Prologue

I was dozing in the chair behind the counter, the small barrier wards I’d spread around the area stunning the mosquitoes dead with their accumulated power. Even tree spirits fear mosquito bites. Wuyi, perched under the eaves, was too busy being lovey-dovey with his wife to remember the promise he’d made to catch mosquitoes for me.

On a sweltering July day, beyond indulging in laziness and excess, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Yesterday morning, I peeled a sticky note off the refrigerator door. Ao Chi had used his own spectacularly ugly, messy handwriting to tell me the old fellow had something going on, so he was heading to the Eastern Sea to check on things.

The message was simple and plain, yet he’d left in such a hurry — he must have bolted before dawn. That was completely unlike him, given that he treated sleep like his very life. Even now I was still guessing at what had happened with the old fellow in the Eastern Sea. Everyone knew his age had long since become something of a joke; it was perfectly normal for his body to be acting up. Was Ao Chi being called back over the matter of a successor? As far as I knew, beneath the old Dragon King of the Eastern Sea’s knees, Ao Chi was the only direct bloodline grandson. Hmm — if Ao Chi were to inherit the position of Eastern Sea Dragon King, wouldn’t that make me the Dragon King’s consort? No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. Word had it that being Dragon King kept you impossibly busy, with almost no time to leave the Eastern Sea. Knowing Ao Chi’s temperament, he would absolutely never let me roam freely outside. Was I really going to spend my days cooped up in some dragon palace swarming with shrimp soldiers, crab generals, and ancient turtles, blowing bubbles for entertainment? Absolutely not. I’d better pray to the heavens at once — may Old Lord Ao live a hundred years, with the heart of an eighteen-year-old, forever.

That said, for all the time I’d been with Ao Chi, I’d never once visited the Eastern Sea, nor met any of his Ao family relatives. Ao Chi himself rarely returned to the Eastern Sea; at most, he’d buy a mountain of free-shipping supplements off some online shop and mail them back to his grandfather, whom he forever called “the old fellow.” He seldom spoke about his grandfather, only mentioning once that as a child he’d been exceptionally unruly and had been locked in the Eastern Sea’s ice prison for a very long time. As for his parents — I’d never heard him bring them up at all, as though he’d come springing out of a rock. But I never pressed him on it either. Truthfully, I had no particular interest in anything to do with the Eastern Sea. I’ve always believed that marriage concerns only two people; the moment you exceed that number, all manner of troubles follow.

Fortunately, the Eastern Sea Dragon King had yet to summon me — his monster-born granddaughter-in-law — by name. If he really did call for me and I had to go meet the in-laws and deal with an entire family of dragons, I’d get a splitting headache. Though, it’s possible he had called for me and Ao Chi simply refused.

On some deep nights, lying awake with insomnia, I’d find myself unconsciously gazing at Ao Chi’s peaceful, sleeping face. Then a whole succession of versions of him would surface in my mind — the overbearing arrogance of when we first met, the delicate warmth with which he protected me, the utter disregard for self when carrying out his heavenly duties, the childish pranks of our ordinary daily life. Every one of those versions of him felt completely real. He made everyone believe that Ao Chi was a transparent, uncomplicated creature — too lazy to conceal his likes and dislikes, too proud to be burdened by hidden thoughts; living free and unrestrained, utterly and completely. But was that really so?

A person with absolutely no secrets is, in themselves, the greatest secret. I wasn’t only his wife; I was also a demon with rich experience in the world, with a naturally sensitive intuition. Whether Ao Chi had secrets, I couldn’t say for certain, but his sudden hurried departure this time unsettled me, at least a little.

In the drowsy muddle of my afternoon nap, I dreamed at times of a churning sea, at times glimpsed Fatty and Skinny — those who no longer existed — and at times saw Chi Pian’er and Young Master Zhao busy before my eyes. The world was a blur of chaos.

Suddenly, a streak of white light, carrying a chill, cleaved the world of my dream clean in two, without the slightest mercy.

By pure instinct I flinched, snapping out of the dream and back to reality in an instant. With nimble alertness, I dodged the unidentified object that had come slashing down from above my head.

Clang. With the sound of the counter splitting open, a gleaming Wang Mazi cleaver buried itself five centimeters deep into the countertop, quivering there with an air of supreme self-satisfaction. Behind it stood a young man who looked as though he’d stepped straight out of a landscape painting — composed and striking, smiling lightly as he watched me: “The proprietress has fine reflexes — even asleep, she can dodge. I happened to be passing by your fine establishment. I’m a little tired; I’d like to rest here for the night.”

What kind of greeting is it to throw a cleaver at someone?! Bowl Lord had asked me for the day off yesterday to visit relatives — he wasn’t in the shop. Then where were Young Master Zhao and Chi Pian’er?! Those two dead souls — how could they let a lunatic like this wander in without warning me?!

I was just about to explode when Chi Pian’er came hurtling in through the window as though fleeing for her life, flinging herself into my arms and wailing loudly: “Proprietress — someone’s dead! Young Master Zhao is dead!”

I cast a cool sideways glance at the guest before me and walked out through the door with Chi Pian’er.

The front courtyard lawn looked especially lush green in the afternoon sunlight. My staff always tended the flowers and plants in the shop with great care. But at this moment, the lawn held more than flowers and plants — it also held a thoroughly quartered Young Master Zhao: an arm over here, a leg over there. Quite pitiful.

I turned back to the guest who was standing inside, smiling at me, and said: “This is my cook. Whatever he may have done to offend you, your actions have directly resulted in my having no dinner tonight.”

“I’ll make it for you,” the guest said with a smile. “How about meatball soup?”

Meatball soup? My original confusion and anger were interrupted by a distant memory that suddenly surfaced. I quickly turned around and studied the person inside the room from head to toe, carefully and thoroughly.

“Miss Shaluo,” the person inside teased, “since becoming a married woman, both your eyesight and your memory have gotten rather unreliable.”

I walked up to him and fixed my gaze on his eyes, then broke into a smile: “You’ve cut your hair short, shaved your beard clean, and washed your face and clothes — naturally your distinguishing features are less obvious.”

He chuckled. Those clean white teeth paired with a smile like that — very few people could dislike it.

“Proprietress, you and him…?” If Chi Pian’er had a face right now, her expression would surely be on the verge of collapse. “He killed Young Master Zhao!”

“It’s not the first time Young Master Zhao has been quartered — he’ll be fine.” I paid absolutely no regard to Chi Pian’er’s delicate sensibilities. “Go get the mosquito coils and light one in every room in the shop.”

“Proprietress!”

“Quickly.”

The guest watched Chi Pian’er, whom I’d sent off with a kick, with an expression of great sympathy.

I gave a cold snort and walked toward the counter: “Come register!”

“Hold on.” He leaned close, smiling with an air of mystery. “Everyone who has ever known my real name has ended up dead in the end. Are you sure you want me to register?”

Smack! A flyswatter left a red grid-pattern across that impossibly handsome face. I waved the swatter: “Reg. Is. ter.”

He burst out laughing, looped his long arm around my shoulder, and said: “I’ve come to fulfill a promise.”

1

No one is more exceptional than you. This emperor awaits your return.

General Huang, go no further! That is the Ghost Tooth Cliff — you cannot go there!

Those who retreat shall die!

“Those who retreat shall die…”

She always woke within this dream-phrase, the pile of white bones beneath her releasing a faint, strange smell. This grand ancestral temple, sunken deep into the earth, had not seen daylight for perhaps thousands of years. The insects drifting slowly around her — their entire bodies flickering with phosphorescent light — rescued her eyes from the darkness. Scattered clusters of blue-cold light drifted and floated, illuminating the crumbling walls around her; the stone, silent for a millennium, looked like another kind of white bone.

Still unable to move. She had even lost the ability to draw her sword and take her own life.

The Prince of Yan — no, he was the Emperor now — at this moment he was surely waiting anxiously within the palace walls. She had promised emphatically to return, before the first snowfall of this year.

In the darkness, someone treaded over white bones, each step producing a crack.

Her mouth was pried open; food and water were slowly poured in.

“Take me out of here. There will be a great reward.” With great effort she turned her face, looking at the figure beside her whose features she could not quite make out.

Falling from such a great height on that cliff and surviving — that was her extraordinary luck. Surviving with every bone broken, her body like a corpse — that was his gift. Who he was, she still did not know to this day. She only knew that he moved freely in and out of this underground tomb-like place, like a ghost. No wonder the first time she’d seen him, she’d thought she’d encountered a spirit. He had said three things: First, I cannot heal injuries. Second, beneath you lie people who arrived with the same purpose, but died before you. Third, the fact that you weren’t cut to pieces is genuinely remarkable.

Indeed, there was hardly a single bone on the ground that was whole — they had been sliced into many sections by some ferocious force.

When she fell into this abyss, she had sensed sharp, violent currents of air surging up from below with a roar, as though transformed into countless blades of tempered steel. The danger, capable of cutting the entire world to shreds, engulfed her. She even felt as if real blades were whistling past her ears — and yet, there were no blades. At least she hadn’t seen any. The wounds on her body had come from the impact of her landing, not from any sharp weapon.

Had this ghost-like man not attended to her food and drink, she would long since have breathed her last.

“What did you say?” He put away the water flask. Several flying insects circled above his head; in the faint light, a blurred face was revealed.

“You must have a way to get me out! As long as you’re willing — a great reward!” Since yesterday, her four limbs had lost all sensation. Free of pain, her spirits had lifted considerably; even her voice had taken on more force.

“You still want to return?” The insects departed and his face sank back into darkness.

“Of course! This is the Grand Ancestral Temple of Xia Jie — not my grave!” She struggled to catch his gaze. “The Emperor is still waiting for me in the capital. Those who ran away certainly wouldn’t dare return to the capital. When the Emperor loses word of me, he will surely send someone to search. Even though I failed to find the Xia Jie blade, I still owe him an account.”

“The ones who ran away — they went back to the capital and saw the Emperor.”

“What?!”

“That was three years ago. I handed those three blades to them. The Emperor was very pleased, though he still had his Imperial Guard secretly execute them.” He recounted this in a flat tone. “The Emperor knows you fell from the cliff, your survival uncertain, but he sent no one to search for you. The position of General Huang has long since been filled by a new appointee.”

She was stunned for a long moment, then snapped: “Absurd! It has been no more than three days since I fell to this place — how can you speak of three years?!”

“One day in the mountains, a thousand years in the world. This ancestral temple is the very grave of time.” He smiled.

“You’re mad!” Her chest heaved violently. “Listen to me — either take me out of here or kill me! Who are you, exactly, and why did you hand those three divine blades to them?”

He was silent for a moment, then stepped forward and lifted her into his arms. Somewhere ahead, dimly lit by the phosphorescent insects, stood a stone platform bearing only three empty blade-stands.

“Those three blades had long since died. What was taken away was only their corpses. I used certain methods to make them appear as if they were still alive — enough to deceive those practitioners skilled at distinguishing genuine from false. In this way, the Emperor was able to settle his mind.” He spoke slowly, and blew a breath toward the darkness ahead. The sensitive phosphorescent insects, startled, scattered and fled. The light on the stone platform vanished. “The one waiting for you — it is not the Emperor. It is I.”

She turned her head, and her furious, astonished gaze fell into eyes as still and deep as stone.

2

What young person hasn’t encountered a scoundrel or two in their youth — just as what young demon hasn’t run into a wretched Daoist or two?

In any case, I picked a fight with a Daoist and lost.

Even though I could hardly be called a young demon anymore. From a tree on Fulong Mountain to a female demon running all over the place at this very moment, I cannot be certain how many years have passed. Unfortunately, though my age is considerable, my abilities were not yet sufficient. Zi Miao, who had drawn me into the mortal world, had taught me many principles about the cosmos and humankind, but had never taught me much in the way of techniques and methods — at most, he could conjure a butterfly from a flower. As for Ao Chi, who had long since come to regard me as his private property, he never explained any principles to me at all; he only taught me how to turn a beam of light into a weapon capable of splitting open a boulder, how to hurl an enemy into a river like discarding trash — all in the shortest time possible. He had nothing but contempt for every single technique Zi Miao had taught me, saying that flowers and butterflies cannot stop an enemy’s blade. If you truly care for someone, he said, you do everything in your power to make sure she learns to protect herself in a world full of dangers.

If Ao Chi could be just slightly less insufferable — just slightly more like a responsible, respectable teacher — I think I would have been willing to study diligently with him. But he was clearly never capable of that: violent and crude, full of his own self-importance, with a relentless force-fed teaching method. And on top of that, he was long-winded — extraordinarily long-winded. The moment I strayed even slightly from his supervision — say, going to the market at the foot of the mountain for a bowl of wonton soup, or buying a pair of embroidered shoes — he could poke me in the head and grumble nonstop from before the meal to after it, forever on the same theme: you haven’t mastered your training, going down the mountain alone is practically asking to die, even the most useless Daoist could leave a demon like you with a bloody broken head, blah blah blah. The rule he set for me was this: until he deemed me ready, I was not to leave Fulong Mountain at will without him standing guard at my side.

In those days, Ao Chi always reminded me of an overbearing, neurotic mother hen, using the most blunt and forceful methods to fiercely protect her own chick. And I’d always felt that even if one day I successfully cultivated into a powerful great demon, he still wouldn’t give up the role of guardian. He could, after all, find ten thousand reasons to keep me tethered to his side forever.

But in that period, I refused to be tied down by anyone.

I was accustomed to Ao Chi’s company — that didn’t mean I liked him, though. In any case, after yet another round of his long-winded scolding and my own fierce refusal to back down, I made up my mind completely: I would leave home, shake off this overbearing, vile dragon from the Eastern Sea — and I put it into action.

Using the methods he’d taught me, I masked my trail and slipped quietly down Fulong Mountain. Before leaving this familiar place, I made a point of stopping at the market below the mountain for a bowl of my favorite chicken broth wonton soup. As I ate, I thought about where to go. In the end, I still didn’t know — anywhere far enough would do. I picked a direction at random and set off with my head held high. Fulong Mountain was quickly left behind; when I looked back, it was already out of sight.

From Zi Miao to Ao Chi, neither of them had ever taken me very far from home. Crossing mountains and rivers, I heard village girls singing at the stream’s edge while they washed clothes, I saw fields of wheat rolling in waves, I walked through prosperous cities of towers and buildings. Fine-clad young nobles on spirited horses and beauties with graceful, lotus-like steps painted the world into something lovely. Everything delighted me; when I grew tired of walking I flew for a stretch, and when I grew tired of flying I found some unobtrusive place to sleep. A journey without a companion or a destination turned out not to be desolate at all.

Until I arrived at that place called Changan County, my journey had been smooth and pleasurable throughout. Changan County — what a cheerful name. I never imagined that choosing a cheerful-sounding place would bring me no small disaster: a Daoist with a face full of beard, enough of it to build a bird’s nest, set his sights on me. He had disguised himself as a street vendor selling roasted chicken legs, luring me — a demon with insufficient worldly experience — in with an irresistible aroma and the enticement of buy-one-get-two-free.

I ate six chicken legs. One of them had the wretched Daoist’s talisman hidden inside.

He chanted an incantation and my belly turned inside out with pain. I thought he was one of those types who capture demons to use in alchemy cultivation — but instead he said: Tree demon, become my disciple, and I will break this curse on you.

“Get lost! Become your disciple? Sooner or later I’d be bitten to death by the lice crawling out of that beard of yours!” I cursed him in a cold sweat, helpless against the talisman in my belly. That’s right — at that time, I was not yet the proprietress I am today, renowned for her abilities and her temper, capable of both exploding in fury and remaining unruffled. I was just a little demon who had barely escaped the shadow of heartbreak and was learning how to be a great demon who couldn’t be pushed around at will. By “little,” I don’t mean in age — I mean in ability.

“Follow your master, and you’ll have chicken legs to eat every day!” His tone was full of teasing. “You have a lovely way of eating — I wouldn’t mind watching you every day.”

Young as I was then, I was like a firecracker that goes off at the slightest touch. Words like that — how could I possibly not rage?

I unleashed every offensive technique Ao Chi had taught me, enduring the abdominal pain, and fought the wretched Daoist in an earth-shaking battle: from sunrise to moonrise, from rooftops to the wilderness. My green gauze dress and his black robe cut through day and night, tracing the fierce lines of a desperate, all-or-nothing struggle across sky and ground alike.

Despite giving it everything I had, I could not defeat him.

If you can’t win… then run — what else can you do? So I jumped into the river. I am a natural-born swimming champion — the kind who, transplanted to the present day, could go snatch an Olympic gold medal. The natural property of wood floating on water, after all.

The swift river current pushed me rapidly forward. Amid the rise and fall of the waves, I spotted the wretched Daoist standing on the riverbank — he hadn’t given chase.

Maybe he can’t swim, I thought, consoling myself.

But I had forgotten about the talisman in my belly. It flared up more and more violently. My intestines were probably close to dissolving; both my consciousness and my body began to weaken. Murky river water surged into my mouth, and I found I no longer even had the strength to spit it out.

Ao Chi was probably right. This really is a world where danger lurks everywhere.

In the very last moment before losing consciousness — a tree demon, with poorly honed skills and stripped of her protector — what I thought was: May Ao Chi never, ever find out that I actually died because of six shameful chicken legs.

3

This man with the full, bushy beard — whose clothes and face always looked like they’d never been quite washed clean — fished me back from the riverbank and brought me home.

It was only when he tossed me onto a hard bed that I began to show signs of reviving, and what finally brought me to full wakefulness was a tremendous shock: bleary-eyed, opening my eyes, I saw this fellow plunge a gleaming cleaver into my abdomen, his movement as swift as lightning. I felt only a cool breeze pass through my belly — not the slightest discomfort.

Even so, I let out a startled cry, shot upright on the bed, clutched my stomach, pointed at him, my face drained white, unable to get a single word out.

The man flicked his wrist; a dark shadow and his cleaver flew out simultaneously. By then I was fully alert and saw clearly: that clumsy, grease-stained cleaver somersaulted several times in the air, sliced the shadow in two, and finally lodged with a clang in the distant chopping board, landing with perfect precision. Behind it, two halves of a black talisman paper fluttered slowly down; the moment they touched the ground, they turned to smoke.

“Gluttony and indulgence — both are grave taboos for those who walk the world.” He looked at me, his eyes like stones — still, without luster. “Go back to wherever you came from, demon.”

I stared at him for three seconds, then bared my teeth and howled at him: “Turn your back! Don’t you dare turn around!”

He blinked, and turned away.

I hurriedly lifted my clothes to examine my belly: perfect — not even a mosquito bite. This…

“It won’t scar,” he said suddenly.

“Have you grown eyes in the back of your head?! Aren’t you afraid I’ll dig them out?!” I glared at him fiercely, while inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. I straightened and tidied my clothes.

He may have laughed, very faintly.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Shaluo,” I said, without thinking.

“What are you?” he asked again.

“A tree demon,” I answered, without hesitation.

“Where do you live?”

“In…”

I stopped.

My mind was clearly awake, yet something seemed to be obscuring it. I remembered who I was, remembered arriving at Changan County, remembered the wretched Daoist — but only that much. Where I had come from, who I had known — all of it had become a shifting gray fog. I stood outside the fog; just one more step and I could see the truth, but I simply could not make my legs move. Another cold sweat broke out.

“To have recovered your life while losing a little memory is nothing significant,” he said, turning around and picking up a piece of pork and a bunch of green vegetables from the table.

I darted to block him, staring at him with fierce, unrelenting eyes.

“All right — as for the matter of breaking the Daoist’s talisman curse, I confess I am still not very practiced at it, so leaving behind certain aftereffects is perfectly normal,” he said, clearly able to read my eyes. “Perhaps tomorrow you will remember everything. Perhaps in a year. Perhaps you will never remember.”

“You—!” My face had never worn such a rich array of expressions all at once.

But he ignored my face, walked around me toward the stove, and busied himself washing vegetables and cutting meat with great enthusiasm.

I still couldn’t find it in myself to lose my temper with a person like this — after all, it was he who had saved me. Looking around, I took in the surroundings: what a dilapidated little house. Only one room — sleeping at this end, cooking at that end, roughly partitioned by a bamboo curtain.

Wait — my casual gaze suddenly fell to the base of the bamboo curtain, where a pair of feet in embroidered shoes peeked out. There was a third person in the room?

I made myself entirely at home and stepped forward, sweeping the curtain aside with a swish.

The setting sun was slowly moving across the gap in a broken window, its pale red and gold blending with the air still carrying the day’s heat, casting a glow over a strange chair with wheels positioned at the window. A young woman sat in it, gazing intently at the scene outside, still as a pool of stagnant water. Her cyan rough-cloth garment made her already pallid complexion look even worse. At my appearance, she only blinked — she didn’t even bother to turn her head.

“Your wife?” I asked him.

“My sister,” he said, carefully washing the vegetable leaves.

“You look much older than her,” I said, in all seriousness.

“Why haven’t you left yet?” He glanced at me.

Leave? A demon with no money and no ability to defeat a Daoist had no business wandering around. I’d lost my memory — I wasn’t stupid.

“Hey, you,” I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Since you went to the trouble of picking me up, you have to see this through. Until I remember where my home is and whether I have any relatives, one-third of this house is mine. All right? All right!”

He didn’t spare me so much as a glance.

“If you like it, stay,” said the woman in the wheelchair, suddenly speaking up. Her voice was very soft and pleasant. “I am also someone who cannot remember the past.” Could it be that she, too, was a demon who’d been caught by a talisman curse and was suffering the aftereffects? What was infuriating was that not only had I lost my memory, but even my spiritual power seemed affected — I’d lost the ability to tell demons apart from humans.

“She is not a demon,” he said, carrying a tray of steaming food past me. Alas — a demon with amnesia really was terribly easy to see through. I walked over to the woman and said: “May I ask the young lady’s name?”

Tales of Fu Sheng, Volume 2, by Shaluo Shuangshu (pages 1867–1888)

“Huang,” she said, turning her head toward me with a slight smile. The last sliver of light dyed her pupils a pale brown — beautiful, yet like a flame burning down to its final end. “My hands and feet are entirely useless and I cannot move about on my own. Having one more person to talk to from now on will make the time easier to pass.”

What a simple name. Strange, though.

He came over and wheeled her to the table, feeding the food carefully into her mouth spoonful by spoonful while saying to me: “This is not a peaceful or safe place. If you stay and run into further dangers, don’t expect me to look after you.”

Danger? The house, though a little ramshackle, ran the risk of collapsing on me — but even being buried by this broken house was better than being pushed around by a wretched Daoist! This man clearly didn’t want to take in a freeloader, and was just making up excuses to scare me off.

“I’ll take things as they come — don’t trouble yourself,” I said, helping myself to a bowl and chopsticks and joining the dinner of my own accord.

I have to say, this fellow’s cooking was truly excellent. The meatball soup had a wonderfully savory flavor — just as delicious as what that person used to make.

Hmm? That person… which person? Had someone once made meatball soup for me before? My mind went blank for a moment; in the gray fog, a figure swayed. A faint ache began to pulse through my head.

“Don’t try to force yourself to remember anything — it hurts,” said Huang, watching me.

I agreed, changed the subject, and asked him: “And you — your name? You can’t expect me to call you Cleaver Brother or Meatball Brother!”

“Everyone who has ever known my name has ended up dead in the end,” he said, delicately wiping away a smear of food from the corner of Huang’s mouth.

Though I muttered as if I’d believe that under my breath, my heart spoke with complete honesty: this man wasn’t lying.

Amnesia hasn’t touched my instincts.

“Fine! Then doesn’t your sister know, either?!” I pursed my lips.

He said nothing. It was Huang who laughed instead: “A person in my condition differs little from the dead. How could that make any difference?” My heart gave a small jolt; I found I didn’t know what to say in reply. I should be a simple, straightforward sort of demon — I can’t compose those hollow, comforting words that other people manage.

When a living soul is imprisoned inside a body that cannot move, despair will slowly take root and grow. Once, I had been like her — standing alone at a mountain summit, each day a repetition of the last, hope and despair coexisting.

Wait — it seemed I’d just recalled something else. That mountain… its name was on the very tip of my tongue. Maddening — just one more step, and I still couldn’t remember it. He gave up his bed to me, picked up a worn mat, and went to sleep in the narrow courtyard.

A wakeful cat crouched on top of the wall. Beyond the wall, flickering lamplight and the faint, drifting sound of music carried through the night.

The first night stranded in Changan County was both peaceful and restless.

I lay on that stale-smelling bed, sneaking glances with half-open eyes. Silver moonlight slipped into the room uninvited; Huang sat in her wheelchair, still facing the window, and it was impossible to tell whether she was asleep. He had said that Huang “slept” like this every night — she refused to lie down, claiming it would take away the only view she had left.

For a woman whose entire life’s joy was contained within a single window — that was a heartbreaking thought. I closed my eyes. Even with my memory lost, I felt no fear, nor any anxiety about my future. An entirely groundless sense of security was buried deep in my chest, sustaining all of my confidence. A peculiar feeling.

4

Inside the Qianqing Palace, there was only a single candlelight.

Zhu Di sat far from the dragon couch, slowly polishing the sword in his hands. A folded letter was tucked inside his sleeve.

That morning when he had woken, the letter had been folded into the shape of a paper crane and placed beside his pillow. On the letter were drawn simple illustrations — a village, an ancient well, and a dragon. “On the night of the Ghost Festival, if you do not come, we shall not wait. Where jade shores grow green, and a colorful dragon drifts at ease.” This was the only message on the letter.

He had not breathed a word of it to anyone.

Past the second watch, he walked out of the Qianqing Palace and strolled at leisure. So much to be done, and so little time. He despised those treacherous, seditious subjects — their remnants still lingered, still refused to be extinguished. Phrases like a man who murders his nephew to seize the throne defies heavenly law — he had heard them far too many times, until he was weary of them, until they enraged him. No matter how outstanding a record of governance he produced, those voices clung to him like vengeful ghosts.

To silence them permanently, there was only one way: cut off their heads.

Huang Zicheng, Chen Di, Fang Xiaoru, Jing Qing… he could no longer remember all their names. What he could remember were only the eyes of those men in their final moments — gazes heavy with venom and resentment, fixed on him.

On this summer night in the capital, the Milky Way blazed brilliantly, and the realm beneath his feet was gentler and more magnificent than at any other moment — yet he had never had time to appreciate it properly. In his eyes, the world held only three colors: the bleak, monotonous black and white, and the red of rivers flowing with blood.

Once you have climbed to the highest position, it is very difficult to come back down.

He passed between the towering palaces and walked until he reached the Fengxian Hall.

What was enshrined here was not only the Zhu family ancestors, but also three blades that had been obtained at great cost.

In the hidden chamber behind the Fengxian Hall, he stood expressionlessly amid curling wisps of incense smoke. On the polished jade platform, three divine blades of Xia Jie stood side by side, their edges radiating brilliance in all directions.

Dragon Fang. Tiger Wing. Hound Spirit. Said to have been forged from divine materials of heaven and earth, they were first obtained by the tyrant Xia Jie and used as his personal blades. It was told of these blades that in the hands of a tyrant they destroy, in the hands of a wise ruler they protect — gifted with extraordinary power, possessed of their own spiritual nature. After Xia Jie’s death, the three blades were enshrined in the Grand Ancestral Temple. When the temple was later destroyed, these divine objects vanished from the world. Over a thousand years, countless sought their whereabouts — all without result. There were accounts of them surfacing in Kaifeng during the Northern Song dynasty, but these were only rumors.

Many emperors had searched for these three blades. Each of them believed himself a uniquely exceptional wise ruler; if the three blades could be gathered into his hands, divine assistance would surely follow and the nation’s fortune would flourish brilliantly. Some had claimed to discover the ruins of Xia Jie’s Grand Ancestral Temple and obtain the divine blades, enshrining the “divine blades” within the inner palace with great ceremony — but whether they were genuine or counterfeit, only heaven could know. In any case, as an ambiguously real legend, the Xia Jie divine blades had been worn away into faint obscurity by a millennium of time. After the Northern Song, few people even mentioned them.

But he knew with perfect clarity: these three divine objects were no legend. Because the venerable national advisor Liu Bowen had used the Xia Jie divine blades to sever a surging dragon vein of a foreign surname, stabilizing the national fortune of the Great Ming dynasty.

He had been only thirteen years old at the time. In the height of summer, weary of studying and avoiding military drills, he had hidden in the most secluded, least-frequented Wuying Hall to read idle books. By the time he realized his father was entering, it was already too late to avoid him — fortunately, he had trained his body to no small degree, and in a few quick movements he climbed up onto the roof beam.

His father had brought no attendants. The only one who entered with him was Liu Bowen, who had long since announced his retirement and return to his hometown. He heard every word of the conversation.

As it turned out, Liu Bowen’s resignation from office was a pretense; his true purpose was a distant journey to the Shanhai Pass to sever a dragon vein. As he told it, beyond the Shanhai Pass there lay a Dragon Mountain and a Phoenix Peak. The dragon had begun to emerge and the phoenix was beginning to spread its wings; if their veins were not severed before they reached full power, within three years the Zhu family’s dynasty would be destroyed by a foreign surname and the realm would change hands. The only implement in the world capable of severing a dragon vein was the Xia Jie blade. By a fortunate turn of fate, he had obtained this divine object and severed the dragon vein. Overjoyed, the Emperor Father had asked him to surrender this divine object so it could be properly enshrined, to shelter the Great Ming for ten thousand generations. But Liu Bowen had replied that the object was truly no ordinary thing and should not be exposed among humankind — so he had already returned the divine blade to the Grand Ancestral Temple of Xia Jie. No matter how the Emperor Father pressed him, Liu Bowen refused to reveal so much as a word about where the temple was located.

It had to be said: among all the great ministers of the Great Ming dynasty, the only one he truly admired was this old man surnamed Liu.

He still remembered the day he climbed down from the roof beam of the Wuying Hall, and before he’d even made it out the door, Liu Bowen surprisingly turned back — and with a smile asked him: “Your Highness the Prince of Yan, could it be that you have something you wish to ask this old minister?”

“I do!” Of course he had a whole heap of questions. Liu Bowen truly lived up to his reputation for divine foresight — he had known all along that he was hiding on the beam above.

“The Xia Jie blades and the temple’s location — Your Highness need not ask about those.” Stroking his beard, he said: “But there is one matter I may tell Your Highness. Come closer and listen.”

He leaned his ear forward.

“Why tell me these things?” he asked, somewhat puzzled. “Is this not something only the National Advisor and the Emperor Father should know?”

“The rivers and mountains span ten thousand li — those of ability shall hold them. As for the so-called dragon vein, it grows and diminishes according to those who tend it. When one is severed, another rises. The cycle never ends. A broad heart and a tranquil spirit, and eternal joy awaits without worry. Your Highness — these few words are this old minister’s gift to you. Whether you remember them or not makes no great difference.” The old man patted him on the shoulder, then shuffled slowly out of the imperial palace.

That was the last conversation they ever had. The following year, sixty-five-year-old Liu Bowen died, reportedly from a strange illness for which no cure could be found. A genius of his era, a founding minister of the dynasty, dying quietly in his hometown.

Many years later, he finally understood why Liu Bowen had chosen to tell him those things. That old man with uncanny foresight had long since predicted that he would one day don the imperial robe — and the phrase “eternal joy awaits without worry” had even given him his reign name: Yongle.

The Great Ming’s dragon vein lies beneath Changan, with an ancient well as its gate, and a dragon roaming the celestial river — this whispered secret was the greatest secret of the Great Ming dynasty, and also its greatest vulnerability. He had always believed this vulnerability was under the best possible protection, for only he and the Emperor Father knew of it. Yet he had overlooked the single most important thing: the Emperor Father had not passed the throne to his son, but to his grandson.

What the Emperor Father had whispered in the new Emperor’s ear on his deathbed — no one apart from the two of them had ever known.

And so the nephew who had been driven from the throne, who had burned the palace and vanished without a trace — who had now become his greatest obsession. He had sent countless men to find him. All in vain. He was consumed with unease; even in his dreams, he saw his nephew’s face, twisted with fury, shouting at him, threatening to sever the Great Ming’s dragon vein just as Liu Bowen had severed another dynasty’s dragon vein in its day!

Zhu Di, the throne is not something you can hold steady. Every time he jolted awake, this same sentence rang in his ears. Liu Bowen had said that only the Xia Jie blade could sever a dragon vein — if he could just bring this divine object into his own possession, everything would be secure.

He reached his hand out toward the blade edge on the jade platform. Still half a foot away, a peculiar current where scorching heat and piercing cold met repelled his palm.

With Liu Bowen gone, fortunately there was still a Liao Junqing. This new National Advisor had a far better temperament than the old one, with abilities not far behind. He not only knew the legend of the Xia Jie blades, but possessed the ability to distinguish genuine from counterfeit.

Fire revealed becomes water; water rising becomes a dragon. He had witnessed it with his own eyes: with the three blades struck down into a raging inferno, the flames immediately transformed into clear water, leaping upward into the air, becoming a translucent little dragon that flew up and disappeared into the sky.

In all the world, only the Xia Jie blades possessed such an ability.

To locate them, Liao Junqing had sent people to every corner of the realm, exhausting every effort before confirming the location of the Grand Ancestral Temple of Xia Jie: somewhere near Ghost Tooth Cliff in the Shanxi region.

They said it was an extremely dangerous and strange place. Every person sent there arrived trembling with fear. Only she had no fear whatsoever — she went without hesitation. In truth, in every previous exhausting and perilous search, she had always been the one walking at the very front. The words she said most often were: This minister shall not fail the mission.

That’s right — her. The previous General Huang. It had been three years already, hadn’t it. He was almost starting to forget what she looked like.

He only remembered she was a formidable woman — a very useful blade.

If there were more such “blades” at his side, why would he worry about an unsteady realm?

Without his noticing, dawn had almost broken.

He burned the letter in his sleeve to ash and walked out of the hidden chamber.

5

There was truly no scenery worth admiring in this village: low-lying thatched cottages, toiling villagers, children covered in mud, a few scraggly fields, a river of white churning waves outside the village, and the smell of cow dung everywhere. What was there to like about it?

Yet he seemed greatly interested. He took a fishing rod down to the riverbank, cast the hook far out into the water, and promptly lost interest in it. He covered his face with a bamboo hat and lay down on a large flat rock to doze. Not far away on the riverbank, a small boat rested, gently rocking with the current. Evening wind swept in from the river, and the willow branches on the bank swayed like a beauty’s long hair in the breeze.

I stood in what I assumed was a well-hidden spot, observing the man who might already be asleep.

Cleaver — that was what I called him now, and he didn’t seem to mind. He had an incomparably exquisite command of blade technique. Not only could he make short work of green onions and pork, but he could extract a talisman from inside my belly without leaving a trace. He knew I was a demon yet showed not the slightest surprise; he had a sister with no use of her four limbs; and every morning before noon he left and every afternoon he returned, attending to all three meals and daily needs with perfect care.

I had to say, the food he cooked was delicious. The pork slices he cut were uniform and thin enough to be translucent — absolute perfection. Just like the way — when his steel cleaver came down — that was so clean and efficient.

The blazing midday sun from earlier still felt as though it were burning in my mind. On the stone platform of the execution ground, there were two people: one standing, one kneeling.

His red garments seemed about to burst into flame on his body. The blinding light danced a dangerous dance on the steel blade in his hand. He tilted his head back slightly, fixed like a stone statue in place. The prisoner’s garb was still white, like a fish that had turned belly-up, floating helplessly on the water.

Execute! The magistrate’s command tablet fell to the ground, raising a small puff of dust.

He bent down, as though murmuring something in the prisoner’s ear — then:

His hand rose. The blade fell. A wave of gasps erupted from the crowd below, along with one woman’s heart-tearing shriek and the sound of her fainting.

The blood that spurted high blended together with his red garments in the glare of noon, and I could see roaring flames burning both inside and outside his body, turning even the gray-white execution platform a deep crimson.

I stood among the crowd slowly dispersing, watching him step down from the execution platform.

Even with quite a distance still between us — even with that many living heads bobbing and swaying in the middle — we could easily see each other.

This is my work, he said, looking into my eyes slowly.

Those hands with their long, slender ten fingers could prepare the most delicious food in the world, and could also sever the hardest heads.

Standing against the light, I finally saw his face clearly. The brightest sunlight had washed his brow and features clean; if his untidy beard were shaved off, this capable executioner would be a young and handsome man.

But he was not human.

In the instant his steel blade came down, a bolt of lightning cut through my body, and something I had forgotten suddenly jolted awake. My nose told me: this man is not human — he is a demon. I had caught his true scent.

Today, he had risen before dawn, prepared breakfast, and for once genuinely washed his face. Then he dragged a red robe out of his clothes chest — didn’t put it on, wrapped it in black cloth and tied it on his back.

Before going out the door, he said to Huang: I’m leaving.

Huang was still gazing from her place at the window. Even the freshest light of the morning had not brought her the faintest gleam of vitality.

I’m sorry — I still cannot remember much. She said this to Cleaver.

The sky grew brighter and brighter. The rainwater that had accumulated overnight was being lifted by the heat rising from the ground, making the air even more oppressively humid. I sat with a bowl of fragrant congee in the shade of the courtyard tree, listening to their strange farewell exchange.

Cleaver strode out the door with great purpose. Bored, I went back inside, put down my bowl, and stared blankly at the wall. I’d carved marks on it — one mark per day — and there were already seven. My aftereffects had still shown no signs of improvement; only in dreams did I see blurry faces and hear voices near and far. Someone is looking for me — when I woke, I always had that feeling.

“You are so young and lovely, and you can walk and move about freely. I really do envy that,” came Huang’s voice from beyond the window.

This was the longest sentence she had ever said to me on her own initiative.

The corners of Huang’s mouth curved up slightly; even that light a smile made her luminous.

“Right, you said you were a demon. Demons have eternally youthful faces.”

“You don’t seem to mind that I’m a demon,” I said, pulling over a stool and sitting down beside her. On these days when Cleaver wasn’t home, I was generally not around either — I was a demon who couldn’t sit still, and wandering aimlessly through Changan County, from the blacksmith’s shop to the scholar’s art stall, were all perfectly good ways to pass the time. But no matter what time I went out, I always knew that behind the window there was a pair of dim eyes envying my freedom.

“He told me that many, many years ago, I too was a demon,” she said, her eyes growing distant and a little cold. “He’s told me many things, from ancient times to now. A very long, very long story.”

I grew curious and hurried to ask: “What kind of demon did he say you were?”

“If it were you,” she turned the question back on me, “would you believe it?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. If I were to be switched out for an ordinary human and someone told me I was a demon, I probably wouldn’t be able to believe it either — I might even beat the person up for it.

“Will anyone come looking for you?” she asked, changing the subject. “Amnesiac demon.”

“Yes!” I said without thinking.

That groundless confidence surfaced again.

“How fortunate,” she said. The smile she had managed so rarely had already disappeared. “No one will ever come looking for me.”

She looked dimmer than at any moment before.

“Is the view outside this window really so wonderful?”

I’d looked out the window countless times. It was nothing but a cluttered courtyard, gray enclosing walls, the eternally unchanging sky, and the occasional pigeon flying past.

“If you walk in that direction without stopping, you can see the Imperial Palace,” she said.

I leaned my head out to look. The Imperial Palace? I’d never been. I’d heard it was the most magnificent building in the human world — the residence of the Son of Heaven, not inferior to any celestial realm. A palace that couldn’t even be seen from here — was it worth gazing at like this, day after day?

“Did you come from the Imperial Palace?” I pulled my head back in and asked her, suddenly.

She said: “You are quite clever.”

“I like to think I should be a demon of reasonable intelligence,” I said, nodding.

“Huang is not my name.” A pigeon landed in the courtyard, drawing her gaze for just a moment. “The Emperor’s Imperial Guard had four members of the highest caliber, bestowed the titles of Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Dark Warrior General — not an official rank, but honor enough to demonstrate their glory. Beyond these four generals, there was also a general who existed like a shadow: the General Huang. This position was filled only by women. Aside from the Emperor and members within the Imperial Guard, no one knew the true identity of General Huang. Many secret missions that could not be known to outsiders were quietly carried out by General Huang. Unknown to the gods, unseen by the ghosts.”

So the “amnesia” she had spoken of referred to the story of her being a demon that Cleaver had told her — a story she could not accept or trust? Her amnesia and mine were entirely different. She remembered everything about who she was now. I said: “By that reasoning, you haven’t lost your memory at all. If you came from the Imperial Palace, why not return?”

“The Emperor already has a new General Huang at his side,” she said with a slight smile.

I studied her face carefully, trying to imagine what she must have looked like in her days as General Huang — valiant and heroic, graceful and beautiful. Even now, though she had barely one more breath in her than a corpse, like a flower that had withered to its very last petal.

“You have feelings for the Emperor,” I said without any roundabout phrasing. I had confidence in my ability to see through the hearts of others.

She too was startled. For quite some time she was at a loss, but she didn’t deny it.

Whether woman or female demon — when one has feelings for another, the wistfulness in their words, the fleeting light in their eyes, are no different at all.

I too had loved someone once, though I couldn’t remember who.

Huang had apparently gone so long without telling her own story to another person that she was a little clumsy, a little disjointed.

She had grown up in the Prince of Yan’s household — an ordinary serving girl, but with a gift for blade technique that she had taught herself without any instruction. She outshone even the household’s best cooks in the way she could cut food both fast and clean. One year at the year’s end, she was working alone and busily in the kitchen, her ordinary cleaver working with ease — trimming sinew, deboning — a consummate skill.

Someone called out praise from outside the window. She startled and nicked her finger.

The person from outside came in, drew a brocade handkerchief, and carefully wrapped her wound.

Those who work with blades inevitably get cut by blades; the wounds on her hands were not only this one. They had always healed on their own, with no one paying them any mind. She was so flustered she forgot to kneel, and stood before His Highness the Prince of Yan, not knowing what to do.

“I heard the household had a girl with the skill of a master cook, and I came to see for myself — but I’ve caused you to be injured. Truly, my fault.” He released her hand, his manner gentle, with none of the condescension of a prince. “Have the physician apply medicine for you later. Hands as skilled as these — it would be a great pity for anything to happen to them.”

She collected herself, moved to kneel, but he stopped her, and asked: “What is your name?”

“Everyone just calls me ‘girl,'” she said quietly. “When Father and Mother sold me into the household, they left behind no name for me.”

He nodded. His gaze fell on the meat and vegetables she had already cut, and he said: “To have such skill at such a young age — given time, you will achieve even greater things. Girl, would you be willing to use your fine blade technique for something else?”

“Something else?” She couldn’t understand where, outside the kitchen, a cleaver might be needed.

“There are far more places in this world than kitchens that need a fine blade,” he said, ruffling her head. “Come see me in the study tomorrow.”

She held that brocade handkerchief and tentatively poked her head out the window, watching his tall figure pass into the swirling snow. Between heaven and earth, everything blurred — only this man stood out with perfect clarity. Nothing in the world could obscure the brilliance that was his by nature.

The next day she went to his study. Waiting for her there, besides him, was a middle-aged man with bright eyes and a vigorous bearing.

He had found her a master. All eighteen martial arts disciplines were carefully taught to her by that master. In the end, even the master became her subordinate in defeat — her blade was too fast, and she had sliced through the master’s beard.

In five years, he went from Prince of Yan to Emperor of the Great Ming, and she went from a little kitchen girl to the most outstanding General Huang under his command.

The “treacherous subjects” who died by her hand — whether truly guilty or not — were beyond counting. As long as he gave the word, she could bring him any head he wished, regardless of whether the person deserved to die or was innocent.

Her final mission was to recover the Xia Jie personal blades for him.

The last thing he said to her was: I await your return.

But in the end, she did not return — and he did not wait for her.

“If he cared for you, even if only your corpse remained, he would cross mountains and rivers to find you.” The words leaped straight from my heart to my mouth. “If I ever went missing, Ao Chi would tear the three realms apart to drag me back!”

Ao Chi… that name, that insufferably unruly face, all those head-to-head confrontations — suddenly they broke free from the fog and returned to their rightful place inside me.

“Ao Chi?” Huang looked at me. “Did you just remember something?”

“I… I think this person and I must be very close,” I said vaguely.

“A man who can treat you that way — that is very rare,” she said, turning away.

“Cleaver treats you very well too,” I said, speaking the plain truth.

She only gave a bitter smile and said: “A person who can’t be seen through — in the end, they make it hard to get close.”

She sank back into her own world. Though I still had many questions for her, seeing her like this, I lost the inclination, and restlessly went out for a walk.

It was nearly noon. The streets were more crowded than at any other hour, and everyone was surging in the same direction.

Someone was saying: today there was another condemned prisoner to be beheaded.

6

The sky had gone completely dark. A sliver of moon broke into pieces across the river’s surface; not a single star could be seen. In the far distance, a muffled rumble of thunder reached the ear.

The wind was growing stronger and stronger, tossing my hair into complete disarray.

I’d been hiding here since dusk and it was now full dark. That man lay there as though he were dead, still sprawled on the rock, bamboo hat firmly in place — even the wind couldn’t blow it away.

The sound of hurried footsteps approached from a distance. Three figures came walking quickly from the village entrance toward the riverbank.

The person in front was holding a lantern, his face clearly illuminated — a short, heavyset man I’d seen by the fields during the day. Behind him followed a young man and a young woman, carrying simple luggage, walking and glancing around at their surroundings.

My eyesight was excellent; that young man — he was quite obviously the prisoner who’d had his head cut off during the day.

It was a good thing I was a demon, or I would surely have leaped in fright.

I had personally watched his head roll off the platform, bounce a few times, and roll in several circles before coming to a stop.

Cleaver finally stirred, lifted the bamboo hat, and sat on the rock watching the three who came running toward him.

Before the rock, the young man and woman dropped to their knees with a thud and kowtowed three times with all their force. He only waved his hand and passed them a small bundle, saying: “A little silver — travel safely.”

More tearful thanks and fervent gratitude followed.

Then the heavyset man led the two of them toward the small boat nearby. They cast off, rowing quickly and steadily away into the distance.

A raindrop struck my eyelid. Suddenly his voice reached me: “It’s raining. Are you not going back?”

I had no choice but to step out from the shadows and walk up to him. Pointing at the boat already disappearing into the distance: “An explanation? Or else tell me — that was actually the condemned man’s identical twin.”

“Your aftereffects are clearing.” He gave a small smile. “You already know that you and I — we are both demons, in fact.”

“During the day, it was only an illusion you conjured. You didn’t actually cut off his head — am I right?” I understood what demons were capable of, but I still hadn’t been able to make out what his true form was.

“He wasn’t killed by the man they condemned. The real culprit’s father holds a rank far above the county magistrate’s. Walk more of this world and you’ll discover that money and power can buy back many things — including a human life,” he said evenly. “But not every prisoner condemned to die unjustly has the fortune of running into me.”

“An executioner who doesn’t kill people.” I looked him up and down. “In the name of human justice?”

“Think whatever you like,” he said, leaving me behind as he walked forward.

“How many people have you saved like this?” I called out after him.

“Haven’t counted.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Haven’t counted.”

He disappeared from my line of sight.

Three days later, the eldest son of the wealthiest family in Changan County — Young Master Xiao — was found dead in the bed of a pleasure house. His head had been severed from his body. The courtesan who had shared his bed for the night had noticed nothing whatsoever; when she opened her eyes at dawn, the fright nearly startled her soul right out of her body. The authorities scrambled frantically over the case but couldn’t find so much as a thread of a clue pointing to the perpetrator.

People were whispering privately that this Young Master Xiao had always been cruel and domineering. A servant girl in his household had been harmed by him; but because he had a father holding office at court, every means had been found to clear him of the crime, and the unfortunate scapegoat had already been executed for public display just the other day. Small wonder, then — this was surely divine justice, a spirit’s retribution. Who said there was no justice in the world? Evil men always receive evil’s due.

I sat there eating the food Cleaver had made, completely untroubled. Only in the night, while swatting mosquitoes, did I let fall, seemingly at random: “Tsk, tsk — can’t bring himself to lay a hand on those who shouldn’t die, but not a single one who should die gets away.”

Smack. I’d eliminated another one.

He showed no reaction whatsoever, and as usual dragged his worn mat out to sleep in the courtyard.

7

The marks on the wall had reached seventeen.

The streets were full of vendors selling incense, candles, and spirit money. Tomorrow was the Ghost Festival. Every year on this day, the people of the human world grew busy offering sacrifices and paying respects to their deceased relatives.

For the next few days, I had no plans to go out, because the streets were full of Daoists, and who knew whether the one who had made my life miserable was among them. My aftereffects were clearing faster and faster; today I had already been able to recall a man named Jiu Jue with lake-blue hair. He was a friend of mine — he brewed wine and was very garrulous.

Though I still couldn’t piece all the fragments into a whole memory, I knew it was coming soon.

Yet suddenly I didn’t want my memory to return too quickly. Because the moment it fully returned would mean I might have to leave Cleaver and Huang.

Half a month of living with amnesia, and they were my only friends — whether they admitted it or not. I was reluctant to leave Cleaver’s meatball soup.

These past few days, Cleaver had been looking exhausted. Every evening after dinner he went out in the direction of that village and didn’t return until nearly dawn.

I had tried following him once, but failed every time. The moment he entered the village he disappeared without a trace; no matter how I ran around inside searching, there was never any sign of him. Huang had become even less inclined to speak; she ate less too.

One day I came back from outside to find Cleaver talking with her. I didn’t know what about, only that as the Ghost Festival approached, Huang was growing increasingly unsettled — though she hid it very well.

These two people were carrying a strange secret between them.

The weather was dreadful. Three days ago, a torrential rain began, and quite a few people were saying that in the early hours of these past few days, they had kept being jolted awake by strange tremors from deep beneath the earth.

Though I slept like a rock, the day before yesterday, in the early hours, a strange force from underground had shaken me awake for a moment as well.

Right now I was sitting under the eaves, chin propped in hand, frowning up at the sky — black and heavy, as if it might drop at any moment. Cleaver came over and tossed me a few small coins, saying: “Go buy some incense and candles. I need to make dinner and don’t have time.”

“In this rain!” I glared at him.

“You didn’t drown in the river — you’re afraid of a little rain like this?” he said lightly. “I’ll have the meatballs you love most burning hot and waiting when you get back.”

Fine, fine — I simply cannot override this stomach of mine!

I took up an umbrella and went out, heading to the nearest paper offerings shop, grumbling the whole way: does a demon really need to celebrate the Ghost Festival? How very strange indeed.

Wait — my heart gave a sudden lurch. For all this time, Cleaver had never asked me to handle a single thing for him. I sprinted back — sure enough, the house was empty. Huang’s wheelchair sat alone by the window.

On the wall, in the spot where I’d carved my daily marks, were a few characters in not-particularly-elegant brushwork: Farewell. Take care of yourself.

That deceiver! Would it have been so hard to add “it has been the greatest fortune of three lifetimes to have known you”?!

I threw down the spirit money in my hands and ran out into the rain.

I had the feeling that if I didn’t find them today, we would truly never meet again in this lifetime. We’d shared no life-and-death trials together, and we’d known each other for less than a month. But since I’d eaten their food, I should at least say thank you in person, and if they were in trouble, I’d lend them a hand — whether I could actually make a difference or not. Gratitude for a drop of water, gratitude for a meal eaten for free — both debts should be repaid. I didn’t want to owe favors. This demon of unknown species — where would he take Huang?

I had already remembered how to fly, but the torrential rain completely threw off my sense of direction.

The village! Cleaver’s frequently visited village! My heart gave a sudden flash of clarity.

And just at that moment, from behind the dense curtain of rain hanging in mid-air came the voice I least wanted to hear in all my life:

“Tree demon! We are clearly fated — why not return with this humble Daoist?”

I looked back. That relentless, undying wretched Daoist was riding a paper dragon, grinning at me with a sinister smile.

8

I was nearly out of strength to fly — so exhausted, so incredibly exhausted!

The wretched Daoist’s paper dragon was far too capable and pursued me without relenting. One step closer and it would have its teeth in my feet. I could almost imagine what the wretched Daoist’s expression must look like right now — how twisted and triumphant. If I was caught by him this time, it clearly wouldn’t end with something as light as a bellyache!

Just as I was lost in these panicked thoughts, a streak of white light shot up from below the ground — like a blade, sharply severing the space between the Daoist and me. Before I could make out what it was, a powerful force was already dragging me down toward the ground. Wind and rain howled at my ears; my vision went black, as though I’d plunged into a narrow tunnel — then came a thud, and icy cold water surged violently into my mouth and nose.

When I broke the surface again, everything before me was blazingly bright, comparable to the clearest summer day. As my eyes adjusted to the light, my mouth fell open in astonishment:

Clear, emerald river water flowed around my body and onward. On both banks, the shores were not made of ordinary stone but of smooth, lustrous jade — some lying low against the ground, some rising to a height of several zhang, like trees of jade standing in the wind, majestic and dignified. As far as the eye could see, everything was radiant and crystalline, suffused with a naturally harmonious and auspicious energy.

A sound that belonged to no creature of the human realm thundered overhead.

Looking up: a semi-transparent, seven-colored dragon with five claws drifted leisurely through the air. Looking more closely, it had no solid form — it seemed to be composed entirely of the concentrated spiritual energy of mountains and rivers. Wherever it passed, the air currents spiraled and colored light poured forth — a rare and breathtaking spectacle of beauty and vitality. Looking further still, beyond the fog-like white vapor that the drifting dragon had parted overhead, there was an actual river flowing at great speed. On the shimmering surface of the water-light, one could clearly see a patch of dark sky with rain falling from it.

“Get up here already!”

Cleaver’s voice came from behind. I quickly turned around — arms spread wide, he stood on the bank, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me. Not far from him, Huang sat with her back against a jade stone about as tall as a person. The radiance emanating from within the stone had scoured away the gloom she habitually carried on her body; even her usually pallid face had taken on a faint flush of color.

This place held not only a magnificent, serene atmosphere — it also seemed to be suffused with an ineffable force of life.

I hurriedly climbed ashore and said: “Outside there’s—”

“I won’t be saving you a second time,” Cleaver said coldly, cutting off my words.

“What is this place? Why is there a river overhead? And we can still see the sky I just flew through?” I was far too curious to care about the sorry state of being chased by a Daoist, or to take issue with his tone.

Huang stared blankly at the dragon slowly drifting through the air above and murmured: “The Great Ming’s dragon vein — so it really does exist.”

A dragon vein! That I knew of — the lifeblood of every great dynasty in the human world. Dragon veins, hidden deep, lay above and below ground, concealed in broad seas and deep mountains. The moment a dragon vein is severed, it signals the fall of a dynasty.

An executioner in a county town. A forgotten General Huang. How had these two come to have anything to do with a place like this?!

I was more astonished by that than by seeing a living dragon vein!

“The energy of a dragon vein is the most spiritual and the most pure of all things under heaven. After you’ve rolled around in it, the demonic energy on your body will be undetectable for at least seven days — seven days is more than enough time for you to flee to safety,” he said, coming over and gripping my wrist. “I’ll send you out. After this — take care of yourself.”

“You want me to leave the moment I’ve just arrived?” I hadn’t had nearly enough of this rare marvel of the world! And those jade stones — they had to be worth a fortune. If I was going to flee for my life, at least let me earn some travel money first!

He gave no room for argument and pulled me toward the spot where I’d come in a moment ago, clearly intending to send me back out the way I’d come. Just as we were one step away from the river’s edge, a ring of strange ripples suddenly spread across the calm surface of the underground river — as though something were about to come up through the bottom.

Cleaver’s expression shifted. He immediately let go of my hand and said in a low voice: “Hide!”

Hide? Seeing the gravity on his face, I quickly scanned my surroundings, chose the tallest of the jade stones, and flew up to its peak. The top of this ancient, broad jade formation happened to have a bowl-shaped hollow just large enough to crouch in — hidden there, looking out from above, even an immortal would struggle to spot me.

Almost simultaneously, a black-clad man leaped up from below the water. In his hand, a bow bent like the moon; an arrow like a shooting star loosed from the string, flying straight for Cleaver’s face.

Cleaver didn’t even bother to dodge. That arrow, arriving with such ferocious momentum, split on its own into two halves less than an inch from his body — like a fish cleaved vertically in two — and grazed his ear as it flew past, striking the hard jade stone with a clatter before falling to the ground.

“Put away your arrow,” he said, watching the man who had landed before him like a swallow. “Your arrows have never been faster than a blade.”

Water dripped from the corners of Zhu Di’s garments, yet he looked anything but wretched. The dignity of a Son of Heaven had long since been carved into his very bones; it would not disappear no matter where he stood.

Zhu Di. So this was what the reigning Emperor looked like — though well past the prime of his years, still possessed of rare, sharp-boned good looks and an air of commanding spirit. I looked toward Huang; her lips were pressed tightly together, her breathing grown tense. She stared at the person she had most longed to see.

“To be able to deliver a paper crane to our emperor’s pillow — and to not only know where the dragon vein lies, but also to break the mechanisms and seals guarding its entrance one by one — such a person, naturally our emperor would come to meet in person,” said Zhu Di, lowering his bow and arrows, sweeping his gaze across the surroundings. His eyes passed over Huang — but only passed over, as though he had not recognized her at all.

“That you dared to come here alone — you are no cowardly or insignificant man,” said Cleaver, one corner of his mouth lifting. “One who can climb to the throne by treading over countless bodies is indeed no ordinary person.”

Zhu Di’s expression darkened. He gave a cold laugh: “That you chose this place for our meeting was because you calculated early on that our emperor could only come alone.”

“Also true — if outsiders knew where the dragon vein lies, one blade could sever it, and your dynasty would be buried in its grave.” He gestured toward the dragon in the air above.

“You wish to cut it?” Zhu Di looked up. “A dragon vein of this world is not leeks or cabbages — you cannot move against it simply because you wish to.”

“Only the Xia Jie blade can sever it.”

Zhu Di’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, then quickly steadied: “Dragon Fang, Tiger Wing, Hound Spirit — all three are in our emperor’s possession.”

“Don’t you think you have too many blades in your hands?” He walked slowly toward Zhu Di. “In your eyes, there are no people — only blades. You relish the feeling of holding a blade in your hand; whether it is useful or not is your only criterion of judgment. Those ‘blades’ who risk their lives for you — when they become worn, become dull, become lost — they can only be left to their own fate.” He glanced at Huang. “You probably can’t even remember what they look like.”

Zhu Di said nothing, watching in cold silence the man who walked toward him.

“There are four blades in all. They were born in the Xi Ming You Sea, originally demon objects, and seeking a master was the defining purpose of their lives.” He stopped. His eyes sank to the most distant reaches of memory, deep as a still pool:

9

There was one blade that refused to be forever branded with the mark of “tool.”

It opposed the decision of its three elder brothers and would not enter into a covenant with Xia Jie. The elder brothers told it angrily: Since we were born as blades, we need a master — that is the destiny of a blade. Xia Jie is the mightiest king of this age; no one is more fitting a master. But it still refused. And so it could only choose to leave, to wander the world.

Xia Jie became the first master of the elder brothers. He was cruel and savage by nature, and the three personal blades were stained with the blood of countless innocents. It watched from afar as its brothers killed without restraint on the battlefield, watched how they entered the grave together with their master. The master died; the covenant was dissolved.

The elder brothers lay in weary sleep in the ancestral temple. Many came seeking them, and it obstructed every attempt. It plunged the ancestral temple down into the depths below Ghost Tooth Cliff, using its innate demonic power to guard the temple within a barrier that was winding and razor-sharp. But once awakened, the elder brothers left the temple without hesitation. By that time, the emperor of the human realm bore the surname Zhao. It could not stop its brothers’ decision; they despised this defiant younger sibling. This time, they entered into a covenant with a man whose face was as dark as charcoal, and became three execution blades on the headsman’s platform at his court. The man was incorrupt; he was praised as a clear-sky judge. No innocent souls fell beneath his blades.

It thought this time the outcome would be different.

But after the man died, his execution blades were thrown into a smelting furnace. The practitioners told the emperor that the killing energy of these three blades was too heavy; it harmed the nation’s fortune. They should be melted into liquid iron and sealed underground. The emperor agreed — tools, after all; if they should be melted, melt them.

It heard its brothers struggling and roaring inside the furnace. The practitioners noticed something amiss and used incantations to seal the furnace shut.

It was no match for the practitioners. It called on friends for help, and by the time they had defeated the practitioners and broken the incantation seal, only its brothers’ corpses remained in the furnace — three ancient blue-stone blades, each three feet in length.

At that moment, three streams of blue energy flew out from the blades, merging in midair into a single glowing cluster no bigger than a thumb. Its friend said: this is the final “soul” of the demon blades. Objects of such powerful spirit whose soul survives after death could not have been ordinary small demons in life; the demon soul would enter the cycle of rebirth and henceforth become an ordinary person, turning and turning through the red dust of mortal life, all prior existence dissolved like smoke.

In the end, it carried the corpses of its brothers back to the ancestral temple. There it remained for several hundred years.

If given the chance to do it again, would its brothers still be willing to be blades, with a master holding command over everything?

It often asked this question — of course, there could never be an answer. Its brothers were now corpses, and the souls they had left behind had already entered rebirth in some unknown place. The time was so long, yet it still hadn’t been able to determine what meaning it and its brothers had in their existence.

A blade ought to surrender everything to its master? But what could a master give it in return? The master’s love and hate, rage and smiles — none of these could be bestowed upon a tool.

A tool — only when it is useful will it be held in someone’s hand.

It left the ancestral temple. In the world, heaven and earth had turned, and the emperor bore yet another surname. Apart from fine blade technique, it had no other ability; so it became an executioner, moving through time and humanity.

It had not a single moment of open-hearted laughter. A blade that rejected a master, a knot it could not untie. It did not know how its brothers’ souls were faring now — they must be well, surely. Having become human beings, how could they repeat the destiny of a blade? It thought so.

It began to search — like looking for a needle in the ocean.

By the time it was searching under an emperor who bore the surname Zhu, it still did not know where that soul had come to rest.

In that year, an old man surnamed Liu found it.

He knew its name.

In a corner of a small city tavern, they struck a deal.

The old man used a tortoiseshell and three divination coins, arranging them for a moment, then told it: A thousand li of cold at Ghost Tooth Cliff; old acquaintances return to their former resting place. It said it didn’t understand.

The old man said: Return to where you came from, and the one you seek will appear. In exchange for these words, it went with the old man to beyond the Shanhai Pass. At the old man’s instruction, it helped him sever a translucent little dragon moving through the rocks and stones.

This was a growing dragon vein. If it were not severed before it fully matured, the Great Ming dynasty would change surnames and change rulers. The old man sat on the stone where the little dragon had vanished, drinking wine from a gourd and telling it this.

Are you an immortal? it asked the old man.

No. Just like you, I too am a blade. But a blade that’s nearly useless — one that should be discarded, the old man said with a hearty laugh.

It suddenly understood the old man’s meaning.

If you get discarded, come find me. I’ll drink with you, it said in farewell. The old man called it back and told it of a place called Changan County — there was a village there, and in the village there was an ancient well…

It listened as the old man finished explaining everything slowly, then asked: why would he reveal so many secrets of the Great Ming’s dragon vein — including its location and the method of entering — to it, a demon transformed into a human with little interest in or expectation of the world at large?

The old man shook his tortoiseshell; the divination coins clattered. Stroking his beard, he said: My final divination tells me this place is your “point of extremity.” Sooner or later you will go there.

Point of extremity? Would it die there? It had taken many a head; death was no stranger to it.

It bade the old man farewell and returned to the ancestral temple below the cliff. Its brothers’ corpses were still there, glowing faintly with cold light.

The following year, news of National Advisor Liu Bowen’s passing spread across the realm. The cause of death was peculiar.

It recognized him from a portrait.

A man like that would not deceive a demon. So it continued to wait below Ghost Tooth Cliff, occasionally thinking about that “point of extremity” beneath the ancient well.

While it was slumbering in a half-daze, she fell from the cliff.

The ancestral temple had a barrier it had laid down; anyone who arrived with malicious intent seeking this place would be cut to pieces. But the barrier had no effect on her whatsoever. This was it then — old acquaintances return to their former resting place.

Only those of the same lineage as its brothers could pass through this barrier — even if what remained was only that one soul which had been reborn as a human. The old man’s divination had been accurate.

Cleaver stood on the riverbank and recounted all of this in calm tones.

He walked over to Huang, gently held her hand that had no sensation, and said: “I thought that having become human, the destiny would not be repeated — but I was clearly wrong.”

“A very extraordinary tale,” said Zhu Di, clapping. “Are you trying to tell me that you are the fourth Xia Jie blade — the one that never appeared in the world?”

“I never entered into a covenant with Xia Jie. He was not my master.” He rose, and a radiance I had never seen before flickered in his eyes. “I have only one name: Ling Shang.”

“You are truly no obedient blade,” Zhu Di said coldly. “A tool can only be put to its proper use in a master’s hands — that is such a simple truth. Is it worth rejecting it and puzzling over it for such a long time?” He paused, looking over this shabbily dressed young man. “But I have no intention of regarding you as merely a blade. Whether you are human, demon, or a practitioner with extraordinary abilities — speak plainly: you have gone to such lengths to lure me here. What is your purpose? Wealth, power, rank, office — all of these I can give.”

Cleaver — no, Ling Shang — made no reply. He only drew Huang into his arms and said quietly: “I have always hoped that we might be like other demons: with names of our own, without having to surrender the meaning of our existence to a ‘master.’ We too have the freedom to love and to hate, the right to stay or to go.”

Huang’s eyes stayed fixed on him for a long time. I couldn’t tell whether she was moved or simply at a loss.

I believed every word Ling Shang said.

“You—” Huang looked at him, stunned.

A flame-like, piercing blue light leaped from Ling Shang’s forehead and in an instant wrapped him in a strange radiance. Countless currents, sharp as blade-edges, rose from his feet and swept upward in a whirlwind, lifting him into the air. Space itself seemed to warp; his figure spun in the midst of a tremendous, extraordinary force, changing — transforming: a blade of deep black appeared, its body surrounded by blue light as weightless as bird feathers. Those endlessly flowing feather-lights were like a pair of wings unfurling from within it; each time they beat, they left behind trails of light as dazzling as falling stars.

The blade’s target was the dragon drifting beneath the celestial river above.

I would venture that everyone present, upon seeing this sight, had only one thought: this blade was going to sever that dragon.

The dragon vein severed — a dynasty fallen. With that fall, would the most self-important of “masters” still be able to strut with such arrogance?

I saw Zhu Di’s face change color as he leaped up from the ground — the lightness of a human can sometimes be no less than a demon’s flight.

He drew the sword at his waist and thrust it toward the blade he had so disdained. They grappled with each other: at times it was sword against blade, at times Zhu Di and Ling Shang face to face. Light and shadow tangled in dizzying confusion, dazzling my eyes. Only the seven-colored dragon continued to drift, oblivious to all.

I had been hesitating over whether to go out and help when I quickly set my mind at ease — Zhu Di was no match for Ling Shang.

But what I hadn’t anticipated was a thin silver light that shot up from the ground at great speed and struck Ling Shang in mid-air with perfect precision. The feather-wings of light around him scattered like startled birds, gone without a trace.

Ding! A silver hairpin fell from the air, struck the jade-stone bank, and rang out crisply before bouncing to one side.

Huang’s right hand — slowly fell back down. Her hand could move?!

That silver hairpin was her only ornament.

High in the air, Ling Shang’s true form seemed to have lost its balance. I hadn’t imagined that a silver hairpin could be more effective than Zhu Di’s sword. Yet he did not fall — instead he flew even more swiftly toward the drifting dragon and drove straight into its belly.

The dragon swayed, then continued drifting. The blade-tip withdrew from its belly, leaving behind a whirlpool-like hole — which quickly vanished without a trace. It appeared the dragon, formed of concentrated spiritual energy, had suffered no effect whatsoever.

The scene descended into chaos.

Ling Shang, reverted to human form, tumbled to the ground together with Zhu Di.

The first word the anxious Huang cried out was: “Your Majesty!”

If she had called for Ling Shang instead, I might still have imagined that her action just now — and all her concealment until this moment — had some other, unavoidable reason behind it.

But it turned out that living under the same roof, all that careful tending and that mutual dependence — in the end, it still couldn’t compare to a single habitual act of following one’s master.

I used the word “following.” Not love.

On Ling Shang’s left arm, there was now a fracture — like porcelain about to shatter. Those feather-like lights, large and small, seeped slowly out through the wound. Not violent in its flow, but with no sign of stopping.

He looked at Huang, without the slightest trace of reproach.

“I cannot remember anything from before — not the slightest trace.” Huang bit her lip. “I cannot find my way back to a kinship of tens of thousands of years from nothing but a story I’ve been told. My entire memory holds only him — he is the Son of Heaven, and he is my master.”

Ling Shang forced himself to stand and walked to Huang, raising his right hand.

Huang shut her eyes tight and turned her head to one side.

How foolish. Ling Shang harbored not even a trace of killing intent toward her. This woman couldn’t see clearly at all.

“I said I would bring you here today.” He smiled. “You thought, I suppose, that I meant to sever this dragon vein. Yes — there was a time I intended to. I wanted to sever this dragon vein and make those high and mighty ‘masters’ understand that not every blade is merely a tool. But I changed my mind.”

Ling Shang opened his palm. A dragon-scale-like fragment of seven-colored radiance, thin and translucent as cloud, spun there with a living, luminous light. “Within the dragon vein are seven-colored cloud scales, hidden in the dragon’s belly and visible only on the fifteenth of the seventh month. If an ordinary person takes them, grave illness is cured and severed limbs grow back.”

Everyone was caught off guard.

Ling Shang blew a gentle breath onto the cloud scales. This most beautiful of small things dissolved into a stream of colorful energy, and flew into Huang’s mouth.

Crystal-clear light poured from Huang’s body layer by layer, as if renewing her entirely from the inside out.

“In three days, you should be able to move as an ordinary person.” He looked at Huang, whose face was full of astonishment. “Go back with him.”

With those words, he lifted Huang in his arms and walked to where Zhu Di stood, forcing a composed expression. “You are an emperor who believes only what his own eyes see. You were brought here only so that you might be certain that there is still someone in this world who can sever your Zhu family’s dragon vein.”

“And so what?” Zhu Di frowned.

“As a bargain.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Keep her at your side and treat her well.”

“And you?”

“For as long as I live, I will not set foot in Changan again.”

Between these two men, Huang witnessed the most brief of all transactions in the world. From one man’s arms into another man’s arms, she was more bewildered than surprised.

When Zhu Di carried her away, she looked back at Ling Shang, who gave her a small wave of his hand. Her mouth moved — but she couldn’t say anything at all.

10

Ling Shang showed no intention of leaving the underground dragon vein. Instead, he found the most comfortable level spot he could and sat down.

I jumped down from the jade stone and ran to his side, finding the feather-light leaking from his wound growing more and more — faster and faster. Every inch of skin visible on his body was gradually becoming translucent.

A dying demon looks exactly like this. I knew it very well.

“What’s happening to you!” I panicked, yanking him up from the ground. “Just a silver hairpin, and you’re this useless?!”

“She is the soul of my brothers reborn. Even as a human, her nature remains. The only thing in this world capable of harming me is a weapon sent out through her hand — even if it is only a small silver hairpin.” Ling Shang drew a breath and said slowly, “Though born as demon blades, we exist for most of our time in the form of humans or animals. Once we enter into a covenant with a person, we transform into a blade and are driven at their will. When the master dies, the covenant ends. After approximately a thousand years, we can restore our former appearance. This long span of time is our dormant period — and also our most vulnerable period. Even if we were thrown into a smelting furnace, we would be powerless to resist. But as long as we have not entered into a covenant, while we live in human or animal form, the only thing in the world that can injure us is each other. The demonic blade power born in her is already very faint, which is why my wound is so small — leaving me still with the time and strength to talk with you.”

I was taken aback, then said: “I don’t have time to talk to you right now. I’ll take you back to Fulong Mountain — there are certainly people there who can heal you. I know quite a few demons, and some of them are very capable.”

“Fulong Mountain… is that your home?” He smiled. “Your aftereffects have fully healed.”

Oh — now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t even noticed. Tree demon, summit of Fulong Mountain, the whole story of leaving home — everything had returned, as naturally as could be.

“Get up!” I slung his arm over my shoulder and hauled him to his feet. This man had already become as light as a feather.

“Liu Bowen said this would be my ‘point of extremity,'” he said, shaking his head at me. “Go home. If you truly want to help me — when you have time, go look in on her and see whether Zhu Di kept his promise. And then — never tell anyone that the last Xi Ming You demon blade has died.”

He pushed my hand away and sat back down, closing his eyes.

“Go look yourself — this old woman doesn’t have the time!” I snapped back at him fiercely.

Looking through his face, I could already faintly make out the dark river flowing behind him. In this state, he would not last until he reached the surface.

I took a deep breath, and suddenly seized his injured arm. Lining myself up with the wound, I sank my teeth in.

He jolted his eyes open, shoving at me and shouting: “Are you mad?!”

With his strength, he naturally couldn’t push me off.

I poured my own essence into his wound. That single bite — I didn’t know how many years of cultivation it would cost me. I only felt dizzy, with crows cawing in my ears.

He stopped becoming transparent. The blue light ceased seeping from the wound. Though still greatly weakened, he would not die for the time being.

“You and I are not very well acquainted,” he said, staring blankly at me for a long moment before producing this of all possible sentences.

“You could at least… say thank you,” I panted. “Why not take her away? If you leave her with Zhu Di, she may not fare well.”

“I thought about taking her away. But in the end I found that I cannot take with me a blade that is still deeply attached to its master.” He smiled helplessly. “Whether a brother-in-existence or a soul reborn as human — I resisted accepting their destiny and fought desperately to change something, but in the end it was all for nothing.”

“What a tortured demon you are.” I gave him a look of exasperation. “A blade is not necessarily a blade, and a person is not necessarily a person. A thing that only carries out another’s will completely — that is a tool. A thing that does both what it should and what it shouldn’t — that is a tool. This has nothing to do with what kind of demon you are! This logic is so simple — how could you have been unable to work it out for so long?!”

In any case, I couldn’t stand by and watch him die. He had long since ceased to be a blade — he just didn’t know it himself yet.

“Come on — get up to the surface. You have all the time in the world to torment yourself over your future life.”

I grabbed him and jumped into the dark river.

11

If only the wretched Daoists of this world could disappear as completely as my aftereffects had!

The rain still hadn’t stopped. Under a sky as dark as ink, we hadn’t even made it out of the village entrance when I was already fighting a group of Daoists again. Note: I said “a group.”

These characters looked far more formidable than the big-bearded man who had been chasing me — their Daoist robes alone were glittering and gleaming.

And not only that: the entire village was surrounded by soldiers. Every arrow fired at us had a tip treated with dog’s blood, something demons find most disagreeable.

Zhu Di’s parting gift to us was truly generous.

These elaborately dressed Daoists had to be “elite practitioners” fed by the imperial household. Seven or eight of them surrounded Ling Shang and me, determined to leave us dead. Two demons — one short on vital energy, one just returned from the edge of death — couldn’t overpower them even combined.

I was thrown down into the mud. A Daoist’s ritual whisk was nearly upon my face.

And then… and then this entire group of Daoists screamed and flew through the air, landing in a scattered heap on the ground, unable even to crawl back up.

In mid-air, the big-bearded Daoist sat on his paper dragon, pulling back the palm he had just struck out with. Before Ling Shang or I had time to react, the big-bearded man grabbed us both onto the dragon’s back, and with a great rushing sound, we shot through the rain and straight into the sky.

I wanted to cry — I looked back in despair, only to nearly fall off the dragon’s back in shock. The “big-bearded Daoist” behind me — where was any big-bearded Daoist? That was clearly Ao Chi, with his eternally insufferable face!

“Try running away from home again and see what I do to you,” he said, glancing at me sideways. “Tsk, tsk — six chicken legs! How can you eat that much?!”

I should have hit him. I should have been slapping him in the face while scathingly denouncing how shameless and ridiculous he was. But instead I did none of that. Looking at that face I found so insufferable, breathing in the scent so familiar it was in my bones, I — I actually threw my arms around him in a great embrace.

Ao Chi seemed genuinely startled by me; he didn’t know quite where to put his hands, and stuttered: “You, you — where are you hurt?”

I shook my head and said nothing.

I finally understood where that groundless confidence and sense of security during my amnesia had come from — someone had been by my side all along. Whether I had lost my memory or even died, he would not leave me behind. That feeling had taken deep and unshakeable root long before I had ever noticed it.

Ling Shang watched Ao Chi and me with an expression somewhere between amusement and something else, coughed several times, and said to Ao Chi: “Thank you — though I don’t know who you are.”

Ao Chi gave him a sidelong glance: “You did a decent job keeping this one fed and looked after for half a month. In consideration of that, I’ll send you an Eastern Sea snow pearl later. Your injury will heal quickly.”

“You were watching my every move for this past half month?” I straightened up out of his embrace. “You saw everything that happened in the dragon vein too?”

“Of course,” said Ao Chi, with great self-satisfaction.

“Was it you who deliberately chased me up onto the dragon vein, calculating that he would be there to catch me and bring me down?”

“Weren’t you desperate to know what secret he was hiding? I simply gave you the chance. And I must admit, I was a little curious myself.”

“You watched me spend half my vital energy healing him and you didn’t do a thing?”

“Noble in character, worthy of all praise!” Ao Chi said with a teasing smirk. “I’ve never seen you treat me that way when I was injured.”

“You—” I was furious. “You knew and you didn’t come help!”

“If you truly care for someone, you do everything in your power to make sure she learns to protect herself in a world full of dangers,” he answered with complete seriousness. “I was willing to teach you, and you complained about this and that. There was no other option but to use the situation to my advantage and let you suffer a little — only then will you understand what a blessing it is to have a teacher like me!”

I was full of indignation but had nothing to say in return. That I was not yet strong enough was a simple fact. Fine — I’d go home. At the very least I’d wait until I could easily defeat any wretched Daoist before playing at running away from home again!

The sky at the horizon slowly brightened. The paper dragon swayed its head and tail, and riding the first ray of dawn, flew eastward.

12

When the colors of Fulong Mountain shifted from pure lush green to a weaving of gold and green, a fully recovered Ling Shang said his farewells to me at a tree halfway up the mountain.

Ao Chi had truly sent him a precious snow pearl. Eastern Sea treasures he rarely gave to anyone, saying only — giving one to him shouldn’t count as a waste.

“Come sit with me here when you have time,” I said, gazing at the spectacular scenery all around. “Though if you’re coming, come early — otherwise I might have run away from home again.”

“I’ll come and find you,” he said. Under a crisp autumn sky, his color was much better — though his clothes were still as dirty as ever, his face still not quite washed clean.

“You’re not going to keep torturing yourself over the question of blades and tools anymore, are you?” I asked suddenly.

“I might use the time I spent agonizing over that question to do something else instead,” he said, rubbing his chin.

I let out a breath of relief. A demon who bangs their head against a wall isn’t going to live happily — I thought he understood that now.

He picked up a red leaf from the ground, raised his palm and brought it down with a swipe. The leaf was cut cleanly in two. He picked up the two halves, ran his hand over them, and the leaf was restored to its whole form. He held it out to me and said: “Try — can you cut it in two?”

“You’re underestimating me far too much. If you want to test my skills, you don’t need to set such a simple exercise.” I pursed my lips, tossed the red leaf into the air, gave a light swipe of my palm, and the leaf split into two halves.

I was just about to say something when I felt a warm, ticklish sensation in the palm of my right hand. I spread it open and looked — a blade-shaped jade-colored mark glowing with shifting light had been set into my palm. It flickered for a moment, then sank below the surface of the skin, gone without a trace.

“What are you doing, what are you doing?” I lifted my hand and peered at it from every angle, poking and picking at it.

“To sever the same object — that is how a demon blade enters into a covenant with a person,” he said, pulling my right hand toward him. “As long as you personally write my name on your palm, the covenant officially takes effect. From that point on, I will be your own personal blade. As long as you are alive, this covenant will always be valid.”

I was mildly startled. If this was meant as a gift in return, it was far too generous.

“Looking back on it now, what Liu Bowen meant by ‘point of extremity’ was most likely the meaning of coming through extreme peril to find life anew. You can write my name down whenever you choose. Farewell.” He turned, stepped onto the small path carpeted with red leaves, and walked down the mountain at an easy pace.

“Hey — didn’t you hate this whole ‘master’ business?” I called out from behind him.

He stopped. Without turning back, he said: “Why does it have to be a master? Friends can also make covenants.”

A warm mountain breeze blew past. Petals and fallen leaves danced between us. Friend — truly the two most wonderful words in all the world, I thought.

Ao Chi’s booming voice came from up above: “Are you two done yet?! Get back here and practice! This technique is the most powerful in all the world!”

Of course. Everything he taught was always the most powerful in all the world.

I dragged my feet and trudged back up.

Several years passed. Ling Shang never came to Fulong Mountain to find me.

I never ran away from home again — not even after I had long since become capable of defeating every ill-intentioned Daoist I encountered.

But one deep night, I made a trip to the capital.

Zhu Di’s temples had already begun to show streaks of white. The memorials on his desk were piled as high as a mountain; his vermilion brush moved ceaselessly across them, making him seem like a writing machine. They said he was an extraordinarily busy emperor, dedicating everything to his empire. I couldn’t judge him as simply good or bad, though he had broken his promise and ordered us killed that year — I felt not the slightest desire for revenge.

Just a tool trapped within his realm. I looked at the man with furrowed brows in the dim lamplight, and quietly left his palace.

Huang had died of illness the previous winter. What I’d managed to piece together was this: the Emperor had confined her, giving her everything — except himself.

During that time, many practitioners had been secretly dispatched in all directions; apart from the Emperor, no one knew what they were searching for. Had it not been for the fear of Ling Shang, who was still somewhere in the world, Zhu Di would likely not have let her live even that long.

Ling Shang’s cloud scales had not cured Huang after all — she had only moved from one immobile shell into another.

Snowflakes drifted down; this winter’s night was far too cold.

In the years that followed, I kept hearing the same story from people in different places — the world had produced a “headless Judge,” who killed none but the most irredeemably wicked, always with a single blade, always severing head from body. The blade technique surpassed even the most experienced executioners by far. Some said this judge was built like an ox, with a face as dark as the legendary Judge Bao. Others said he had the face of a jade ornament, a gentleman through and through.

I thought to myself — could it be that someone had finally gotten around to shaving that beard and washing his face properly?

13

“Every time I execute an evildoer, I make it perfectly clear to them who I am,” he said, holding the cup of tea I’d poured for him and gently blowing on it.

“So you look upstanding and aboveboard, is that it?” I fanned myself with a palm-leaf fan, deliberately mimicking his manner of speaking: “‘Everyone who has ever known my name has ended up dead!'”

“No — it simply means that the person punishing them is me,” he said with a smile. “I am driven by no one.”

“How did you even manage to shave that beard? Don’t tell me you took a few punches to the face while brawling and someone grabbed you by it.” I teased.

“Actually it’s summer — with that much beard, it does get quite hot. Might as well shave it off. I cut my hair short too. Looks decent enough now, doesn’t it?” He took a sip of the flower tea I’d poured, and his brow nearly furrowed its way up to the ceiling. “Look at you — you’re a proprietress now, you’ve made your fortune — and you serve this impossibly bitter flower tea to an old friend?!”

“This Huai Fu Sheng blend is our shop’s signature product. Bitterness first, then sweetness — take it or leave it.” I gave him a look. “Now speak — you suddenly appeared out of nowhere. What do you want? Or is it that some thoroughly irredeemable evildoer has appeared near my shop, and you need this headless judge of yours to deal with them? But the question remains — why did you do what you did to my Young Master Zhao?”

“Actually, it was a misunderstanding. The moment I stepped into your shop, that gray-armored figure came charging at me aggressively. It was pure instinct.” He shrugged.

“Young Master Zhao was just chasing a mosquito! It just happened to fly over your head!” Chi Pian’er poked her head out from behind my shoulder and made her grievance loudly known.

“And you throwing a cleaver at me?” I arched a brow.

“Just testing whether your skills have improved,” he said with a great laugh. “It seems your teacher really is quite exceptional — teaching you, and then marrying you.”

“Flattering him won’t help you.” I gave a snort. “Pay ten times the room rate, and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“But I’ve already paid you,” he said with great seriousness. “I’ve given you myself. If you’re asking me for money, aren’t you really just asking yourself for money?” Hmm? On instinct, I pressed my right palm.

“I’ve been waiting for you to fulfill the covenant,” he said with a smile. “After all these years, you’ve given no sign whatsoever. I was afraid you might have forgotten the matter — and as it happened I was passing near your place, so I thought I’d stop by and remind you.”

“I don’t like using blades. I’ve had Young Master Zhao doing all the vegetable-cutting,” I said, looking out the window. Stars peaceful and still, a gentle breeze, a perfect summer night. “Actually — you came to check on whether your friend has been mistreated, didn’t you?”

He laughed heartily. “It looks like she hasn’t. If anything, she’s the one mistreating others more.”

Ao Chi had probably been mistreated — though it was always because he mistreated me first, of course! Hmph!

“Where are you going after dawn?” I remembered he’d said he was only staying one night.

“A small town to the north.” His face grew still, filled with a quiet anticipation. “A family there just recently had a set of triplets. I want to go see them.”

“Oh my — so this time, there are three of them?” I yawned. “Go quickly then! But the room fee — not a single coin less!”

“Back then, I never charged you for a single meal either — and I gave you meat at every one of them.”

“The statute of limitations on collecting your debt for those meals expired long ago!”

“…”

Epilogue

At the first hint of dawn, I watched him pick up his simple luggage and walk out of the shop. Just like the time I’d watched him walk down from Fulong Mountain, years before. He stopped in the doorway, looked back, and said: “I’m waiting for the day you truly come to fulfill the covenant.”

“But I don’t want to turn you into a blade,” I said, head still bent over reassembling Young Master Zhao. “Isn’t this so much better — tall, handsome, able to run, able to jump.”

“There will come a time when you need a blade,” he said with a smile.

“A friend is far more useful than a blade.” I didn’t look up. “Now scram! People who don’t pay room fees are truly shameless!”

Where white clouds drift without end, there shall come a time we meet again! He tossed out this very literary line, strode away with great purpose, waved his hand in farewell — and still left without paying the room fee.

By the time I’d finished putting Young Master Zhao back together, the sun had already climbed quite high. Fortunately, this fellow was only armor — and it wasn’t the first time he’d been quartered into pieces. Young Master Zhao rolled his neck around stiffly and grumbled: “Even swatting mosquitoes is a matter of life and death.”

Chi Pian’er stood on top of his head and cried out “Amitabha,” saying: “I was scared half to death you’d come to harm! If you died I’d have to do all the housework by myself!”

“I despise you.”

“When your back itches and you can’t reach it — who’s there to help? Is it the proprietress? It’s me!”

“I despise you.”

I sat on the lawn and watched these two — one tall, one tiny — trading jabs, utterly entertained. In this shop, there were no tools. Only friends. Even if they were two monstrous helpers.

I walked back into the house. A blazing golden light nearly blinded my tree-born eyes — a solid gold cleaver of considerable weight was embedded in the countertop, reflecting back my face, which was about to crinkle apart with laughter. Really though — why not simply throw in a gold chopping board as well? They’d make such a fine matched set.