Prologue

Ding Xiaocuo had not gone to class for three days in a row.

Like an ant that had fallen into a hot pot, she crouched in the men’s restroom on the third floor of the largest and most luxurious cinema in the city center, heaving sighs at a toilet — she had lost the Lingxi Sword that her Shifu had entrusted to her!

What absolutely terrible luck. This sword had been resting in the form of a small glowing orb inside a pendant, hanging from her neck for several hundred years. During that time, she had survived countless intense physical ordeals — being hurled into the sky by her Shifu like a bowling ball, school sports days, and countless other things — and the chain had clung to her like it was part of her body. How was she to know that one evening, after doing nothing more than watching Avatar, and feeling a bit of urgency, she had ducked into the cinema’s men’s restroom for convenience, and just as she was about to flip open the toilet lid, the red-gold chain around her neck had inexplicably snapped and plunged into the toilet bowl.

The lid hadn’t even been lifted yet — meaning the chain containing the Lingxi Sword had passed straight through the solid lid and vanished… That drunk Shifu of hers had once told her with absolute certainty — where the sword is, so are you; where the sword is not… however far “forever” is, that’s how far you’ll be going. It was over. This was truly over. If her petty Shifu found out that she had privately kept an Avatar 3D IMAX ticket she’d won from a bet instead of handing it over to him — on top of losing the Lingxi Sword — those two great crimes together meant a hundred hangings wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the public’s outrage. What to do? Find someone to rescue her!

And naturally, who else but me — a thousand-year tree spirit running a dessert shop — could help her? After forcing Ding Xiaocuo to buy a dozen sickly-sweet vanilla sponge cakes, I told her that her chain had most likely fallen into a crack between time and space. To retrieve it, she would have to follow it to “that other world.” She gave a shudder and sneezed, then carried her box of vanilla sponge cakes back home.

The following day, a bright and sunny Sunday. Fatty and Skinny waved their brooms and rags very Cinderella-style, skulking around Jiu Jue and me, straining to eavesdrop on our conversation.

I will admit — no matter how many years pass, every time I see this man with his naturally lake-blue hair, I find myself silently cursing: you old thing, still devastatingly handsome! I had first met Jiu Jue long ago, when I had only just cultivated into human form. He would often come to the floating peak of Fulong Mountain to play chess with another man. Back then, I despised the way he called me “little tree spirit” with every other breath — but later it was precisely his repeated assistance that allowed me to pass through my trials safely. Who says there is no true friendship between men and women? Jiu Jue and I are proof of its existence.

“May I interview you for a moment?” I sat across from him, dramatically raising a half-eaten mixed-fruit cream cone toward his face like a microphone. “Would you care to tell us — is Ding Xiaocuo your disciple, or a random passerby who owes you money?”

“My disciple,” Jiu Jue said, taking a sip from his glass of red wine. His drinks were always and only wine — nothing else. I withdrew my “microphone,” raised an eyebrow, and interrogated him: “What kind of Shifu deliberately plays tricks on his own disciple? You’re the one who tampered with that chain holding the Lingxi Sword — that’s obvious! And having her come to me for help was a trap you deliberately set, wasn’t it?”

“Disciples exist in part to be pranked by their Shifu. Who told her to pocket that Avatar ticket!”

“Your character really is as peculiar as the color of your hair.”

“Thank you for the compliment. Your ice cream is melting.”

I swallowed the cone in one go and said irritably, “Flinging her into another time-space like that — aren’t you afraid something will happen to her?”

“Don’t forget — she’s a Lingxi, and she used to serve under the God of Matchmaking. She can handle herself. And if she can’t, then she deserves the bad luck.” Jiu Jue continued drinking his wine — which he never paid for — and asked, “Do you believe in the thing called fate?”

“I accept fate, but I don’t surrender to it,” I answered without hesitation.

“Heh.” His gaze suddenly stretched far, far away. “If there were a chance to do things over again — could a predetermined fate be rewritten?”

“There are no ‘ifs,'” I shook my head. “What has already happened cannot be changed.”

“Not necessarily.” Jiu Jue smiled slyly, opened his palm, and a small, exquisite red lamp carved in the shape of wings materialized from it.

“The Vermilion Bird Lamp of the Goddess of Time?” I gasped, blurting it out, then narrowed my eyes craftily and slid over beside him. “Did you steal it?”

“Please!” Jiu Jue gave me a disdainful look. “In all three realms, I have fans beyond counting. Borrowing one lamp — what’s so difficult about that?”

He swirled the last drop of wine in his glass and said, as if speaking to himself, “In every person’s life, there is one place they must go, one person they must meet, one set of feelings they must confront honestly. Spirits are no different.”

His suddenly solemn expression quickly reverted to his usual peculiar grin. “Actually, I just wanted to run a little experiment.”

Ding Xiaocuo still could not accept the reality that she had been transferred from one toilet to another time-space entirely. That wicked tree spirit had said something — right, she had given her a talisman, told her to press it against the toilet that had swallowed the pendant, then had her recite several peculiar incantations. And then… countless sharp flashes of light appeared before her, the toilet split magnificently in two right before her eyes, revealing a hole emitting an eerie white glow, and a suction force she was utterly powerless to resist surged out, wrapped around her, and yanked her in.

She went from being a twenty-first century high school girl to a lowly commoner in the Qian Xing reign period of the Northern Song dynasty! While she was fuming indignantly that something as tacky as time-travel was actually happening to her, while she was realizing in sudden clarity that the Lingxi Sword had fallen through the crack in time-space into this ancient city, and while she was further recognizing that Northern Song citizens had absolutely no awareness of the renminbi — heaven have mercy — she was hungry, and she needed to eat!

The help-wanted notices in all the restaurants and shops around the city clearly specified: men wanted, women need not apply. Fortunately she wasn’t entirely dim. She stole a set of men’s clothing and a hat, put them on, and swaggered into an inn. After making clear that she would work for food and no wages, she successfully edged out the other applicants and became the trainee server at this establishment called “One Inn.”

Today was the seventh day. No news of the Lingxi Sword whatsoever. Over these past few days, the number of people flowing through the capital of Bianjing had noticeably increased — local residents, traveling merchants from afar, surging through the city like a tide. Ding Xiaocuo heard from the other workers in the shop that in seven days it would be the Lantern Festival, and for this annual grand celebration, visitors had been converging from all directions.

Was he here sightseeing too? Ding Xiaocuo’s gaze drifted toward a table by the window. The man had checked into One Inn the previous night and was dressed rather differently from the city’s residents — a standing collar, narrow sleeves, a black robe and tall boots, travel-worn and road-weary, with no excess luggage beyond a bundle and a narrow wooden box, three feet long and a foot wide. The box never left his person.

It was dinnertime now. The inn was loud with voices, customers coming and going without pause. Ding Xiaocuo delivered dishes to guests and stole glances at the window table from time to time.

He was leaning back in his chair, head tilted slightly, jet-black wavy hair bound loosely behind him with a grey hemp cord, gazing at the scenery outside with an air of ease. The food and drink he had ordered sat untouched. Outside, the setting sun blazed thick and heavy. Against the light, the man’s refined profile was cast as a silhouette in the warm amber of the window frame. She looked, entranced. His shadow seemed to drift from the window into her heart, rousing without warning a strange and unfamiliar yearning.

“You little wretch! What are you daydreaming about! The customers are complaining!” The pig-headed innkeeper brought his tobacco pipe down on Ding Xiaocuo’s head.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ding Xiaocuo picked up the food and wine without thinking and marched to the man’s table. “Your dishes are here, honored guest!”

“Wrong table, I think?” The man turned his head and glanced at Ding Xiaocuo, who was grinning from ear to ear. Only now did she see his face clearly. That face possessed every quality that could be judged magnificently, strikingly handsome. Beyond the beauty, there was an innate, effortless authority that needed no anger to assert itself, creeping quietly into your heart like a small beast. And yet what crept into Ding Xiaocuo’s heart now was not only that “small beast” — his eyes, his voice, his every movement…

“Have I… met you somewhere before?” Ding Xiaocuo asked suddenly.

“You must have the wrong person,” he answered in a low, courteous voice.

“I’ve definitely seen you before!” Ding Xiaocuo insisted with a certainty she hadn’t known she possessed, startling herself. The man paid her no further attention and turned his face back to the window.

A crisp sound of hoofbeats drew closer from the distance. A caravan dressed in northern-style robes came hurrying from the north market. As it passed the inn, Ding Xiaocuo saw the horses laden with goods — and mounted on the lead horse, sitting composed and upright, was a woman in green robes with a thin veil across her face. In all that deep, dark, dull uniformity, the jade-like, vivid green was strikingly bright.

The caravan paused briefly at the inn’s entrance. The woman in green dismounted, murmured a few words to the companions behind her, and entered the inn alone. She took a seat across from the man, as naturally as a lifelong friend.

Ding Xiaocuo deliberately dragged her feet carrying the misdirected dishes to the neighboring table, and strained with everything she had to listen to what was happening behind her.

“Where is the object?” The woman’s voice was gentle to the point of sweetness.

“Where is the person?” His hand rested on the wooden box.

The woman drew a letter from her sleeve, covered it with her palm, and slid it away — the thin envelope had sunk deep into the solid wood of the table. Beneath the thin veil, a faint smile stirred. “Beitang Ken, they all say you’re a man of deep sentiment. True enough — for a woman like Ye Nichang, you’ll do anything.”

Beitang Ken? Ding Xiaocuo’s hand slipped. The wine flask tilted and spilled across the table. That name sounded so familiar.

He seemed to take no notice of the other party’s mockery. With a swift motion, he laid the wooden box horizontally in front of the woman in green: “The Lingxi Sword is yours.”

The Lingxi Sword?! Ding Xiaocuo spun around sharply. The woman in green had a smile in the corners of her eyes as she raised a delicate finger and opened the box. A flash of sharp light crossed from within, accompanied by something that was unmistakably, instantly familiar to Ding Xiaocuo.

The Lingxi Sword! It truly was the Lingxi Sword! Though it now appeared in the form of an actual sword, she was entirely certain — the thing in that box was the very Lingxi Sword she had guarded for hundreds of years, genuine beyond any doubt! I searched everywhere, and here it is without any effort! Ding Xiaocuo could no longer contain the wild joy surging inside her. She flung her serving tray aside, spun around, and hurled herself, eyes gleaming, at the wooden box in the woman’s hands…

Beitang Ken grabbed Ding Xiaocuo by the scruff of her collar like a small chicken and flung her hard onto the cold, unyielding ground. Less than three meters away from her was a cliff dropping away into bottomless darkness.

“Hand it over,” he said, extending his hand and looking at the sword box Ding Xiaocuo was clutching tightly to her chest. This fellow who had sprung out of nowhere had a running speed and grabbing speed equally absurd in their swiftness — just now, he had even had the fleeting impression that this person’s feet weren’t touching the ground at all. In truth, Ding Xiaocuo had indeed been riding the wind just then. The trouble was that her magical power was too shallow — she still hadn’t run fast enough, and had managed to get caught by a human.

“No!” Ding Xiaocuo hugged the sword box tighter and shouted at the top of her lungs, “The Lingxi Sword is mine!”

“I don’t want to use force.” Beitang Ken stepped forward, the moonlight illuminating a cold, impassive face that did not look like it was joking. Ding Xiaocuo’s eyes darted around, and she suddenly lunged forward, threw both arms around Beitang Ken’s legs, and wailed with tears and snot flying: “Hero! Truth be told, the reason I grabbed your sword was beyond my control! A group of mysterious people kidnapped my parents and demanded that I bring them the Lingxi Sword within seven days, or they would take my parents’ lives! Who would have thought the sword would end up in your hands, great hero — in my desperation I let an evil impulse take hold of me! Hero, have mercy on me! I’m an only child — if anything happens to me, my mother and father won’t survive either!” This impassioned, tear-streaked appeal caused Beitang Ken’s expression to soften slightly.

“Mysterious people asking you for the Lingxi Sword?” He crouched down and looked at this slight, thin young person. Those large almond-shaped eyes brimmed with a lively light and held a clear shimmer of moonlight — beautiful in a way that seemed entirely out of place on a young man. He was momentarily distracted, and looked away. “Give me the sword first.”

Before his words had even finished, the forest behind them suddenly surged with a swift gust of wind. A flash of green descended from above, accompanied by a cold scoff: “To think that even you, Beitang Ken, would stoop to going back on your word!” The woman in green from the inn had finally caught up.

“The Lingxi Sword remains yours.” He offered no explanation, clasped both hands around the sword box, and gestured for Ding Xiaocuo to release it. Ding Xiaocuo shook her head frantically, refusing with her life — if she let go now, what year, what month, would she ever see it again?

The sharpened air parted in silence. A three-leafed throwing blade with a barbed hook flew from the woman in green’s hand, aimed straight at Ding Xiaocuo’s heart. Ding! A crisp ring. Beitang Ken bent a finger and flicked the three-leafed blade aside with ease.

“The moonlight is fine tonight,” he said, helping Ding Xiaocuo up — or more precisely, hauling her up by the collar. “Not a good night for killing.”

“Beitang Ken, you can’t afford to provoke the people behind me.” The woman in green produced a signal arrow and made as if to fire it. “And don’t think that just because you have that letter in hand and know where Ye Nichang is hiding, all will be well. The moment I fire this arrow, our people will always be one step ahead of you — and they will slice her into minced meat!”

Beitang Ken applied the slightest pressure with his palm, and the sword box flew from Ding Xiaocuo’s hands to the woman in green. “My sword!!” Ding Xiaocuo cried out as if her heart were being torn apart.

“I hope equally that you keep your word,” he said, casting the woman in green a cold sidelong glance. She opened the sword box, checked that everything was in order, then gave him a meaningful smile. “It’s not merely a Lingxi Sword — in time, the entire realm will be ours. Those who accomplish great things naturally keep their promises. Go and retrieve your woman. Ha ha ha.”

The woman’s figure disappeared into the night with satisfaction. Beitang Ken took out the letter, read it, and tore it to pieces, tossing them off the cliff — treating the person beside him, who was beating their own chest and rolling around on the ground, as if they were entirely invisible. Seeing that Beitang Ken had no reaction whatsoever to her energetic performance, Ding Xiaocuo gritted her teeth, scrambled up, and rushed to the edge of the cliff, letting out a howl at the night sky: “Father! Mother! Your child cannot save you! I… I have no face left to live! Let this deep, deep cliff bury this heart of mine, so full of shame and grief!”

Beitang Ken turned and made to leave.

Ding Xiaocuo stared, and quickly raised the volume: “I’m jumping! I really am!!”

Beitang Ken walked on, deaf to it. “Hey hey! I’m really jumping!!” Ding Xiaocuo steeled herself and inched one small step further forward. Some loose stones crumbled from the cliff’s edge and fell away. Beitang Ken still did not look back.

“Beitang Ken, you—” Ding Xiaocuo stomped her foot in frustration, and the moment her expression changed, she felt the ground give way beneath her feet. With a sharp crack, the spot where she stood split open from the force of her stomp. With a cry of alarm, Ding Xiaocuo fell from the cliff by accident, and in her desperation grabbed hold of a vine growing from the cliff’s edge, her entire body suspended in mid-air. “Help!” She looked up and screamed.

Given this vine’s load capacity versus her body weight, it probably wouldn’t last two minutes.

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.” Beitang Ken’s face appeared above her, crouching at the cliff’s edge, looking down with the unhurried expression of someone watching a spectacle.

“I… I wasn’t lying…” Ding Xiaocuo trembled, then unleashed a lion’s roar: “Get me up from here!!”

“Before this vine snaps, I hope you still have time to finish telling me your true reason for trying to steal the Lingxi Sword.” Beitang Ken cast her a sympathetic look.

“I already told you, the Lingxi Sword is mine, mine! I was only taking back what belongs to me!” Ding Xiaocuo looked down at the abyss below — that fathomless darkness made her head swim.

“Then just hang there a while longer. I’m leaving.” Beitang Ken stood up.

“Hey hey! I didn’t say everything! I have been guarding the Lingxi Sword for hundreds of years! It was entrusted to me by my Shifu! I lost it after watching a movie that day — I followed it and accidentally ended up in the Song dynasty! My name is Ding Xiaocuo and I’m a person from nine hundred years in the future, sir, please pull me up right now!!” Ding Xiaocuo was so desperate she was almost in tears, and most alarmingly of all, she could distinctly hear the vine starting to tear. Shameful — she was a Lingxi, and she couldn’t even fly! Hanging here on this cliff, being bullied by this man!

“Ding Xiaocuo… Xiao Cuo…” Beitang Ken murmured the name softly, as if lost in thought. At that very moment — bang — accompanied by Ding Xiaocuo’s scream, the vine snapped in two.

Ice-cold wind tore past Ding Xiaocuo’s ears. Her body became weightless in an instant, as though her very soul might drift away. The bright moon in the sky seemed not to be growing further away, but closer and closer. Coming with it was a figure, robes billowing, rushing forward without hesitation. Beitang Ken… Ding Xiaocuo murmured his name before she closed her eyes.

“That fish — I saw it first!” Ten-year-old Ding Xiaocuo, in a pink skirt, stood with hands on hips by the river, shouting angrily at a boy who looked about the same age as her.

“But I’m the one who caught it.” The boy held up the fish in his hand — an unusual fish, shimmering with a rainbow of colors — and dropped it into his fish basket.

“You have no shame!” Ding Xiaocuo jumped in front of the boy and glared up at him — he was half a head taller than her. She found a stone, climbed up on it so she could address him from above: “Whoever sees it first — that’s whose it is!”

The boy slung the fish basket over his shoulder and shot her a cold look: “Whoever sees it first, it’s theirs? Then you can see the sky, and you can see the ground — does that mean the sky and ground are both yours too?”

“You…” Ding Xiaocuo was struck speechless. Her small face flushed red as a tomato. The boy turned away and started walking back up toward the riverbank on his own.

“Infuriating, infuriating!” Ding Xiaocuo, furious to her limit, sat cross-legged on the spot, formed a hand seal, and chanted a few incantations under her breath. A faintly glowing, pale pink ring of light formed in her palm. She exhaled sharply and said, “Go!” The light shot out like an arrow, passed invisibly through the boy’s back, passed out through the place where his heart was, circled around him twice, then zoomed back into Ding Xiaocuo’s hands. She pressed her palms together, and in a moment the light vanished. She opened her eyes, a gleeful grin spreading across her face.

“Beitang Ken!” She stood up and called out to his retreating figure. The boy stopped, startled, and turned to look at her with suspicion — this was their very first meeting. “How do you know my name?”

“Hee hee, I don’t just know your name — I know your date and hour of birth, and I know the name of the person you dislike most in the world!” The more astonished he looked, the happier she became. Beitang Ken watched her smug and self-satisfied expression, shook his head, and turned to walk away.

“Hey hey! You can’t leave! Hey!” Ding Xiaocuo jumped off the stone, stomped her foot, and yelled, “You insufferable boy — no respect at all! Fine then, Beitang Ken — you just wait and see!”

Heaven’s Realm. The Hall of the God of Matchmaking. The Chamber of Destinies.

Ding Xiaocuo stood among the rows upon rows of clay figurines and searched.

For every man and woman registered in the book of fated couples, there was a clay figurine inscribed with their name and date of birth. Men to the left, women to the right — a red thread tied a pair of figurines together, arranged row upon row, orderly and undisturbed.

The God of Matchmaking was responsible for pairing couples; his subordinate Little Matchmakers were responsible for tying the red threads for the couples according to his arrangements, binding them in matrimonial union. The Little Matchmakers were of two kinds: the Azure Birds and the Lingxi. Azure Birds were skilled in flight, carrying messages as their duty, occasionally also ferrying love letters between devoted couples; Lingxi were skilled listeners, able to hear what lay within human hearts, and then to apply the right remedy, helping to resolve troubles of the heart. Strictly speaking, Ding Xiaocuo was not yet a Matchmaker — her seniority was still shallow, and she could only make out others’ names, birth dates, and obvious preferences and dislikes. For now, she was only at the apprentice stage.

But what she intended to do today required neither seniority nor much magical power.

A male figurine was held in her left hand — on its back, clearly inscribed: Beitang Ken. A female figurine in her right — on its back, the name: Ye Nichang.

She set the two figurines on the ground, produced a red thread she had stolen from the God of Matchmaking, tied each end to Beitang Ken’s and Ye Nichang’s hands respectively, and for good measure tied an extra tight knot. This done, Ding Xiaocuo produced a small golden scissors borrowed from one of the other Little Matchmakers, pinched the red thread originally tied to Beitang Ken’s hand in her fingers, and said, “Young lady — marrying someone like Beitang Ken, such an awful man, you’ll have nothing but miserable days ahead. I’ll just help you escape his clutches right now and find you a much better husband.” A flash of golden light — and the original fated red thread was severed in two!

Just as she was gloating with delight, the sound of the God of Matchmaking coughing suddenly drifted in from outside the Chamber. Ding Xiaocuo was so startled she shoved the figurines back any which way and made her escape.

Later — the boy she had met while sneaking down to the mortal world, the mischief she had done in the Chamber of Destinies — it was all forgotten by the easily distracted Ding Xiaocuo, swept to the far back of her mind.

In her eyes at the time, it was nothing more than a childish, inconsequential prank. It was not until much later that Ding Xiaocuo would understand: the pranks one plays on others will ultimately become a nightmare one plays upon oneself.

“Ding Xiaocuo!” Someone called her name, in a voice achingly, thoroughly familiar.

“Shifu!” She cried out. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids seemed glued shut. She managed to force them half-open. In a swaying, hazy light, a figure walked toward her. “Shifu, is that you?! Is it?!”

“That soul-stirring bass voice — if not me, then who?” Jiu Jue’s face gradually came into focus.

“Shifu, help! I fell into the Northern Song dynasty, the Lingxi Sword was stolen from me, I want to go home!” She tried to stand, but could not move a fraction.

“Find the Lingxi Sword, then open it. Otherwise, you’ll be waiting tables in the Northern Song dynasty for the rest of your life!”

“Open it? What do you mean?”

“‘The eye is within the heart; the heart is within the eye.’ Remember those two lines. The Lingxi Sword — only two people together can open it. Do your best.”

“Shifu! Don’t go!!” Ding Xiaocuo snapped open her eyes and lurched upright, drenched in cold sweat.

When her mind fully cleared, what met her eyes was a dim mountain cave, its walls covered in damp green moss. Beitang Ken stood on a protruding stone ledge at the cave’s entrance, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky — by good fortune, there happened to be just such a jutting section of cliff face to give them both purchase. Now, to get back to the mountaintop, they would need at least one hour of rest.

Staggering to the cave entrance, Ding Xiaocuo’s first question to Beitang Ken was: are we dead? Her second was: who did you give the Lingxi Sword to?

Beitang Ken sat down, closed his eyes, and continued to treat her as if she did not exist.

The words Jiu Jue had conveyed to her just now were still fresh in her ears. Waiting tables in the Northern Song dynasty for the rest of her life — that ending was truly horrifying. Ding Xiaocuo realized the gravity of her situation and dropped her glib expression. “Can you help me? I just… want to go home.”

Beitang Ken opened his eyes.

“This is not my world.” She furrowed her brow, bit her lip, and looked directly into his eyes. “A clever person can tell truth from lies from another’s eyes. No matter how much I explain, it may not be enough. I only hope that you can believe me just this once — even if we’ve only just met.”

Had they really only just met? He suddenly asked himself a question that even he found foolish.

“I will retrieve the Lingxi Sword.” Having said so, he closed his eyes again.

He channeled his energy to steady himself. She sat quietly beside him. The more she looked at this man’s face, the more unwilling she was to look away. It was not because he was handsome… something strange stirred at the bottom of her heart, like a seed long buried, desperate to break through the soil.

Beitang Ken’s destination was beyond the pass — a winding, roundabout journey from Bianjing of a full thirty days. His fiancée was still waiting for him out on that wasteland called the Endless Plain, waiting for him to bring her back.

Outside Bianjing, he told Ding Xiaocuo to stay in the capital city and wait for his return, whereupon he would certainly bring back the Lingxi Sword. Ding Xiaocuo refused. She would go with him.

That night, he carried her on his back, leaping upward tier by tier from the foot of the cliff. His broad back felt every one of Ding Xiaocuo’s heartbeats without barrier. Ten thousand feet of sheer cliff — because of his body warmth, it held no terror. Had there not been some time, long ago, when she had leaned wordlessly against his shoulder just like this, letting him take her wherever he chose to go? But weren’t they strangers who had only just met? Was something wrong with her?

“I won’t cause you any trouble!” She swore with a pat on her chest. “And besides — over such a long journey, across mountains and rivers, it’s nice to have someone to talk to along the way!”

“I don’t like to talk. I don’t need anyone to keep me company.” He swung himself onto his horse. “The road to the Endless Plain is long and the terrain treacherous. A frail child like you won’t be able to endure it. Wait for me at One Inn.”

With that, before she could protest, he rode away, leaving only a trail of dust.

All these years, he had grown accustomed to coming and going alone. “Jade-Faced King of Demons” was the name the martial world had given him. There was not a single person in that world who could make Beitang Ken work for them — no amount of payment would do it. But there was one exception: whatever she wanted, Beitang Ken would exert every effort to obtain it for her, up to and including the jewel from the emperor’s crown. That person was Ye Nichang. She was the daughter of an ordinary jewelry merchant — Beitang Ken’s childhood sweetheart. When Beitang Ken’s parents died, it was Ye Nichang’s father who had taken him in, and entrusted his precious daughter to him. Later, the Ye family had moved from the capital to the area near Yanmen Pass for reasons of their own, far from the martial world, untouched by worldly affairs.

Legend had it that Ye Nichang’s beauty was so luminous it eclipsed everyone in any room. The swarming admirers who sought to come close to this beauty were endless — but out of respect for Beitang Ken’s reputation, these men dared only to gaze from afar, never to intrude. Yet ultimately someone had dared to defy all caution: one night they breached the heavily-guarded Ye residence and abducted Ye Nichang. In the letter to Beitang Ken, there was only one demand — exchange his Lingxi Sword for Ye Nichang’s life and her honor. The signatory: Zhao Si.

Who Zhao Si was, he had no interest in. He only needed Ye Nichang to be safe.

When he thought about it from time to time, treating Ye Nichang well felt more like habit and obligation than anything connected to genuine feeling. But still — he would marry her in the end. On his deathbed, Ye Nichang’s father had extracted a promise from him to look after Ye Nichang for all his days. This year’s Lantern Festival was to have been their wedding day. It seemed now that the date would have to be postponed.

In the moment of handing over the Lingxi Sword, he had experienced an instant of regret. The sword was a relic left behind by his parents — the very last words his father had said to him on his deathbed were: This sword must be guarded with the lives of every member of the Beitang family! But for her sake, he had surrendered it nonetheless.

Setting out for the Endless Plain, Beitang Ken had a premonition of danger.

His white horse galloped hard, hooves churning up a trail of dust. In the first light of dawn, Beitang Ken pressed forward quickly toward his destination. Rounding a winding mountain path, Beitang Ken suddenly pulled the reins hard. The white horse let out a piercing whinny, its front hooves rearing up into the air. Had he not been an exceptionally skilled rider, he would likely have been thrown off.

Ding Xiaocuo stood in the middle of the road he had to pass, arms spread wide, body shaped like the character for “big,” blocking his path. The horse’s raised hooves came within half a foot of her. Beitang Ken shouted in fury: “Are you trying to die?!”

“Take me with you.” Ding Xiaocuo hung her head, twisted the corner of her clothes, and stuck out her lower lip with an about-to-cry expression. “I’m scared to be alone.” Against a domineering man like Beitang Ken, playing pitiful was more effective than anything.

And so it was that on the white horse’s back, Ding Xiaocuo settled contentedly in Beitang Ken’s arms, and they rode at full gallop.

The sky gradually darkened. On the open wasteland, beyond their horse’s hoofbeats there were the howls of distant wild beasts and wind as sharp as blades. Lightly dressed Ding Xiaocuo shivered with cold, the rising sand and wind stinging her face like pinpricks. She began to genuinely miss her home — even that infuriating drunkard Shifu of hers. If she made it back safely, she would definitely tell all those silly girls addicted to time-travel stories: value your life, and stay far away from time-travel!

While her mind was wandering like this, Beitang Ken suddenly reined in his horse on a bare, grassless hillside.

Ding Xiaocuo turned her stiff neck to look at him in puzzlement. He released the reins and began to undo his outer robe’s buttons, all the while fixing her with a rather impure-looking stare. This this… her current identity was that of a man!! “Hey hey — what do you think you’re doing…” Ding Xiaocuo instinctively covered her chest with both hands and cried out nervously: “I don’t have any interest in men!”

With a swish, his outer robe “flew” over and wrapped her body up thoroughly. Beitang Ken casually caught one sleeve and wound it around her face as a mask. In two or three moves, Ding Xiaocuo had become a dumpling.

“You—” Ding Xiaocuo stared in astonishment. “Hyah!” he called out sharply, and they were on the road again.

The wind and sand raged on, the cold persisted — yet Ding Xiaocuo, breathing in the distinct scent that drifted from his robe, felt all the previous chill sweep away. Just go wherever he goes. No matter the destination, no matter the direction — with one of his robes against the cold, with both of his arms encircling her, wherever they go is fine. Just go forward, the two of them, like this. Rocking atop the galloping horse, her drowsy eyelids grew heavier and heavier…

Before she came down to the mortal world, the God of Matchmaking had told Ding Xiaocuo that “repairing” was a thousand times harder than “destroying.” Every person’s original fated red thread had only one — once severed and wanting it to revive, there was only one way: she, Ding Xiaocuo, had to use every means possible to transfer this man’s heart from the wrongly-paired Ye Nichang to herself. Only when Beitang Ken truly fell in love with Ding Xiaocuo — the very instigator of the mess — would the red thread between him and Ye Nichang break, and the original thread that she had cut would revive. If she couldn’t manage it, there was only one outcome: a fate worse than death.

There was also one additional condition: she could not use any magical power to interfere with another’s heart. She had to approach Beitang Ken as an ordinary mortal woman, and then cause him to fall in love with her.

The senior Matchmakers in the God of Matchmaking’s hall had taught her that to make a man fall in love with you, you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible — “familiarity breeds fondness.” This was precisely why she had been willing to do anything to make Beitang Ken take her along to the Endless Plain. One month — was it enough time for familiarity to breed fondness?

Traveling through the night, it was not until the following evening that they spotted a roadside inn at a three-way fork. Ding Xiaocuo, who was nearly starving to death, was lifted from the horse and deposited inside. The simple little shop had no other customers. The white-haired old man dozing by the stove hurried to welcome the new arrivals at the sight of them. The smell of steaming hot food grew gradually richer.

“Have I seen you somewhere before?” Beitang Ken drew out a pair of chopsticks and twirled them idly in his hand, glancing at Ding Xiaocuo, who was looking about left and right. “Long ago.”

“Definitely not!” Ding Xiaocuo shook her head like a rattle drum and smiled apologetically. “A small nobody like me — how could I have the honor of being an old acquaintance of the Jade-Faced King of Demons?”

His eyes narrowed halfway: “How do you know my title?” Dreadful — she couldn’t very well tell him that she’d already had him thoroughly investigated before she came down to the mortal world.

“I heard that woman in green call you Beitang Ken — who in the martial world doesn’t know of the Jade-Faced King of Demons Beitang Ken? Coupled with your handsome appearance and exceptional skills, don’t even think about denying it!” She forced herself to stay calm, and the moment she finished speaking, she turned her head to look elsewhere.

He smiled faintly and asked again: “You said only the Lingxi Sword could save your parents. What makes you think I’ll help you get it back?”

“Ah, didn’t you just promise me that?” Ding Xiaocuo blinked.

“I only make promises to people who tell the truth.” Beitang Ken’s gaze shifted, and he grabbed hold of her wrist. “The reason you gave me had too little credibility.”

“Ow!” Ding Xiaocuo cried out, and blurted: “I don’t mean any harm, I only came to help you…” The moment the words left her mouth, she clapped it shut in a panic.

“Help me?” Beitang Ken yanked her toward him. “Help me with what? Who exactly are you?”

“I I I…” Ding Xiaocuo stammered, and for a long moment could get no further. Just as the two of them were at a standoff, a call rang out: “Honored guests — your food is here!”

Beitang Ken wiped the last of the grime from his sword slowly. The roadside inn lay in complete disarray — tables and chairs toppled, shards of bowls everywhere. A red-footed centipede half the height of a person lay in a pool of murky slime, a large hole in its head, thoroughly, completely dead. Its body was still wearing a split-open human skin bearing the shape of a white-haired old man.

Wild mountains and forests always harbored demons. Ding Xiaocuo had detected a strange odor in the dishes the old man had brought out. Ordinary food and wine — laced with the centipede spirit’s venom. Beitang Ken ought to thank her, because she had stopped him in time from eating that fragrant braised beef. Of course, she in turn had even more reason to thank Beitang Ken for his otherworldly swordsmanship — her own three-legged-cat abilities were absolutely no match for the centipede spirit. He swept his sword back into its scabbard. The last sliver of evening light at the horizon stretched his shadow long, long behind him.

Ding Xiaocuo stared at his profile, and her mind suddenly became a blur. Those unnamed, restless feelings stirring inside her heart churned and welled even more intensely. She found herself lost in recollection — working hard to remember — as though she had realized something of vital importance.

All the scenery along the way, the rocking horse’s back, his robe, the roadside inn at the three-way fork and the centipede spirit, even the very last sliver of fading evening light at this moment — all of it was hinting at one thing: she had been here before. This same road — she had walked it. This same person — she had seen him. These same things — she had done them. But she could not recall the details. The only clear image was one of a person standing beneath the setting sun, shadow stretched very long, very long — and he had always been there, never once departed, regardless of time.

“Mount up.” He extended a hand toward her from horseback. “We’ll reach West River Town before dawn.”

In the night, scattered snowflakes began to drift down. She grew quiet along the way. She remembered something Beitang Ken had said after killing the centipede spirit. He had stared coldly at its corpse and said: spirits are truly all this hideous — utterly repulsive. In his eyes was undisguised contempt and loathing.

If the person he was holding now in his arms were also a demon cultivated into human form — what would he do?

Ding Xiaocuo pressed her lips tightly together, her heart heavy. She discovered, to her own alarm, that she had begun to crave being held in his arms. In all her memory, she had seen too many handsome men — yet not a single one had ever given her a feeling like this. This was truly bad. They had only known each other a few days. Spring was still very far away, and yet she was already having a full-blown infatuation?

When they passed a river glazed over with thin ice, he stopped, dismounted, and walked toward a pile of rocks by the bank. When he came back, he held a red berry hung with icicles. “These are sour berries — the only edible thing in the wilderness in winter.” He pressed the berry into Ding Xiaocuo’s hand. “The sounds your stomach is making are rather annoying.” The ravenously hungry Ding Xiaocuo swallowed and bit in — her expression instantly contorted. Intensely sour! She forced herself to swallow the flesh, and the second bite was sweeter than the first; the third even sweeter. She spat out the pit and he was satisfied, lips together. Beyond the sweetness lingering in her mouth, there was a strange, small stirring of feeling. She had clearly seen, when Beitang Ken handed her the sour berry, the small thorns and several reddened scratches in his hand.

As he had said, before dawn, they finally reached a proper little town. West River Town had a little inn serving truly delicious buns, and sweet glutinous rice wine. She ate twelve buns in total and drank three bowls of glutinous rice wine. He ate his chicken leg unhurriedly and said: you are the most capable eater among women I have ever seen.

Ding Xiaocuo nearly choked on a bun. He knew she was a woman?

“You… how did you know?” Ding Xiaocuo looked herself up and down — her men’s clothing was perfectly convincing.

He drank down the strong spirits in his bowl in one go and said: “I carried you on my back all the way from the bottom of the cliff to the top — chest pressed to back. If I still couldn’t tell whether you were male or female after all that, wouldn’t that be rather strange?”

Ding Xiaocuo’s face went red. She lowered her head and hurriedly gnawed her bun. Her flustered look was a bit endearing. Beitang Ken couldn’t help it — the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly. She said she was someone from nine hundred years in the future — an absolutely absurd reason. But what was even more absurd was that he was, just slightly, inclined to believe her. Faced with this Ding Xiaocuo who had descended from the sky, speaking and behaving in all sorts of outlandish ways, Beitang Ken admitted to himself that he had begun to be curious.

In a book called The God of Matchmaking’s Guide to Love, there was a line that read: Love usually begins with curiosity. Pity that neither Ding Xiaocuo nor Beitang Ken had read it. Nine hundred years ago, the God of Matchmaking had not yet published that book.

That night, Beitang Ken sat in his room, polishing his sword, sleepless through to dawn. The Endless Plain, Ye Nichang, that mysterious Zhao Si — they came and went through his mind.

On the other side of the wall, Ding Xiaocuo lay sleeping soundly. He could even imagine the absurd sleeping posture of this girl who could fall asleep on a horse’s back — drooling away. As a matter of fact, Ding Xiaocuo was at that very moment curled up in exactly that fashion inside the blankets, snoring away. He had guessed correctly to the last detail.

Ye Nichang never had such “undignified” moments. She guarded her beauty the way a bird guards its feathers. Her silk skirts were always perfectly arranged — every embroidered flower on them bloomed at precisely the right point. The jade and gems set into her clothing were each the finest of the fine. Her cosmetics were custom-made, the fragrance and color entirely unique — she did not permit others to share the same beauty as hers.

He set down his sword, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Cold wind mixed with snowflakes pressed against his face — pleasant. The Endless Plain, not an ending — just a beginning. He suddenly had this strange premonition.

They left West River Town.

On the third day, on a narrow, dust-swirling mountain path, they encountered a band of horse bandits robbing a merchant caravan. The bandits beat the men in the caravan and manhandled the women. She couldn’t bear to watch and jumped out to play the hero — only to be chased by the bandits in a frantic, panicked scramble, screaming for help.

After dealing with the bandits, Beitang Ken told her: if you can’t swim, don’t go rescuing people. The world’s troubles are inexhaustible. She said: whatever I can manage is whatever I can manage. Letting someone die before your eyes will weigh on your conscience. He shook his head.

On the fifth day, they lodged overnight at a farmhouse. She volunteered to make dinner. After several hours, not a scrap of food had been produced — but she had burned down the farmhouse kitchen. He paid for the damages. That night, she knocked on his door and put a sweet potato — charred beyond recognition — in front of him. She said she had just stolen it from the field outside, that it was the most successful batch of her attempts, and that since she had left him without dinner that day, this was by way of compensation. He looked at her, her face covered in black soot, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

On the tenth day, wind-swept and dust-covered, they passed through a market. Her eyes stuck to the glittering array of wares — especially the women’s clothing in fine workmanship and full of beyond-the-pass charm, from which she couldn’t bear to tear herself away.

He bought her a set. A snow-white, thick robe and skirt, edged in gold-thread embroidered clouds. With the cape fastened and the hat with its fluffy fur brim flipped up and worn, the purest of colors set off a face of white porcelain and rosy cheeks. She gripped the brim of her hat and grinned at him, said thank you — so beautiful. He had never seen any woman who could smile as ungracefully as she did. And yet — he found he rather liked it.

On the road ahead, her new clothes moved with the wind, carrying the scent that was distinctly hers — faint and lingering, unlike any perfume or cosmetic. Nestled in the crook of his arm, she was still as chatty as ever, saying whatever came to mind — her drunkard Shifu, the tree spirit witch, Avatar. That world was not one he could understand. He found, surprisingly, that he felt a faint sense of loss about it.

On the twentieth day, they were not far from Yanmen Pass now. They stopped in a village to rest and replenish water and food. The villagers were simple and honest; children with runny noses played and laughed around them, curiously looking over these visitors from afar.

The setting sun on the great desert was more vivid than anywhere else. The undulating lines of the earth extended toward the horizon, blending with the blaze of sunset into a perfect composition. She distributed candy to the children and chased and played with them, taught them songs — something about Happy Goat and Warm Goat. A few small sheep by the mud-brick wall bleated and turned their heads in the direction of the singing. Smoke rose in a lazy curl from the village. He and she sat side by side on a haystack by the wall. The desert’s lone smoke rises straight; the river’s setting sun grows round. Looking at the scene before them like something from a poem, hearts couldn’t help but open wide.

“I’d build a little house here, with a fence around it. Then, behind the house, clear a patch of land to grow vegetables.” She tilted her head, swung her feet, and gestured, casual yet sincere. “Then over there, build a cow pen, a sheep pen, a chicken coop, and raise a sheepdog too. Then every day take the sheep out to graze — the sheep would eat the grass, and I’d sit on the hillside reading, the dog running back and forth up ahead.” As she talked she grew more enthusiastic, her cheeks stealing a radiant rose-color in the evening light. “Of course, it would be best to have one person beside you. We’d herd horses and tend sheep, rise at dawn and rest at dusk. Every so often go traveling, wander through a lively market, or go back to a noisy city and spend a night out on the town, soak up a little of the human world’s warmth, and then return to our home, go on living a peaceful, unhurried life.”

“In time, that house would become a ranch — because the animals they kept would grow more and more numerous. There’d be one fool who would make terrible food every day, then follow someone around chattering nonstop like a crow. One day, hands and feet flying in all directions, she’d help a mare foal — and at the sight of the newborn colt, she’d laugh and cry at the same time.” He looked at her face full of longing and, naturally, continued from where she’d left off, pointing ahead: “Right there — she’d be jumping around like she’d lost her mind.” His expression was one of utter ease, as if he were truly seeing the scene he described.

“My image would never be that undignified!” She rolled her eyes at him, then paused in surprise and said, “Wait — these words don’t sound like things the Jade-Faced King of Demons would say.”

“Such a life would be very good.” He leaned back into the hay, drew a deep breath, and looked up at the sky with quiet contentment. Though it was a response to her, it sounded more like something he was saying to himself.

All along the way, under her persistent questioning, he had told her many things in fragments. Including his identity, Ye Nichang, and the fact of their imminent marriage. Who he married — that had nothing to do with her, had it? All she needed to do was stick close to him, and once she’d gotten back the Lingxi Sword, she could return to her own world. Nothing in this place would leave any mark on her life. That was how it should be. But then why was it that certain fixed ideas — things she had thought could never change — were now, as if melted by that evening light, beginning to waver? That imagined life she had described — the wooden house, the fence, the sheep, and that one person beside her — had suddenly shifted from something light and insubstantial to something with weight, slowly sinking into her heart. If she could truly live a life as boundless as the sky, spurring a horse beneath open clouds, growing old through quiet, unhurried seasons; truly know and cherish each other, walking hand in hand to the end… then whether she found the Lingxi Sword or whether she went back — what would it matter? She was startled by her own thoughts, and quickly changed the subject. “You love your fiancée very much, I suppose.”

“Before the age of ten, I even disliked her.” After a long silence, he smiled. “My parents and the Ye family were old friends. After they passed away, Nichang’s father found me among the beggars and took me in. At the time she was a wealthy young miss — proud, overbearing, ordering me around at every turn. Later, perhaps because we both grew older, something between us changed. She gradually became gentler toward me, and I always wanted to give her the best of everything. Does that count as love?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know either.” He turned to look at her.

When the tired horses had eaten and drunk their fill, they would set off again. In truth, he wanted to stay — to build a ranch, a mind without boundaries, watching clouds roll and drift, free and unconstrained. That was his most sincere desire. He had once told Ye Nichang as much, long ago — she had mocked him for it, saying he lacked ambition. What she wanted and what he wanted had never been the same.

Ding Xiaocuo imitated him and lay back on the hay, looking up at the sky, humming a few lines from an old song over and over to herself:

I think of how you described the paradise you dreamed of, pointing into the distance, drawing one house, then another. The look on your face as you smiled so foolishly was so sincere — all of my trust began from that one moment.

He had never heard a melody like that, but he had come to like the lyrics — and he had come to like her serene expression as she hummed. Strangely, in that imagined life, the one riding alongside him, galloping through the wind and snow beyond the pass — was not Ye Nichang.

The God of Matchmaking’s Guide to Love had a line that read: When you fall in love with someone, you will naturally agree with and continue building upon their dreams — even if it is nothing more than a seemingly casual, idle conversation.

The Endless Plain was studded with countless towering, strange natural stone pillars, cleaving this barren wasteland into a labyrinth of intersecting paths. They arrived at noon.

Beitang Ken slowed his pace, threading between two massive, jagged rocks from the north side. Ding Xiaocuo’s brow had never been this deeply furrowed. From the moment she entered this stone forest, a kind of painful oppression — like a rough, large hand — gripped her heart tightly. She found it hard to breathe.

The weather was not poor, yet this place was one the sunlight never entered. The jagged, strange stone pillars around her were like demons entrenched here, concealed in deathly, ashen colors, carrying the smell of danger. But Ding Xiaocuo’s distress was not from fear — it was grief, like a drop of ink falling into water, spreading from a single point to an entire darkness. And when they passed through the stone forest and a cliff face appeared — jutting straight at the sky, shaped like a drawn sword — the grief turned abruptly, crushingly heavy. That sword-shaped cliff face — it was not the empty air it pierced but her heart! She hastily turned her head away, not daring to look longer, cold sweat forming in her palms. Beitang Ken sensed that something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. The person in his arms was breathing unevenly and trembling.

“Ah… nothing.” She shook her head quickly, making an excuse: “I might be a bit… motion sick from the horse…” Under all the heavens, only Ding Xiaocuo could have invented the concept of being “motion sick from a horse.” Beitang Ken laughed despite himself. Ding Xiaocuo blinked — this was the first time she had heard him laugh like this. She did not look back, only buried her head lower. The further they went, the more uneasy she felt.

A grand residence, built of stone blocks and as imposing as a fortress, appeared domineeringly in their line of sight. Who would build so extravagant a home in the middle of this wasteland? Ding Xiaocuo clicked her tongue. From a distance, a figure came to meet them.

Ye Nichang was indeed a woman whose beauty silenced a room. Beautiful with a distinguished air, beautiful with a sharp-edged confidence. Even the way she looked at people seemed to carry rose thorns. She flung herself into Beitang Ken’s arms, pouting: “Why did you only come now?”

“Are you all right?” He steadied her gently by both arms and, without making it obvious, created a slight distance between them.

Ye Nichang shook her head, then looked past him at Ding Xiaocuo and frowned. “Who is she?”

“A friend. I promised to lend her the Lingxi Sword.” In front of Ye Nichang, he never concealed anything. Ding Xiaocuo gave Ye Nichang a perfunctory smile. She didn’t like this woman — just as she didn’t like the entire Endless Plain. Jealousy? The word was even more alarming than “time-travel.” There was a bit of it — yet not entirely.

Beitang Ken… Ye Nichang… The two names suddenly seared into her mind like branding irons.

Beitang Ken… Ye Nichang… That fish is mine! I know you’re called Beitang Ken! I know who you dislike most! Broken, fragmentary sentences drifted one by one to Ding Xiaocuo’s ringing ears.

Before her, Ye Nichang was throwing a temper tantrum at him, firmly opposing Beitang Ken retrieving the Lingxi Sword for her. Beitang Ken neither shook nor nodded his head.

The man behind them in a black robe with a face-covering, who had been standing deferentially — he had received them outside and led them through winding corridors and dozens of doors to this vast, vaulted room, which was furnished with sumptuous luxury. In every corner, a tall bronze crane-shaped lamp burned.

“My master bid me look after Miss Nichang carefully and await the arrival of Young Master Beitang.” The masked man bowed his head. “My master also instructed that the night weather is harsh — he asks that the guests from afar rest here through the night and continue on in the morning.”

“That won’t be necessary. We are leaving now.” Beitang Ken gave the masked man a bow of courtesy. “Many thanks for your hospitality. Farewell.” Just as he moved to leave, his arm was seized by Ye Nichang. She furrowed her brow, pressed a hand to her heart, and said softly, “Beitang, I…” Before she could finish, she fainted in Beitang Ken’s arms.

“Nichang!” He hurriedly carried her back to the bed, calling her name in urgency.

“Miss Nichang’s constitution is delicate — she had already caught a chill. On top of the overwhelming joy of reuniting with Young Master Beitang, she was simply unable to hold on. Young Master need not worry. Allow this one to prepare a bowl of ginseng broth for the Miss to take — she should recover within a few days.” The masked man stepped forward and felt Ye Nichang’s pulse, then added, “If Young Master insists on leaving, this one will prepare an extra winter garment for Miss Nichang, to prevent the cold outside from wounding her again.” Beitang Ken considered briefly, waved him off, and looked at Ding Xiaocuo, who had remained silent throughout. “Let us rest here for one night. Once Nichang recovers, we’ll be on our way.”

Spending the night in a kidnapper’s lair — deeply uncomfortable. The light from the bronze lamps swayed with an eerie quality. Fine white smoke drifted from the lamp cups like little white snakes, twisting and coiling through the air, making Ding Xiaocuo feel unsettled and distracted. A trap! she thought. Don’t stay! Yet what came out of her mouth was: “All right…”

“Miss, please follow me to a guest room.” The masked man walked to Ding Xiaocuo. “This way, please.”

“Ding Xiaocuo.” Beitang Ken suddenly looked up. “Stay at my side. You are not to go anywhere.” She turned back, mildly startled. Perhaps she was overthinking it — but she happened to catch sight of Ye Nichang, lying in the bed, brow furrowing — not in pain, but in anger.

“Oh, it’s fine. You stay here and look after her. It’s not really proper for me to be in the way.” She laughed at him lightly, then turned to the masked man. “Lead the way, please.”

Beitang Ken took a swift step forward and grabbed her arm, saying in a low, sharp voice: “Do you have any idea what kind of place this is?”

“I’m just a bystander — I have nothing to do with your kidnapping situation. No one should have any reason to do anything to me.” She said dismissively, then leaned toward his ear and murmured, “But I’m reminding you — don’t forget what you promised me.”

“Very well.” He looked into her clear, resolute eyes and released her arm. “Be careful.” In the end, he couldn’t hold her back. Before she stepped out the door, she looked back at him one last time — and found that he was looking at her too.

Deep in the night, goose-feather snow descended on the Endless Plain, turning the entire world white in an instant. A column of Khitan soldiers slowly approached from the distance…

The fire burned bright, warming the whole room. Beitang Ken sat in the chair by the bed, eyes closed in feigned rest. Ye Nichang, who had been asleep, opened her eyes and tried calling his name several times. Beitang Ken opened his eyes, his heart jumping with gladness as he stepped forward: “You’re awake?”

“Beitang…” Ye Nichang’s face showed anxiety. “What is it?” Beitang Ken asked.

She got out of bed, pulled a rectangular lacquered wooden box from underneath it, and placed it before Beitang Ken. “That masked man threatened me, before your arrival, that I must ensure you stayed here — and then personally hand this box to you. He… he forced me to swallow a pill. If I did as instructed, he would give me the antidote; if I refused, within three days my looks would be utterly ruined. I…”

“Get behind me.” Beitang Ken cut her off, and then slowly opened the lacquered wooden box. A familiar gleam sliced through — not a weapon, not a poison mist. Lying in the wooden box was his own Lingxi Sword. Beitang Ken was stunned. He grabbed the Lingxi Sword in one motion, his five fingers sinking deep into the five grooves carved into the hilt.

“What? The Lingxi Sword — really?!” Ye Nichang’s face went pale with shock. She also extended her hand in astonishment, placing her five fingers into the remaining five grooves on the hilt. And just like that, the Lingxi Sword was, in the most natural of ways, held simultaneously by the two of them.

“Beitang Ken, let go! Ye Nichang is using you again!” Their door was flung open with a bang, and Ding Xiaocuo burst in, gasping for breath, shouting at the top of her lungs.

Beitang Ken stared in bewilderment at this madly leaping, shouting figure.

But Ye Nichang — as if she hadn’t seen Ding Xiaocuo at all — stared blankly at the Lingxi Sword, murmuring: “Why… nothing is happening?” Her nails were nearly digging into the hilt itself. “Impossible… impossible…”

“The Beitang family’s Lingxi Sword can only be opened by Beitang Ken and the woman who is truly of one heart and soul with him!” Ding Xiaocuo pointed at her furiously. “You have never understood what it means to be of one heart and soul. To you, he has always been nothing more than a tool!”

“You…” Ye Nichang’s face went white as death. “What nonsense are you spouting?” Ding Xiaocuo looked at Ye Nichang with scornful disdain. “The person you have always admired is that man called Zhao Zhi!”

Ye Nichang reacted as if struck by lightning. Every last trace of composure, beauty, and charm was wiped away. She let out a cry: “What did you say?”

“Emperor Zhenzong’s fourth son, Prince of Trust Zhao Zhi — the reigning emperor’s own elder brother.” Ding Xiaocuo’s tone was like iron hammering nails. “Having failed to usurp the throne years ago and been exiled beyond the pass, but with his ambition to become emperor still burning — on one hand conspiring with the Khitan people, on the other seeking the underground treasure left beyond the pass by founding Emperor Zhao Kuangyin. Once obtained, with the Khitan as external allies and the treasure as military funds internally, bringing down the imperial capital would be only a matter of time. And the key to opening the treasure was hidden inside the Lingxi Sword!”

Ye Nichang lunged at Ding Xiaocuo in a fury, but was caught and held back by Beitang Ken.

“Go on.” He was remarkably calm.

Ding Xiaocuo walked to his side with an air of complete commitment and continued: “Your family has been imperial swordsmiths for generations. In those days, the Beitang family was commissioned by the founding Emperor to forge the Lingxi Sword and sealed the treasure key inside. After the Emperor’s passing, the Beitang family followed the secret imperial edict — protecting this sword generation after generation, ensuring the treasure did not fall into the hands of traitors. Ye Nichang’s father was a Khitan spy who had infiltrated the Song dynasty from the start. Zhao Zhi and the Ye family had dealings long prior. Zhao Zhi learned that the treasure key lay within the Lingxi Sword, but fearing your skills as the Jade-Faced King of Demons — knowing that taking it by force might not succeed — he began planning a perfect kidnapping. And naturally, this required Ye Nichang’s full cooperation.”

Ye Nichang’s breathing was in utter disarray, cold sweat beading even on the tip of her nose. Ding Xiaocuo said with contempt: “You have never liked Beitang Ken. In your eyes, he has always been nothing more than a tool to retrieve endless treasures for you.”

She grew increasingly furious: “And yet even if he brought you every treasure in the world, you still wouldn’t be satisfied. What you truly want is to become the empress of a kingdom, supreme authority over all beneath the sky!”

“I…” Ye Nichang’s body began to tremble. She stared in alarm at Beitang Ken, still frozen like a statue. “Don’t… don’t listen to her ravings! It’s not like that!”

“Isn’t this exactly what Zhao Zhi promised you? The day he becomes emperor, you become the empress, sovereign over all the land. A man like that is the one you ‘love.'” Ding Xiaocuo did not let up. “You thought that knowing the location of the treasure — beneath this very stone house — plus having the Lingxi Sword in hand meant your great plan was complete. But you hadn’t anticipated that this sword cannot be opened by brute force! The ten grooves in the hilt were not made for aesthetic reasons — they were made for the Beitang heir and his true destined woman. Only the two of them placing their fingers in the grooves simultaneously can open it. You were always so confident of Beitang Ken’s feelings for you, assuming you were the one matchless person in his life — so you continued your performance, ‘suffering and waiting’ for Beitang Ken to come rescue you. The moment he arrived at the stone house, you schemed to have him open the sword with you and obtain the key!”

She paused and drew a deep breath. “If that failed, you even considered that even if it meant cutting off his arm, you would complete your dream of becoming empress!”

“You—” Ye Nichang’s face had nearly gone green, as if she had been stripped bare in a public street. She lost all composure and screamed: “Who on earth are you?!”

“I am…” Ding Xiaocuo’s eyes darted sideways. “I simply have a heaven-given ability. Believe it or not — that I can listen to what lies inside people’s hearts?”

Listen to what’s inside people’s hearts? She didn’t look like she was joking. Both Ye Nichang and Beitang Ken were startled at once. Ding Xiaocuo smiled. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is this, Ye Nichang — you are not worthy of his heart. If the two of you truly loved each other, the Lingxi Sword would not have been completely unresponsive just now.”

A deathlike silence fell over the room. “Beitang — you… you believe her?” Ye Nichang rushed to throw her arms around him. “You’ve known me so many years — do you believe me or do you believe her?”

Beitang Ken looked directly into Ye Nichang’s eyes, pushed her aside, and said: “I don’t know the secret of the Lingxi Sword, and I don’t know how to open it — my parents never mentioned it. I came only to save you. The Ye family raised me to adulthood — I don’t want to say more. Go.”

He had no reason he could name — yet he believed every single word Ding Xiaocuo had said. Her eyes, her expression, held a kind of honesty he could see. He felt no sorrow at having been deceived, and no resentment. He even felt, strangely, a little relieved.

“You scheming person! You’ve ruined everything!” Seeing how Beitang Ken treated her, Ye Nichang snapped and lunged at Ding Xiaocuo, knocking her to the ground. Just as Beitang Ken stepped forward to stop her, a dark gust swept in from the doorway — every lamp in the room went out at once.

When the lights came back on, Beitang Ken found that both Ding Xiaocuo and Ye Nichang had vanished without a trace.

“My lord! My lord, please wait!” Out on the open ground, Ye Nichang stumbled across the ice and snow in pursuit, throwing both arms around the masked man’s legs. “I am Beitang Ken’s fiancée — the woman he loves most in this life! I can certainly open the Lingxi Sword! Please pass word to the Prince — give Nichang one more chance! Nichang will surely…”

“His Highness will seek another method. You need not trouble yourself further with the matter of opening the Lingxi Sword.” The masked man shook Ye Nichang off and vanished wordlessly into the wind and snow.

“No… no!” Ye Nichang collapsed on the ground, weeping and screaming as though she had been shot through the heart by a hunter’s arrow.

Ding Xiaocuo rubbed her neck, coughing, and sat up from the snow. Just now, when the masked man had appeared, Ye Nichang had been clamping both hands around her throat — she had no idea how, but she’d been hauled out along with Ye Nichang.

“You— you vile person!” Ye Nichang turned around, eyes red, and flung herself at Ding Xiaocuo in desperation. “It’s because of you! If not for you, I would have been the future empress of the Great Song, bringing glory to my ancestors! Vile! Vile!” Ye Nichang’s strength had become extraordinary — she threw herself on top of Ding Xiaocuo, both hands clamped around her throat with all her might, killing her being the only way to vent her hatred.

Ye Nichang — you and Beitang Ken should never have had any connection at all! It was I who, in my youthful foolishness, tied Beitang Ken to you with a red thread out of spite! The bond Beitang Ken feels for you was nothing but the forced work of that red thread — existent in name, without true form; present in appearance, without feeling in the heart! I am a Lingxi — I came into this world only to set right the damage I did to Beitang Ken’s destiny!

Ding Xiaocuo struggled. All those things that had been stirring restlessly deep in her heart finally broke through the soil. The memories that had slept for nine hundred years came crashing through every vein in her body like a storm and lightning.

A ball of white light emerged from Ding Xiaocuo’s feet and rapidly spread across her entire body. Where the white light passed, her clothing dissolved away. On the exposed skin, thick scales grew. A burning current of air lifted Ding Xiaocuo into the air. Ye Nichang clapped both hands over her own mouth and stared in horror at Ding Xiaocuo spinning without pause in the sky. The brilliant light turned half the night sky into daylight!

When Ye Nichang opened her eyes again, there was no longer any trace of Ding Xiaocuo before her. What stood in her place was a beast she had never seen — tiger-bodied, ox-headed, elephant-footed, snow-white scales covering every inch of its body, and a curved horn with a white stripe running down its center growing straight from its forehead. Strange as it looked — it was also strikingly, extraordinarily ugly. The beast shook its head, a harsh, low growl rising from its throat, its front legs kicking restlessly at the ground.

“You… you…” Ye Nichang, after her three souls and seven spirits found their way back to her, stared blankly at the beast before her. After a long pause, she suddenly burst into frenzied, clapping laughter, pointing at it and screaming: “You are a demon! A demon! Good! Good!”

The beast’s small eyes watched this nearly delirious woman. Hot breath puffed from its nose. “He won’t like a demon! Ha ha ha!” Ye Nichang clapped her palms sharply together again and again. “Heaven has eyes! You ugly demon! You’ll scare everyone away! Everyone!” She became so excited she broke into song, spinning happily in circles on the spot.

“Ugly demon! Ugly demon! Shame, shame, shame! Ha ha, I can become empress! I can become empress!” She laughed and cried at once, then collapsed on the ground and fainted.

The beast lowered its head, hesitated for a moment, then turned and ran swiftly toward the stone forest.

She had almost remembered everything.

The Hall of the God of Matchmaking. The Little Matchmakers. Beitang Ken, whose red thread she had cut. From the first day she had time-traveled back to the Northern Song and met him, every road she had walked, every thing she had done — this entire sequence of events had existed nine hundred years ago, broadly similar, different in path yet arriving at the same destination. Nine hundred years ago, she had descended to the mortal world to correct her mistake and met Beitang Ken. Nine hundred years later, she had come back to the past to correct her mistake and met Beitang Ken once more. A destiny nine hundred years in the making — nine hundred years later, the same fate, converging through the lost Lingxi Sword.

The God of Matchmaking had said that when correcting this mistake, she could use no magical power — otherwise her human form would be lost, her original form would appear, and she could not recover for three years. In the stone house, she had drawn on the Lingxi’s ability to steal a look inside Ye Nichang’s heart, learning every truth. She had not been able to afford to consider so much — there had been only one thought: save him! Beitang Ken, leave the Endless Plain! Don’t come looking for me! Don’t go to that cliff face!

From far away, she saw him. In the moment when the sky barely began to brighten.

His black robe stood out vividly as he raced across the snow, calling her name at the top of his voice. Her heart was full of joy and anticipation. She was just about to step forward — and then she stopped.

“Spirits are truly all this hideous — utterly repulsive.” He had said that. “He won’t like a demon!” — Ye Nichang’s crazed laugh still rang in her ear. She was a demon. An ugly Lingxi. That would never change. Beitang Ken — the exceptional Jade-Faced King of Demons. The person he hoped to ride out with, free and unrestrained beyond the passes — that would not be an ugly demon…

In her heart, the deepest, most paralyzing cowardice of her entire life took root. Her feet, without meaning to, stepped back. Three years. I’ll come back to find him in three years. If by then he still remembers me… She turned around — before he could discover her.

The next day she felt uneasy the entire time, wanting to go and see whether he was still searching for her on the Endless Plain. She passed through the stone forest — and was stunned by a ground covered in bodies and blood. Most of those who had died were Khitan soldiers, with a few Han Chinese among them. She sprinted along the blood trail, following it all the way to that cliff-face shaped like a drawn sword. The accumulated snow all over the ground had been cleaved and upturned by some sharp force, exposing the soil beneath. The masked man lay slumped against a large rock, body already stiff — one arm severed, a deep wound across his throat. And he — half-kneeling on the ground, a blood-soaked hole in his chest, the Lingxi Sword gripped in his right hand, driven deep into the earth, holding him upright so he would not fall.

She walked in a daze to stand before him. His eyes had not closed. They looked stubbornly in the direction she was coming from.

Beitang Ken was dead.

14.

Today was one month since the day of Ding Xiaocuo’s toilet-portal incident. That evening, Jiu Jue came to “Bu Ting” again to freeload a meal.

“The God of Matchmaking asked you to look after Ding Xiaocuo for nine hundred years?” I knew that once this fellow had a few drinks in him, he would gossip to me about anything.

“That old man is one of the few old things in the heavenly realm who doesn’t annoy me.” Jiu Jue nodded, gnawing on a honey-glazed chicken wing in his hand. “He’s been rather good to that girl Ding Xiaocuo as well.”

“The Lingxi Sword was also your doing,” I said with a smile.

“Ding Xiaocuo messed with the red threads and disrupted the fated couples of the mortal world — staying in the heavenly realm was no longer an option. Had she not been sent to the human world to lie low, she’d eventually have ended up locked away in the celestial prison for life. But fortunately, the God of Matchmaking sealed all of Ding Xiaocuo’s memories about Beitang Ken inside the Lingxi Sword she brought back. Otherwise, with emotional wounds of that depth, Ding Xiaocuo would have spent nine hundred years telling her tragedy to me like a broken record — who could stand that.” He chewed away contentedly. “Still, when all is said and done — had the God of Matchmaking not had pity on her and drawn out her memories, this girl, even if not severely punished by the heavens, would have suffered endlessly for what she had done. You know how it is. A wound, no matter how severe, will heal in time. But regret is different — it will follow you to the very end of your life. Nine hundred years ago, watching the man she loved die right before her eyes — that kind of pain and regret, it would be hard for anyone to bear.”

I took a sip of wine and said: “The person Ding Xiaocuo should thank isn’t only the God of Matchmaking — it’s also you, you peculiar man.”

“I didn’t do much. Just borrowed the Vermilion Bird Lamp from the Goddess of Time and let my foolish disciple play at time-travel.” He waved it off and moved on to attack the spicy ribs. “If in the end she still wasn’t willing to appear before him as her true self, I would have had no choice but to sigh, declare the experiment a failure, and accept that fate cannot be changed.”

I was not a person of the heavenly realm, but I knew that the Vermilion Bird Lamp in the Goddess of Time’s hands — the one capable of traveling through time — was lit only once every nine hundred years. Using it required, first, a deep connection; and second, a price. His relationship with the Goddess was undeniably good — but to extract the lamp’s power of time-reversal, disguise it as a talisman, and through my hands send Ding Xiaocuo back nine hundred years without anyone noticing — that required him to pay not only in time, but also in no less than a century of his own cultivation.

“A foolish little disciple — worth that much from you?” I smiled. “You really don’t look like someone that kind.”

“I told you — I was only running an experiment. I just wanted to see whether what has already happened, so-called predetermined fate, has any possibility of being changed.” Jiu Jue wiped his mouth and let out a satisfied belch. “Besides, the God of Matchmaking told me — the other end of the original red thread that was cut from Beitang Ken… was that fool Ding Xiaocuo herself! A match between a demon and a mortal — something that comes along only once every five hundred years! Tell me — who could be so dim-witted as to cut her own fated red thread without even looking, causing this entire mess?!”

“Are you certain that Ding Xiaocuo’s current circumstances are what you had hoped for?” I asked what was ultimately the most important question.

The familiar, sly smile rose to Jiu Jue’s lips: “I’m not certain. I only know that if this foolish disciple of mine is still like she was nine hundred years ago — choosing to retreat rather than step forward because of how she looks — then her fate will not change either. She would be brought back by the God of Matchmaking and handed back to me. But look — she still hasn’t come back.”

“From the moment you sent her back, you never truly expected her to return, did you?” I snatched the last rib from the plate. “You, as a Shifu, are destined to be thrown to the far corners of the sky.”

“Oh well. She made my bed, folded my blankets, cooked and laundered for me all these years — I’ve grown somewhat fond of the girl, I suppose.” He let out a long sigh, glanced at the calendar, and said with a self-deprecating air: “Consider this… the last Children’s Day gift from a Shifu to his disciple.”

“Very well. To make up for your sorrowful heart at losing a disciple, I’ll waive the service fee for hiring me as your accomplice.” I raised my cup toward him. “To the most peculiar — and most kind — Shifu in history. Cheers.”

Epilogue

Northern Song dynasty. Qian Xing fifth year. Twenty li north of Yanmen Pass. A ranch.

“She’s here, she’s here! Xiao Hei is giving birth!!” A young woman in the simple clothing of a farmwife was shouting with delight inside the stable.

“Quiet! What is all this noise?” A man in a felt hat, features handsomely defined, crouched before a mare who had just given birth and glared sharply at the woman. “You’ll frighten them!”

“Oh, oh.” The woman quickly covered her own mouth and crouched beside the man. “Husband — I was just so happy! I feel like I’ve given birth myself!”

“Hmm…” The man looked at his wife with great seriousness. “I wonder whether the child a demon and a mortal have together will be what you always call… a half-blood.”

“Who curses their own child like that?!” The woman grabbed a handful of hay and flung it at her husband’s head, fuming: “If I’d known, I would never have gone back to stand before you! Or heaven should simply have let someone like you — a heartless, cold-blooded man — get scared to death by what I looked like back then!”

“Do you forget what my title used to be? The Jade-Faced King of Demons — I wasn’t afraid of a centipede spirit that was that ugly and that capable of fighting. Would I be afraid of a Lingxi who has neither martial nor literary talent and looks a little silly?” The man shot her a look, and then smiled, pulling her into his arms, his voice abruptly gentle. “The important thing is — you came back.”

Ding Xiaocuo still felt the lingering chill of that memory. On that snowy night, she had known with only a dim, blurred certainty that she had to find him — had to appear before him. But even after reverting to her original form, she had almost chosen to retreat again, just as she had nine hundred years ago. She was afraid that her love would be buried by her own ugly appearance. The sudden, piercing self-doubt made it impossible not to panic. But there was a voice that had kept calling inside her heart: Go forward! Go forward! Even if I am despised, even if I am loathed — I only want you to live and be well!

It was Beitang Ken’s desperate calling of her name that finally stopped her from retreating. She appeared before him in her true form — as she truly was — before he faced the real enemy.

His sword had risen by instinct.

“I’m… Ding Xiaocuo.” She looked into his eyes and said only that one sentence.

His Shifu had said: the eye is within the heart; the heart is within the eye.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He lowered his Lingxi Sword and walked toward her.

In his eyes she saw herself — not an ugly Lingxi, but a face beaming with a bright, beautiful smile.

When Zhao Zhi’s men led the Khitan back to the Endless Plain, the snowy ground was empty — only Ye Nichang lay unconscious there.

Three years later, she recovered her human form, and became his wife. The ranch, the cattle and sheep, a life broad as the sky and wide as the earth — the fantasy imagined on that haystack became reality.

The Lingxi Sword, once one, became two — in truth, it had always been a paired yin-yang sword merged into one. When Beitang Ken and Ding Xiaocuo opened it, they found not a treasure key but two swords perfectly suited for a husband and wife, one each — for chopping trees and splitting firewood. The blade was truly sharp; for farmwork, it was a remarkably useful tool.

Ah, and one last thing. The God of Matchmaking’s Guide to Love concluded with this line:

No matter what form you take, in the eyes of the one who truly loves you, what you will always see is yourself at your most beautiful. As long as you are still alive, there is still a chance for things to change. The most foolish of all is the one who denies themselves before anyone else has a chance to. Cast aside your self-doubt, take one more step forward — and you will see: the setting sun on the great desert, how beautiful it is.

The above was Ding Xiaocuo’s personal insight.