — yet he hadn’t touched a single morsel of food, only sat drinking red wine and watching the two of us eat our fill. Strange, and yet… the feeling of family: the children eating heartily, the elder watching the children eat.

“Your eyes are full of question marks,” the Dragon King said suddenly, without looking at me.

“You’ve all been keeping things from me.” I took a sip of red tea. “Your son — Ao Chi’s biological father — a dragon of the Eastern Sea — why would he become a serpent?”

Ao Chi frowned and bent over his tea, drinking too fast and burning his tongue.

Outside, night was coming on — the line between day and night softening the street into something livelier, more animated. Music, voices, a long-pent-up release.

The Dragon King looked at the people coming and going outside, and said: “He had once returned to the Eastern Sea to beg forgiveness. In my furious state I refused to see him. That stubborn wretch — truly in keeping with the old compact between us as father and son — severed his own dragon horn and cut out the twelve protective dragon scales from his neck. With that, the power of the dragon pearl within him would naturally be greatly weakened. A dragon thus incomplete…”

There he stopped, and downed the rest of his wine in one swallow.

Severing a dragon horn, cutting out dragon scales — the sight of that alone, the blood — was enough to make one’s skin crawl. Let alone when the one suffering was your own flesh and blood. Who could recall it without pain?

“You don’t need to say more. It’s because of the serpent king he swallowed, isn’t it?” I thought I already knew the answer. “That Lord Liu was no minor cultivator. Swallowed whole, his demonic energy long since concentrated within. After injuring himself, the dragon’s power was severely diminished — unable to resist the demonic energy — and in the end he was changed and corrupted into the form of the serpent king himself: the great ‘serpent’ with wings.”

“You knew?” The Dragon King turned his head, looking at me with puzzlement.

I nodded. “Someone gave me the past as a gift.”

“I see.” He didn’t press further. He reached again for the wine bottle.

“At your age, how much more do you intend to drink?!” The uncle who had been silent all this time grabbed the bottle away. “I’m not ready to take over your decrepit position!”

“My mood is good tonight — a few more cups is appropriate.”

“As if! Give it back!”

“Hand it over!”

“Not a chance!”

The two of them stood at an impasse over one bottle of wine. I didn’t try to mediate — let them argue. Some knots can only be untied through arguing.

“Wretched boy!” The Dragon King suddenly laughed, and withdrew his hand from the contest. “You’ve been hating me all this time.”

Ao Chi blinked, and didn’t answer.

“When I brought the two of you back to the Eastern Sea, I told everyone you were the children of Ze and some unnamed dragon woman, and that Ze, having committed a great offense, had been exiled from the Eastern Sea — his name henceforth never to be spoken.” The Dragon King said slowly. “I was too ashamed to let them know your mother was a demon. From the time you came back to the Eastern Sea, I used every method to weaken and conceal the demonic energy in your bodies, and forced you to cultivate the way of a pure dragon — strengthening the power of the dragon pearl. When I had you confined in the ice dungeon for years, it was not to punish your willfulness. The extreme cold of the dungeon can drive out demonic energy more effectively than anything. The method worked well. As your age and cultivation grew, everything from your mother had essentially vanished from your bodies. No one doubted your bloodline or your standing.”

“If you went to all that trouble to hide it, why did you end up telling me the truth?” Ao Chi said with a heavy voice. “You should have kept this secret to the grave.”

“Between family, there should be no deception. The two of you had the right to know your true origins. I thought I owed you a measure of fairness. I had taken you from bewildered children and made you heirs of the Dragon King — throughout that process, I had never once asked your opinion. Seeing that you had grown into your own people, with your own thoughts and the ability to protect yourselves, I felt it was time to tell you. I even prepared for the possibility that you might leave me.” He looked out the window, a deep twilight in his eyes. “What put my mind at ease was that when you learned of your mother’s background, you only ran away from home for a year, but in the end came back.”

“Where else would I go?” Ao Chi smiled. “I thought about abandoning this vile old man to the Dragon Palace alone. But when I calmed down and thought about it… you’re not really that terrible, are you?”

Scattered stars were brightening in the sky above, settling in people’s eyes — glittering and glimmering, impossible to tell the starlight from tears.

“Though at the time you didn’t tell me about the green amber eyes — only said he had taken something important from the Eastern Sea. And you didn’t tell me you had been watching his whereabouts in secret.” Ao Chi looked at him. “Only when you wanted me to go to South America to reclaim the amber eyes from the Feathered Serpent God did you finally tell me that the ‘thief’ was my own father. If I hadn’t been sturdy enough, one sentence from you truly would have stopped my heart.”

“If the situation hadn’t been urgent, I wouldn’t have sent you to deal with this personally.” The Dragon King sighed. “What is of one’s own family should be resolved by family.”

Grandfather and grandson fell into a long silence.

But a question that had just occurred to me simply had to be voiced. I asked the Dragon King: “You said you once went secretly to the underground city to observe your son. If you were always keeping an eye on him, why did you know nothing of what happened to him afterward?”

“My visit to the underground city was over a thousand years ago. By then, I had not yet realized the amber eyes were lost — I believed they were still in his possession. I had also considered finding him and taking the amber eyes back, but seeing that he had already settled peacefully in the underground city, and besides — the green amber eyes were, at that time, nothing more than a miscellaneous item of no particular significance. Though kept in the Dragon Tomb, no one had paid attention to it for years. I had no wish to have any further dealings with the disgraced child over this. If he truly wanted to keep it, so be it. From that point on I treated him as completely dead and asked nothing further. Everything that came after — I had no knowledge of.” The Dragon King said plainly. “But who could have guessed that not long ago, a celestial envoy would come to solemnly demand that the Eastern Sea return the Spiritual Phoenix’s Twelve Coffins?”

At that, I frowned. “If neither of you knew in advance that something had gone so terribly wrong there, how could Ao Chi possibly have ended up inside the Celestial Apex Hotel? Lü Yao said the hotel was surrounded by a concealed barrier — only someone invited, with a key, could perceive where it existed. Ao Chi was never invited. By rights he should never even have seen the hotel.” I thought about it further, and the question widened to include all of us: “And not just Ao Chi — none of us were invited. Yet we walked straight in, as naturally as you please. How did that happen?”

Ao Chi thought back and recalled: “I followed the old man’s map to the Yucatan Peninsula, walked circles around that backwater place and never found the entrance to the underground city. I was about to assume the old man had gotten confused in his old age and given me wrong directions — the place looked nothing like what he described. When I pulled out the map again to check it, a playing card with the 4E mark on it was brought out with it from my pocket. I picked it up to look — the back had something printed about a casino. At first I didn’t take this card seriously and was about to toss it — but I happened to look up, and a run-down hotel appeared right there in a place I had just walked through a moment before. I looked at the card again, and the words on the back had changed into directions for finding the casino. Seeing the Feathered Serpent God’s mark on the card, I guessed this casino had something to do with him, and so I went into the hotel. Following the card’s directions, I eventually made my way to the casino.”

I thought about it and asked the Dragon King: “You sent Ao Chi to handle this — so why did you come yourself?”

“I received a letter — right at my bedside. The content was: ‘Ao Chi is in danger, go immediately to the Celestial Apex Hotel, take the elevator.’ Attached was the hotel’s address. I remember the letter was printed on a playing card with the 4E mark.”

I thought back to the creature that had chased Chi Pian’er when it fled back — which had also eventually turned into a playing card.

With Chi Pian’er’s abilities, how could it possibly have escaped back through the elevator after being trapped?

All of us had been in contact with that playing card. Was it possible that someone had tampered with it in advance — so that anyone who touched it would no longer be blocked by the concealed barrier? Everything from beginning to end had been someone’s deliberate arrangement to lure us into the underground city.

Why would anyone do this? This shadowy figure — who were they? Friend or foe? If the sticky note that appeared in the underground city was also left by this person, then the General — the General was clearly an enemy. But if that were so, why lead us there to destroy their own “apocalypse plan”?

This feeling was genuinely unpleasant — I was clearly right at the moment when all the truth was finally revealed, only to tumble into a far larger mystery.

I told them both what the General had left written.

The three of us looked at each other, and no one could unravel this puzzle.

“Which is to say — this fight isn’t over,” the Dragon King said, looking at us both.

After a brief silence, Ao Chi and I said simultaneously, in perfect unison: “We’re not afraid!”

The Dragon King was taken aback, and for the first time laughed in a way that seemed genuinely natural. “You two really are in sync.”

Truly not afraid. Standing around us were so many who would not hesitate — we had the numbers. One General was nothing!

The tension dissolved again into ease. I looked at these two — the elder and the young — and smiled as I asked: “Why did you both choose today to tell me all of this ‘family business’?”

“Family business is only shared with family members.” He glanced at me. “You have to ask a question that simple? You’ve eaten yourself silly.”

Family members. What a wonderful three words.

I grinned. “Then let’s pay the bill — this meal is on you, Grandfather Dragon King.”

The Dragon King choked, and began to cough violently.

Part 13

Walking out of the restaurant, the sky was already a tapestry of stars and moonlight — truly beautiful.

Three people walked down a quiet little street. Ao Chi, who had drunk more than half the remaining wine, was swaying and singing a gloriously off-key version of “A Whole Family of Auspicious Signs.”

Thank heavens no one here knew us.

Heaven alone knows how this man got so thoroughly drunk. After walking a stretch, I pressed the staggering figure down onto a bench along the road and scolded: “Drunk to this state — how are you ever going to fly home?”

“Home! Good! Home!” Ao Chi said happily, wrapping his arms around me. “I have a home!” Then, in the next breath, his expression drooped and he murmured: “But home has no dad or mom… what do we do?” He looked at me through bleary eyes. “See — I only just found them, and now they’re gone again!”

“They are together. And they will be together in the next life.” I cupped his flushed face in my hands and wiped the single tear from the corner of his eye.

“Really?” He brightened again.

“Of course. When have I ever lied to you?”

“True, you don’t lie to me. You just hit me.”

Ao Chi rambled on in a confused stream, his body slowly slipping down until his head came to rest in my lap.

“Let’s not be apart… always together… two people, not just one…” he mumbled between smacking his lips, and fell asleep.

“All right,” I said softly, stroking his hair with a smile. “Sleep well, you drunkard.”

“Looks like I’m a bit superfluous here,” the Dragon King said, straightening up from where he’d been leaning against the lamppost. “I’ll head back to the Eastern Sea. You two take care.”

“You’ve never truly closed the door either — just like Old Huang always leaving the spare key under the bricks for his son,” I said suddenly.

He stopped and looked at me. The moonlight softened the lines of his face. “Have I?”

“What parent in the world could truly hate their own child?” I said with a smile. “It’s only the heat of the moment — the door slams shut. Once the anger passes, who isn’t secretly hoping the child will come and push the door open?”

The Dragon King said nothing.

“All these years, you never went to take back the green amber eyes from him — wasn’t that because you hoped one day he would come back on his own and return them to you? As long as the amber eyes were in his possession, there was still a line connecting the two of you. The severity you showed and your apparent inability to forgive, and the tenderness and grief you carried inside — these were in direct proportion.” I looked at the endless stars above. “If back then, you had been less concerned about the difference between dragon and demon… ah well, there are never enough ‘if only’s’!”

He continued his silence.

“If you had been truly heartless, Ao Chi’s mother would never have been seen again and again in the Eastern Sea — she might well have been quietly done away with.” I looked at him, then at Ao Chi. “Both of you: all shout and fury on the surface, soft-hearted underneath. A dreadful character trait — and it’s clearly hereditary.”

He spoke suddenly: “Do you know what my first feeling was when I learned Ao Chi was with a tree demon?”

“Dread,” I said without thinking.

He seemed slightly surprised. “Why?”

“You were afraid Ao Chi would become a second Ze.” I met his eyes. “You had seen what happened before, and you wanted to intervene — yet didn’t dare.”

“I collected quite a few of your illustrious deeds,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Truly a disreputable record — greedy, gluttonous, a bully to the staff. Alas…”

“No wonder from the moment you saw me you were looking at me with that X-ray stare — you’d been assessing me all along, deliberately saying irritating things to test me. Go ahead, tell me your score. I won’t retaliate.”

“A failing grade.”

“You—”

He glanced at the sleeping Ao Chi. “Him too — also a failing grade. The two of you: negative times negative gives positive. Just right.”

“I’m a demon, mind you, Dragon King Grandfather. You truly don’t object?” I asked in surprise.

“You married Ao Chi, not his grandfather.” He answered with complete seriousness. A pause. “Demons… not all of them are so unpleasant.” He looked upward at the sky and said: “If it hadn’t been for them today, we wouldn’t be seeing a sky like this. Some views — perhaps it really is time they changed.”

“Agreed.”

“I’m going.”

“Wait.” I called after him. “What about the green amber eyes — aren’t people coming to collect them soon?”

“I’ll find a way to track down the other missing ones. As for the celestial realm — I have my own way of buying time.”

“If you need help, don’t be polite. We’re family — I won’t charge you.”

“…”

He extended his hand — as though about to shake mine or perhaps embrace me — and in the end did neither. He simply looked at me with that face so thoroughly reoccupied by severity, and after some effort, said: “If you have time — come back to the Eastern Sea for a meal.”

“If you have time, come play at Bu Ting — I’ll treat you to the worst tea you’ve ever had!”

This was a very pleasant night indeed under the moon.

Part 14

Golden sunlight poured in from the east. On the still-wet streets, pedestrians and vehicles moved in ceaseless flow. From a bun and steamed bread stall on the next street, the cries of the vendor rang out to the clouds. Hot, steaming breakfast warmed the cold winter morning.

Bu Ting was just ahead now — not far at all. I felt as though I had been away for ages, though it had not been long in reality. An urgent longing to fling myself back through that door surged in me.

“We’re home.”

“Hurry! I want to eat the noodles Zhao Gongzi makes!”

Two figures — looking every bit like refugees — ran hand in hand toward that courtyard they had been waiting so long to see.

Bu Ting’s broken front door had been repaired. Two swallows poked their heads from their nest and chirped at us warmly, a continuous chorus of greeting. At the sound of the commotion, everyone inside came streaming out in a rush.

Gu Wuming pulled me into his arms, bones digging into me painfully, but he didn’t care.

“Innkeeper, we did it!” A’Liao pointed at the morning sunlight.

“Based on the reports coming in from various locations, the heavy rain in each city has stopped or is subsiding. The frequency and reach of earthquakes is declining as well.” Xuan, always so earnest, said. “The spread of the infectious disease is also weakening — no sign of further expansion, and a vaccine is currently being developed at an urgent pace.” He exhaled. “This world is returning to normal.”

Chi Pian’er jumped to my shoulder. “Are you hungry? Are you tired? Do you want noodles? Innkeeper!”

“You should hurry up and take a bath — an innkeeper this grimy won’t attract any customers!” Cang Tongkai shook his head. “I still have a whole stack of spa vouchers — they’re all yours.”

Ku Yue was perched on the fox A’Tou’s head, and the two of them were herding everyone out of the way. “Move aside, move aside — it’s so cold out here. Let the innkeeper in first, then we can talk!”

My ears hadn’t been filled with this many familiar voices for a long time. I usually found noise unbearable — but in that one morning alone, I loved it with everything I had.

“All right, everyone calm down!”

Ao Chi and I walked to stand before the quieted crowd, looked at each other, and in perfect silent understanding, bowed deeply — very deeply — before everyone, and said: “Thank you.”

The crowd looked at each other for a moment in silence, and then Kevin patted me on the head. “If you truly want to thank us, take all your gold out and distribute it as Christmas gifts! Who agrees?!”

Everyone applauded in agreement.

“Absolutely not!” I screamed at the top of my lungs and fled into the building as though for my life.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw Zhao Gongzi walking out carrying a bowl of hot steaming noodles. The moment he saw me, he stopped — stared for a moment — walked over to me, and in the most delightfully awkward possible way, held the bowl out before me. His voice was a little choked: “Innkeeper — have some noodles!”

“You stayed here the whole time?” I took the bowl.

“Yes. When White Steed called everyone together, I thought about going with them to help you. But I got to the door and came back.” said Zhao Gongzi, being perfectly honest. “Why?”

“If I left, and Bu Ting got flooded, or the gale knocked it down — what then? They’re all so capable — they’d certainly be able to help you. I’m slow, and if I can’t keep up with anyone else, I might as well stay here in peace, keep watch over Bu Ting. Wherever there’s a leak, I’ll patch it immediately. If there’s an earthquake, I’ll prop up the walls — somehow keep the building from falling. At the very least, when the innkeeper comes home, she should find a home that is whole and intact.”

I looked around the room. Indeed — through all that terrible weather, not a single drop of water had seeped inside Bu Ting. Everything was exactly as it had always been: clean, fresh, unharmed.

My heart warmed. I patted Zhao Gongzi on the shoulder, took a fierce mouthful of noodles, and gave him a thumbs-up. “These are delicious!”

Having an inarticulate helper at Bu Ting who said little, knew nothing beyond cooking and cleaning and sweeping — truly the greatest blessing.

No — what I should say is: that Bu Ting, a shop like this, was my greatest blessing.

Coming home really was wonderful. Truly wonderful.

Everyone poured inside. Warm air and body heat blended together — every last trace of exhaustion vanished.

Slurping my noodles, I suddenly realized someone was missing. I asked Ling Shang urgently: “Where is White Steed? I haven’t seen it since it brought you here.”

He stopped handing out the business cards of the famous cleaver dealership he had been distributing to the group, and said: “It…”

“What happened?” My heart gave an uneasy lurch. “Where is it?”

“Right here!” The bowl of noodles suddenly let out a wail.

I spat out the noodles I hadn’t finished chewing — directly onto Ao Chi’s face across the table.

“When I led Ling Shang and the others to the entrance, I thought there were still people behind who might lose their way, so I turned back to go get them. But…” it said, awkwardly, “without anything to attach to, my energy dissipates very quickly. I ran out of strength halfway back. Fortunately, Chi Pian’er and the others arrived then, and Wan Qiansui had a bowl, so he let me temporarily attach to it. The moment I attached I fainted. When I woke up, I had been brought back to Bu Ting.”

I finished my meal, then grabbed a chopstick and knocked hard on the bowl. “That scared me half to death! I thought you were gone!”

“I was gone.”

“… Regardless — it’s good that you’re here!”

I had no idea what I was saying anymore. I only knew everything was fine — this world still existed, the people around me still existed, I hadn’t lost anything.

Everything before me was so dear — including Ao Chi, whose face was dripping with noodle broth, currently looking as though he wanted to leap up and strangle me.

Part 15

December 21, 2012. Weather: clear.

Today, every television program had the same central word: Apocalypse.

Disaster weather across the region had been lifted one by one. The vaccine for the infectious disease had officially entered production. The world was safe and sound.

Ao Chi and I sat on the sofa with our arms wrapped around popcorn, laughing at the television. Chi Pian’er and Zhao Gongzi were busy in the kitchen, pickling pork with great gusto. On the street outside, those going to work went to work, those going to school went to school. Girls were still beautiful; boys were still sharp and full of spirit. Men and women, old and young moved through the streets in a cheerful bustle. Cars of every size streamed past. Shops along the road were done up in dazzling festivity, signs advertising Christmas sales plastered everywhere. In short: everyone was doing what they did.

The apocalypse had become a joke.

When we always imagine a thing in its worst possible light, that thing may indeed grow worse and worse. So — why not try imagining it in its best possible light? It may truly grow better and better.

Whatever the case — smile at people, speak good words, it can never go wrong. Life is so short — there’s no living it in dejection. Come on, give the innkeeper a smile!

Three days later: Christmas Eve.

The barely-quiet Bu Ting came to life again. Everyone who should come and shouldn’t come all came running to eat and drink.

Jiu Jue very rarely brought a gift. I unwrapped it and found: a small bottle of wine, held in an elegant white porcelain vessel.

“This is…” My eyes lit up.

“I kept a little of the true heart.” Jiu Jue grinned. “Now this is really good wine!”

I opened the stopper and inhaled — the fragrance was incomparable, refreshing and soul-settling.

“Have you named it yet?” I asked.

“Not yet.” He said. “It was your idea — so I’m leaving the naming to you.”

I held this wine that had resolved one enormous disaster, and thought for a moment. “Let’s call it First,” I said.

“First wine?” Jiu Jue blinked, then clapped his hands. “Wonderful! They brought out a Final Road wine to torment the world — our First Wine, fresh off its debut and already displaying extraordinary power. A great name. I love it! Truly worthy of the innkeeper who saved all of humanity!”

“Stop right there!” I shook my head. “The one who saved all of humanity was not me. It was humanity itself.”

With that, I picked up a stool, stepped up, tied the little bottle with a ribbon, and hung it on a corner of the tall, sturdy Christmas tree.

“This modest?” Jiu Jue tilted his head up. “Wasn’t the method of countering the You Qu your idea?”

“That breath of true heart was humanity’s own to begin with.” I kept tying ribbons as I spoke.

Every person is born without a single bad thought, filled only with the cleanest curiosity and warmth toward this world. But as they grow, this original nature is eroded — until it is weakened, or even entirely gone. We begin all manner of worrying, anger, suspicion — a multitude of fears about things that haven’t happened yet. What a waste.

I think “the original” power is the strongest of all. It only needs to keep existing within us, never fading.

If that breath of “true heart” is always alive in one’s heart — what in this world is there to fear?

“Hand me that ribbon.”

I had just pointed at the table when a wave of dizziness suddenly swept over me. My vision went dark, and I completely lost control of my body — tumbling down…

The ears buzzing with static caught the sound of A Merry Little Christmas echoing through the air, and the exaggerated voice of a television advertisement —

Santa Claus brings great gifts — for the perfect present, give twenty-four-carat gold!

● Epilogue ●

“I’m pregnant?!”

“She’s pregnant?!”

Ao Chi and I — every single hair on our heads stood straight up.

Jiu Jue nodded with perfect composure, saying: “Based on my experience of taking pulses beyond counting and observing people beyond number, I solemnly inform you, tree-demon innkeeper — you are indeed expecting a child. Five to six months along.”

“Ao Chi, quickly — hold me.” I reached out to Ao Chi. He rushed over and supported me, fumbling anxiously to stack pillows at the head of the bed and carefully helped me settle against them.

“When did you learn to take pulses?” I demanded loudly.

“I am a person of broad learning and many skills. Expert brewer, part-time pulse-taker.” Jiu Jue patted his own chest. “Trust Jiu Jue — get a precious child!”

I roared: “If I were five or six months pregnant, why has my body shown no sign of it?! Why is my stomach still completely flat?! You have to know where to draw the line when making jokes!”

“My dear — you are not human! How can you use human symptoms to measure yourself?!” Jiu Jue gave me a look that clearly said you are so uneducated. “Consider: Ne Zha’s mother carried him for three years and six months before giving birth! As for how long a tree demon must wait before delivering — I will have to go look that up. Probably won’t take three full years.”

“Are you… are you really sure?” My voice went soft.

“If this is a misdiagnosis, use my head as a wine jug!”

I took three deep breaths. Was Santa Claus really going to be this generous — delivering a gift this large?!

While my thoughts were still spiraling in all directions, a sound of desperately suppressed sobbing from beside the bed startled me —

Ao Chi’s eyes were streaming with tears. He was pressing his lips together with all his might to keep from making a sound. Before I could say a word, he suddenly pulled me into his arms, pressed a heavy kiss to my brow, then ran from the room waving his arms and moving like a man possessed.

Very shortly after, from outside the room came a burst of cheering, with, somewhere in the noise, the following shouts —

“The innkeeper is going to be a mother!”

“I want to be the godfather!”

“I want to be the godfather!”

“You can only be the godmother!”

“Is it a boy or a girl?! This is so exciting!”

“What name should we give it, I wonder?”

I quietly pulled the blanket over myself, feeling as though in a dream.

My hand rested gently against my abdomen, moving slowly in small circles. Was there truly, here, a child connected to me and to Ao Chi by blood and bone?!

A world of two — suddenly becoming three?

How extraordinary…

From a tree demon without freedom, to a weathered innkeeper who had seen everything. From lonely Fulong Mountain to the perpetually noisy Bu Ting. From one person, to a whole family. So it turned out my life had already grown this full, this satisfied…

I didn’t know when I had started crying. And the tears simply would not stop.

Following this, Ao Chi came down with what could only be described as extreme expectant-father anxiety disorder. He — who had never lifted a finger around the house — began spraying disinfectant throughout the home every day. He found various recipes suitable for expectant mothers on the internet and had Zhao Gongzi teach him to cook them. He also became a walking alarm clock, reminding me at precise intervals to eat, to walk, asking constantly whether anything was wrong, whether I wanted something to eat, something to drink.

Thinking of his expression, I genuinely wanted to laugh.

The weather today is fine. I walk back and forth in the courtyard, sunbathing, holding a cup of tea — my own brew of “Fu Sheng.” After so many days of over-nutritious food, I truly miss that taste of first bitterness, then sweetness.

I drift toward the entrance, and the soft-gauze lantern sways in the rare warm winter breeze. I look up at it:

Stop and drink my tea, One night, a dream of life adrift, Just go, ask nothing further — White clouds, boundless and endless.

Whoever gave me this lantern — whatever their origins, whatever their nature, good or evil — even if they were truly that shadow-like, mysterious “General” who had not appeared from beginning to end — at this moment I carry no unease at all.

Everyone I love, who loves me, is right here beside me.

The guests of Bu Ting seem to leave ceaselessly — but none of them has ever truly left.

And now, my hand rests gently on my abdomen — I also have the power of the First.

So I am not afraid.

But speaking of which — there is one thing I absolutely must put a stop to!

Ao Chi’s latest hobby has been researching names. Yesterday he came to me flushed with excitement, declaring he had already selected a name for our child — Jiang Fu. Broadly meaning: the bearing of a great commander, the blessings of good fortune and long life!

Jiang Fu… Jiàng Fù… thick paste…

How on earth, from all the options in existence, had he settled on two characters this entertaining?!

I stroked my belly, and said very sincerely, from the bottom of my heart:

“Little one, rest assured — your mother will absolutely not let anyone call you Ao Thick-Paste.”

The warm winter sun moves slowly through the courtyard. The weather forecast says clear skies for the next full week. Wonderful!

And besides — Bu Ting’s business needs to be properly managed now. Today is different from the past — working hard to earn milk-powder money is the most important thing. Don’t you agree? 🙂

The Complete Novel