Prologue

The daylight hours passed with surprising swiftness. Ao Chi and I held a camel-riding competition, with the stakes being one full year of washing dishes in our domestic life after the honeymoon — the loser’s penalty.

The Black Robes wanted no part of our game, every last one of them retreating into the tent to sleep the day away, each one idler than the last.

That said, I must confess that the lamb skewers the Black Robes grilled were absolutely exquisite. Paired with an excellent red wine, they made the arrival of the second night all the more wonderful.

While I had yet to wipe the grease from the corner of my mouth, Black Robe Number Two reached into a bag and produced a conch shell, placing it in the center of our gathering.

“Are you going to tell us the story of the Conch Girl? I have a feeling a tale that worn-out won’t win Her Majesty the Queen’s favor.” I picked up the thing — its surface marked with patterns it had been born with — and instinctively raised it to my ear. The long, drawn-out sound of the sea breeze drifted in, unhurried and melodious.

“Wrong!” Black Robe Number Two snatched the conch back. “What I am going to tell, is the story of a Yaksha.”

1

His body was light — because it had lost a foot — yet his arm was heavy, for it gripped a three-foot sword. Along its cold, cerulean blade ran notch after notch, like teeth, the teeth of the most ferocious of beasts.

Tang Ze lay sprawled across a black plank of wood, drifting like a dead leaf on a calm sea, his breathing faint and shallow, every last scrap of remaining strength concentrated in his right hand.

Consciousness had long abandoned him, yet instinct alone kept his fingers locked around the sword at his side. Behind him, the sea ran a deep and spreading crimson.

Dark violet blood scattered in all directions. The dark-blue seawater, entwined with coiling tendrils of golden flame, erupted skyward with a thunderous roar, startling even the half-crescent cold moon into hiding behind the clouds. At the height of the storm, a great black ship pitched and reeled, wave after wave of wind and water driving straight into the hold. Across the deck, thick, river-like streams of congealed dark blood spread without restraint, and dozens of corpses lay tangled in chaotic heaps — human above the waist, squid-like tentacles below, some still twitching in spasmodic convulsion.

Two figures stood balanced atop the two masts, utterly immovable amid the wind and the waves.

“Hand it over. Otherwise, you end up the same as them.”

Tang Ze’s sword pointed at the pile of rotting flesh beneath his feet. His emerald-green hair was soaked into limp, separate strands.

At the far end of the mast, a woman’s poised and lovely face blurred behind the surging seawater. Everything about her, save that face, was black skin clothed in overlapping fish scales that gleamed with a slick, wet light.

She laughed coldly.

She released her grip on the mast — her webbed “hands” letting go — and suspended herself upside down from it by her feet alone. She opened her mouth and spat out a pearl wreathed in purple mist, snatched it in one hand, then vaulted in a single bound into the sea below.

In the instant before she hit the water, a ringing declaration rang out: “You — will face retribution!”

A colossal whirlpool surged upward from the depths of the sea. The great ship, reduced to the scale of a tiny ant, began to spin without pause. A hideous cracking sound rose from all directions, and within mere seconds the hull split in two at its midpoint, dragged by the force at the whirlpool’s center toward the ocean floor.

Tang Ze leapt high into the air. With his ability, escaping a sinking ship was, in truth, far too simple.

Yet while he could leave the ship behind, he could not outrun the invisible surge of force that chased him upward. It was an absolute cold — cold enough to freeze the world itself — a force that belonged to no human being.

This thousand-year sea enchantress had used her own life to fashion this act of devastating vengeance.

Within a radius of ten li, the sea’s surface froze solid in an instant.

Tang Ze was trapped in mid-air. Unable to dodge in time, his left foot was caught fast in an enormous pillar of ice.

To spare the leg, he would have to sacrifice his life.

The absolute ice conjured from the sea enchantress’s life-core was more unyielding than any glacier in the Antarctic — it would never thaw, save by dousing it with the fresh blood of a hundred sea enchantresses.

Tang Ze raised his sword…

Two completely different colors of blood converged and merged on the blade, becoming another strange color entirely.

With no strength left for the graceful ease of before — no more darting and leaping across the sea’s surface light as a swallow — Tang Ze could only cling to the wreckage of the ship and choose to float…

I am waiting for you to come back! Waiting for you to come back with it! Waiting for you!

Whose voice was humming in his ear?!

Hers, surely. That woman on the land beyond the sea, waiting in bitter longing.

Yes — he had made her a promise. He would return, bringing back what she wanted.

But return… how could he return?!

Tang Ze’s body grew colder and colder…

A warm liquid, carrying with it a sharp and nauseating fishy reek, seeped slowly from the tip of his tongue into his body.

Every cell on the verge of freezing to death gradually revived in the midst of this uncomfortable warmth.

Tang Ze lifted his heavy eyelids. A shadow, backlit, blurred and indistinct, pressed itself into his field of vision.

Cough, cough!

Something that had no business being there seemed to have seeped into his lungs — the thick, overpowering fishy smell choked him into a violent coughing fit.

It was then that Tang Ze saw clearly: what was being expelled from his mouth was not merely saliva, but blood mixed with saliva. His chest was already drenched and sodden, his white clothes long since turned scarlet.

A gust of hot breath, blunt and unrestrained, blew directly onto his face. He raised his head further, and found a face caked with dirt and filth looming close, barely a hand’s width from his own. A head of hair wild and tangled as brushwood swayed in the wind, its ends sweeping across his forehead and nose in irregular intervals, giving off a strange smell.

A hand — or perhaps more accurately, a claw — with long black fingernails cradled a thick leaf rolled into the shape of a cone, in which a residue of red liquid still trembled and swirled in faint motion.

“What are you?!”

Tang Ze shouted and shoved those hands away, then dragged his maimed limb backward, simultaneously reaching by instinct for the sword that was never far from his side.

His panicked gaze swept in every direction. Not far off, several vast and unruly mountains stood shoulder to shoulder in the thin mist, the land at their feet a wilderness of tangled weeds and jagged stones, with numerous stone caves rising to heights of several tens of meters running in a line from the mountain’s base to the shore — they looked less like natural formations than something man-made.

Behind him, the crashing of waves rose and fell in surging succession. Tang Ze turned his head, and where sky met sea, everything dissolved into an undifferentiated gray blur — there was no discerning any direction at all.

“My sword?! Where is my sword?!” Tang Ze bellowed, both hands scrabbling across the ground in a frenzy, the searing pain of his wound having long since gone numb.

The figure that had been crouching in place all along watched Tang Ze’s near-frenzied state without moving a muscle, then after a long moment rose, turned, and walked toward a large tree with a crooked trunk a short distance to the right.

That figure’s back, viewed from behind, was no different from an ordinary human’s — slight, even, the build of a woman. The figure wore black animal hide, and from the chest hung a string of round beads, round and translucent white, smooth as mutton-fat jade. Arms and calves were exposed, feet bare, the dirty skin caked with mud and filth.

Only now did Tang Ze get a clear picture of this figure’s full appearance — and his heart began to race in a way he could not suppress.

His gaze followed the figure as it moved.

Beneath the tree lay a wild deer, its neck awash in crimson blood, its four hooves still twitching at irregular intervals.

Tang Ze understood now what it was he had just been made to drink.

The “person” walked to within less than a meter of the deer, and from beneath a layer of fallen leaves retrieved Tang Ze’s lost sword.

It walked back. With a clang, it tossed the sword down at his side.

“What are you?! Where is this place?!” Tang Ze seized his weapon and leveled it at the “person” who stood there in silence, watching him.

But his arm no longer had the strength to support the weight of this long sword, heavy as solid rock. The weight he had so long grown accustomed to now exceeded his limit of endurance.

Clang.

His arm went slack and fell. The sword, striking the ground, struck sparks off the loose stones scattered across it.

It was not merely that he could not lift the sword — he found he had even lost the extraordinary ability to tell whether the creature before him was human, demon, or something else entirely.

The “person” walked to his side, bent down, and hooked an arm under his, then began dragging him in the direction of the stone caves. Though slight in build, its strength was well beyond the ordinary — probably a match for two normal adult men.

Tang Ze expended every last drop of his strength and could not break free.

He wanted to raise his sword, but could not lift it.

He had never once imagined he would be reduced to such wretched circumstances. The dashing man he had once been — slaying demons and vanquishing monsters with ease and elegance — grew more and more distant from the person he was now…

Tang Ze was a professional-grade demon hunter, but one who served only a single employer — the Tumen Group, an empire of ambition bent on bringing the world’s economic lifeblood under its sole dominion.

Yet he had never accepted the label of “employee.” The chairman of Tumen, that white-haired old man teetering on the edge of the grave, had announced at a banquet a year prior — in person, with his own mouth — the betrothal between his granddaughter and this particular “employee.”

This coming Christmas would be the day he welcomed his fiancée into their home. She was a woman of striking beauty, yet perpetually wan and frail — and she was the one who had herself chosen the wedding date.

She had been born with a strange affliction: on the first and fifteenth of every lunar month, she could not breathe, suffering so acutely that she wished only for death. Her grandfather had summoned renowned physicians from every corner of the world — each one left empty-handed. Every advanced instrument at their disposal had been used merely to sustain her life by the thinnest thread to the age of seventeen — until, in that same year, a lama told her grandfather that her illness could only be treated by distilling the life-cores of demons and monsters from across the world into medicine, fighting poison with poison to preserve her life for good. Without it, she would not survive to eighteen.

And so a long-term contract was placed before Tang Ze. From the moment he signed his name to the present, more than four years had passed. For her sake, the demons who fell to his sword over those years were beyond counting, and their life-cores had easily become his to claim — becoming, in the end, one among many “medicines” in his fiancée’s bowl.

The pursuit of the sea enchantress lurking in the depths of the Western Sea was to be his final “assignment” before the wedding. His fiancée’s illness seemed to have flared again recently, and the life-cores of minor demons were no longer sufficient. He had to find those who had cultivated for more than a thousand years.

A thousand-year sea enchantress was the ideal choice.

Yet he had botched it.

He had assumed the sea enchantress would dutifully surrender her life-core. For a demon of her level, even losing the life-core would not mean death — they could retain their physical body and live in the world like an ordinary person, growing old in time.

It turned out that demons and enchantresses also understood what it meant to die rather than submit. After witnessing her companions fall one by one to his berserk blade, she had chosen to destroy her own body, compressing every ounce of her resentment into the life-core detonated by her very existence, and refused to let Tang Ze have his way…

His skin ground raw and burning against the rough stone and grit, Tang Ze was dragged along, helpless and dejected, until at last they came to a halt outside a stone cave.

“Eee-eee… ooo-ooo…”

The ground began to tremble, and a chaotic clamoring sound poured out from the cave mouth in gathering waves — like an infant just learning to speak, babbling random monosyllables, though the voice was far coarser and more alarming than any infant’s.

Two creatures — looking similar to the one that had fed him deer blood, yet more than twice the size — came running out of the stone cave. From their chests hung strings of the same sort of white “necklace.” Their skin was black as coal, and beneath the long hair blown back by the wind, every face was square as if cut by a blade and grotesquely ugly — most notably the noses, as large as garlic bulbs, puffing out steaming white breath with a rushing sound. Their wide mouths, gaping back to the ears, were each drooling a trickle of saliva from the corner in uncontrollable excitement, as though they had caught the scent of the most delicious food in the world.

Seeing the ferocious, ravenous look in their eyes — or in its eyes — Tang Ze understood even in his confusion that he was the target they had locked on to.

In an instant, sharp claws sharp as knives were hovering a hair’s breadth away, each movement radiating a desire to tear him apart. Tang Ze weakly raised his arm to block.

Roar!

A low, furious sound erupted right beside him.

That figure turned around, seized the enormous hand reaching for Tang Ze’s chest, and with a powerful outward fling sent the giant creature flying backward without a sound, crashing into a great boulder and splitting it clean open. Before the creature could collect itself, the figure vaulted up like a monkey, landing behind the second companion, then bit down hard on that one’s ear and tore, wrenching away half a piece of flesh.

Ooo-ooo!

The injured one clutched its ear, screaming and lurching to one side.

Tang Ze watched the “person” in astonishment — crouched slightly, ready to launch a second attack at a moment’s notice.

A language unlike any human tongue burst from this “person’s” mouth — soft and fine, completely unlike the furious growl of a moment ago — though the voice, however far from rough, carried authority and warning that could not have been plainer.

The two unfortunate creatures, badly wounded, cast one reluctant glance at Tang Ze, then sloped off in sulky retreat.

Having narrowly escaped catastrophe, Tang Ze slumped to the ground, tilted his head, and looked at his “lifesaver.” He rasped his hoarse throat and asked once more: “Who are they? Where is this… where is this place?! Do you understand what I am saying? Who are you?”

His rescuer crouched down, picked up a thin twig from nearby, and began to scratch laboriously at the ground.

Tang Ze leaned over with great effort and squinted for a long time before making out that what had been traced was a single lopsided character: Nian — “念.”

Thank heavens — it turned out this creature could understand human speech after all.

“Your name is ‘Nian’?!” he asked tentatively.

The figure gave a slight nod, then continued to scratch.

“Woxi Mountain… this place is called Woxi Mountain?!” Tang Ze turned his head and looked around. “Those two… are your companions?”

Nian nodded again, discarded the twig, and then hooked an arm under Tang Ze once more, dragging him toward one of the middle caves.

The cave exhaled a musty smell of perpetual darkness, mingled with the unpleasant odor peculiar to decomposing organic matter, and contained not a single piece of furnishing — save for a thick layer of dried grass packed tightly into one corner just inside the entrance, pressed flat and firm, its surface bearing the clear indentation of a resting shape.

This was Nian’s home?!

Nian dragged Tang Ze onto that pile of grass and turned, striding out of the cave mouth.

Before long, Nian returned, a leg of some beast slung over one shoulder and a fistful of green grass topped with small purple flowers pinched in one hand.

Tossing the meat leg in front of Tang Ze, Nian sat down, stuffed the grass into his mouth and chewed noisily for a while, then with a splat spat a mouthful into his palm — and without a word smeared this clump of grass-paste mixed with saliva directly onto Tang Ze’s severed limb.

A burning, searing pain erupted at the wound, tangled with an unstoppable, maddening itch.

Tang Ze clenched his teeth hard, forbidding himself to cry out, while the beads of sweat wrung out on his forehead dropped one by one.

Nian stood to one side, watching in stony indifference as Tang Ze doubled over the wound, writhing in agony.

“Damn it…”

Tang Ze hugged his severed limb and collapsed onto the grass mat.

He thought he would die of the pain — yet gradually, the piercing agony inexplicably began to ebb away. Something like a cool breeze seemed to rise above the wound, stroking it with the gentle touch of a small soft hand, growing more and more soothing, until all pain, all wound, dissolved under this strange “caress” and quietly disappeared.

Tang Ze wiped the sweat from his forehead, drew a long breath, and sat up, turning his gaze to the injury.

Where there had been shredded flesh and raw blood, a layer of newly grown skin and tissue had taken its place. Hairless and unsightly as it was, the transformation was enough to astonish Tang Ze — and fill him with gratitude.

Nian poked him on the shoulder with a finger, then pointed at the meat leg on the ground.

“You… want me to eat?”

Tang Ze tried to read Nian’s meaning.

Nian nodded, walked forward, seized hold of a section of the leg, and with a light tug pulled free a piece of lean meat, then tossed it into Tang Ze’s lap.

The overpowering, gamey smell assaulted his senses. As hungry as he was, he simply could not bring himself to eat raw flesh like a primitive, as though blood were drink and fur were food.

Tang Ze raised his head, looking at Nian with a helpless expression.

It was then that he got a clearer look at Nian’s appearance. The features concealed beneath the grime were utterly unlike those of the others. Those eyes in particular — they held none of the companions’ greed or ferocity, their irises clear and pellucid, capable even of conveying a trace of infant-like, unknowing innocence.

If all that black mud and grey dust were washed away, this might well be a delicate-looking youth — or perhaps… a young woman?!

Indeed, even now Tang Ze could not determine what gender this small-bodied yet immensely powerful Nian actually was.

Nian, apparently unable to read Tang Ze’s expression, pushed the hand clutching the lean meat toward his mouth.

The salty, fishy juice smeared against Tang Ze’s lips. Accustomed as he was to wine and steak, this most primitive and unrefined of flavors threatened to make him gag.

Nian looked at him in incomprehension — he had not brought his mouth to the meat. Perhaps in Nian’s eyes, this was the finest delicacy imaginable.

“Do you all… ordinarily eat things raw like this?” Tang Ze held up the lean meat and asked.

Nian tilted his head and wordlessly confirmed it.

Tang Ze looked around. Lying across the cave entrance was a pile of dried-out branches, and nearby, several smooth stones.

“Branches, stones — bring them over here for me!” Tang Ze pointed in that direction and addressed Nian.

Nian turned, walked toward what Tang Ze had indicated, and in a single trip gathered everything Tang Ze wanted, carrying it back and setting it down before him.

Tang Ze moved off the grass mat — free of the torment of pain, his body felt lighter than it had in some time.

He sat on the ground and in a few movements stacked the stones into a rough stove, broke the dry branches and laid them inside, then dusted off his hands. He extended his left index finger, aimed it at the center of the branches, and closed his eyes, silently focusing.

He hoped he still had the ability to ignite a flame — even the smallest spark would do.

But after a long wait, nothing happened. Whatever extraordinary power he had possessed had been entirely extinguished in the sea enchantress’s final act of vengeance.

“No fire…” Tang Ze drew back his hand with a rueful smile.

Without a word, Nian walked out of the cave mouth and returned shortly after, carrying two small white stones.

Clack — clack-clack — clack!

A continuous volley of strikes sent sparks flying from the stones in Nian’s hands.

A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the dried branches.

Nian bent down and blew gently on it, coaxing the small flame to the verge of life.

“You…” Tang Ze was somewhat taken aback, then smiled at Nian. “You are remarkable.”

Nian made no response, tending carefully to the little flame until it blazed up with vigor.

Having done all this, Nian stepped back and stood to one side, watching Tang Ze quietly.

Tang Ze selected a branch — somewhat longer and thicker than the rest — skewered the meat on it, and held it over the fire, turning it slowly.

The gamey smell gradually fell away. The tender meat above the fire sizzled and popped with droplets of fat, and a rich, distinctive fragrance spread outward to fill the entire cave.

Nian crouched down. The firelight painted his face red; his throat worked in a swallow, as though he were suppressing a mouthful of saliva.

Judging that it was done, Tang Ze brought the meat to his nose and sniffed, then ventured a small bite. The sweet, savory juice of the meat flooded every last taste bud at once.

Nian stared blankly at him, and at the piece of meat in his hands.

Tang Ze caught the look on Nian’s face just then and paused his chewing. He blew on the meat to cool it, tore off half, and placed it before Nian. “Eat. Meat tastes best this way.”

Nian did not bother waiting for it to cool, and swallowed what was in hand in two bites.

Licking his mouth, Nian went and brought over the entire remaining leg, tore it into chunks and arranged them in front of Tang Ze, pointing at the flame.

Tang Ze understood at once, and with a smile skewered the pieces one by one and took up the role of impromptu cook.

Firelight rose and meat fragrance filled the air, giving the cold, dim cave a quality it had never possessed before.

Nian could eat a great deal. Perhaps this was beyond anything Nian had ever dreamed — that a single extra step could turn raw flesh into something magnificent.

A familiar trembling ran through the ground.

Tang Ze looked sharply toward the cave mouth.

Several enormous silhouettes stirred at the entrance.

Nian stood up, ran to the opening, and called back and forth with the figures gathered there in the language only they understood, turning occasionally to glance at Tang Ze.

Then Nian led the cluster of companions behind him and walked in long strides toward Tang Ze.

Tang Ze’s heart clenched tight.

Yet his anxiety was immediately proven unnecessary. This time, their target was not him — it was the still-sizzling meat he held in his hands.

Nian took the roasted meat from Tang Ze and distributed it one by one into each companion’s hands, gesturing for them to eat.

The cave was instantly filled with a great chorus of chewing and smacking sounds.

Then followed a brief silence.

The large creatures exchanged glances with each other, and at last turned their gaze as one toward Tang Ze.

This time, Tang Ze sensed no murderous intent.

The large creatures gabbled among themselves for a spell, then ran out of the cave in a mass rush.

Before Tang Ze could work out what was happening, they came flooding back in, each one shouldering an entire skinned animal carcass.

Looking at the mountain of raw meat piling up before him, and then at the group of creatures hopping about in excitement behind them, Tang Ze understood their intention.

He breathed out slowly — then, like a skilled professional, with Nian’s assistance began what might be called a somewhat bizarre feast of barbecue.

He was no fool. He understood that if he did not comply with these creatures’ wishes, he would very likely find himself in danger of being torn apart once more.

In his judgment, the more imposing the stature and the more fearsome the face, the simpler the mind. Provoking them was easy; winning them over was equally easy.

Tang Ze’s first day on Woxi Mountain passed in a haze of smoke and fire.

Yet the effort he had invested in this “setting down the sword and taking up the spatula” won him a fair return.

This simple diplomacy of barbecue gave Tang Ze a safe foothold on Woxi Mountain. At the very least, none of its “residents” would ever again regard him as something to eat — instead they came to see him as a useful talent capable of creating delicious food, and the change in their attitude toward him was a transformation of the fundamental kind.

Though Tang Ze still could not understand a word of the language spoken by these not-quite-human, not-quite-anything-else creatures, through simple gestures and movements he gradually learned to communicate with them. He came to understand that before his arrival, this large group had been living a life entirely indistinguishable from that of primitives. They could make fire, it was true, but to them fire’s one and only use was lighting torches for illumination — a shameful waste of something so magnificent.

And so he taught them how to build a stove, how to actually put fire to proper use, how to cook their food before eating it — and his most prized weapon, his long sword, seemed also to forget its own identity, taking on the humbler work of splitting wood and chopping trees.

The most elementary common knowledge of daily life left this group of large, black-furred creatures each acting as though they had been given the treasure of a lifetime.

Time slipped by and ten-odd days passed in a flash.

Aside from his extraordinary abilities, every other physical function Tang Ze possessed had returned to its former state.

On this day, he quietly left behind that group of “Kongs” — as he called them in his mind, for he always felt only the superhuman chimpanzee from film could compare to this band of primitives — who sat gathered together in a great feast. He took up a simple, crudely fashioned wooden crutch and limped to the seaside, to that shore where he had first opened his eyes, and stood there looking out at the sunlight scattering in a brilliant shimmer across the gently rippling sea, his expression grave.

Woxi Mountain — and what did it matter that he knew it was called Woxi Mountain? In this vast expanse of ocean, this was an isolated island, cut off from all the world.

He wanted to return to his world. But where was the way back?!

The clear sound of rustling came from behind him, someone treading on fallen leaves and walking toward him.

Tang Ze did not turn. He only stared, transfixed, at that blur where sky and sea became one immeasurable expanse.

Someone gave him a blunt poke in the middle of his back.

Tang Ze turned. He found Nian standing behind him — that simple face, that simple expression.

These past days, Nian had remained constantly by his side, taking on single-handedly every piece of heavy work that required great strength. He ought to thank Nian properly — without Nian, he might well have long since become food for the fish.

He smiled at Nian, whether the smile was understood or not, and pointed toward the far horizon. “Nian, do you know anything of the world beyond this place?”

Nian shook his head, eyes completely blank.

“Out there is a place utterly unlike Woxi Mountain. Towering buildings, bustling traffic, perfume drifting everywhere — and money, haha.” Tang Ze smiled, as scenes of another life flickered before him.

Nian remained as blank as before.

“Never mind — even if I said it, you wouldn’t understand.” Tang Ze patted Nian on the shoulder. “Did you come to find me for something?”

Only then did Nian grab his arm and begin dragging him toward the mountain’s summit.

“What is it?” Tang Ze had no choice but to quicken his pace to keep up with Nian.

All the way to the foot of the mountain, some distance from the stone cave cluster where they lived, a clearing laid itself open before them — its border formed by great pale-blue stones arranged in a hexagonal shape. Before Tang Ze had even drawn close, he could already feel a quality of solemn gravity in the air that differed from any ordinary day.

The “Kongs” of Woxi Mountain had turned out in force, their dark forms filling the clearing in a dense, seated mass. At the center, upon a great red boulder that had been deliberately smoothed and polished, a “Kong” of even more powerful build sat in composed authority — atop its head, a great shock of red hair the color of fire. The golden hide draped over its body, the enormous round beads hanging from its neck, all without exception marked its elevated station.

A single cry thundered from that large creature’s mouth — with a force that seemed to crack the heavens and split the earth.

At that cry, those below bent their waists and lowered their heads as one, crossing their hands over their chests in a gesture of utmost reverence.

Nian led Tang Ze over and sat down among the rest.

Then several of those seated in the front rows went forward one by one, lining up in a neat row before Red Hair, and one after another stepped forward to deliver what appeared to be a report — a lengthy stream of babbling to the leader in turn.

Red Hair gave a slight nod, its imposing gaze sweeping over its subjects below from time to time.

Abruptly, it pushed aside the subordinate blocking its line of sight and pointed a long sharp fingernail directly at Tang Ze, seated to the right, speaking in its rumbling, incomprehensible tongue — seeming to ask why a stranger had appeared on Woxi Mountain.

Tang Ze’s nerves tightened.

Yet its subordinates moved quickly to whisper into Red Hair’s ear, and at least one of them, from somewhere, produced a piece of still-steaming roasted deer meat and placed it before Red Hair, chattering away at length while pointing at Tang Ze.

Red Hair, half convinced, half skeptical, pushed the deer meat into its mouth.

A moment later, springtime arrived on that ugly face.

Tang Ze exhaled, the taut cord of anxiety going slack.

Red Hair ate the entire piece of deer meat in a single stretch, and still unsatisfied licked its mouth, then pointed again at Tang Ze and gestured for him to come forward.

Nian gave him a push, urging him to go quickly.

Tang Ze hesitated a moment, then walked before Red Hair.

Red Hair examined him carefully up and down, then pointed at his chest and asked a question of the subordinate standing nearby.

Tang Ze could not understand what Red Hair meant.

After receiving the subordinate’s reply, Red Hair thought for a moment, then removed several beads from the enormous necklace at its throat, pressing them into Tang Ze’s hand. It pointed at his neck, making sounds in its rumbling tongue that seemed to indicate he should hang them around it.

Nian appeared at his side without Tang Ze noticing when, visibly pleased, took the beads from Tang Ze’s hands, drew a thin cord from the front of his waist, strung the beads onto it one by one, and at once hung the finished piece around Tang Ze’s neck.

Was this a reward for having changed their way of life?

Tang Ze looked at the few white beads resting against his chest — each barely smaller than a chicken’s egg, every one luminous and translucent through and through, seemingly with something like flowing water quietly circling within. They were beautiful things.

It turned out that Woxi Mountain also held its general assemblies.

Back at their dwelling place, Tang Ze turned over in his mind the just-concluded episode with its moments of alarm giving way to safety.

These past days he had shared a cave with Nian. Though Tang Ze had thought his wound fully healed, Nian still came every day to find fresh medicinal herbs, continuing to apply them to the affected area, and had also procured a fresh animal hide for him so that he could sleep in comfort in the cold, damp cave.

Tang Ze thought that if the opportunity ever arose, he would find a proper way to repay Nian.

Lying on the grass mat, Tang Ze was drifting in idle thought when a rat, brazen and unhurried, appeared through a crack in the cave wall and streaked past the back of his head.

Tang Ze’s hand shot out by instinct — never mind that what it had grasped was only a fistful of dried grass — and he flung it at the rat with force.

A rat, naturally, had no reason to fear such a feeble projectile. In an instant, it was gone without a trace.

Yet Tang Ze’s hand, where it had seized the grass, now touched something neither soft nor hard.

He turned onto his side and rummaged about with two fingers. A blue thread-bound book of considerable age came into his hand.

In such a wild and desolate place — how could such a thing exist here?!

Tang Ze sat bolt upright, held it close to the torch mounted above him, and opened it.

Inside, he found it was no book at all — the yellowed, moisture-warped pages were filled entirely with brush-written notes, a personal journal.

Fortunately, though the script was in traditional characters, it was relatively neat.

“More than a month has fallen to Woxi Mountain. When will the day of return finally come?”

Tang Ze read on, line by line.

“Food is hard to swallow. Sleep does not come. I gaze toward my homeland. I think of my wife and children. What sins did I commit in my previous life, to receive such retribution in this one? Born a person, and yet spending my days among beasts — eating raw meat, drinking foul blood. All those years of studying the sages — wasted, wasted.”

The further he read, the more certain Tang Ze became that something was not right.

“To take such a wife — neither human nor beast — is this fortune? Or disaster? Without this wife, I would surely have perished long ago under her sharp claws. With this wife, to face her day and night — how am I to endure it?”

“I am grateful that little Nian does not take after its mother — some comfort at least. Holding the swaddled infant, gazing out over the vast deep sea — when will we return, when will we return!”

“Today the wind is still and the sky is clear — a fine day to put out to sea. If not now, then when? Only little Nian is hard to leave behind…”

Snap! Tang Ze closed the journal.

With his intelligence, sketching out a reasonably complete picture from the scattered fragments of this journal was not difficult.

Looking across the whole of Woxi Mountain — who else could have written such a sprawling journal in that half-classical, half-vernacular style? The writer spoke of “little Nian” again and again, and when Tang Ze examined the descriptions more carefully, the probability was nine in ten that years ago a man had accidentally found himself stranded on Woxi Mountain. Not only had he not been eaten, but he had taken one of the female “Kongs” as his wife, and fathered Nian.

“Does not take after its mother…” Tang Ze suddenly understood, murmuring half to himself: “No wonder this one looks so different from the others.”

He glanced outside — Nian, who ordinarily would have been back by now, was still nowhere to be seen.

On a sudden impulse, Tang Ze tucked the journal into his pocket and limped out of the cave.

The night’s weather was exceptional. Looking out, the white mist that usually clung to the mountaintop day and night without dispersing had actually thinned considerably, and what hung in the sky was no longer the retiring sliver of a waxing moon — a full moon, rounded and complete to perfection, poured its silver radiance generously and without reserve over the ground below.

From the caves elsewhere on the mountain came wave upon wave of snoring like rolling thunder.

Rising at dawn and resting at dusk — in this, at least, the strange creatures of Woxi Mountain seemed to have acquired something almost human, maintaining the same simple pattern of waking and sleeping that was the most unadorned mark of humankind.

Tang Ze followed a small path toward the copse of trees across from the stone caves.

Within that grove there was a natural depression in the ground filled with water — a reservoir of rare freshwater that had never been known to run dry. The whole of Woxi Mountain depended on it for daily drinking. Nian seemed particularly fond of this spot; Tang Ze had seen Nian sitting alone by the pool in a daze on several occasions.

Perhaps Nian had gone there again.

Tang Ze guessed as much and made his way toward the pool.

Sure enough, before he had even reached it, he caught the sound of vigorous splashing — a great deal of noise, the kind produced by deliberate motion.

By the water’s edge stood a slight silhouette, gripping tightly a sharpened fork fashioned from a branch, thrusting it swiftly back and forth through the water with powerful, rapid strokes, sending up large sprays.

Tang Ze lightened his steps and moved to take up a position behind the old tree nearest to the pool.

The silhouette was indeed Nian — spearfishing.

Tang Ze watched Nian take from the fork a large fish that was still writhing, its silver scales shimmering with moisture under the moonlight.

At the sight of a living fish, Tang Ze suddenly recalled that a few days earlier he had mentioned offhandedly that it had been quite a while since he had eaten a freshwater fish.

And this Nian had actually remembered that casual remark, and had come out in the dead of night to catch fish in the pool.

Watching that small, busy figure in the moonlight, Tang Ze felt an inexplicable and unfamiliar feeling stir in his heart.

He stepped out, deliberately letting his footsteps make a sound.

Nian had just happily taken hold of that large fish when the sudden sound of footsteps caused Nian’s palm to slip — the fish fell into the water with a splash. Nian’s heart lurched, a stumble threw off all balance, and just like the fish making its escape, Nian pitched forward headfirst into the pool.

“Nian!”

Tang Ze rushed over in a panic, his clumsy footing nearly sending him to the ground himself.

“Give me your hand!” He lay flat at the water’s edge, stretching an arm toward Nian, who had surfaced with only her head above water.

Nian looked up at him, then did not give him her hand — and swam to the bank herself, clambering out with ease.

Soaked through from head to foot, she shook out her hair back and forth like a small dog, sending droplets flying all over Tang Ze’s face.

Perhaps the water running continuously down her face was uncomfortable — Nian rubbed her cheeks briskly with both hands.

Tang Ze looked at Nian, the astonishment in his eyes deepening layer by layer.

Nian was a girl.

Though she had a pair of ears tapered to sharp points like a wolf’s, the face beneath the filth now washed clean by water was covered in the fine, pale skin that only girls possessed — round, almond-shaped eyes, a straight and delicate nose, and lips that glowed red from within.

The “clothing” Nian wore had never been thick to begin with, and waterlogged, the animal fur that ordinarily billowed in a puffed-up mass was plastered flat against the lining beneath. Without effort, every feminine feature was laid bare in the clear moonlight.

“You…” Tang Ze was quite certain his head must have taken some kind of damage. All those days and nights together, and he had never once noticed that this small, immensely powerful person was a girl.

As for her current state, Nian appeared to have not a single trace of the self-consciousness an ordinary girl might feel. With complete indifference she walked to the side, picked up a skin pouch that had been set on the ground, and placed it in Tang Ze’s hands.

Inside the pouch, several fresh fish were still flipping about.

“Nian…” Tang Ze looked at her, temporarily at a loss for words, seeing only the water droplets trembling on her long lashes as they clung and quivered.

“Fish… eat…” Nian tilted her head, pointed at the pouch, and formed the simple words from her mouth, indistinct and halting. These past days, Tang Ze had taught her to speak whenever he had a spare moment. She had tried very hard, though the results were not particularly evident.

The pouch fell to the ground. Tang Ze abruptly pulled Nian into his arms, holding her close, tightly.

A certain feeling — vanished for too many years, so long that he had nearly forgotten what it was.

When he was very small, he had fallen ill, and wanted fish soup. His mother had sold her treasured ring, traveled a great distance, bought fresh fish, and made him the soup.

So sweet — a flavor he could never forget for the rest of his life.

After his mother’s sudden death, he had been driven out by the landlord, and from then on had wandered without a home, subjected to every manner of contempt and mistreatment. Not merely fish soup — even a fish bone had never had his name on it.

After becoming the exclusive demon hunter of the Tumen Group, the experience of fighting someone bloody over a bowl of spoiled food had become thoroughly a thing of the past. He had ordered servants to buy the most expensive fish, summoned the finest chefs to make soup for him — yet no matter how the chef tried, nothing could restore the taste of that bowl of fish soup from long ago.

This had become his greatest puzzle — and his greatest regret.

Yet just now, from that fish-reeking pouch, he had caught the scent of that lost and long-awaited flavor.

What was the flavor? Fish soup, or something else? Tang Ze could not say even to himself.

In his arms, Nian’s face showed little of the usual shifting emotion — save that her always-round wide eyes were now half-closed, long lashes drooping down to conceal her gaze.

After a long while, Tang Ze released her and, taking her hand, sat down side by side.

The hour was deep into the night. Tang Ze had no desire to sleep. He only wanted to talk — with the person beside him.

“Nian, do you know what I do?” He lifted his head, watching the moon that still shone bright, a self-mocking smile at the corner of his mouth. “I take money, and kill demons on behalf of others, and take their life-cores. My sword is covered in the blood of demons…”

Nian sat close beside him, watching the moon along with him, seeming not to have taken in what he was saying.

Tang Ze smiled — whether she understood or not, he let everything he had kept buried in his heart come out, one by one.

A woman who neither spoke nor responded was perhaps the finest companion to confide in.

At last, he took Nian’s hand and asked: “Would you like to come and see the world outside? Come away from Woxi Mountain with me?”

Nian turned and looked at his eyes.

“Nian, you are a child of human blood. You and I alike — we do not belong here. Let us leave together. Will you?” Tang Ze turned to the side and pointed toward the deep sea in the distance. “Do you see? On the other side of the sea — that is the world that belongs to us both.”

Nian’s hand slipped from his.

“Nian…” He was somewhat taken aback.

Nian stood up, left him where he sat, and walked out of the grove.

Tang Ze watched her retreating figure, unable to understand…

The days on Woxi Mountain passed in monotonous plainness. Before he had quite noticed, Tang Ze had spent another ten-odd days and nights.

Nian, it seemed, no longer sought his company much. She was out from early morning and back late at night, and he had no idea what she was doing.

Tang Ze was not only concerned about what was on Nian’s mind — he was far more preoccupied with the question of how to actually leave this isolated island.

On the other side of the sea, a Christmas wedding was waiting for him.

This great occasion was one he had anticipated for a long time.

Yet Tang Ze’s hand went unconsciously to his severed limb. Could he, as he was now, still stand before her as dazzlingly as before — hold her in his arms and dance with her through a waltz he had never particularly enjoyed?

He drew a deep breath and sank down in dejected defeat onto the soft ground covered in short grass, staring vacantly at the seabirds drifting past through the air above.

From behind a nearby old tree, a small head quietly withdrew and slipped away without a sound.

The sky had been blanketed in gray overcast since morning. A wind rose off the sea, sharp and cutting as a blade against the face.

Tang Ze did not go out, remaining in the stone cave all day, idly leafing through the journal. He had hoped to find within its pages some method of leaving Woxi Mountain — but there was nothing. He did not know whether the journal’s owner, Nian’s father, had ever managed to leave Woxi Mountain. Judging from the final entry, with its noticeably trembling and hasty handwriting, the man had at least made an attempt to leave.

He was deep in the journal when Nian returned, carrying in her hand a small parcel wrapped in leaves.

Tang Ze set the journal aside and watched Nian walk toward him, step by step.

When the leaf wrapping was opened, two small black pellets the size of a little finger lay inside, enveloped in a potent and unusual smell.

Nian held the pellets out to Tang Ze, indicating he should swallow them.

“Nian, what are these?!” Tang Ze was baffled — his body had fully recovered, and there was simply no reason for him to take any kind of medicine.

Nian brought the hand closer still, as though determined that he eat them.

Tang Ze looked at her face — again plastered with a thick, black coating of mud, the true face that had revealed itself under the moonlight once more concealed without trace. The only thing visible were those round, large eyes.

Yet Nian’s gaze was somewhat different from usual.

“You want me to eat this?!” Tang Ze looked at the two not-particularly-inviting pellets and hesitated. “Why do I need to eat them?”

Two flashes of ferocity unlike anything he had ever seen from her shot from Nian’s eyes. She suddenly seized Tang Ze’s jaw in one swift, violent motion and forced his mouth open, then shoved the pellets in.

The hard little pellets dissolved the instant they touched his tongue, flowing rapidly down his throat without giving him the slightest chance to spit them back out.

Nian released him. Tang Ze clutched at his throat, the strange bitterness stimulating his eyes until tears poured out.

“You… you…”

Tang Ze fell to the ground, clutching at his chest in anguish. He felt as though his entire esophagus had been engulfed in flames that blazed hotter and hotter, as if to incinerate his entire body to ash.

What was Nian doing — what had she forced him to eat?!

He wanted to grab Nian and demand answers, but his tongue seemed to be firmly glued in place, and his limbs grew less and less responsive, strength draining slowly from every meridian.

His consciousness blurred by degrees. Before his eyes, the single Nian became two, and two became many, her deep gaze becoming a wavering line that pierced between his brows and passed through…

Tang Ze’s world plunged into darkness in an instant…

Splash… splash…

The unceasing sound of water assailed Tang Ze’s eardrums, drawing him back from the void, piece by piece.

He opened his eyes slowly. A brilliant blue sky poured down gentle sunlight — and immediately forced them shut again.

His palms moved in a blind search, finding a stretch of solid wooden planking beneath them, and — the long sword that had never been far from his side.

With a start, Tang Ze sat up straight. After a brief dizziness had passed, he found himself seated in something that was neither quite a boat nor quite a raft — a strange craft of some kind, moving smoothly and swiftly across the sea.

What had happened?!

Tang Ze pressed his hands to his head, straining to fill in that blank in his memory.

But it was no use. From the moment he had swallowed the two pellets to the present, every trace of consciousness during that interval was entirely absent.

Then, suddenly, his gaze drifted downward — and froze.

His severed leg had actually grown back.

Tang Ze felt a strong desire to remove his own eyes and examine them closely.

Yet sight and touch alike — every test told Tang Ze the same thing: his severed leg had indeed been restored. He was now, as he had been before, a completely sound and healthy human being.

How could this be possible?!

Tang Ze ran his hand over his “new leg,” thoroughly dumbfounded.

The pellets… could it be those pellets that Nian had forced him to swallow?

It had to be. It had to be — Nian had taken great care of him all this time. She would not harm him.

From bewilderment to wild joy, Tang Ze felt the urge to shout at the sky.

Yet as he always had, he forced himself to keep calm. For in the same instant of his wild joy, he had also noticed that this makeshift “wooden boat” he was riding had not a single means of propulsion — not even an oar — yet was moving with such speed, as though a pair of powerful hands were pushing it from somewhere unseen.

Without cause or reason, Tang Ze suddenly looked back.

“Nian!!”

This time he could not contain himself, and cried out in a voice that startled even him.

In the sea below the boat’s stern, Nian’s upper body was visible, her shoulders rising and falling in steady rhythm — and from that alone it was plain that this boat was moving entirely because of her.

“Nian! What on earth is happening?!” Tang Ze scrambled to the stern in agitation, still unsteady on his new leg.

Nian did not respond, breathing out slowly in faint puffs, the brine-tinged sea parting on either side of her in two even tracks.

“Nian! Tell me — my leg, and right now — what are you doing?!” Tang Ze was very nearly shouting.

Nian still did not respond. In her eyes, it seemed as though the only thing that existed in the world was the task of pushing the boat.

Tang Ze bowed his head, helpless before her.

An unknown length of time passed. By the position of the sun, it was now midday. He did not know which stretch of ocean they had crossed.

The speed of the boat slowed all at once.

“Father… left…” Nian forced herself to speak, with great effort. “Mother… chased… boat sank… Father, Mother… gone…”

“What?” From her single-syllable words, Tang Ze dimly made out a glimpse of old events long past.

“Woxi… mine… not… yours.” Nian continued, like an infant first learning speech. “You… go…”

“Nian!” Tang Ze reached his arm over the boat’s side, seized Nian’s shoulder. “These past days, you were always so busy — was this boat something you built for me?”

Nian nodded, but her eyes would not look at him.

Tang Ze tightened his grip. “Come with me! Don’t go back to Woxi Mountain!”

Nian shook her head, eyes still not looking at him.

At that moment, the deep rumble of an engine grew from faint to near, and a proper, modern ship appeared ahead to the right.

Nian’s gaze fell on the ship.

She released the hand gripping the hull, then uncurled the large hand clasped around her shoulder.

“Go…”

Nian’s round eyes finally brought their gaze to rest on Tang Ze’s face — but only for a single second’s stay.

Then she drew a quiet breath, and her whole body sank slowly into the sea…

Her black hair drifted beneath the water, like a cloud.

One hand still suspended in the air above, Tang Ze watched that “cloud” sink deeper and deeper, growing more and more indistinct, until at last, along with its owner, it vanished into the vast depths of the sea…

He suddenly felt very tired. Tang Ze’s hand fell lifelessly over the side of the boat, his soul seeming to have left his body, following something he could not himself describe, and sinking into the clear blue water below…

Three Years Later

“President! The Master requests your presence!”

The glass door slid slowly open, and a tall man in black emerged from within, bowing slightly toward Tang Ze, who was sitting on a sofa smoking in brooding silence.

Tang Ze ground out the cigarette, straightened his slightly rumpled suit, and rose.

Three years ago, a cruise ship had rescued him, unconscious, from the sea.

The wedding took place on Christmas Day, as planned. The bride on that day smiled more beautifully than she ever had before, and most importantly, she looked healthier than she ever had before.

The lama who had prescribed the treatment for her illness came to visit his unusual patient at the Tumen Group every year. When Tang Ze felt burdened by not having brought back what his fiancée had hoped for, the lama removed the string of round beads Tang Ze had been wearing around his neck all along, and asked Tang Ze to grind one of them into powder for her to take.

After that, her illness was uprooted and cured — no recurrence in three years.

The lama had taken away one of the round beads, and for three years had not returned to the Tumen Group.

The old man had died of illness the year after the wedding. Tang Ze’s wife, as the sole heir to the entire enterprise, appointed Tang Ze as the new president.

From that moment, Tang Ze formally bid farewell to his career as a professional demon hunter and took the helm of the Tumen Group, ranked first in the world.

Though Tang Ze’s extraordinary abilities had yet to return, he gave the matter not a moment’s worry. Because in everyone’s eyes, Tang Ze had come to possess nearly the whole world.

Tang Ze thought so himself. Everything that came before was no longer of importance — all of it could be buried.

Two days ago, the lama who had vanished for three years reappeared without warning. He took up residence, as was customary, in the suburban villa the Group had prepared for him, and passed word to Tang Ze that he wished to see him at the villa this evening.

Standing before the half-open glass door, Tang Ze paused his steps for a moment. He had never liked this slight, thin lama whose face was perpetually wrapped in black cloth — not even though he was the man who had saved his wife’s life.

He drew a breath, stepped calmly in, and gave a small deliberate cough to announce his arrival to whoever was inside.

“It has been three years since we last met, Tang Ze.” The lama stood with his back to him, facing the enormous floor-to-ceiling window. His rasping voice marred the moonlight that lay across the floor. “Ah — or rather, I should address you now as President.”

“The Master is too polite.” Tang Ze offered a social smile. “The Master has been away three full years, and now appears without warning. I wonder what brings you here?”

The lama turned, walked to Tang Ze, and from within his robes produced the round bead he had taken away all those years ago: “Come with me to the place where you obtained this!”

Tang Ze’s chest took what felt like a heavy blow, and certain fragments already grown hazy began to slowly sharpen.

“Why? What is the secret of this bead?” Tang Ze steadied himself and asked.

“It is no ordinary bead. It is called a gútu.” The lama’s eyes opened very wide; the deep fish-tail creases at their corners seemed almost to smooth themselves out. “Under all of heaven, only they possess them…”

“Gútu?!” Tang Ze repeated the word in a daze.

“Come with me to that place!” The lama grabbed Tang Ze by the arm — reaching up to do so, for Tang Ze stood a full head taller. “We leave tomorrow!”

Tang Ze’s irritation rose at once. He removed the lama’s hand from his arm and straightened his tie. “I am sorry — I have no idea how to find that place. Nor do I have any desire to go back.”

“There is no need for you to find it. I can find it. I only need you to come with me!” The lama’s irritation turned genuine. “Listen to me. Your position today was indirectly made possible by me. If you refuse to comply — then face the consequences.”

A chill crept along Tang Ze’s spine.

When a man accustomed to resolving matters with a sword has sheathed that sword for three years, what fades is not only the sword’s intimidating edge. What fades along with it, perhaps, is the edge of the man himself.

Tang Ze did not like this lama. To a large degree, that was because he feared him.

Clenching his teeth, Tang Ze ultimately chose to nod.

A smile appeared in the lama’s eyes.

The following evening, an inconspicuous old boat set out from the harbor.

On board: eleven people in all. The lama, Tang Ze, and the lama’s nine black-clad men.

After they had traveled some distance, the lama walked to the bow, took out the gútu and placed it in his palm, and with the fingers of his other hand began drawing circles around it, chanting a continuous stream of incantations.

The outermost layer of the round bead was “weathered” by the force of his circling fingers, fine white particles like sand spiraling upward in layer after layer, forming rapidly into a small, high-speed vortex in his palm.

“Come here.” The lama turned back and glanced at Tang Ze, who stood not far off.

Tang Ze approached. The lama made a sign to a black-clad man nearby.

The man immediately produced a gold needle about ten centimeters long, took Tang Ze’s left hand, drove the needle into his palm, and withdrew it in a single swift, efficient movement.

Before Tang Ze had fully registered what had happened, the needle had been handed back to the lama — and the needle was now covered in blood-red patterns like climbing vines.

“What are you doing?” Tang Ze looked at the small blood-point in his palm, somewhat angered.

The lama said nothing and placed the needle into the center of the “vortex.”

A blinding flash of golden light burst outward, accompanied by an eerie shriek. The “vortex” was split apart by the golden light into innumerable white specks that flew upward, made several slow circles, and without exception dropped into the sea below.

Tang Ze leaned over the side and looked down — a dark red cord edged in gold, buried just below the surface, stretched out in a straight line ahead of them, like a directional arrow marked on a road, pointing the way toward an unknown destination…

“Ha — follow that golden thread forward and we will find them soon enough.” The lama stroked the prayer beads looped around his wrist with satisfaction, the heavy robes flapping about him in the sea wind.

“Master, I need you to be explicit,” Tang Ze said, pressing down the bewilderment and anger in his chest. “Tell me clearly the purpose behind all of this. Since we are companions aboard the same boat, I believe I have a right to know.”

The lama gave a contented laugh, patted Tang Ze on the shoulder, and said: “What I am doing is of immense benefit — to you, to me, and to a great many people in this world.”

Tang Ze knitted his brows and said nothing.

“In the deep sea, there is a clan. They are called Yaksha.” The lama turned his prayer beads in his fingers. “They are neither human, nor beast, nor demon. They live apart from the world, in utter seclusion. The gútu round beads you brought back are the Yaksha’s own life-cores — the only inner-core in existence that need not be housed inside the body. Each Yaksha is born with its gútu, which comes into being alongside it, worn at the throat, growing along with them.”

“Yaksha…” Before Tang Ze’s eyes, there suddenly surfaced a face heavily caked in grime — and a slight, fragile silhouette beneath the moonlight…

“Heaven has treated you generously, giving you the fortune to encounter them.” The lama’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The Yaksha who gave you the gútu — judging by the size of the bead, that one must have been a thousand years of age, at the very least. Ha.”

“Gútu…” The past surged up all at once. Tang Ze reached down by instinct to touch his left leg and murmured: “Can the gútu truly regenerate a severed limb?”

“Regenerate a severed limb?” The lama lowered his gaze to Tang Ze’s left leg. “Your left leg — it was severed, back then?!”

Tang Ze drew a slow breath, and did not conceal it: “When I was hunting the sea enchantress, her life-core’s absolute ice sealed my left leg. I had no choice but to sever it to escape. But afterward…”

“Ha! So you are a man of great fortune.” The lama burst into sudden laughter, then just as abruptly stopped, seized Tang Ze’s arm, and said: “The Yaksha’s gútu is one of the rarest treasures in the world. As long as there is still a single breath remaining in the body — regardless of how grave the illness, regardless of what impossible affliction it may be — a single dose of gútu will without fail bring about a full recovery.”

“Truly?” Tang Ze looked at the lama in disbelief.

“Of course it is true. Is your wife not a living example? Apart from the gútu, the Yaksha have another extraordinary quality… hehe.” The lama gave a dry laugh and said no more.

Tang Ze had no interest in pressing him further. The lama’s account of the gútu alone was more than enough to consume his imagination for a very long time.

“You have been in contact with a Yaksha, and your blood still retains the memory. Combined with my incantation upon the gútu, this golden thread can guide us to the Yaksha’s home. And once we arrive there…” The lama’s fish-tail wrinkles smoothed out further than they had the night before.

“Once we arrive there?! What then?” Something moved in Tang Ze’s chest.

The lama released his grip, looked out toward the sky, and said: “When we possess a treasure capable of deciding the fate of countless lives — how many people do you think will prostrate themselves at our feet? At that point, you will hold not only the Tumen Group. You will truly possess the entire world. Ha — there are far too many people in this world who fear death. As long as you let them go on living in comfort, they will pay any price you name. Do you understand what I mean?”

Tang Ze fell silent. He could feel the blood in his body beginning, gradually, to churn.

A single Tumen Group, perhaps, truly was not enough.

Tang Ze thought back to his childhood — the children of wealthy families kicking over the leftover scraps he had begged so hard to obtain, grinding them under their feet, looking down at him with contempt: “A lowborn wretch like you is lower than a stray dog. Get lost. This world doesn’t belong to you.”

He thought of the old man, once overheard speaking to his confidants: “If not for his usefulness in obtaining life-cores for Sha Sha, if not for the fact that Sha Sha has feelings for him — what kind of man would we have let through our doors, with his background? He is simply not of our world.”

He thought of the whispers these past years, of those polite to his face but murmuring behind his back: “If not for relying on a woman, what exactly would he have to show for himself? No better than a kept consort. Truly a laughingstock. And our upper circles actually let someone like him pick up such a windfall. What a joke.”

A cold, bitter smile crept up the corner of Tang Ze’s mouth.

Three days. Their ship sailed on the sea for three full days.

On the evening of the third day, the golden thread that had guided them all along finally ceased its progress before a stretch of coastline half-vanished in white mist.

The instant Tang Ze’s foot touched the uneven ground of this shore, memories held in deep storage for years came flooding back all at once, crashing over his mind like a tide…

Mountains standing hand in hand, tall stone caves, a grove holding a pool of fresh water… Woxi Mountain, entirely unchanged from three years before.

“This place is truly well concealed — no wonder so few people have encountered the Yaksha over the years.” Standing atop a large boulder, the lama looked out in all directions, his rasping voice unable to conceal the excitement beneath.

The group had yet to fully absorb the unusual landscape around them when, without warning, several ancient trees not far away began to shake violently. Two large dark figures burst from behind them, howling, and lunged forward.

Tang Ze’s hand went instinctively for his sword — only now did he recall that his sword had long since been sealed away in a locked chamber.

Faced with the sudden attack, the lama showed no alarm whatsoever.

The two black-clad men at his sides each pulled from their sleeves a roll of gleaming silken material and gave it a clean, practiced fling into the air. Two tightly woven silver nets materialized, seeming to attract one another through some magnetic force, entangling in the air a few times until the two nets merged into a single whole.

The black-clad men leapt high, each holding one end, walking across thin air as if it were solid ground.

The two dark figures — the “Kongs” in Tang Ze’s eyes, the “Yaksha” in the lama’s vocabulary — had not the slightest wariness toward what the black-clad men were doing, and charged forward without a trace of caution, flourishing their sharp claws, attacking the aerial intruders — perhaps in their minds, here in the world that belonged entirely to them, there was no need for “wariness.” They were the sole authority. They were kings.

These Yaksha’s minds were indeed very simple — Tang Ze’s assessment was once again proven correct.

Their simple minds had bought them fragrant roasted meat when applied to Tang Ze. Applied to the black-clad men, it bought them annihilation.

The light, dense silver nets descended from above, enveloping the two Yaksha within, as easily as catching flies.

At the points where the net’s weave intersected, silver spines several inches long instantly emerged, driving deep into the immobilized Yaksha bodies.

Both Yaksha clutched the net with their claws, their ox-like eyes wide open, their anguished gaze cutting through the net and falling on Tang Ze, who stood to one side.

A flash of surprise passed through their bloodshot eyes.

Ooo-ooo!

Their voices shifted from howls to cries of weeping.

“You…” Something unexpectedly strange stirred in Tang Ze’s chest.

Before the words were out, two more black-clad men vaulted from either side. Each held a short dagger thin as a sheet of paper, driving it straight toward the targets caught within the net.

Hiss!

Their movements were uncannily symmetrical — arms sweeping sideways in one clean motion, one going left, one going right.

Two parallel flashes of silver passed.

Blood poured from the Yaksha’s throats. Before Tang Ze’s eyes, the previously spotless silver-white mesh of the net bloomed with one crimson flower after another, more and more of them, growing denser and denser, until at last all was a sopping, dripping river of red…

Crash!

Two enormous bodies toppled to the ground.

The two black-clad men flicked their arms, and as the nets opened, the silver spines vanished as if they had never been. The Yaksha’s bodies convulsed violently, the dense small punctures across their bodies seeping blood outward, quickly forming a pool beneath them.

Only then did the lama stroll forward, looking down at the two creatures barely clinging to life at his feet. He bent and tugged from their necks the white luminous gútu beads. Though their owners were covered in blood, the beads were too smooth for a single drop to cling.

“Excellent!” He held two strings of beads before his eyes and gave them a slight shake, his half-open eyes shining with a brilliance that surpassed anything before. “Such a gain so soon after coming ashore — ha ha ha!”

Tang Ze’s ears were filled with that laughter. He looked at the two Yaksha lying on the ground, at their eyes that had yet to close, and felt a sudden dizziness.

“Remember — their vital point is the throat. No different from a human’s.” The lama assumed the posture of a conqueror and slapped Tang Ze on the back. “Though they have immense strength, as long as they encounter the silk net I prepared specifically for them… ha, easy work!”

So saying, he signaled with his eyes to his subordinates.

A new, sharp long sword was placed before Tang Ze.

“I know you are accustomed to using a sword.” The lama smiled and pointed ahead. “Out there, there are more prizes to be had. Don’t you want them?”

Want them?

Want what?

Gútu beads?

Or something else entirely?

Tang Ze’s head was buzzing, a roiling chaos.

Yet his hand, in the end, closed around the cold hilt of the sword.

The lama gave another dry laugh — Tang Ze’s choice satisfied him.

The group moved forward.

Tang Ze’s torn gaze wandered, searching without intending to search — looking for a certain figure.

Without warning, a rustling sound from above. Everyone looked up, and a dark shadow cut through the great canopy gathered overhead and dove into the large stones in the distance, gone.

The lama and his followers exchanged glances, then carried on ahead as though nothing had happened.

Tang Ze fell behind the group. He wanted to walk faster, but his legs did not feel like his own — some force kept pulling him back, pulling him toward the way they had come.

All along the path, no other Yaksha were encountered.

The lama stood before the cluster of stone caves, surveying the surroundings by the last light of the setting sun.

Except for the sound of the waves, Woxi Mountain’s stillness was exceptional — more so than usual.

“The others…” The lama turned his prayer beads, murmuring.

Before the words were finished, the ground underfoot began to shake violently. The sensation was familiar to Tang Ze — but today this shaking was far more intense than anything three years before.

Terrible howling broke out — first from one place, then two, until finally the sound that reverberated across the entire mountain was more shattering than a tiger’s roar or a lion’s bellow.

They had been found out.

Tang Ze’s cold palms broke into a sweat.

Indeed — from within the stone caves, from the slopes behind them, from the grove at their backs, well over a hundred Yaksha of all sizes burst out.

The one leading them, Tang Ze recognized at once — Red Hair, the one who had given him the gútu. After several years, the creature seemed even more powerfully built, the shock of red hair atop its head even longer, streaming backward in the wind.

Their eleven were surrounded on all sides.

Tang Ze’s heart began to pound. He remembered well how easily this pack of Yaksha hunted and killed the various fierce animals of the mountain. Two Yaksha had been felled just now by the lama — but that was only two.

Against a whole pack of Yaksha, what were their chances?

The trembling of the earth grew more and more severe. The lama was as composed as ever, but the prayer beads in his hands were turning faster and faster.

“Kill!”

The lama’s prayer beads came to a sudden stop, and from his lips fell that single word.

The eight black-clad subordinates instantly leapt outward in all four directions. Four silver-wire nets revealed themselves in the air, two men to each net, each choosing a direction and advancing at a rapid stride toward the surging Yaksha.

Controlled by the eight, the four nets shifted freely in size, expanding in the blink of an eye to enormous proportions — a single net was more than sufficient to enclose twenty “prey.”

The Yaksha had never used weapons. Against even the most ferocious of beasts, they always came bare-handed. This time was no exception.

Yet they could never have understood that the most ferocious beast in the world was not the wolves and tigers of Woxi Mountain — but humankind.

In an instant, silver light flared in every direction. The killing proceeded with ease amid the mournful, trapped howling. Blood bloomed in the air in countless vivid and enormous flowers, then fell one by one onto the net.

The moon revealed half its face and poured down its light, and in Tang Ze’s eyes it was the same red as the stained nets — a sheet of bloodied crimson.

Was it the moon that had changed color, or was it his own eyes?

Tang Ze’s sword stood motionless, planted in the ground.

Suddenly a Yaksha that had slipped through the net leapt from nearby, landing just behind Tang Ze, within arm’s reach.

It had been a long time since he had moved in combat, but the reflexes and instinctive counterattack of what had once been the finest demon hunter had not deserted him.

He dropped his body and ducked under the razor-sharp claw raking across his spine, then pivoted with the motion and kicked a solid blow into the creature’s lower abdomen.

The Yaksha stumbled, fell back several steps, and charged again, undaunted by death.

Tang Ze had already turned to face it, the two of them standing opposite each other.

The wind rushing toward his face reeked of a desire to tear him into pieces.

Yet in the instant those claws were about to reach Tang Ze’s face, something strange flashed in the Yaksha’s eyes, and the motion of its hands wavered.

This Yaksha remembered the man now standing before it with raised sword. The one who had roasted meat for them in smoke and fire.

Tang Ze clearly could not read the expression of a rough, unrefined Yaksha. For him, the single instant of the other’s hesitation meant only one thing — an ideal opportunity to strike back.

The hand rose, the sword fell, as easy and graceful as three years before.

A line opened precisely across the center of the Yaksha’s throat.

The Yaksha stood there like a statue, frozen in that posture of hesitation.

The wound split open. Blood surged out.

The opponent that had stood like an iron tower fell heavily backward, raising a cloud of dust.

Tang Ze stepped forward, looking at the Yaksha’s stubbornly open eyes. The hand reaching for the gútu at its chest stopped in mid-air.

“You’ve still got it.” The lama, who had been watching from the sidelines all along, applauded Tang Ze — then added with a trace of mockery: “Dare to kill, yet dare not take the spoils you’ve earned?”

Tang Ze looked at him, and his hand moved, tearing the gútu beads from the still-barely-breathing Yaksha’s neck.

“That is more like you.” The lama gave a satisfied nod.

At that moment, several screams from ahead drew all their attention — not the howling of Yaksha, but the screaming of human beings.

Severed limbs flew outward, blood erupting in the moonlight and tracing brief, strange patterns before splattering to the ground, quickly swallowed by the Yaksha blood that wound through the crevices in the broken stone like rivers.

The Yaksha’s chieftain stood atop a jutting boulder, breathing like a bull, the torn remains of silver-wire nets wound around its body, countless slender silver spines driven into it from head to foot. The golden hide that had wrapped its body was almost unrecognizable beneath a sight-shocking red. Blood — impossible to say whose, perhaps its own, perhaps that of the humans it had just torn to pieces — dripped down from those clumps of matted fur.

The lama’s expression shifted. The last subordinate standing at his side shuddered involuntarily.

Red Hair’s ferocity and power beyond imagination had shattered all their hopes of a swift, decisive victory.

Eight black-clad men were now a heap of mangled debris indistinguishable from wreckage, scattered in disorder across the ground.

Roar!

Red Hair looked down at the bodies of its companions strewn all around it, threw back its head, and bellowed.

Pain, fury, grief — as though the whole of Woxi Mountain might split open.

“Master…” The last black-clad man took several steps back. “We… should leave as quickly as possible — things are not looking favorable.”

Having said so, this man who had come ashore radiating intimidation turned and bolted back the way they had come.

“Fear of death is human nature.” The lama did not spare the man so much as a glance, gave his arm a light shake, and the small, nimble dagger was in his palm. He turned his hand and threw. “But not every coward gets to live.”

Thud!

The fleeing man pitched to the ground.

The dagger had passed clean through his back.

At the lama’s action, Tang Ze showed no trace of surprise. He only looked at him once and smiled.

Strange — all Tang Ze wanted to do right now was smile, regardless of what confronted him.

Why? He could not himself say.

The face wore a smile, yet something in his chest was as if pricked by needles…

“Let us handle this one ourselves.” The lama set the prayer beads on his wrist and stepped forward toward Red Hair.

Then he stopped abruptly.

From behind Red Hair’s vast, mountainous body, another figure slowly emerged — thin, small, limping, moving with a certain heaviness. The same wild tangled hair, the same pointed ears. The body was wrapped in blood-soaked black hide; one shoulder was draped with a fragment of torn silver-wire net, the exposed silver spines glinting with a bright, crystalline light.

The moonlight fell, illuminating a pair of round, wide eyes, clear as water.

Tang Ze’s breathing paused for several seconds.

A once-familiar name surfaced slowly and distinctly in his heart.

With a small effort, the figure threw something round that she had been holding.

It rolled for a moment, then came to rest not far from Tang Ze.

It was the severed head of one of the black-clad men — eyes wide with a terror that death had not allowed them to close.

“A stray that slipped through the net…” The lama looked at this small figure whose face was concealed under a coating of mud, and for a moment an inexplicable dread halted his steps.

On this Yaksha’s body, there was no pain to be seen, no fury, no grief, no sign of an assault mounted without regard for self-preservation.

She stood apart from it all, surveying the bodies before her with detached calm, and then the Tang Ze who stood across from her.

“Nian!”

Tang Ze’s sword fell from his hand with a clang.

He should have known — for Red Hair alone to have torn eight people to pieces in so short a time was no simple feat. The image of Nian striking her own two companions in order to save him was still vivid and clear. How much strength lay hidden in this frail body of hers, this woman born of both human and Yaksha blood?

Tang Ze could not calculate it, nor did he want to. He dared not even look at her too long.

“What are you standing there for?! Finish them off, and we can go back!” The lama barked at him, then narrowed his eyes. “Only one step left, and we will have built the world we deserve!”

The last words were barely out before the lama stamped the ground and vaulted up several feet, flicking his wrist to draw out a steel wire thin as a strand of hair from the prayer beads coiled around it, driving straight for Red Hair with deadly force.

Red Hair, furious beyond all limit, was hardly one to yield — mustering the last of its remaining strength and before the blood could drain away, it flourished its claws and came charging to meet the lama.

Swish!

The supple wire coiled around the claws Red Hair had aimed at the lama’s heart.

Red Hair paid the wire no mind — the thousands upon thousands of silver wires woven into the great net had not been enough to hold it; what threat could this single “hair” possibly pose?

Yet what Red Hair’s simple mind could not have anticipated was that the lama’s single wire, combined with his incantation, was more than a match for ten of those nets.

Shattering agony erupted at Red Hair’s wrists. It assumed, as it had when dealing with the nets, that raw force alone would sever this maddening thread. But this time, the harder it pulled, the deeper the wire bit — cutting through muscle, through meridians, layer by layer.

Red Hair wanted to use its sharp fangs to bite through the lama’s throat, but the cunning lama stayed suspended in midair, refusing to touch ground, maintaining absolute safe distance from Red Hair. Unless Red Hair could also walk on air as he did, there was no hope of getting anywhere near him.

Still accustomed to using brute force, Red Hair continued its futile struggle to wrench free the wire binding it.

One more push, and Red Hair’s claws would be severed clean off.

The lama laughed coldly, chanted another incantation, and the wire automatically extended several lengths, looping through the air before slipping neatly around Red Hair’s throat.

The lama exerted force, and the wire snapped taut.

Without warning, a dark figure launched itself from the ground and crashed into the lama.

Sensing danger, the lama gripped the wire in one hand and flicked out a gleaming dagger with the other, hurling it with full force at the one charging in.

“Nian!” Tang Ze suddenly shouted. “Don’t!”

The dagger was extraordinarily fast, cutting a silver-white line through the air — yet Nian was faster. She flipped nimbly, and the dagger grazed past her side and flew on.

No one had anticipated that Nian was a Yaksha who could fly.

In an instant, Nian had already landed beside the lama, seized his shoulders with both hands, and sank her teeth into his throat.

Spurt! Warm blood shot from between Nian’s teeth.

“Ah!!!” Caught without the chance to evade, the lama howled in pain, roaring in furious desperation: “Tang Ze!”

Tang Ze looked up in silence at what was happening in midair.

Perhaps the pain had fogged the lama’s mind, for he had forgotten that Tang Ze was no longer the demon hunter of former times, soaring a hundred feet in the air — no extraordinary powers remained. And in truth, even if Tang Ze had the ability now, he would not have acted.

Right now, what he wanted — very much — was for this lama to die. To die at Nian’s hands.

Seeing no response from Tang Ze, the lama had no choice but to release the wire and reach back to grab Nian’s arm. But Nian’s movements were always one step ahead — she seized his wrist first. Two sharp snapping sounds followed, and the lama’s hand bones were crushed to splinters in her grip.

Beads of sweat the size of soybeans broke out on the lama’s forehead. He let out a muffled grunt, his body shaking violently — like a convulsing, plague-stricken fowl — white foam trickling from the corner of his mouth, until at last his perpetually “resilient” head slowly drooped, blood flowing freely down his neck until he was drenched in it.

Nian held him, gave him a shake — what was in her hands was not a man but a dead fish.

She let go. The lama crumpled onto the broken stones like a heap of mud.

Nian came back to the ground, and gave the lama a kick with her foot.

“Nian!” Tang Ze, who had been tense with worry on her behalf, finally let out a long breath, and ran the few steps to her side. “You… I…”

Nian gave him not so much as a glance, and walked directly to Red Hair, who lay on the ground with barely a thread of breath remaining, carefully removing the wire coiled around its neck.

It was only then that Tang Ze noticed with shock why Nian walked with such difficulty — she was missing her left foot. A simple, roughly shaped wooden stick was bound below her knee.

“What happened to your foot?” Tang Ze seized Nian’s arm, asking urgently.

Nian pulled her arm free, her gaze never leaving the companion lying on the ground.

Red Hair’s injuries were severe. There was scarcely an unbroken patch of flesh anywhere on its body. The wounds from the silver spines had ceased flowing blood — perhaps the wounds had clotted, or perhaps there was simply no blood left to flow. Red Hair now had breath only going out, none coming in.

Nian tried to pull Red Hair’s arm, but Red Hair did not move. From its throat came a faint, labored whine. Then, with great effort, it raised its arm, and the finger it pointed — pointed directly at Tang Ze, who stood there not knowing what to do.

Was it asking Nian to finish him?

The thought jumped into Tang Ze’s mind first, but was quickly dismissed.

There was not a trace of killing intent in Red Hair’s gaze as it looked at him.

The arm trembled slightly a few times, and Red Hair spent its very last strength. Its arm fell heavily, and its head tilted slowly to one side…

Nian pushed Red Hair’s arm repeatedly, speaking in the language only Yaksha could understand.

But Red Hair gave her no answer.

It was dead, eyes closed forever like the companions lying all around it, in this slaughter.

Nian stood up, turned her head in a slow, somewhat dazed survey of everything around her — the mountains, the trees, the stones, and the bodies of her companions, all sunken in absolute silence. The wind swept toward her carrying a thick smell of blood, lifting her tangled hair. The gútu beads at her throat rose and fell with her heartbeat, giving off a faint sound of contact.

Tang Ze stood rooted in place, not knowing what he should say to her or do. Everything before his eyes — the one most responsible for it was not the lama, not the black-clad men. It was him.

After a long moment, Nian limped toward Tang Ze.

“You… go…”

Two words, she gave him. Absolute. Final.

“Nian… you… listen to me…” Tang Ze seized her hand.

“Go…” Nian withdrew her hand, her eyes looking past Tang Ze toward the road behind him.

“Tell me — what happened to your foot?” Breathing in the blood-soaked night wind, looking at her covered in wounds, Tang Ze felt something suddenly wrench in his chest.

“Go…” From start to finish, Nian did not look at him, giving him only that single word, again and again.

“Nian, I…” Before the words were out, Tang Ze’s face changed violently. He shouted: “Watch out!”

He shoved Nian to the side.

But he was one step too late.

A beam of ink-black light shot from behind with precise aim, striking Nian clean, piercing straight through her head and emerging from the center of her brow.

A thin stream of blood seeped slowly from the point between Nian’s eyes.

Sea and sky, moonlight and stone, blended in her eyes into ribbons of every color, now blurred and now vivid, tangled together and drifting through the air, filling her entire field of vision. Amid the chaos, a figure stood — features indistinct, only a head of green hair, dancing in the light and shadow…

Tang Ze pulled the falling Nian into his arms, heedless of the countless dense silver spines still embedded in her body.

“Nian! Nian! Wake up! Wake up!” He shook the person in his arms hard, refusing to let her close her eyes.

Nian exhaled one long, slow breath, brought her gaze into focus on Tang Ze’s face, and slowly formed two words: “Not… hate…”

Tang Ze was struck still.

Not hate… Nian’s words were always so simple, yet always beyond his guessing.

“Nian! Nian! Don’t sleep — talk to me!” The weight in his arms grew heavier and heavier. Nian’s body kept sinking, her eyes drifting shut. Tang Ze lost his composure, calling out loudly and shaking her.

“Fish… moon…”

Nian’s voice grew fainter and fainter, like murmurs from a dream. At the corner of her mouth, something rarely seen bloomed — a smile…

She, who had never once smiled, used a smile to mark the final stop of her life…

“Nian…”

Tang Ze sat on the ground, holding Nian as she breathed her last, staring blankly at some point in the empty air.

A bout of coughing sounded behind them.

Someone pulled themselves upright from the broken stones.

The rolling of a stone drew Tang Ze back from his state of vacancy. He turned his head — and saw the lama, who had just moments ago breathed his last, shaking himself upright off the ground.

Spit!

The lama, battered and wretched, spat several black prayer beads from his mouth and gave two dry laughs. “Foolish, dull creatures, imagining they could contend with me in technique — hmph.”

Tang Ze set Nian gently down and rose, walking toward the lama.

“Your rapport with that Yaksha was impressive.” The lama’s face-covering cloth had slipped, revealing beneath it ugly scarring that looked like severe burns.

Tang Ze gave no answer, continuing forward, his fist slowly tightening.

The lama watched Tang Ze approaching without haste and said: “I know what you are thinking. But I advise you to abandon that idea.”

At a distance of barely two meters, Tang Ze stopped. He looked at the other man with cold eyes.

“An intelligent person should continue to be my ally.” The lama walked to Tang Ze and raised his broken wrist, gesturing at the bodies scattered all around. “You see all of this?! The world that belongs to us is here — in them. Not only their gútu, but they themselves are a rare and extraordinary treasure.”

Tang Ze said nothing, but a layer of bewilderment appeared in his eyes.

“Hehe — the gútu is a cure for a hundred ailments, and the Yaksha’s body is a medicine in its own right.” The lama’s gaze moved down to Tang Ze’s leg. “You yourself are a recipient.”

“What are you saying?” Tang Ze heard something between the lines and pressed him.

“The Yaksha are a remarkable clan. Even after death, their bodies take over a hundred years to decompose. Their limbs can be transplanted onto any human being who needs them, quickly fusing completely with the new body — as perfectly formed as if newly grown.” The lama grew more and more animated as he spoke, watching Tang Ze’s left foot. “Your left foot — it wasn’t the gútu that restored it. I imagine you understand by now how it actually came about. Ha ha.”

The lama’s words struck Tang Ze like a clap of thunder over his head.

His left foot had “grown back” — yet Nian’s left foot…

Heaven…

Tang Ze gripped his own left foot with force. A sensation like an electric shock, numb and sharp, shot straight from the sole to the top of his head.

Thud! Tang Ze collapsed to the ground.

The lama paid no mind to Tang Ze’s reaction and went on, as he pleased: “Look at what we have obtained — the bodies of over a hundred Yaksha. How many people do you think will come to us begging for a hand or a foot? Young man, this is not some Woxi Mountain. This is a treasure trove that belongs to us. You control the Tumen Group — transporting these Yaksha back in secret will pose no difficulty whatsoever.”

The words that followed, Tang Ze could no longer hear. His hand had not left his left foot. He was all but digging into it.

The lama walked to his side and said coldly: “They are only animals — neither human nor beast — surviving in the world through nothing but the most primitive means. They understand nothing of emotion. They are merely dull, stupid animals, so there is no need to make that face, and no need to reproach yourself. Look clearly at the road ahead. That is what matters most.”

“Ha ha…” Tang Ze rose slowly, wiped with a cold hand at the sweat seeping from his temple, and smiled bitterly. “Perhaps… what you say has a point. I was once stranded here, nearly torn to pieces and eaten by them. They are only savage animals who cannot even speak a human language…”

“Hehe — you understand, then. For these low-grade but highly useful creatures, their single purpose for existing in this world is to provide necessary service for people like us.” The lama smiled with satisfaction. “You and I working together, with these Yaksha besides — hm — as long as human beings value their lives, as long as they fear a life of missing hands and feet, then from now on there is nothing in this world we cannot obtain.”

“Mm.” Tang Ze sighed, then nodded, and turned his eyes toward the direction of the shore. “The Yaksha’s frames are all very large. The ship we came on may not be able to hold many.”

“Hehe — no matter. We’ll take a few of the slightly smaller ones back first, and then send a bigger ship — we can always come back.” The lama gestured for him not to worry, then looked at his own broken wrist. “Once we return, it won’t be long before I have a new pair of hands. Ha ha.”

Tang Ze walked to Red Hair’s body. “Let’s take all the gútu first. This one was the leader — its gútu is the largest. The one who gave me gútu all those years ago was this one.”

“Yes — collect all the gútu first and take them away.” The lama nodded.

Tang Ze bent down and tugged several times at the thin cord strung through Red Hair’s gútu, but could not manage to pull it free.

He raised his eyes and glanced to the side. Beside Nian’s body lay the long sword the lama had given him.

He walked over, picked it up, returned to Red Hair’s side, and with one clean sweep severed the cord in two. The gútu fell easily into his hand.

“Here.” Tang Ze placed the gútu in the lama’s hand. “There are quite a few more. I’ll go over that way. Move quickly — I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

The lama gave a pleased laugh. “Let us split up.”

So saying, the lama turned toward Nian.

But the moment he completed the turn, he sensed something wrong behind him — a fierce, cutting wind sweeping straight for the back of his neck.

Knowing in an instant that something dreadful was coming, he instinctively ducked his head, trying to avoid whatever danger bore down upon him.

Yet his movement was not faster than Tang Ze, who stood behind him.

For a moment, time seemed to reverse years back — back to that time of cutting down demons without number and the soaring, unbridled confidence of his prime. He was the demon hunter again, sword rising and falling, sending his enemy to the underworld in a single stroke.

The lama’s body was frozen in place. On the exposed back of his neck, a fine line appeared.

Quickly that line widened into a clean, even cut.

Blood erupted. The lama’s head parted from his neck, rolled along the ground, and came to rest. The slight body crumpled along with it.

The head, dulled with a coating of dust, stared upward with eyes that refused to close even in death — a gaze of poisonous hatred that perhaps had meant to find Tang Ze, but could now only reach, helplessly, toward the sky…

“If it were possible, I would have had you die at the hands of the stupid, dull creatures you spoke of.”

Tang Ze dropped the sword and returned to Nian’s side, gently removing one by one the spines that pierced her body.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry…

He murmured the words.

Not only to Nian — to the whole of Woxi Mountain, he owed the deepest apology he had in him.

This simple-minded pack of Yaksha — merely for having been given roasted meat, they had bestowed the precious gútu on him as a gift. And Nian — not only had she saved his life, but had paid such an enormous price to rebuild for him a whole and complete body…

Not hate…

Tang Ze finally understood what Nian had meant by “not hate” in her final moments.

The Yaksha’s world was too simple. In their eyes, perhaps, he was forever the good fellow who had roasted meat for them in smoke and fire. Their minds held no concepts like “purpose” or “interest” — the currency of the human world. They understood even less how the fate of Woxi Mountain today had been brought about entirely by one person alone — himself. It was not that they did not hate him; it was that they had no idea they should.

Their love and hate were too clean.

Nian had been right. She had always told him to go. This place was not his world. His unintentional intrusion should have been ended by a permanent farewell. But what had he done instead?

Tang Ze wanted very much to shed a tear, yet none would come.

His tears seemed to have frozen somewhere inside him. His blood too — all of it, in this moment, had stopped its hurried coursing…

Dawn came, and warm sunlight spread gently over all of Woxi Mountain.

Tang Ze stood holding a torch, silent before the Yaksha bodies gathered together.

After a moment, the torch arced high and fell upon them.

Boom!

Flames erupted and shot toward the sky.

Tang Ze had used every drop of fuel oil from the boat on them.

The firelight painted his face red.

“I’m sorry.”

He left those words behind, turned, and walked toward the grove that held the freshwater pool.

The pool lay still and quiet, a bubble or two surfacing from time to time.

Nian lay beside the water, the filth entirely washed from her body, and the sunlight filtering through the tree branches dappled her delicate, lovely face with shifting patterns of light.

Tang Ze, in the place where they had once sat side by side, dug carefully and steadily at the earth.

As he dug, he smiled at Nian: “The face you made when you were trying to catch fish — it was very funny.”

Nian’s long lashes rested on her young skin, trembling faintly in the morning breeze, as if in answer to his smile.

Tang Ze emptied all the gútu he carried into the earthen hollow and buried it with care.

When all was done, he went to Nian’s side, sat down, took her into his arms, and gazed out at the space ahead.

He would not leave. Not ever again.

The legend of the Yaksha — it should end with him.

So he said to himself.

Would that count as atonement? It didn’t quite seem so.

It was not that he would not leave — it was that he no longer knew where there was to go.

World — where is your world?

Tang Ze asked himself.

He did not know how much time passed before a voice drifted through his mind—

Tang Ze, nowhere is your world — because you lost yourself long ago.

Ha ha…

Tang Ze held the cold Nian tightly in his arms, and smiled…

The sun moved on in silence. Outside the grove, the flames still burned with unabated force. The waves struck the stones along the shore without pausing for a single moment.

The earth continued its turning. The people on the other side of the sea continued their lives as they always had, everything as before, nothing different.

If one day you find yourself stranded, by some chance, on a desolate island in the middle of the sea — perhaps you will see a white-haired old man holding a beautiful girl with pointed ears, sitting together in the moonlight. Perhaps you will see a set of white bones, lying before a tall stone cave. Or perhaps… perhaps you will see nothing at all, only the mute mountains and stones, listening to those nearby speak of legends half true and half imagined…

Epilogue

By the time the story ended, the tea in my cup had gone completely cold.

“Is Tang Ze still on that island?”

I suddenly wanted to know what had become of that man.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been to Woxi Mountain in a very long time. There is nothing of interest there.” Black Robe Number Two shook his head.

I picked up the conch shell and raised it to my ear. Inside, it was as if someone were speaking.

“If I recall correctly, Pu Songling also told a story about a Yaksha once — though that one had a much better ending.”

“When the choices are different, the ending is naturally different.” Black Robe Number Two looked at the conch shell. “Take this as a gift to welcome you.”

Ao Chi snatched the conch and said: “What’s this — using it to remind us that life is full of risks and choices must be made with care?”

“No. It is also a blessing.” Black Robe Number Two gestured between Ao Chi and me. “Neither of you stopped when you should have left, and neither of you left when you should have stopped. I don’t think you will in the future, either.”

“All right, I accept this gift.” I wrapped the conch up with a smile, stretched a long, lazy stretch, yawned, and leaned against Ao Chi, drifting gradually into sleep.

In my dream, there was the sound of the sea — moonlight shimmering on the water — and a girl with pointed ears. Her love and her hate were the cleanest treasure the world had ever held.