Prologue

I’d actually been threatened! Me, a thousand-year-old tree spirit, no less.

The person sitting across the table from me had fair, delicate skin and refined features. He tilted his head and glared at me like he owned the place, his side-swept bangs covering half of one eye, his expression radiating cold arrogance that kept everyone at arm’s length. Unfortunately, his black high school uniform betrayed just how young he really was.

“Find me the purest water in the world.” Ten minutes ago, he had surveyed my dessert shop — the one called Bu Ting — his beautiful eyes filled with nothing but contempt. “Find it, and on top of the payment, I’ll give you ten more storefronts. Each one ten times more luxurious than this shabby little place.”

“And if I can’t?” I crossed my legs elegantly, blowing a stray tea leaf off the surface of my jade-green tea, while mentally cursing this arrogant little brat who didn’t know his place — no less than N times.

“Then I’ll tear down your shop.” He picked up the taro milk cake from the plate, wrinkled his nose as he sniffed it, and tossed it back.

When I expressed this shop owner’s magnificent principle of wealth cannot corrupt, power cannot bend with two simple words — “Get out!” — my employees and security guards, Fatty and Skinny, were busy drooling over the Maserati parked at the shop entrance. Skinny had even pulled out a calculator, diligently estimating how many years of his salary it would take to buy that car.

I hollered those two shameless creatures back into the kitchen.

“Word I’ve received says that what you love most is money.” He ignored my order to leave and looked up at me. “You have no reason to refuse.” Then he took a sip of the tea I’d brewed for him, visibly wrinkled his brow, seemed like he wanted to spit it out, forced himself to swallow it, and gave a forced cold laugh. “Whatever my family sets out to do, we get it done. You should know that.”

I laughed coldly too, utterly dismissive. I knew his name was Cang Tongkai. And of course, I knew the ins and outs of the Cang Tong family. But so what? Threatening a seasoned demon was simply wrong. Young people always made that kind of mistake.

“I like money, but I don’t like you. So — the door is right there.” I rose and walked away, my back a picture of resolute finality.

Kid, you think you can out-attitude me?!

Then I suddenly heard a dull thud from behind. I turned around — Cang Tongkai had actually dropped to one knee on the floor.

“I’m begging you to save her.” Beneath the humble plea was the unmistakable endurance of someone swallowing their pride.

On the table between us, beside the teacups and pastries, sat a small fish tank. Through the clear glass, a white fish drifted slowly, its lacy fins and tail swaying like the frills of a delicate hem.

The water inside the tank was a faint pink. When Cang Tongkai had carried it in, the water had been colorless. On the left fin, there was a wound, blood seeping out bit by bit, blossoming and diffusing through the water.

“I’ve used the most precious medicines and sought out the world’s leading experts, and none of them could heal it.” Cang Tongkai’s beautiful eyes were veiled with a layer of dispirited shadow, his fingers gliding tenderly along the glass of the fish tank. “Its wound simply won’t close. Someone told me that only the purest water could save it.”

“I’ve got a whole bucket of purified water right over there — feel free to take it.” I shifted my gaze away from the fish tank and pointed at the water dispenser in the corner, my expression surely a hundred times more infuriating than when he’d threatened me earlier.

“You—” He snapped his head up, his fists clenching with an audible crack, his fair face flushing red as a tomato — furious to the extreme, yet unable to lash out.

Little brat, still think you can handle me? I made a wicked victory V in my heart.

“Get up.” I let my satisfaction settle, set aside my inner witch, and stepped around the table to take hold of his arm with a smile. “Why don’t we have some tea and you tell me a story — about you, and about that fish.”

1.

The piercing sound of sirens faded along with the rumble of engines, slowly dying away at the far end of the tree-lined road.

Earlier that morning, sanitation workers had discovered the bodies of dozens of cats and one mountain eagle in this villa district, and had called the police in shock.

Cang Tongkai stood behind the floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor of the villa, watching the departing police cars. The morning sunlight fell into his dark blue eyes, casting a cold gleam.

Xuan was always dressed in black — concealed and alert, standing in the shadows where sunlight couldn’t reach, more ghost than living thing, separated from one only by a single breath.

“She’s going to keep drawing more and more intruders.” Xuan spoke with quiet unease, his sword-sharp brows knitting slightly — a rare expression on him. “Master will be back soon. If he finds out…”

“Dealing with intruders is your responsibility, no matter how many there are.” Cang Tongkai cut Xuan off and brushed past him. “I’m going to school. Get the car ready.”

“Kai.” Xuan stood still as a stone statue, not moving an inch.

Cang Tongkai stopped and turned his face slightly.

Xuan was silent for a long moment, as though steeling himself against some great resolution, and said in a low, grave voice: “Let her go.”

“If I can’t even protect her, then I’m not worthy of the Cang Tong name. I’m not afraid of any intruder.” Cang Tongkai raised his hand and clapped Xuan on the shoulder, then smiled. “Same goes for you, I’d imagine.”

Xuan’s brow tightened sharply, and his shoulders drew in slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Cang Tongkai sensed something off. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a surface wound. During the struggle with that eagle demon in the early hours, I was careless and got a small cut.” Xuan returned to his usual composure. “I’ll go bring the car around.”

“You rarely slip up.” Cang Tongkai winked at him. “Want me to help?”

“An accident.” Xuan shook his head with a rueful smile.

“If you need anything, just say the word. I’m not afraid to bend the house rules.”

Cang Tongkai whistled a light tune as he headed downstairs. Xuan’s eyes held the reflection of his retreating figure, and the faint shadow of things left unsaid.

Cang Tongkai stood before the bedroom mirror. His crisp white dress shirt carried the faint fragrance of body wash, while his black school uniform jacket — as always — refused to be buttoned. The upright, handsome young man in the mirror looked back at himself with detached indifference.

Behind the mirror was a recessed button. Press it, and the large wardrobe standing against the wall would shift half a meter to the side, revealing a hidden door in the wall.

That hidden door led to a place Cang Tongkai had visited every single day for the past seven years.

Beyond the hidden door was a secret chamber, its floor and walls all polished marble smooth as mirrors, with intricate grain patterns carved into the stone. Inside, apart from a large water tank as tall as a person, there was nothing else. The walls had no windows, but hanging on one wall was an enormous oil painting: sky washed blue, boundless emerald waves, and an empty stretch of fine, sweeping beach — no people, only two sets of footprints trailing toward the sea. The entire painting was so vivid it seemed you could almost hear the sound of the waves.

Brushes and paint were scattered across the floor in a jumble, splashes of oil paint in every color blooming across the white floor, more beautiful than flowers.

Cang Tongkai walked up to the water tank positioned across from the oil painting and rapped lightly on the glass — like a gentleman knocking politely on a door.

“School starts for you today, right?”

The still water surface rippled. A fish roughly a foot in length — scales white as diamonds, its lace-like fins and tail swaying gracefully — gradually emerged from the far end of the tank and swam eagerly toward Cang Tongkai.

“Yeah. What flavor ice cream do you want today?” Cang Tongkai smiled — one of his rare ones — and every line of his face softened with that smile, his voice full of fondness and indulgence.

Tutu was a fish, but she could speak, and she loved eating ice cream — so in Cang Tongkai’s heart, Tutu had never been an “it.” She was a “she.”

“I want vanilla chocolate!”

“Single scoop?”

“Double scoop!!”

“You’ll get fat!”

“Then I’ll just switch to a bigger tank!”

Cang Tongkai shook his head in resigned exasperation, pressing his palm flat against the glass. Tutu happily spun a few somersaults inside, then pressed her little pink lips against his palm in a kiss.

Between them always stood a thick pane of glass. But it could never cut off the small warmth that passed between them.

“Pay attention in class!”

“I will!”

“Don’t get into any fights!”

“I will!!”

“And make sure you button up your jacket on the way home — influenza is running rampant lately.”

“Okay…”

“Don’t forget the ice cream! Double scoop!!”

“……”

Cang Tongkai threw up his hands in defeat, pouting like a child: “Fine, fine! Double scoop it is!”

Tutu blew a triumphant stream of bubbles, which arranged themselves into one giant V inside the water.

Tutu was the one and only companion Cang Tongkai had ever truly accepted — his genuine, one and only friend.

And Tutu was the one he would protect, no matter what it took.

2.

Xuan stood with his back to the water tank, gazing in silence at the oil painting on the secret chamber wall.

Inside the tank, water churned as Tutu swam about with cheerful interest, occasionally leaping out of the water and arcing through the air in a graceful curve before splashing back down.

“Xuan!” Tutu halted her somewhat dull self-entertainment and surfaced. “What’s wrong? You seem really unhappy today.”

Xuan didn’t turn around. His slender figure cast a shadow across the oil painting.

“Let me take you away,” he said. “Back to Xi Ming You Sea — your home.”

Tutu’s tail moved slowly, the ripples in the water growing smaller and smaller.

“Running for your life every single night without rest — you still don’t find that a form of torment?” Xuan walked over and studied the thick glass in front of him with a serious, severe gaze. “If you stay any longer, you could die at any moment.”

The sounds from inside the tank grew quieter and quieter. Tutu silently swam away.

Xuan moved to the other side of the tank, removed his upper garment, and exposed his right shoulder. A wound deep enough to reveal bone appeared in stark clarity.

“You’re hurt?!” Tutu darted over in shock, moving so fast she nearly crashed into the side of the tank.

“Its power is growing stronger and stronger. I no longer have much confidence that I can hold it off.” Xuan put his clothes back on. “You have to go.”

All sound vanished from the secret chamber — even the sound of breathing seemed to disappear.

“You should go pick Kai up from school!” Tutu suddenly called out in her bright, clear voice, shaking her tail happily, her gaze settling somewhere beyond an imaginary window, a smile in her eyes.

Yes — fish can smile too, if you look carefully enough at their eyes.

“Do you really have to do this?” Xuan stared at her, dumbfounded. “You understand what I’m saying.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking yourself that question?” Tutu playfully blew a stream of bubbles at him that arranged themselves into a silly face in the water. The fleeting silence and heaviness that had crossed her just a moment before vanished as completely as a burst bubble, leaving no trace.

Tutu was, of course, no ordinary fish. She was a demon — a fish demon called Wang Xing.

Wang Xing demons roamed the three realms without hindrance or obstruction. When they wished, they could conceal their presence entirely, invisible to anyone — including even the most profound, high-leveled cultivators who could locate their targets without using their eyes.

Nearly every demon in existence — and even certain humans who cultivated — harbored a fierce, lifelong desire to consume a Wang Xing demon. Even just catching a whiff of one would do. Rather like the monsters in Journey to the West, each of them fixated on that one piece of Tang Sanzang’s immortal flesh.

To them, a Wang Xing demon represented the shortcut to obtaining everything — a pass to do as one pleased with no one to stop them. Even the most lowly, shallow-cultivation demon could, after consuming a Wang Xing, descend into the underworld or storm the heavenly palace and take its greatest treasures as though walking into an empty house.

Wang Xing was their legend.

Precious things are always rare. The price required to capture a Wang Xing demon was, more often than not, one’s life. Wang Xing demons were born in the deepest parts of Xi Ming You Sea. Since ancient times, Xi Ming You Sea had been a sacred land teeming with demons. Even reaching its shores was a feat in itself — and those who ventured further into its waters risked being swallowed by the demonic undercurrents lurking within, or being devoured as a meal by the monsters concealed in its depths.

To this day, only one man — a certain old man with the surname Jiang, from several thousand years ago — had journeyed to Xi Ming You Sea alone and, with nothing but a straight hook, successfully caught a Wang Xing still in its infancy. However, on the return trip, he had set it free. The reason was that the Wang Xing had spoken a single sentence to him.

During one casual conversation, Xuan had once asked Tutu what she had said to that old man back then.

Tutu blew a bubble, pondered for a long moment, then said: “I just said, very naively, that eating one fish wouldn’t build a nation — so you might as well eat me.”

Xuan had laughed. “And then he let you go?”

“The old man said nothing. Then he stood beneath a full sky of stars all through the night, and the very next morning he released me into a river. The river water was so clear back then,” Tutu said with great seriousness. “Nothing like these days — plastic bags and takeout containers everywhere.”

Whenever Xuan recalled those moments of idle conversation with Tutu, her guileless expression never failed to make him laugh — and he was a person who so very rarely laughed. But today, no matter how cheerful Tutu acted or how utterly endearing she made herself, not a single smile crossed his face.

“The news says tonight is a Blue Moon. There’s still time to change your mind.” Xuan said quietly, not looking at Tutu, and walked straight toward the exit.

“Xuan…”

In the instant before he stepped out of the secret chamber, Tutu called his name.

He didn’t turn back. He didn’t want to look at her — and even less did he want to see those bright, bright eyes.

“You and I are the same — including in our choices.”

Her figure faded gradually within the water.

3.

The gleaming sports car raced along the road, Xuan gripping the steering wheel with focused concentration, more silent than he had ever been.

Cang Tongkai tossed his phone to the other side of the seat and let out a cold laugh aimed at the world beyond the window.

“That was a message from Master, wasn’t it.” Xuan said.

Master — that was what he called Cang Tongkai’s father.

“Mm.” Cang Tongkai answered carelessly, flat as if describing some irrelevant passerby. “He says he won’t be coming back. Business problems have come up in New York. Ah — stop at that ice cream parlor up ahead.”

Whether he came back or not — what did it matter. He had no memory of his mother’s face, because she had died the day he was born. And he had little memory of his father’s face either, because the man was never home.

One week ago, on Cang Tongkai’s seventeenth birthday, his father hadn’t come back. His sixteenth birthday — his father hadn’t come back. His fifteenth, his tenth, his seventh — every birthday he could remember, his father had never once returned. The only thing that showed up on schedule was money: a great deal of it, in the form of checks, supplementary bank cards, even entire bags of diamonds — all of it pouring into Cang Tongkai’s hands.

With money, didn’t one have everything? Whatever birthday gift he could ever want, he could simply buy. What a generous father.

The fragrant, beautiful double-scoop ice cream lay nestled in its special insulated box as Cang Tongkai carefully placed it into the car.

Tutu loved the freshly made ice cream from this shop more than anything — every time she had some, she’d flip somersaults with delight inside the tank, and Cang Tongkai would always end up laughing at her, wondering whether she was eating ice cream or some kind of stimulant.

Today, Tutu was no exception. The air in the secret chamber was filled with the wonderful scent of vanilla chocolate.

She smacked her lips contentedly, swimming happily through the water, while simultaneously negotiating with Cang Tongkai for three scoops tomorrow — taro and peanut flavor with a hint of pineapple.

Cang Tongkai sat on the floor in front of the fish tank, leaning his back against the thick glass, and recounted everything that had happened at school that day — the love letter he’d received from a girl in the next class over, how he’d read an entire passage of text just once and recited it perfectly from memory, leaving their Chinese teacher — who had been utterly certain he couldn’t manage even a single line — so stunned it was as if he’d been deep-fried from the outside in. He told her about how at lunch, he’d overheard the kitchen staff at the school cafeteria fantasizing about raising two pigs out behind the building.

Tutu listened and laughed out loud, then threw herself enthusiastically into discussing the girl who had written the love letter, the thoroughly fried teacher, and the gossipy kitchen staff. The two of them — one human, one fish — laughed until they could barely hold themselves up. The air inside the secret chamber carried not just sweetness, but genuine ease, and the simple happiness of ordinary life.

As the hour grew late into the night, Tutu surfaced and swept her tail across the water, sending a spray of droplets raining down on Cang Tongkai’s head.

“Hey, you need to sleep. You still have school tomorrow!”

Cang Tongkai let out a yawn and shook his head. “Things have been unsettled outside lately. I’ll stay a while longer before I go.”

“You mean those intruders who know I’m here.” Tutu blew a casual bubble.

“I’ll protect you.” Cang Tongkai got to his feet and pressed his nose against the glass. “Trust me — I’ll always protect you.”

Tutu swam happily up to face him and kissed the tip of his nose through the glass. “Mm, I know. And I’ll always stay by your side.”

The light above poured down across the water’s surface, scattering a thousand glimmering points of light, casting gentle reflections across both of them. Even the oil painting across the room seemed to breathe with life — beneath the emerald sea, soft waves rolled in, as though carrying some emotion too delicate for words.

Another hour passed. Cang Tongkai rubbed his weary eyes and said, “Lately I keep getting drowsy at night — let me go make some coffee.”

Walking along the villa’s winding staircase, a cool night breeze stirred the thick curtains. Outside the window, a cat cried — one sound at first, then two, until finally it became a whole chorus, rising and falling in overlapping waves. Cang Tongkai frowned, set down his coffee cup, and stepped toward the front door.

In the living room, the hands of the grand standing clock moved slowly toward midnight.

4.

The hillside beyond the villa district was thick with parasol trees, their layered branches carving out a winding lattice of small paths. A full moon hung high in the sky, spilling silver light in shifting, tangled shadows across every lane.

Xuan grabbed Tutu’s hand and ran, weaving between the parasol trees. Tutu’s white dress billowed as she ran, like snow suddenly falling in the night.

After every midnight, the fish demon Wang Xing would take human form. Both Xuan and Cang Tongkai knew this.

In her human form after midnight, Tutu was a girl whose appearance never changed — petite and beautiful.

There had been a time — across countless winter midnights — when the three of them would sit comfortably together before a crackling fireplace, drifting from stories of school-day mishaps all the way to questions of nuclear weapons, or from a petty thief who had tumbled into a ditch that day all the way back to Tutu’s memories of the old man named Jiang from a thousand years ago. They would debate the nuisance of traffic, argue about just how many demons were actually hidden in Xi Ming You Sea.

Cang Tongkai would hold forth with great enthusiasm over coffee. Xuan — never much for words — would drink glass after glass of plain water, listening with quiet attention. And Tutu would devour ice cream and pastries by the mouthful, often laughing so hard at Cang Tongkai’s remarks that she could barely breathe.

In that vast villa, only the few of them were truly real. That was a happy life — or at least, Cang Tongkai believed it was. At the break of dawn, Tutu would revert to her true form as a fish and slip silently back into the water tank in the secret chamber, waiting for another night to come.

But when had those days of calm, like still water, become a thing of the past?

The moment the intruders arrived.

One week ago, increasing numbers of stray cats and other creatures had begun gathering near the Cang Tong household after midnight. They were naturally no ordinary cats or animals — they were demons, lowly but vicious little demons. They had learned of Tutu’s existence. Every midnight that week, Xuan had been occupied with clearing out these intruders.

The day before, a swarm of cat demons along with one eagle demon had come charging straight for the Cang Tong household. Keeping them at bay had always been Xuan’s duty — as Cang Tongkai’s bodyguard, protecting Cang Tongkai and everything within the Cang Tong family was his solemn obligation. And beyond that — there was Tutu.

Tutu was always placed atop the highest parasol tree by Xuan, sealed within a defensive barrier he cast around her. Ordinarily, Tutu wouldn’t need Xuan to intervene at all — she only had to conceal herself, and no one could find her, for that was the gift of a Wang Xing demon. But these small demons charging toward her — even when she turned invisible, they could somehow still track her location through some unseen guidance. Without Xuan’s protection, the completely defenseless Tutu would have been torn apart by those greedy creatures.

Xuan’s abilities far surpassed those of these lesser demons — though he, too, was a cat. But Xuan was a cat demon who had cultivated in the most orthodox manner for seventeen years, carrying a true inner core within him. And yet he had still been wounded — the night before. The thing that wounded him was not the eagle demon, formidable as it was. He had lied to Cang Tongkai.

Since one week ago, every single night, he had been running for his life with Tutu — from midnight until dawn, when the nightmare finally ended.

If it were only those greedy lesser demons, they wouldn’t need to run. Those creatures were merely foot soldiers, making a show of force on behalf of a true commander. At this moment, dozens of dark shadows were pursuing them with lightning speed, strange sounds echoing through the air, the very wind surging toward them as though slashed apart by something with claws like razors.

The full moon overhead had taken on an ethereal blue tinge at its edges, casting a piercing, otherworldly light that illuminated the ferocious mob of demons at their backs. As he ran, Xuan glanced up at that strangely blue-tinged moon, and the lines between his brows deepened into a sharp furrow.

Every two years, there would come a month with two full moons. The second full moon, ringed with that blue halo, was called the Blue Moon. On this night, every demon in the world would see their power multiply many times over.

Tonight, Xuan had not placed Tutu atop a tree. Instead, he chanted a spell, gave her a firm push on the back, and sealed her inside the trunk of a thick, solid parasol tree, then bit open his finger and drew his seal upon the bark in blood.

He had barely turned around before a blade-sharp gust — carrying the smell of blood — struck at him from behind. He twisted his head aside and extended a finger like a sword, thrusting sideways at the enormous gray cat demon that had launched itself at him. Several dazzling beams of red light shot through its back like arrows. After a shriek, the gray cat flew backward, slammed into a tree trunk, and fell silent upon hitting the ground.

Faced with their companion’s death, the other cat demons showed not a shred of retreat. They bared their fangs and lunged at Xuan in a storm. Xuan leaped with fluid lightness into the branches of a parasol tree, formed a hand seal, drew a single horizontal line through the air toward the ground, and bellowed: “Rise!” The densely packed earth peeled away like a wide swath of cloth ripped from the ground, raining down upon the cat demons who had lunged at empty air below.

Beneath the tree erupted a cacophony of yowling. Buried up to their necks in dirt, the cat demons thrashed with furious desperation — a few of the stronger ones were clearly on the verge of clawing free. Their open jaws revealed teeth many times longer and sharper than any ordinary cat, a stark, bone-chilling white that gleamed all the more brightly in the moonlight.

Xuan dropped down, drew the slender blade from his sleeve, gripped it tightly, and charged into the mound of earth pinning the cat demons. His blade rose and fell in flashing arcs, severing the cat demons’ throats one by one.

The blood that spilled dyed the earth a deep, dark black. Yet Xuan’s nerves did not relax for even a moment at the cat demon forces’ swift defeat. All around was absolute silence — save for above his head, where a cluster of leaves rustled with a soft, continuous sound. A chill — a bone-deep chill — descended from the treetops, piercing straight into Xuan’s heart.

He raised his head…

5.

The white cat landed with effortless grace on a branch slightly above and to his left. Amber eyes swept the darkness with razor-sharp light; its coat was as clean and unblemished as snow, as noble as silk; its powerful body traced lines as smooth and swift as a bullet.

The first time Xuan had seen it, it had been nothing but a small kitten — its soft fur not yet shed, like a ridiculous little snowball. It had stood quietly behind a cluster of gray-black mixed cat demons, a conspicuous snow-white figure among them, young yet haughty. Any cat demon larger than itself seemed to shrink half an inch in its presence.

It was small, indeed. But it was fiercer than any demon.

From their very first confrontation, Xuan had been made to feel its difference. Although it had lost to Xuan that time, Xuan hadn’t walked away unscathed either — a long, deep wound had been left across the back of his hand.

After that, like every skilled fighter described in novels or films, it was always the last to make its move. Before the other cat demons were completely wiped out, it would simply stand quietly in the shadows, leisurely licking its sharp claws, utterly indifferent to its companions’ fates.

Over seven consecutive nights, Xuan had done battle with it. Each time they met, it was noticeably larger than the night before, and stronger as well.

In just seven days, it had grown more powerful than a full-grown, agile cheetah.

Now, pale blue moonlight filtered through the branches and fell across its back. Two strange protrusions — one on each side of its spine — pulsed and throbbed beneath the flesh. The white cat paused its licking of its front paw and suddenly lifted its head. It let out a roar toward the moon hanging in the sky — a roar more terrifying than a tiger’s or a leopard’s, the moon now so deeply submerged in blue it looked like a sea unto itself.

Wind came from nowhere, engulfing everything around them in an instant. Trees swayed, leaves flew, and beneath the howling gale, the frail fallen leaves turned into hard-edged blades, stinging painfully against the face on impact. Above, something blazing and brilliant flashed, so blinding that Xuan had no choice but to raise his arm to shield his eyes.

In that moment — in the chaos of distorted vision — a much larger shadow appeared where the white cat had been.

The wind gradually stilled. Xuan had just lowered his arm when a great white shape descended silently before him —

A pair of enormous wings had grown from the white cat’s back. Every white feather shimmered with flecks of golden light like gilded sand, and even the slightest movement sent a wave of earth-shaking danger rippling through the dark. It gazed at the parasol tree behind Xuan — the thing it had always wanted was sealed inside.

Xuan easily read the killing intent in its eyes. The moment it crouched and lunged, Xuan slammed his eyes shut, drove his right hand — curled into a hand seal — toward his own chest, and bellowed an incantation that no one could understand. Xuan’s dark eyes turned blood red; his teeth and ears sharpened and lengthened into points; his body and limbs, wrapped in a shroud of white mist, began rapidly shifting and changing…

With a thunderous crash, the white cat that had flung itself forward was sent flying backward by Xuan — now transformed into a black cat — slamming into it with tremendous force.

The impact was extraordinary. The white cat was hurled through the air, its outstretched wings sweeping across a tree trunk with such force that it carved a deep gash into the solid wood; the entire tree swayed, on the verge of toppling.

Xuan shook his head, barely having time to climb back to his feet, when he felt a chill above him. A single sharp claw plunged from the sky and landed on his waist — then wrenched savagely.

He felt no pain at first, only the sensation of something hot and liquid spilling from his body. A gash the length of a foot had been torn across Xuan’s back, split open and dripping, flesh and blood churned together. Fighting through the pain, Xuan twisted his body and struck at the white cat with every ounce of strength he had left. He had his own set of blade-sharp claws — but he did not extend them. He struck the white cat’s face with only the soft pad of his paw.

That strike was not lethal — but it had to have hurt. The white cat yelped and rolled aside.

Xuan quickly rose, reverted to human form, reached behind himself to smear a handful of fresh blood from the wound on his back, drew a cross on the ground at his feet, and shouted: “Shield, rise!” A faint red current surged from the bloody cross on the ground, spiraling upward through the air into a massive ring.

The white cat recovered from the disorienting blow, pulled itself up in anger, squinted its eyes to narrow slits, expelled steaming hot breath from its bloody mouth, lowered its head, planted its front claws, and launched itself at Xuan with the speed of lightning.

With a thunderous boom, the white cat was “stuck” in midair in a ridiculous pose. The invisible shield forged from blood hung beneath the surface of the air like a spider’s web, trapping the white cat several meters short of Xuan.

Xuan rushed to the parasol tree bearing his seal, reached in with one hand, and pulled Tutu free — then grabbed her hand and sprinted forward at full speed. Blood followed every footfall they left behind, trailing across the ground like the footprints in the oil painting, stretching away into the distance ahead.

The villa district was halfway up the hillside. Out of the slope, over a perimeter wall, lay a construction site — once supposedly the second phase of the villa district’s development, where the foundations had only just been excavated before being abandoned due to funding issues. Rebar and concrete lay scattered across the ground in chaotic heaps. Xuan led Tutu by the hand, weaving quickly through the tangled steel pipes and concrete slabs.

“Past this construction site there’s a river — you have to go. The river water will conceal your presence to the greatest possible extent. As long as you return to Xi Ming You Sea before it finds you, you’ll be safe.” Xuan spoke as he ran, the words coming with effort. “You can’t stay any longer — you’ve seen it yourself. On the night of the Blue Moon, it is nearly fully formed. There is only killing in its eyes. You and it are natural-born enemies. Consuming you is its instinct.”

The rushing sound of flowing water drifted from not far ahead. In Xuan’s eyes, a last flicker of hope.

“Being eaten… wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose.” Tutu murmured softly to herself. “One more day is still one more day.”

Xuan’s expression darkened to a shade blacker than the deepest night.

When they reached the center of the construction site, Xuan suddenly stopped, shoved Tutu aside, and shouted: “Watch out!”

A length of rebar with sharp, jagged edges fell from the sky, plunging into the earth between the two of them, driving more than a meter deep into the ground. Behind them, that pair of enormous white wings shifted slowly atop a tall heap of stacked rebar. Beneath those wings, a pair of amber eyes locked with deadly focus on the man and woman below. Amid the clashing of metal, countless steel rods flew like arrows toward Xuan and Tutu.

Xuan shoved Tutu into a concrete pipe nearby, then drew his short blade, dodging through the incoming rebar, using the layered steel and debris beneath his feet as footholds, and climbed toward the highest point where the white cat perched.

The night wind rose cold, moaning and howling. On a long steel plate spanning the top of the construction site, two figures stood at opposite ends — on one end, the white cat with cold murder in its eyes; on the other, Xuan, riddled with wounds.

Their four eyes met. Life and death balanced on a razor’s edge.

Yet in Xuan’s eyes — there was no killing intent.

6.

The entire world seemed to suddenly go silent.

Inside the solid, cold concrete pipe, Tutu clenched her fists. She was just about to climb out when she heard a tremendous crash from outside that sent dust raining down from the walls of the pipe around her.

Tutu scrambled out — and let out a sharp cry.

Xuan lay on his back on the ground, breathing in ragged gasps. His chest bore deep claw marks; blood surged and churned out of his body in waves. Across the sky in the distance, the white cat’s wings spread wide in the moonlight — breathtaking in beauty, radiating killing intent.

“Xuan…” Tutu knelt at his side, reaching to help him up, then not knowing where to place her hands, her small body trembling with helpless uncertainty.

“I’m all right.” Xuan looked at her eyes with earnest certainty. “And I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Xuan gritted his teeth, pushed himself upright into a seated cross-legged position, drew a deep breath, and raised his right palm from his lower abdomen upward. A thread of red light appeared faintly from within his body, gathered in his throat. A smooth, round crimson bead — wreathed in cloud-like currents of energy — emerged from Xuan’s mouth.

“You—” Tutu understood something all at once, grabbed his hand in alarm, and shook her head desperately. “No! You can’t!”

Her words hadn’t even finished when a fierce wind — carrying the smell of blood — plunged from the sky. Those beautiful white wings unfurled once, and the entrance to hell opened another inch.

Xuan closed his fingers tightly around the crimson bead and shoved Tutu aside with one arm. Before he could rise, one of those icy wings swept across his head. Under the massive, piercing impact, his mind erupted with a ringing boom, his body suddenly light, his soul drifting like a stalk of straw toward some void. His abdomen filled with a burning sensation — as though a hand had reached inside, intent on scooping out his blood and flesh and very soul.

The moonlight that filled the sky was not white, nor blue — it was a faint shade of red, like the last trace of a setting sun. And within that sunset, there was a face — blurred, but familiar.

The white cat, without a scratch upon it, descended from the sky like a sovereign, its right front claw driving deep into Xuan’s abdomen — the absolute, triumphant posture of a victor. Beneath those wings and those claws, Xuan was nothing more than an ant whose life and death rested entirely in the white cat’s grasp.

The crimson bead slipped helplessly from Xuan’s loosening right hand. Utterly spent, Xuan’s lips parted and trembled; his gaze as he looked at the white cat carried regret — but no hatred. He tried to rise one last time. Futile. His final glance was cast toward Tutu, and what lay within it was a complexity only he could understand. A fog-like mist drifted and scattered from Xuan’s body as every inch of flesh and bone gradually shrank. In the end, he became a small black cat, curled close to the ground.

“Xuan…” Tutu murmured.

She rose from the ground and looked the white cat directly in the eyes.

Fish and cat — natural enemies since the beginning of time. The only role a fish could play was to be a cat’s food. That was the fact acknowledged by all, the rule followed by all.

And yet — facing this cat, Tutu smiled. A smile that always made one think of the first dewdrop of spring, clear and pure, or the first small flame in a winter night’s fireplace, warm and gentle.

Xuan’s inner core slipped quietly into her mouth.

The white cat retracted its claw, licked the fresh blood still on it, and through eyes glazed with frost, gazed fixedly at the young woman across from it who was smiling at it.

Cat eats fish. The natural order of things.

The white cat’s four paws surged across the ground. With that troublesome obstacle Xuan swept aside, what it wanted was right before it — within reach. What made it even more fitting was that its target had no intention of resisting whatsoever; she hadn’t even attempted to flee.

Tutu was only a fish. Even having lived for thousands of years, she was still simply a fish who liked to eat ice cream. She knew no spells, no killing, not even how to protect herself. There was only one thing she knew how to do.

Inside the white cat’s mouth, lined with its dense, sharp teeth, lingered Xuan’s scent. When its claws dug deep into Tutu’s shoulder, Tutu smiled more brilliantly than she ever had. Her slender white hands gently cradled its face, and she pressed her lips to the mouth that intended to bite through her throat —

Kai — I won’t leave.

Just before she closed her eyes, she spoke her final words to the white cat…

7.

Today was Cang Tongkai’s tenth birthday.

His father had not come back. He was in London, raising toasts with a gathering of financial titans.

On the broad lawn of their home, the city’s most famous circus was performing under the open sky. Joyful music soared to the heavens, brilliant and colorful food was piled mountain-high, clowns handed cheerfully to everyone beautiful balloons — each one neatly printed with the words “Happy Birthday, Kai!”

Every single one of Cang Tongkai’s classmates had been invited as guests; laughter and voices filled the air everywhere.

No one noticed that Cang Tongkai himself — the star of this grand birthday celebration — had slipped away not long after it had begun.

Cang Tongkai walked along the beach in a gloomy mood, his footprints trailing one after another across the fine sand.

It was a weekend; the weather wasn’t particularly good, and not many people had come to the sea.

By evening, behind a cold drink shop near the beach area, a cluster of children had formed a circle, pointing and chattering with excitement.

“Just now, while I was eating my ice cream cone by the water, it actually jumped out and bit off half the whole thing!”

“This fish is so strange — it’s completely white!”

“Do you think it’s worth a lot of money? My dad’s seafood restaurant sells fish that look about like this for dozens of yuan per pound!”

“Really?”

Cang Tongkai pushed his way over. Inside the bucket the children had gathered around was a white fish, its fins and tail fluttering like delicate lace. A few scales were missing from its back, exposing skin tinged a faint pink. One mischievous child was prodding its body with a sharp, thin twig in his hand. The fish scrambled to dodge, its round eyes darting and rolling — until they landed on Cang Tongkai.

“Save me!”

Cang Tongkai suddenly heard a small, thin cry.

He stared at the white fish with some surprise.

“I’m talking to you, you know! If you don’t take me away right now, I’m going to be sold and eaten!”

The fish flailed about in the water, blowing a steady stream of bubbles.

When the mischievous child raised his twig to poke the fish in the eye, Cang Tongkai shoved him away.

When it actually came to fighting, Cang Tongkai was fierce as a young leopard.

The cluster of children scattered and fled.

The white fish in the bucket looked at the child who had just fought for her with a hint of wonder.

By evening, the weather had turned out better than it had been during the day. The gently swaying sea surface reflected a soft, dim haze of rosy light.

Cang Tongkai crouched at the water’s edge, the lapping waves washing over the tops of his feet. The wooden bucket sat before him.

“How can you speak?” he asked the fish.

“I was born knowing how to speak!” the fish replied, blowing a bubble with utter innocence.

“Then why couldn’t those other kids hear you?”

“Because they’re humans.”

“But I’m human too!”

“Maybe we have a connection…”

Cang Tongkai laughed. This fish was really something.

“Do you have a name?”

“My name is Tutu.”

“My name is Cang Tongkai!”

Cang Tongkai reached into the bucket, scooped the fish out, and released her into the seawater.

“Today is my birthday — I’m really happy to have met you!” He made a silly face at Tutu. “You go on now — I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“I don’t have parents.” Tutu answered, entirely serious — and then suddenly broke into a cheerful laugh. “Is today really your birthday?”

Cang Tongkai nodded.

Tutu gave a flick of her tail and vanished into the seawater. On the horizon, the last sliver of light disappeared.

She must have gone. Cang Tongkai rose to his feet and looked out at the quiet sea, feeling just the smallest pang of loss. He stood there for a moment, then turned to head back. Suddenly, a bright, clear voice called his name from behind.

He turned around. A young girl of fifteen or sixteen, dressed all in white, stood holding a beautiful red coral branch, looking at him with a warm smile.

“You are…” Cang Tongkai stood frozen.

“It’s me — Tutu.” She walked up to Cang Tongkai, tucked the coral into his hands, and smiled sweetly. “I looked around for a long time. This coral branch was the most beautiful thing I could find. A gift for you. Happy birthday!”

“Th — thank you.” Cang Tongkai stared a little dazedly at the coral in his hands, then after a moment asked, “You picked this out from the sea just for me?”

“Of course!” Tutu nodded. “Birthday gifts have to be chosen with care — that’s what makes them meaningful.”

“Thank you.” Cang Tongkai suddenly hugged her. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve gotten a real birthday present.”

Cang Tongkai didn’t understand what had come over him. He was clearly smiling — and yet tears fell onto Tutu’s shoulder.

Tutu smiled and patted him gently on the back.

“Tutu, your shoulder…” Cang Tongkai suddenly noticed a small, faint red mark on Tutu’s shoulder. His tear had landed on it, and from beneath the red mark, a wisp of white mist curled up — then the mark was gone.

“Ah, that was from the injury those kids gave me earlier.” Tutu looked at her own shoulder, marveling. “Strange — how did the wound just heal on its own?”

“Was it because of my tears?” Cang Tongkai wiped his eyes and asked, thoroughly baffled.

“Maybe.” Tutu nodded seriously — then burst out laughing, grabbed his hand, and said joyfully, “Kai, you’re amazing!!”

With a face as sincere as that smiling at you, no heart could help but feel warmth. And so the beach that night became home to the happy chatter and play of a boy and a girl. Even the ink-black sky seemed to know — it dressed itself in a scattering of stars, whose light reflected beautifully across the surface of the sea.

“Tutu, can you stay until morning before you go?” Cang Tongkai suddenly stopped his joyful jumping, lowered his head, and said quietly, “I always spend my birthdays alone.”

Tutu thought for a moment, then said: “I’m not going. From now on, I’ll keep you company. That way, neither of us will be alone anymore. Okay?”

“Yes!!” Cang Tongkai leaped with happiness.

The following evening, Xuan looked worriedly at Tutu in the fish tank: “Kai, we can’t keep her. She’s a fish. And Master won’t allow it either.”

“She’s my friend!” Cang Tongkai corrected. “Xuan, you have to keep this secret for me. I’ll keep her in the secret chamber — no one will know. And as for my father, he barely comes home once every few years, and when he does, he never stays more than an hour. He won’t find out.” He grabbed Xuan’s sleeve. “I only want one more friend.”

Xuan hesitated in silence, but in the end nodded. He very rarely went against Cang Tongkai’s wishes.

He was a few years older than Cang Tongkai. When Xuan was two years old, he had been nothing but a sickly stray cat, wandering around garbage heaps looking for food, forever dodging the nooses of cat-catchers. And then, on a rainy night when he had grown so ill he was nearly dead, it had been Cang Tongkai’s father who had saved him — taken him home, taught him cultivation methods, and transformed him from an ordinary black cat into a cat demon capable of protecting himself and those around him.

Cang Tongkai’s father had asked only one thing of him: to protect, and to accompany, Cang Tongkai.

Xuan kept that promise to the Cang Tong family firmly in his heart.

One promise — held for seventeen years.

For Cang Tongkai’s sake, he was willing to give up anything. Including his life.

8.

The tea in my cup had long since gone cold.

“That’s everything.” Cang Tongkai’s brow was drawn tight. “That morning, I woke up in an abandoned construction site outside the villa district. I was covered in blood — but none of it was mine. Tutu was lying beside me. Both of her fins had a deep wound. No matter what medicine I used, no matter how skilled a doctor I found, the wound simply wouldn’t heal. On top of that, her body has been shrinking smaller and smaller — she no longer speaks, no longer speaks like a person anyway. She’s become like a completely ordinary fish, and she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. This has been going on for a month now. And also…” He paused, his voice growing heavier. “Xuan has been missing for a month. I’ve sent over ten thousand people to search for him, and no one has found any trace of him.”

“Do you still get that feeling lately — that drowsiness that comes over you as midnight approaches?” I asked an unexpected question.

“No.” Cang Tongkai was visibly dissatisfied with my non-sequitur. “Since that morning, I’ve been staying up every night keeping watch over Tutu.”

“After that, there shouldn’t have been any more intruders coming to disturb you two.” I set down my teacup and spoke with assured confidence.

“How do you know that?” He was baffled by my certainty.

“Do you truly want to save Tutu?” I never paid any attention to this boy’s questions. I only asked questions of others — I never gave others the chance to ask me.

“Of course!” Cang Tongkai’s voice rose eight notes. “Otherwise why would I have wasted all this time coming here to talk your ear off?!”

“Hold out your hand.” I sat up straight and suddenly grew very serious.

Cang Tongkai stared at me blankly, not moving.

“I said hold out your hand!” I shot him an impatient look.

He hesitated for a moment, then extended his right hand toward me.

I snatched up a marker and wrote a single character swiftly across his palm.

Cang Tongkai pulled his hand back and looked — and said with puzzlement: “Let go?!”

“In this world, many things — their profundity lies in a single word: ‘let go.'” I stood up and stretched lazily. “Child, what you need is to grow up — and only then will you come to understand the meaning of this word.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! What I’m looking for is the purest water!” Cang Tongkai shot to his feet in indignation, as though he had been made a fool of.

“Do you love Tutu?” I asked again, ignoring his anger entirely.

“Of course!” He answered without hesitation.

“How do you define the act of love?” I continued.

“Keeping her by my side. Protecting her. Keeping her from any harm.” The words came instantly.

I smiled. “Is that all?”

“What more is there?” Cang Tongkai’s voice was loaded with gunpowder.

I let out a long breath and shook my head. “Cang Tongkai, you are simply too lonely, and too afraid of losing. You think what you’re giving is love — but in truth, it’s only your own selfish desire.”

“What do you know! Don’t talk nonsense!” Cang Tongkai was unconvinced, his handsome face flushed red.

“Actually, someone beside you has already given you the finest demonstration of what love truly is.” I was ready to close this conversation. Before turning to leave, I smiled at him. “The purest water has always existed within your memories. Think carefully — perhaps there was a year, at some seaside, when a simple child was so moved by someone giving him a birthday present that he cried. And the child he was then understood the true meaning of ‘letting go’ far better than the person he is now.”

I took one last look at the white fish blowing bubbles inside the fish tank, and thought to myself — it should survive. Cang Tongkai shouldn’t be quite the hopeless fool he appears to be.

“You demon — aren’t you afraid I’ll tear down your shop?!” Cang Tongkai shouted at my back.

“You dare tear down my shop, and I’ll tear out your cat bones.” I turned back and gave him a beautiful smile. So what if the Cang Tong family was the wealthiest in the country — so what if you were the king of cat demons — your grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather, back in the day, helped me catch mice too!

Epilogue

“I have said it THREE HUNDRED TIMES — no urinating outside my bedroom door!” Fatty stormed out into the courtyard in a fury, dangling a black cat by the scruff, and flung it onto the ground.

“Show a little compassion to the injured.” The black cat shot him a sideways look, raising a paw to indicate the bandages still wrapped around its chest and abdomen.

I set down the magazine I’d been reading and looked the black cat over. “Recovering well, I see. In a few more days, you’ll be fit to go back to work catching mice for me. Lately, for some reason, mice keep sneaking into the shop.”

“Is there a wage?” The black cat sauntered over to my feet at a leisurely pace.

My expression darkened. I planted my hands on my hips. “This old lady saved your life, helped give that arrogant little brat of yours a nudge in the right direction, and saved that Wang Xing demon — and you, instead of showing gratitude, want to ask me about pay?”

“I was only asking casually…” The black cat hung its head and fell into sorrowful silence.

I couldn’t bear it, after all. I did a lengthy calculation in my head, then magnanimously announced: “No wages. But unlimited cat food.”

The black cat let out a sigh and continued its silence.

The afternoon sunlight fell over the two of us, warm and comfortable enough to make one want to doze off. I lazily curled into my rattan chair, sipping the honeypomelo juice Skinny had freshly prepared, smacking my lips, and asked: “When are you planning to go back to Cang Tongkai’s side? To cultivate back into human form would take at least twenty years.”

“Then I’ll go back in twenty years.” The black cat settled down. “My inner core, at the very least, can ensure that for twenty years, he won’t transform into that bloodthirsty monster after midnight.”

“Cang Tongkai’s father only ever intended for you to be his son’s bodyguard and companion — he never asked this great a sacrifice of you.” The sweet juice flowed across my tongue and lips, yet it carried a faint bitterness. “If you hadn’t been lucky enough to hold on to that last breath and make it here to me, you’d already be one dead cat.”

“Which is precisely why being on good terms with you is one of life’s great fortunes.” The black cat looked up at me, a smile on its cat face.

“Don’t let this happen again. You making trouble for yourself is one thing. But if you ever again impersonate some great mysterious figure, writing letters to others asking them to come to me for help — I’ll send you straight to the underworld to do hard labor.” I shot it a look, then added, “Both you and Tutu knew that Cang Tongkai is the heir of the cat demon king. Once someone from the Cang Tong family passes the age of seventeen, they transform into a cat after midnight, consumed by bloodlust — especially toward fish. They never spare a single one; consuming them is their first instinct.” I set down my straw and looked the black cat squarely in the eye. “Over all these years, Tutu has had countless opportunities to leave. So have you.”

“If we had both left, Kai would have been alone again. He has no knowledge of his own origins, no knowledge of what he does during those nights.” The black cat spoke softly. “Whether me or Tutu — we both wanted his happiness to last a little longer. Kai is only a child. All he ever wanted was the warmth of family — someone to care about him, someone to be sincere with him. Even something as small as a casual conversation at the dinner table after school, or a reminder to be careful not to catch a cold.” The black cat lifted its head and squinted against the sun pouring straight down. “Tutu isn’t a clever demon. Old as she may be in years, she understands very little. The one thing she does understand is keeping her promises. She promised to stay by Kai’s side — even at the cost of her life. I didn’t understand her before. I thought she must be mad, choosing a life like that — normal by day, running for her life by night. But later, I understood.”

I lowered my eyes and smiled. “Because you fell in love with a fish.”

The black cat, embarrassed, rested its chin on the ground and laughed foolishly. “But she fell in love with a different cat.”

“Ah. The sheer injustice of it all — an insufferable little show-off like Cang Tongkai, and someone still loves him.” I suddenly let out a long sigh. “Love really is a thing without reason or logic.”

“Tutu will be all right, won’t she?” The black cat raised its head, asking anxiously.

“Cat demons and fish demons are natural enemies. The wound Cang Tongkai left on Tutu can only be healed by his tears.” I paused. “But Tutu’s situation is a bit more complicated than that.”

The black cat instantly sat up straight with tension.

“Your inner core was placed inside Cang Tongkai’s body by Tutu. The power of a cat demon’s inner core is an immense source of harm to her, a fish demon — which is why her body keeps shrinking, why she can no longer take human form, can no longer speak, and no longer recognizes Cang Tongkai. The only way is to release her back into nature, away from the cat demon energy on Cang Tongkai’s person. After a hundred years or so, she should gradually recover.” I shrugged. “Whether that idiot Cang Tongkai can grasp the character I wrote for him — that’s up to him. If he really can’t figure it out, I suppose I’ll take a small loss and help you steal that fish out and set her free myself. A fish’s love — what a lot of trouble.”

“Thank you — truly.” The black cat nuzzled its head against my leg. “I’ll work hard to catch mice for you! No wages needed!”

A week later, I received a package by courier. Inside was a USB drive, along with a check.

I opened the video file on the USB drive, and the screen filled with the shimmering image of shallow blue seawater. Inside the water, a small white fish — beautiful, with fins and tail spread open like delicate lace — swam forward with cheerful energy. Not a single wound remained on its body.

After swimming some distance, the white fish suddenly stopped, turned around, and fixed its round, rolling eyes on the camera.

“Go on — I should have let you go long ago.”

A voice off-screen — a young man’s voice, pleasant to the ear.

But the white fish only kept looking. Looking and looking…

In the frame, there was only the sound of water.

Perhaps there was something else too — only, not something we could hear.

After a long while, the white fish flicked its tail, turned around, and swam steadily away — until at last it vanished into a world of blue.

I pulled out the USB drive and thought to myself: in another ten or twenty years, if Cang Tongkai truly grows into a mature man, he should be quite a compelling one. I made a note to go and confirm that theory myself at some future date.

Of course, the other thing filling me with absolute joy was the sheer number of zeros on that check — so many I could barely count them all!! Though naturally I would never let Fatty or Skinny find out — or they would rise up in rebellion and force me to give them a raise!!

I tucked the check safely away and strolled back into the house with all the swagger of someone who owned the world. It was dinner time, and Fatty and Skinny had been busy in the kitchen for nearly half the day — the delicious aroma wafting through the air was enough to make one feel that life was deeply, genuinely good.

Oh — and by the way, Fatty had originally planned to make braised fish for dinner. I turned him down.

I never really liked eating fish to begin with. And now, I suspect I never will again — heh heh…