· Prologue ·

I have always despised thieves — especially those who steal from Bu Ting.

If I remember correctly, tomorrow is February 14th, Valentine’s Day. It’s barely six in the morning, not yet light outside. Zhao Gongzi stands before me — yawning mightily — and delivers his report with meticulous thoroughness: within the span of a single hour, Bu Ting’s kitchen has been relieved of one pot of chicken broth, half a basin of cold dressed chicken, two braised pig’s trotters, sweet-and-sour spare ribs, and an unspecified quantity of stir-fried napa cabbage.

What kind of person — utterly starving, utterly reckless with their own life — would do such a thing? So when I see Zhao Gongzi holding up a slight little girl by her right hand, I truly don’t want to believe she is a thief. Yet the vivid smear of sauce at the corner of her mouth and the little white grains of rice clinging there betray her completely.

“You…” I look her over. She is perfectly composed, focused only on swallowing the last mouthful of food. The deep blue V-neck woolen top, the dark-red plaid pleated skirt, the black knee-length stockings, the school emblem and English lettering embroidered at her collar — everything about her announces her surface identity: a schoolgirl, somewhere between middle school and high school. Her black hair, short and curly, is delightfully fluffy, and paired with her faintly mixed-heritage features, she is entirely like a pretty little doll. Meeting my questioning gaze, she struggles to swallow that final bite.

I signal Zhao Gongzi to set her down, walk up to her, and the very first thing I ask is: “Have you had enough to eat?”

The little doll grabs a cup of water from the table — never mind whether it’s hot or cold — pours it straight down her throat, wipes her mouth, and with a composure bordering on haughtiness, announces: “He told me to wait here for him. I was very tired, and very hungry. Isn’t this a guesthouse? I wish to stay.”

You can’t just waltz into my establishment and demand a room! That should be my line. She has no visible luggage — not even a purse — only a layer of dust coating her clothes and face, and a pair of leather shoes worn raw with wounds. And yet she holds herself with remarkable boldness. She didn’t even furrow her brow when she first laid eyes on Chi Pian’er and Zhao Gongzi — two decidedly non-human presences.

I already knew perfectly well that a normal guest would never set foot in my shop.

“Staying here costs money,” I yawned again. “The food you ate costs money too, as does the disruption to my sleep — all of it must be converted into a cash equivalent.”

She rummaged in her pocket and produced a small, brilliantly red, glittering object, which she spread open in her snow-white palm and extended toward me.

“Pigeon’s blood ruby?!” Every last trace of sleepiness was obliterated in an instant. I leapt up and snatched the gemstone into my hands — flawless in color, clarity, and cut, perfect by any standard.

“It’s all I have,” the girl said.

“Chi Pian’er! Show the guest to a room!” I ordered without looking up. “And whatever food is left in the kitchen — bring all of it to the guest. If it isn’t enough, Zhao Gongzi, go buy more and cook more!” You see, I am nothing if not adaptable. Bu Ting normally only accepts gold — but every now and then, a top-grade ruby coming through the door makes for a very cheerful occasion.

The words had barely left my mouth when a sharp sound cut through the air — a rush of killing intent surged from the darkness. In a flash, the girl took a heavy blow to the head, crumpled to the ground with a thud, and was out cold.

Behind us, Ao Chi stood in haughty silence, his scaled, luminous tail swaying, his gaze cold and unfeeling as he looked down at his successfully ambushed target.

Everyone was jolted by his sudden appearance and violent action.

A chubby, juvenile dragon can strike no one as impressive no matter what magnificent pose he adopts — yet the icy, merciless vigilance in Ao Chi’s eyes was something I knew all too well. And in that instant, I genuinely felt it: no matter what grotesque form his body had taken, Ao Chi was still Ao Chi — domineering to the bone, his killing intent undiminished.

“Look at you — utterly worthless!” Ao Chi hopped over and jabbed me in the head, letting out a cold snort. “One measly ruby and you go completely blind! Back in the Eastern Sea, I had treasures beyond count — a pearl plucked at random to set into a toilet would have been worth more than this!”

It seemed ten pounds of onion hadn’t been enough to reform him. I pried open his claws and was about to lose my temper, when he cut me off first, pointing down at the girl on the floor: “Do you think this is just some harmless little girl? This is a female blood demon — a higher-order existence than even a vampire! I caught her scent from a mile away! You let her in with your eyes fixed on money — aren’t you afraid she’ll paint Bu Ting red?!”

The moment the words “blood demon” were uttered, Chi Pian’er vanished without a trace. Zhao Gongzi maintained his composure, but the rigidity of his body climbed up by ten full degrees.

After a long pause, I said only one thing to Ao Chi: “Could you please go back to your nest and sleep?”

“Your husband sensed you were in danger and came especially to rescue you!” Ao Chi stamped his foot in frustration, then looked down at the unfortunate girl on the floor, his eyes gleaming with menace. “Let’s deal with her first!”

The words had barely left his mouth when a clear voice came from beneath our feet: “Don’t hurt her. She is no longer a true blood demon.”

A round chocolate bean, roughly the size of a thumb, tumbled out from the girl’s coat pocket. Ao Chi and I both crouched down, staring at this chocolate bean until we’d gone cross-eyed: “Are you… speaking?”

“The tree spirit’s Bu Ting in Wangchuan City — I’m the one who sent her here,” the chocolate said. “Only here can she wait for the person she needs to wait for.”

I scoured my memory carefully, but found nothing relating to living chocolate: “Ah… do we know each other?”

“Ten years ago, on Valentine’s Day, in a small tavern in Fleet Town, London — everyone was drinking, but you were drinking tea. The tea was a clear, vivid green, as though it had captured the finest moments of spring inside the cup. I asked you why you weren’t drinking, and you said you were afraid of getting drunk, because you were looking for someone. You gave me a playful taste of your tea — it was quite bitter, yet the aftertaste was sweet. In return, I played and sang you a song.”

The chocolate spoke slowly.

It was him?! A memory long shelved came flying back from a distant place.

Ten years ago, Valentine’s Day in Fleet Town. In that lively little tavern, I was alone. I was still searching for Ao Chi then — that man who had once vanished from my life without a word for twenty years. Over those long two decades, I had wandered through countless corners of the world, and the people I’d met, the songs I’d heard, had all gradually blurred in the relentless passage of time.

But I still remembered: that night, he sang David Gate’s Goodbye Girl. Every soul in the tavern was moved by his gentle guitar and his voice — including me. When the last note faded, I applauded him sincerely. The moment our eyes met, we both understood instantly: neither he nor I was human.

He also gave me a small gift box tied with a rose-colored ribbon, containing several pieces of sweet chocolate. A cold foreign night, Valentine’s Day spent entirely alone — to have someone offer such a song and such a gift was difficult not to find warming.

I told him I was a tree spirit who had come from China, and thanked him for the song and the chocolate. If we ever met again — if it happened to be Valentine’s Day again — he was more than welcome to come and claim a gift in return. He said he would remember that, and perhaps one Valentine’s Day in the future, he would truly come looking for me.

Before we parted, he asked: are you still searching for that person? I said yes.

He seemed genuinely puzzled, and asked why — why spend time without limit, crossing mountains and seas to search for another person.

Without thinking, I answered: because I have feelings for this person.

He turned thoughtful, pulled a small worn notebook from his coat, and wrote: Symptom of Sentiment, No. 17 — Endless searching. I couldn’t make sense of the phrase, and he offered no explanation, only saying that he was still learning.

Those old memories came rushing back in vivid clarity, and I looked at him in astonishment. “How did you end up like this?”

Ten years ago, he had been a young man full of spirit and charm. How had he now become… a chocolate bean?!

And yet — back then I hadn’t recognized his true form. I only remembered that, like me, he had a Chinese face.

“Is the return gift still valid?” he asked instead of answering.

“As long as it doesn’t involve killing or arson — yes,” I nodded.

“Then brew me a cup of tea,” he said, smiling with a quiet weightlessness. “Even though I can’t drink it now, just to smell it would be lovely.”

1.

What kind of person with nothing better to do would be so keen on a courage test.

Zhang Sanfeng tossed the black envelope onto the table, gathered up a pile of clothes, and carried them out to the dormitory balcony to spread carefully in the sun. A tumble dryer and sunlight were always two entirely different things — ever since she’d arrived in this country, she’d felt a faint dampness hidden inside her clothes, and they only felt comfortable after a proper airing in the sun.

She looked back, and her gaze settled once more on the black envelope. This morning, a representative from the “Rose Cross Girls’ Society” — which prided itself on gathering the most beautiful and intelligent girls in the entire academy — had dropped this letter on her. Written on the envelope were the nonsensical words “Official Invitation for the Courage Test.” As for the contents, she hadn’t had a chance to read them yet. But she had heard plenty about this society’s reputation and methods: its members hailed from all over the world, yet they shared three traits in common — their families were all quite well-off, their looks were passable, and they were all very eager to “establish their authority” in front of new students.

As a new student at Rose Cross Academy of the Arts in Fleet Town, London, Zhang Sanfeng had already gotten a taste of the Girls’ Society’s various tricks well before receiving this “Courage Test Invitation” — strange insects appearing in her meals, painstakingly completed assignments vanishing into thin air, dead mice in her shoes, and so on.

She could not begin to understand why some people delighted in hurting others. Were these people monsters without feelings? She had heard that the Girls’ Society’s ultimate strike against any new student they took a dislike to was to force them into a so-called Courage Test — they would write various tricky and outlandish tasks in an envelope, compel the person to complete them, and the result would invariably be a losing situation whether one succeeded or failed. Those who had been through a Courage Test reportedly ended up hospitalized from fright, or nearly drowned. The school administration had dealt with the Girls’ Society on multiple occasions, but for lack of hard evidence, and because the victims refused to come forward, nothing ever came of it.

Thinking through all of this, Zhang Sanfeng smiled. She had long anticipated the Girls’ Society would deliver its “ultimate strike” to her. In truth, from the very first day she entered the academy, she had already made enemies of no small number of people.

Sometimes, it isn’t hatred that creates an enemy — it’s jealousy.

Rose Cross Academy, established ten years ago — nicknamed “Rose Cross” — had always recruited from around the world, regardless of age, gender, or academic background, assessing only professional talent and future potential. Once admitted, not only were tuition fees waived, but students received a generous monthly living stipend. From the beginning, artistically gifted students from around the globe who lacked the means to study had come here to hone their craft, and without exception they emerged with distinguished results. The academy’s name grew ever more renowned. Eventually, whether one had money or not, many students considered admission to Britain’s Rose Cross a badge of honor. Those selected through rigorous screening were all extraordinarily gifted — in music, painting, or writing. And yet Zhang Sanfeng, a seventeen-year-old Chinese girl, could not read a full sheet of musical notation, couldn’t tell Picasso from Monet, and didn’t even know who Mark Twain was. At her entrance interview, she had simply sung an aria from the opera Madama Butterfly — a cappella — and the panel had passed her unanimously. Afterward, she had honestly told the examiners that she had heard the piece for the first time two hours before the exam, then sung it from memory, more or less.

Her honesty, in others’ eyes, read as naked showing off. Some admired her; others were jealous.

As for the outside world’s various opinions of her, she had no reaction whatsoever. Each day she simply moved through campus with her worn denim backpack — visible only in the back row of her required classes and vocal lessons — and the rest of the time she was like a lone wanderer, appearing and disappearing without a trace. Some said they had seen her creeping around outside the school’s internal archive room; others said she had been spotted in the garden behind the small eastern chapel at the crack of dawn, frantically digging at the ground with her bare hands — when asked, she said she was trying to plant some beans. But the thing she was most criticized for was her appetite: how could a girl possibly eat that much?

All manner of strange behaviors were attributed to her, and she neither denied nor explained any of them. With a look of complete detachment, she attended each day’s lessons on schedule, abided by every rule of the academy, did not provoke a soul and feared no one, and lived quietly as air. In short, the Chinese girl Zhang Sanfeng was swiftly labeled an oddity, and no one cared to get close to her — not even her fellow vocal students.

Zhang Sanfeng’s isolation was thorough and complete. But she didn’t mind.

Her purpose in coming to Rose Cross was not for herself.

The sunlight today was unusually brilliant. She leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at the academy spread before her — beautiful to the point of flawlessness at every turn, full of art and life — where young, spirited students moved about everywhere. Many possessed extraordinary artistic gifts. She often stood here watching them, wishing that one day, among them, she would see that familiar figure. Every time such a thought arose, a sharp pang would shoot through her heart.

Voices drifted up from below. Mrs. Bell — her silver hair magnificent, her voice always booming — was walking back with a basket of fruit, audible long before she came into view.

The student dormitories here were all single rooms. The dormitory supervisor for the boys’ wing was a middle-aged man with a black eye patch over his left eye — everyone called him Mr. Nick. Word had it his left eye had been injured as a child during a hunting trip back in his homeland. He always had a pipe clamped between his teeth, and his greatest joy in life was to sit with his one eye and happily leaf through women’s magazines. Looking after the girls’ dormitory was Mrs. Bell — though her voice was loud, her expression was as warmly gentle as a kindly grandmother from a fairy tale. She was forever knitting a sweater while eating various little pastries of her own making.

Mrs. Bell was, by all appearances, the only person in the entire academy to whom Zhang Sanfeng would proactively say hello.

She remembered the first day she’d moved into the dormitory: returning to her room after dinner, she found she couldn’t get the door open, because someone had filled the lock with glue. Naturally, no one stepped forward to take responsibility. She had contacted the locksmith on duty, who said he wouldn’t be available until the next morning at the earliest — and this intoxicated fellow had suggested over the phone, quite helpfully, that she climb in through the window of the adjacent room. Her room was on the fourth floor, with a hard marble terrace directly below.

Mrs. Bell had taken her in for the night. In the ground-floor office-cum-living quarters that the old woman occupied, she had warmed a pot of black tea for her and remarked that this sort of thing wasn’t the first time it had happened. She had even joked that Rose Cross students were a union of angels and devils alike — their artistic accomplishments shone like an angel’s face, putting those of ordinary talent to shame, and yet they were ultimately just one part of ordinary humanity; sometimes, the flaws and darker aspects of human nature stood out more sharply and more exaggeratedly in extraordinary-yet-ordinary children like these. Of course the bullied person would be unhappy — but turning it around, a life that is too smooth and easy is actually the more dangerous one.

As for the old woman’s consolation, Zhang Sanfeng only smiled. For her, once a person had endured something called hardship, these petty tricks from outside were simply not worth mentioning.

But she was genuinely grateful to Mrs. Bell, and thought her a good person.

From that day on, every morning and evening, whenever she passed Mrs. Bell’s door, she would stop to say hello. The old woman seemed very fond of this Chinese girl as well, and often gave her little home-baked pastries or pretty sweets.

Whatever the circumstances — having someone who cares is always a happy thing.

Zhang Sanfeng raised her eyes toward the source of the sunlight. England’s sky always seemed veiled behind a layer of gauze, the sunshine itself tinged with an unpleasant grey haze. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with geography — for many years now, everything her eyes settled on had carried a grey tint she could not shake off. Not only at Rose Cross; even at home, she had never been the one people were pleased to see.

She bowed her head and sorted through the bedding, warm from the sun. Airing the bedding and clothes whenever the sun came out was the one habit she had kept — the one habit she still had that was connected to “home.” When she was small, on every bright sunny day, her mother would take her and her little brother, humming a tune, each carrying something up to the rooftop terrace. Soon, “colorful flags” of all kinds would be fluttering overhead, and a faint, clean fragrance of laundry would drift on the breeze. Then, as if by magic, her mother would pull lollipops from her pocket — she and her brother would take them with delight and sit side by side in the bamboo chairs on the rooftop, their mouths full of sweetness. There was always a smile on her mother’s face. Sometimes you couldn’t tell whether the sunlight was falling on her face, or whether the radiance came from within her smile itself — especially when she looked at her two children, the tenderness in her eyes so full it seemed ready to spill over.

Her father never wore that kind of smile. Zhang Sanfeng had even wondered if he had simply been born without the physiological function of smiling. What he did — besides drink — was force her to eat. He would make her eat all manner of things, quantities far beyond what a normal child could manage. Then came the injections. He said she had a very serious illness and needed daily injections — a full syringe of blue liquid administered into the vein at her neck. Every time it hurt terribly, as though her internal organs were being scorched; she would cry out, again and again, then pass out from the pain. When her mother witnessed this, though she wanted to intervene, one look at her father’s eyes — red and wild like a beast’s — and she would only sob and retreat to another room.

Back then, Zhang Sanfeng’s greatest wishes were only two: that her father might smile at her just once, and that the injections would stop. She didn’t feel that she was sick. She went to school and came home just like every other child — except she ate more than all of them. Otherwise there was no difference. Even when the flu came and all her classmates fell ill, she remained perfectly fine. With a body like that, how could she not be healthy?

Her plea to stop the injections was flatly refused by her father, not even given a reason. All she knew was that the way her father looked at her was the way one looks at a dangerous wild animal.

The rare tenderness in her father showed itself only when he was alone with her little brother. She had glimpsed it through a crack in the door — her father fondly ruffling her brother’s hair, placing a toy in his hands, her brother happily throwing his arms around him and planting a kiss on his stubbly cheek, the warmth of family plain for all to see. And yet she was not an adopted child — she and her little brother were twins, born of the same mother.

Later she learned a phrase: “preferring sons to daughters,” and she asked her mother if her father simply didn’t like her because she was a girl. Her mother firmly denied it, saying her father loved her just as much as he loved her brother. Then, almost to herself, she murmured: He hates the person he sees in you — and that person is me.

Those words had left Zhang Sanfeng baffled ever since. She had seen old photographs of her parents together — those happy, close embraces and smiling faces, could they have all been faked? From as far back as she could remember, her parents never spoke of their past. What they presented to the world was a couple who had met, fallen in love, and married through perfectly ordinary channels, then worn love smooth in the flat years of daily life until only family affection remained — an ordinary husband and wife.

Before she could make sense of her mother’s words, the day after her twelfth birthday, her mother was gone. She had taken nothing with her and left nothing behind.

Her father continued to drink, as though her mother had never existed in this house at all — as though her staying or leaving mattered less than what was in his cup.

After that, she searched many places, but found not the faintest trace of her mother. Her father continued to force her to eat and force her to take injections; resistance meant a beating. But over those years, her father had grown noticeably older, and even the blows that fell on her no longer hurt the way they once had. The blue liquid, too, no longer caused her much discomfort. Time makes everything easier to bear.

Her little brother had it much better. Their father treated him well — though that harmony was, at best, the ordinary interaction between a father and son in a normal household. To Zhang Sanfeng’s eyes, even that was the pinnacle of happiness. Her brother had always been wonderfully sensible — whatever their father gave him that was good to eat or play with, he always shared half with her. Each winter, her hands would go terribly cold; when their mother was there, she would undo the front of her coat and warm her daughter’s hands against her own chest. After she left, the person who warmed her hands in winter became her brother. Three years before she arrived here, on her birthday, that child had secretly taken on half a month’s grueling work behind the family’s back, earning enough money to buy an expensive pair of gloves. When he gave them to her, he said: Sister’s hands are always like ice pops. If I’m not by your side, let these gloves take my place. A fourteen-year-old boy, already nearly 180 centimeters tall, his features and bearing handsome and outstanding — and a mind that outstripped most of his peers. That year, university acceptance letters were already laid before him — and more than one. He grew more and more to resemble their father in his youth, with one difference: her brother’s face always wore a warm, gentle smile. Zhang Sanfeng felt that the only warmth left inside her came from this twin brother, bound to her by blood.

He was the one person in this world she would rather die than hurt.

And yet — why had she said such terrible things to him? Why had she drunk so much that night?

If only I had been born an only child! Father gave all his love to you alone! It’s your existence that stole my happiness!

Those words still pierced Zhang Sanfeng’s heart like knife blades, even now. But they were undeniably what she had spoken aloud in that night of rampant alcohol. She still remembered the silence that followed after her brother heard them — and his back as he stormed out of the door.

Two months after that night, her brother packed everything he owned and left home. He had always been independent, giving no one cause for worry. He left two letters — one for their father, one for her.

In his letter, her brother said he had given up his domestic university offers and had already set out for Rose Cross Academy of the Arts in England. The academy was excellent, with no tuition fees and even airfare provided. He would return in three years, and they were not to worry — he would be fine. At the end of the letter, he wrote: You will always be my only sister. Everything I have, I share with you — including happiness.

She clutched the letter in her hands, her whole body cold.

To this day she did not know what her brother had written in the letter to their father. She only knew that after her brother’s unannounced departure, her father had grown noticeably older and more frail, and had never raised a fist at her again. For days at a time he would not speak a single word. Sometimes he would stare at her face in a daze for a while, then sigh and go and drink…

One winter a year ago, he passed away. His body, steeped in alcohol for so many years, could no longer sustain his life. I know you have always hated me. You may go on hating me. I was not good to you, but from now on — be good to yourself. Those were the words he had spoken in his final moments, clutching his daughter’s hand.

Her lone shadow fell against the hospital wall. Rain was falling outside the window. She did not cry. Her mother was gone, and now her father too. She kept his death from the world, telling no one — she would wait for her brother to finish his studies and come home before telling him.

Over those three years, she and her brother had stayed in contact only through emails and video calls. Seeing him through the screen, growing steadily stronger and more handsome, his smile still radiant — seeing the various prizes and honors he had won — the guilt that pressed on Zhang Sanfeng’s heart gradually eased.

This year was her brother’s graduation year. The day he had promised to come home.

But he didn’t come. Overnight, they lost all contact.

She moved heaven and earth to reach the academy — an overseas call, and the person on the other end told her that among the student records of the past three years, her brother’s name simply did not exist.

Who could believe that! The certificates and medals her brother had shown on video — all bearing the academy’s crest — the distinctive Rose Cross emblem on his school uniform, his transcript from every year: which of these was not solid proof that he had studied at this academy?

Besides, her brother had never lied to her.

Her instincts told her — her brother must still be at Rose Cross!

She had to go to Rose Cross. But that academy, across the ocean, never admitted outsiders. To get inside, she would have to sit the year’s entrance examination. She followed the admissions process, sent her résumé with a brief talent showcase attached, and the academy responded quickly with a formal invitation to come to England for an interview. Everything went smoothly — suspiciously smoothly.

Once in England, she tried reporting it to the local police. But after verifying the relevant records, they handed her an even more absurd result: there was no record of her brother ever having entered the country. In other words, according to all official records, her brother had never set foot in England.

Nonsense. A living, breathing person — how could he simply be “erased” like that? From her first day inside Rose Cross, her sense of certainty only grew stronger: her brother was absolutely still here. This intuition between twins was inexplicable, but it had never once been wrong. She had to find him — even if she had to turn all of Rose Cross upside down.

The sun slipped behind a cloud. Zhang Sanfeng drew a deep breath, carried her bedding back inside, and sneezed several times in succession.

She glanced at herself in the mirror — her complexion was growing noticeably paler. Was she catching a cold? Since a week ago, her body had not felt quite right: occasional headaches, an overwhelming desire to sleep, and no matter how much she ate, she had no energy. She pushed her fringe aside and touched the red mark between her brows — roughly the size of a fingernail. She didn’t know if it was a rash or something else; she couldn’t remember when it had appeared. It didn’t hurt or itch, but it simply would not fade.

She shook her head, breathed deeply, walked to the table, picked up the black envelope, and went out.

2.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t bother with these tedious women.”

A lazy voice came from behind her. Zhang Sanfeng — sitting on the east wing terrace reading the letter — spun around alertly.

At an unobtrusive corner of the terrace, he sat slouched on the grey-white marble railing in a devil-may-care manner, back against the ivy-covered wall. His brown hair took on a faint reddish hue in the sun that had once again crept out. He was dressed simply and lightly — just a cream-colored sweater over a grey vest, a dark blue checked scarf draped carelessly around his neck — and cradled in his arms was an old guitar, which he held steadily, his eyes fixed on the strings as he plucked a few experimental notes.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t sneak around lurking behind people’s backs,” Zhang Sanfeng snorted. She had seen this man before.

It must have been last week. She had been jolted awake in the early morning by a nightmare — in the dream, her brother was standing in the garden behind the chapel, waving to her, his expression urgent and anguished. He tried to call out her name but no sound came, and then a massive creature reached up from beneath the garden soil and dragged him down into endless darkness.

As if possessed, she had leapt out of bed — she couldn’t even recall how she had ended up behind the chapel. She only remembered calling her brother’s name with a heart full of grief, frantically digging at the ground.

Someone had passed by and asked what she was doing. She had startled, then said offhand that she was planting beans. The person gave her an extremely strange look and hurried away.

The soil here can’t grow the beans you’re looking for.

Some time later — she had lost track of how long — a pair of gently warm hands lifted her fingers, raw and bleeding at the tips, out of the dirt. He drew out a clean handkerchief carrying a faint fragrance and carefully brushed away the soil and bloodstains from between her fingers.

“Burning the stalks to boil the beans — the beans weep inside the pot. From the same root we grew, so why press each other so cruelly?” Your hands are also a part of your body. Why are you so careless with them?

The person’s voice was smooth and unhurried, like a lifeline arriving at precisely the right moment, pulling her completely free of the nightmare.

She gasped, slowly turned around — cold sweat soaking her — and into her dry, aching eyes fell his brilliant, courteous smile.

That day he had worn the same clothes as now — light and simple, yet he gave no impression of being cold. This person carried a natural warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.

“You speak Chinese?” Zhang Sanfeng studied his features — unmistakably East Asian, with double eyelids and large eyes, a straight high-bridged nose, lips of just the right fullness, as though glossed, healthy and dewy. His figure was tall and well-proportioned, his bone structure and musculature distributed with a casual perfection. Against the understated simplicity of his clothing, his lightly tawny complexion carried a quality that was at once rugged and refined.

It was very hard to feel any dislike for a man like that.

“I’m Chinese too,” he said with a smile.

Zhang Sanfeng noticed he wasn’t in a school uniform, and his age seemed quite young — she guessed he was one of those students who slipped out at night, shed their uniforms, and went clubbing in town.

“If you don’t get back to the dormitory, Mr. Nick won’t let it go,” she warned him.

The man laughed and said, “He’d have to roll the clock back ten years before he could manage me.”

“Ten years ago?”

He nodded. “I was a student here ten years ago. I’m not anymore.”

Zhang Sanfeng was startled and blurted: “How old were you when you came to Rose Cross? Going by your looks, you can’t be over eighteen.”

“Probably around the same age as you when I came,” he said, genuinely thinking it over, tilting his head and scratching the back of his skull in a gesture that was, despite everything, rather endearing. “Let’s just say I look much too young for my age.” His gaze then fell on the name badge embroidered at her school collar, and he slowly sounded it out: “Sanfeng… Zhang? You’re not called Zhang Sanfeng, are you?”

She was not the first person to express surprise at her name.

“The character ‘zhang’ with the standing cross radical, born at three in the morning, and my mother’s favorite tree was the maple, so — Zhang Sanfeng. Nothing to do with the founding patriarch of Tai Chi,” she explained. She rarely said so many words to a stranger, but this man put her at ease, and conversation came very naturally.

“I see,” the man said, as though a puzzle had clicked into place. He gave her hand a light squeeze. “My name is White. I was once a student here — and the most celebrated most sought-after student on campus, no less. Now I’m a teacher here.”

“Teacher White…” She looked him over again — from head to toe, there was not a single thing about this man that resembled a person of authority or dignity. “You really stayed on as a teacher right after graduating?”

He nodded. “Of course. Nearly seven years now.”

At those words, she suddenly grabbed his hand and asked urgently: “Then do you know a Chinese student named Huo Jiyao? A young man — enrolled three years ago!”

“Huo Jiyao?!” He paused, taken aback. “Are you close to this person?”

“He’s my younger brother!” Zhang Sanfeng saw enormous hope in his expression and spoke incoherently: “I know he’s here! But I can’t find him — I’ve asked the students, I’ve asked Mrs. Bell, they all say there’s no such person. The police say he never entered the country. I came here specifically to find him! You know him, don’t you?”

His expression quickly returned to normal, and he shook his head. “No — I was just startled by your reaction. I genuinely haven’t heard of anyone by that name. If the police say he never entered the country, then he certainly never came to England.” He paused, then added: “Although it is strange — you say you’re full siblings, yet you don’t share the same surname.”

Another soap bubble of hope burst. She lowered the hand that had seized his and said: “I took my mother’s surname. He took my father’s.”

He straightened up thoughtfully and said in earnest: “I think you should try looking elsewhere.”

“No.” Zhang Sanfeng shook her head with absolute certainty, lifted her face, and said to him, word by word: “He is here.”

“What makes you so sure?” He raised an eyebrow.

“A feeling.” She looked him in the eye without a flicker of doubt. “We’re twins.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. He shrugged and said: “Fine. I’ll go check the internal records for you and see if some error has occurred. But don’t get your hopes too high — I think helping you with this is probably pointless.”

She was overjoyed — the surge of elation at finding hope in a desperate moment made her tears fall despite herself. Watching her lose her composure, the man suddenly asked: “What if you never find your brother?”

A question designed to puncture the mood entirely.

“The worst possible outcome…” Zhang Sanfeng murmured, then looked straight at him. “Even if my brother were trapped in hell, I would trade myself to bring him back.”

“What magnificent resolve!” He clapped slowly, a few deliberate beats, and fixed her with a measured look. “Why are you this reckless?”

“Because he is my only family. The feeling between us has grown so deep it has become part of each other’s very life,” she answered without hesitation.

He nodded, pulled out his worn little notebook, and wrote: Symptom of Sentiment, No. 51 — Reckless devotion. When he had finished, he turned and left.

She already considered herself an oddity — yet this Teacher White was stranger still.

After that day until now, they had not met again, nor crossed paths anywhere at school. Hadn’t he said he was a teacher? How was it that he had no need to show up to work? And then there was his promise to help her — surely it wasn’t just a brush-off? She couldn’t help but ask Mrs. Bell about this Teacher White. At the mention of him, the old woman’s expression was one of pure contempt: this fellow, she said, was nothing but a freeloader who latched onto the school by virtue of a handsome face and a handful of guitar tunes. Only naive young girls who didn’t know any better treated him like a treasure, following behind him all day in a lovesick haze.

It was clear Mrs. Bell had a very low opinion of this man.

Now, on the terrace, looking at him — gone and back without warning — Zhang Sanfeng, however little she liked him, still held onto one last thread of hope. She walked up to him and asked: “And your findings?”

He was still comfortably propped against the wall, his slender fingers plucking idly at the guitar strings. He answered without much interest: “No findings.”

“Then — goodbye.” She had no desire to ask for his help any further. Mrs. Bell had been right — this man was completely unreliable.

“Wait — what’s inside?” His guitar suddenly fell silent. He looked at the black envelope in her hand. “What terribly clever ordeal has the Girls’ Society devised for this year’s Courage Test?”

“As a teacher, shouldn’t you be putting a stop to this rude and pointless behavior? And yet here you are, curious about what’s inside?” Zhang Sanfeng shot him a furious glare and turned to go.

But he was faster — he jumped down in one fluid motion, planted himself in her path, and without so much as a by-your-leave, snatched the black envelope out of her hands and drew out the letter to read aloud: “Sometime during this coming weekend’s night, infiltrate the home of Rose Cross’s most celebrated former most sought-after student, Bai Yutang, and retrieve from his bedroom the one and only pillow embroidered with a pair of ducks. Failure to do so, and Miss Zhang Sanfeng’s life going forward will grow increasingly difficult and fraught. This we guarantee. — Rose Cross Girls’ Society.”

Zhang Sanfeng made several attempts to snatch the letter back, all unsuccessful. The man was too tall, too nimble — it made her teeth itch with fury. She snapped: “You are incredibly rude!”

“Excuse me, I’m doing you a favor here!” He sniffed and asked, “Are you really going to accept this Courage Test?”

“I think shutting the Girls’ Society up once and for all is the best policy,” Zhang Sanfeng said coldly. “I intend to show them they will never succeed in making my life difficult.”

“My, my — looks like the Chinese girl is about to put her foot down!” White laughed. “But do you know who Bai Yutang is? Do you know where he lives?”

“I’ll find out!” she shot back, giving him a withering look. “Please move out of my way!”

“The surname ‘Bai,’ translated into English, means ‘white’ — White.” He didn’t move. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. “Ha, ha, ha!”

Zhang Sanfeng broke into a violent cough, pointing at him. “You…”

“Welcome, Miss Zhang Sanfeng, to tonight’s covert mission — my bedroom!” He stepped forward with perfect gravity and leaned close to murmur in her ear: “Though let me offer a friendly correction — the pillow on my bed is embroidered not with a pair of ducks, but with mandarin ducks. Foreign girls can’t quite tell the difference. Oh, and — I’ve left my home address for you. It’s written on the back of the letter.”

“You…” Zhang Sanfeng coughed until her eyes streamed, and in the end she could only watch helplessly as he turned and strolled away without a backward glance.

That same night, deep in the dark hours, she hesitated and nearly gave up. But thinking that if she didn’t give the Girls’ Society a proper show of force they would never stop harassing her — and besides, Bai Yutang himself was like a magnet, drawing her inexorably — she ultimately got on her bicycle and set off in a hurry, speeding along the white road that curved around the outside of the entire Rose Cross campus. The road wound between the academy’s outer wall and stretches of woodland, winding and twisting in layers. According to the address Bai Yutang had left her, his home lay at the end of this road.

3.

Inside a spotlessly white laboratory, a strange odor lingered — something like red wine, something like coffee, and occasionally something like Chanel No. 5. Two figures — one tall, one short — stood in their large sterile suits before a glass cube roughly twenty square meters in size.

At the center of this completely sealed space, suspended in the air, burned a flame edged in violet and red, easily two meters in diameter. Within the heart of the fire floated a blurred black silhouette, its details impossible to make out beneath the glaring light. The flame appeared to be held in check by some unseen force, burning with disciplined obedience within its designated boundary, not encroaching by so much as a fraction. A U-shaped conveyor belt passed through the flame, moving at a steady pace; a row of specially made glass bottles — each roughly the size of a fist — were set upon the belt, each containing an ordinary piece of chocolate. They queued through the fire and emerged unscathed from the other end.

Several other workers, likewise suited in sterile gear, worked with concentration at a bank of blinking instruments five meters from the flame. Two of them wore specially designed dark glasses and carefully monitored the state of the burning. To their side stood a five-tiered alloy rack connected to the far end of the conveyor belt; the glass bottles were transported up to adjacent slots in the rack. But the bottle at the very top tier was different from those below — it had remained fixed in place the whole time, the size of a fish tank, brimming with a vivid red liquid. Looking closely, one could see countless hair-thin, tendril-like white “tubes” extending from this bottle into each of the glass bottles in the tiers below. As time passed, dark blue bubbles rose from the chocolate inside each bottle; the whole piece seemed to come alive, shifting and changing into bizarre shapes inside the glass. The entire process lasted one minute. The workers then injected a white vapor resembling a coolant into the bottles, after which all the chocolates returned to their ordinary appearance. They were removed from the bottles and placed into another machine, which in a matter of seconds “spat” them out as neatly packaged pieces of chocolate — every major brand in common circulation around the world. These chocolates, which appeared entirely normal, were carefully collected into a prepared briefcase. One worker was busy affixing labels to the case; the label read: 4E Chocolate II.

“How are things progressing?” The tall man outside the glass cube asked through the small microphone fitted to the outer wall.

A voice came through the speaker from within: “The neutralizing agent is insufficient — it needs replenishing, or we won’t be able to meet the quantity specified above.”

At that, the two men outside moved aside and conferred in low voices. Finally, the tall one took out his phone and dialed a number.

“Has she arrived yet?… Good. Proceed as planned.”

He hung up and said to the shorter man with satisfaction: “Fresh neutralizing agent will be delivered shortly. If the Valentine’s Day assignment goes smoothly this time, the General will certainly commend us.”

The shorter man rubbed his hands together: “I can barely wait to see the results of this experiment. Just imagining the scene — all those people sunk in the sweetness of Valentine’s Day, suddenly discovering the chocolate they’ve swallowed has turned into a wildly writhing creature inside them, then writhing on the ground in agony, then dying horribly, while the stupid police never find the culprit in their lifetimes — it’s enough to keep me awake with excitement!”

“The General is a truly terrifying genius,” the tall man exclaimed admiringly. “To be able to fuse the spiritual energy of a demon with an object in the world — even with a human being — and create an entirely new breed of demon to serve our purposes: it is quite simply the greatest achievement of this century!”

“The young man with the surname Bai is impressive too,” the shorter man said, his eyes on the bottle at the top of the alloy rack. “If it weren’t for the tool he invented for extracting the neutralizing agent, the General’s experiment probably wouldn’t have proceeded this smoothly. I’ve never seen someone so clever. If he ever were to have ill intentions one day…”

“He won’t.” The tall man was certain. “The twins are keeping watch over him. And besides — he has the status he has today entirely by the grace of those above. He won’t act against his own people, unless he wants to go back to that miserable life of before. Ha.” He was utterly confident.

4.

“This kind of courage test is terribly dull,” said Bai Yutang, sitting in the sofa and shaking his head. “At the very least I should have had you climb in through a window like a proper thief, rather than going cheerfully to the front door to meet you.”

Zhang Sanfeng was preoccupied with taking in the grandeur of “Bai Manor” — that was genuinely how the two Chinese characters were engraved on the gate — which seemed to have a certain Western imperial air about it. The Chinese lettering was entirely at odds with the wholly Western-style architecture, but regardless, when she had seen his home at the end of the road, she had genuinely gasped in admiration. Could the salaries of Rose Cross teachers really be this generous?

Holding a cup of fragrant milk tea, Zhang Sanfeng looked over every corner of the house. Besides ordinary furnishings, she noticed that along the east wall of the living room stood a large glass cabinet, inside which a miniature landscape of artificial rock and trees had been arranged. Several large, fuzzy-footed spiders crawled among the rocks, and a small red-and-white snake lay completely motionless coiled around a branch — the sight sent a chill down her spine, and she quickly turned away.

“Don’t mind them — everyone has their own preferences in pets,” he noticed her discomfort and smiled reassuringly.

She gave him a look and shifted her gaze elsewhere. The room was also filled with machines of various sizes that she had never seen before. She walked curiously up to one that was shaped like a funnel, turned it this way and that, and could not tell what it was for.

“I designed all of these machines myself. This one is for making chocolate,” said Bai Yutang, walking over. From a small box beside the funnel, he took out a tiny bottle of amber-colored liquid, dipped the tip of his little finger into it, and then — quite unexpectedly — dabbed it at the corner of Zhang Sanfeng’s mouth and smiled. “Taste it.”

The small gesture was slightly intimate. Zhang Sanfeng’s face flushed, and she looked away — but her tongue moved instinctively to lick the corner of her mouth.

What a glorious sweetness! It was as though the essence of every sweet food in the world had been drawn together, refined, and elevated into a single drop — so small, yet enough to immerse both taste and soul in a sweetness that was layered and intricate rather than simple. An orchard in full autumn harvest. A young girl receiving her very first love letter. The reunion of a dearly missed family member after a long separation. A sleeping infant in candlelight and lullabies. These images — completely unrelated to one another — leaped from the sweetness on her tongue directly into her mind.

“I make chocolate myself occasionally.” He reached for another small box, which held a semi-solidified brown substance, smooth as silk. He tipped a few drops of the sweet liquid into the box, then placed the whole thing inside the funnel and the chamber below, closed the lid, and pressed the red button on top.

After a brief humming sound, accompanied by a rich, fragrant aroma, the funnel’s outlet produced several smooth, round, beautifully colored chocolate balls, which dropped with charming precision into a petal-shaped glass bowl below. Zhang Sanfeng stared, transfixed.

“Here — try the flavor.” He picked up the glass bowl, lifted one piece of chocolate and placed it in her mouth, then put the entire bowl into her hands with a smile. “Valentine’s Day is next week. Consider these a gift.”

Zhang Sanfeng was certain she had never tasted chocolate this good. It carried warmth and vitality, its sweetness silky and intricate, filling every taste bud — this small piece of chocolate left her feeling as though she were sinking into the security and contentment of being held in a gentle embrace. Yet at the very end, a faint, brief note of bitterness — like a single tear fallen from the eye of a heartbroken lover — vanished in an instant, and yet left an imprint that would not let go.

“Incredible…” she surfaced from the extraordinary aftertaste and immediately ate another piece.

“Why do people give chocolate on Valentine’s Day?” He watched her greedy expression with fond amusement, wiped his hands, and settled back into the sofa.

Zhang Sanfeng licked her lips and said: “The saying goes that it is a gift bestowed by God — that chocolate carries the fullest and sweetest of emotions. The scientific explanation is that compounds like theobromine in chocolate stimulate the cerebral cortex, producing excitement and passion similar to those felt when one is deeply in love.”

“Chocolate’s natural flavor is bitter — it was originally an Indian medicinal beverage, and only later did the Spanish refine it. They added various sweet ingredients, ultimately transforming chocolate into the universally loved sweet it is today. But no matter how it was changed, no matter how many sweet things were added, the bitterness of chocolate was always there. So why does everyone overlook the bitterness and remember only the sweetness?” He spoke like a serious child puzzling over a simple question he simply couldn’t solve. “I won’t laugh at me for saying this — but every Valentine’s Day I think about this question.”

Zhang Sanfeng had already eaten more than half the chocolates. She said offhandedly: “Foods that carry emotion always taste sweet. It’s like the saying in novels — no matter how badly cooked your food is, in the mouth of someone who deeply loves you, it becomes delicious. The food itself isn’t the point — the point is the feeling put into it.”

He pondered this for a good while, then pulled out the little notebook and wrote: Symptom of Sentiment, No. 52 — Bitterness becomes sweetness.

“Hearing you speak, you seem quite knowledgeable about feelings — quite good at them,” he said suddenly. “Can you explain to me: what, exactly, does ‘feelings’ encompass?”

A grown man who was a teacher, discussing feelings with a seventeen-year-old student — it ought to have been bizarre, but his earnest and candid expression made the atmosphere oddly serious.

“It encompasses a great deal. All human interaction is grounded in feelings of various kinds — love, hatred, joy, aversion,” Zhang Sanfeng said, speaking her heart. “And conversely, our own feelings determine how we perceive others and how we act accordingly. In short — feelings are the most important thing in this world. That’s what I think.”

“As I expected — the hardest thing to learn,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “I think before, the only feeling in me was probably fear. Nothing else.”

“What were you afraid of?”

“Of being dismissed.”

“Pardon?”

He smiled and pivoted: “How is your own study of feelings going?”

“Study?” She was puzzled.

“Can your feelings help you perceive and judge others accurately?” His smile gradually faded. “I don’t think they can, as it happens.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced a black letter card — identical to what had been inside the Courage Test envelope — and said: “This is the actual task the Girls’ Society gave you. They’re probably in the chapel basement right now, prepared and waiting. I expect.”

She was suddenly completely confused.

“I substituted the test’s content and arranged this for you instead — in order to bring you here, to the place you needed to be.”

Zhang Sanfeng shot abruptly to her feet — but found she could no longer make out his face clearly. And it wasn’t only his face — the entire room had begun to sway, to blur, retreating faster and faster into a vast emptiness.

The beautiful glass bowl slipped from her powerless hand and shattered on the floor. The uneaten chocolates scattered in all directions.

5.

“Sister! Go back! Please, go back!” The urgent voice reached her from the darkness. She frantically groped forward with both hands, sobbing as she cried out: “Is that you?”

A faint glow emanated from within the vortex, and her younger brother’s silhouette stood at the center of that light—his face pale to the point of translucence, yet still wearing the familiar smile she knew so well.

“Come home with me!” She ran toward him with all her strength, but the ground beneath her feet refused to move.

“You never actually wanted me to come home, did you?” The figure in the light was shaking his head. “Without me, you’ll be happier.”

“No! That’s not true! Listen to me—those words weren’t what I meant! I have to apologize to you!” She argued with all the breath in her lungs. “You’re the brother I love most in this world. I would share anything with you—even my own life!” The figure gave no further response. That beam of light grew weaker and weaker, and the person within it drifted further and further away.

“Don’t go! I’ve already lost Father and Mother—are you abandoning me too?!”

She woke with a cry, tears blurring her vision. When her mind returned to her body and her sight cleared, she saw that the person standing before her was not her brother at all. Instead, there were two unfamiliar men in dark sunglasses—one tall, one short—along with Bai Yutang, and… Mrs. Bell and Mr. Nick.

“You—” The words had barely left her mouth when she discovered in alarm that she could not move. Cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Now fully awake, she moved her eyes to survey her surroundings and found herself trapped entirely inside a transparent coffin. An unseen, strange force had bound her limbs and fixed her body in place. Through the nearly white-crystal walls, wave-like ripples flowed like water.

Outside the coffin was merely a square room. Lights as dense as stars lined the walls, and the interwoven white glare made her eyes ache.

“Everything is ready downstairs. You should get started up here as well.” The tall man spoke to Bai Yutang, then glanced at Zhang Sanfeng and frowned. “A pity—this one’s purity has already been diluted. Even if we drain every drop of her blood, we won’t be able to produce the ideal quantity. We’ll make do for the Valentine’s Day products.”

“Understood.” Bai Yutang nodded, pulled a metal box the size of a matchbox from his pocket, drew out several wires, and connected them to concealed square ports beside the coffin.

“You—” Zhang Sanfeng was both stunned and frantic. A thought flashed through her mind like lightning. “My brother… is my brother locked up in a place like this too?!”

“You see? I told you twins always have a connection.” Mrs. Bell said to Mr. Nick with contempt. “This girl came here and immediately went searching all over the academy for her brother—as if she could smell him.” She added, “Just like you and me. Whenever you smoke, I feel it in my lungs! You should drop dead!”

“You old woman—when you eat all that sickeningly sweet food, my stomach turns too!” Mr. Nick shot her a fierce glare, then turned back, eyeing the helpless young girl in the coffin with a lecherous look. “Ah, these young ones—like flowers in bloom—so lovely to look at, and so delicious!”

Zhang Sanfeng was both terrified and bewildered. The kindly Mrs. Bell of before was now overbearing and utterly without compassion—no different from a vicious old witch. And that Nick—what did he mean by “lovely to look at, and so delicious”?!

“Who on earth are you people?!” she shouted.

“Calm yourself, young lady. It really won’t be terribly painful.” Mrs. Bell stepped forward and stroked the icy coffin with a hollow laugh. “As a blood demon—one of the few remaining in this world—we will make full use of you, just as we did your brother. You could never imagine, not in your wildest dreams, what a contribution the two of you are making to a great and magnificent plan!”

Blood demon? Make full use of?

“Let me go! I don’t know what you lunatics are talking about! Where is my brother?!” Zhang Sanfeng struggled with every ounce of her strength. She was now entirely certain her brother’s disappearance was connected to these madmen. She screamed furiously at Bai Yutang: “You—surnamed Bai—you liar!”

“Your brother… what a magnificent Chinese boy he was!” Nick licked his lips, as though savoring the memory of something extraordinarily wonderful. “Quite exquisite in flavor! Fresh, sweet, and tender.”

“Hmph! You had him all to yourself and didn’t leave me so much as a bone!” Bell delivered a fierce punch to Nick’s arm.

Nick poked her in the chest. “If I eat, so do you—isn’t that the same thing? You’re even going to pick a fight over this? Do you still consider me your brother?”

The two of them quarreled furiously, even coming to blows. A plume of white smoke rose from their bodies, and when it dispersed, both Mrs. Bell and Mr. Nick had vanished. In their place, in the middle of the room, was a single enormous two-headed black serpent. Its two heads argued and attacked each other simultaneously—a truly terrifying sight.

Zhang Sanfeng was struck as if by lightning. Two living people had turned into a two-headed snake! This kind of scene, found only in fantasy films, had manifested in plain reality before her very eyes.

With that, she finally understood what Nick had meant by “lovely to look at, and so delicious.” Her brother…

She screamed like a woman gone mad: “Monster! Give me back my brother!”

Bai Yutang was unmoved by everything happening around him and remained focused on the work in his hands. Shortly, he pressed a switch on the metal box. Several arcs of electricity flashed from the bottom of the coffin, and from the interior walls, a milky-white tendril—roughly as thick as a small finger—rapidly emerged. It pierced through Zhang Sanfeng’s school uniform and drove itself violently into her heart.

A numbing sensation like an electric shock spread from her heart to every part of her body. She trembled all over. Every nerve lost its function, and she could no longer distinguish whether she felt pain or nothing at all. The only thing she could see was that vivid red blood—her own blood, flowing from her heart, passing through that tendril, pouring ceaselessly outward. In the span of only a short while, the bottom of that coffin had turned a deep, blood-soaked red.

Bai Yutang pressed another switch. The blood that had pooled within the coffin’s walls flowed steadily through connected tubing into a bottle in his hands, and it quickly filled to more than half. He carefully tightened the cap, checked it several times over, then walked to the tall man and handed him the bottle, saying: “Come back in one hour for the second bottle.”

The tall man accepted the bottle and nodded. “Once Valentine’s Day is over and the task is complete, the General will surely reward us all.” With that, he called to the short man, and the two of them left the room and headed down to the laboratory below. The two-headed serpent continued its brawl—the topic now centered on whose meal Zhang Sanfeng’s body would become once her blood had fully drained. Bai Yutang stood quietly by the coffin, fiddling with his small metal box, glancing at his watch from time to time.

Zhang Sanfeng lay with her eyes half-closed, lips turning white. Summoning what little remained of her strength, she said: “You heartless wretch… you remain utterly unmoved in the face of something this cruel. Are you a stone with no feeling whatsoever…?”

“I have been learning all along.” Bai Yutang’s expression did not change. “I learn everything quickly—astronomy, geography, every kind of knowledge. I forget nothing I read, and I excel at applying it. What I have created, I dare say, no one in a hundred years will surpass.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “But there is one thing I have never been able to learn: emotions. I am sorry.”

Indeed—how could a piece of chocolate ever possess emotions?

More than a decade ago, he and countless companions had been placed on a supermarket shelf in some city somewhere in China, watching every day as his companions were picked up and eaten. If a negligible little chocolate demon could be said to have feelings at all, then the only feeling within those feelings was fear.

He was deeply afraid of being popped into someone’s mouth himself. But that day came regardless. On Valentine’s Day, a young woman brought him home. He thought his end had arrived—but she only tore open the packaging, took out all the chocolates inside, placed them before a photograph of a man, and said: “My darling, happy Valentine’s Day.”

On the photograph, written in delicate, graceful strokes, was a line of text: Boundless Devotion. Bai Yutang.

At the time he could not read—but he memorized the written form of those three characters: Bai Yutang. He thought to himself, perhaps this must be the woman’s name.

On that Valentine’s evening, he saw the soul of the man in the photograph, lingering beside her, reluctant to leave.

That night, he escaped. As a chocolate demon with virtually no magical power, he rolled out of her home and into the street, nearly flattened several times by passing feet. He had no idea where he was rolling to. As dawn drew near, a man at a street corner caught hold of him—his face hidden in shadow—and asked whether he wished to become a true demon, one with hands and feet, capable of freely changing form.

Of course he did. That way, he would never be eaten again.

And so the man brought him to a wooden hut and placed him inside a vat filled with medicinal solution. Three days later, he became the Mo Yan of today—a true demon, possessed of spiritual power, capable of transformation, capable of flight, and no longer in any danger of being eaten.

The man also had him study, finding him teachers who instructed him in every kind of knowledge. He was exceptionally intelligent—forgetting nothing he read, mastering things the moment he learned them, especially skilled in the construction of all manner of mechanical instruments and devices. Within a matter of years, his understanding of this world was entirely transformed. Yet on one point he remained perpetually puzzled.

The female teacher who taught him literature—the moment she saw a scene of joy or sorrow, reunion or parting, whether on television or in a book, tears would pour from her eyes without stopping. The male teacher who taught him physics—when his girlfriend married another man, he was so grief-stricken he could not eat a single bite. Yet he could not comprehend at all why they responded that way. When he asked them, they said: When a person is moved by emotion, this is simply how it is. Yet not a single teacher ever taught him a lesson on emotion itself.

Those heartrending scenes and situations were no more affecting to him than a glass of plain water. He did not grieve for anything; he did not rejoice over anything. He knew no anger, no compassion. His emotional state was forever a flat, unbroken line.

As a studious and intelligent chocolate demon, he had a vague sense that something about this was not quite right. When he had learned nearly everything there was to learn, the man came to see him and said: “You may come with me now. You will become the most suitable person for a particular kind of work.”

Yet he said: he had not yet learned enough.

The man was puzzled. You have already learned all the knowledge under heaven—what more could be lacking? He replied: I have not yet learned emotions.

The man laughed heartily and said: this is precisely why I chose you and cultivated you to where you are now. He did not understand.

The man reached into his pocket and produced a box of chocolates. He placed one of them before the fireplace. The chocolate quickly melted.

Emotion is a form of heat. Chocolate is innately averse to warmth. Therefore your instincts have destined you to have no emotions—to have no heat.

After hearing this, he was silent for a very long time. The man clapped him on the shoulder and said: the way you are is the best. Emotion, in many instances, becomes a burden—it blocks the correct path. You should count yourself fortunate for your instincts.

Was that truly so? Then why was there always this faint, lingering sense of regret?

Not long after, he was brought to England and handed over to the tall man. In the time that followed, he witnessed the birth of the Rose Cross. From student to teacher, he had never left the town of Fleet since.

From then on, his existence became inseparable from “experiments.” For a decade, he and his “colleagues” had carried out one experiment after another under orders from “above.” Countless living and non-living things had been altered in this laboratory beneath the Rose Cross—then made to vanish. The instruments and machinery required for the experiments—including this device for perfectly harvesting blood from a blood demon—were all his own handiwork. Beyond constructing tools, his only assigned responsibility from above was this task of blood collection. All other matters, he was never permitted to touch.

As for him—beyond his work, what interested him most was still learning. Despite what the man had told him, he remained filled with a desire to explore the subject of emotion. He always kept a small notebook on his person, recording at any time the things he observed and heard others say and do, all related to emotion, then pondering and absorbing it all. And what he found was that this particular “subject” was the most elusive and intangible of all—and the hardest to ever truly master.

His notebook recorded several dozen “symptoms” related to emotion—yes, that was the word he used to describe them. People immersed in emotion truly were like people who had fallen ill: some laughed loudly, some wept bitterly, some were clearly starving and yet gave their last piece of bread to their child. He had recorded every one of these “symptoms”—including that tree demon’s “ceaseless searching.”

The sounds of the two-headed serpent’s brawling pulled him back from his reverie. This creature had also been sent to the Rose Cross ten years ago. In its ordinary form, it took the guise of the male and female dormitory wardens, its duties being to guard the “test subjects” and dispose of the “waste”—the bodies of those who had perished in the experiments all became its food.

He cast a look of revulsion at this creature, then shifted his gaze away and resumed watching his watch.

In the laboratory below, Zhang Sanfeng’s blood had been poured into the uppermost bottle on the alloy rack and had begun its designated operation.

Within just a few minutes, a tremendous boom erupted from the laboratory. Sparks flew in all directions. The topmost bottle on the alloy rack shattered into fragments without warning. The blood within splattered in every direction, and wherever it touched the specialized atmosphere inside the enclosed chamber, it ignited into fireballs. Those trapped inside wailed like ghosts and screamed like wolves, frantically hammering at the buttons for the door—but the great door did not budge even a fraction of an inch. Every instrument had ceased to function. The central violet flame lost all control and instantly spread outward. Within that impenetrable chamber, a raging inferno erupted, consuming everything inside without a trace.

The room above shook faintly from the immense force below. Even the two-headed serpent halted its fighting. At that exact moment, Bai Yutang abruptly pulled a small canister from his pocket, flipped off the cap, and directed a spray at the two-headed serpent. Red powder billowed out and fell thickly across the creature’s entire body. The monster instantly collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony.

Bai Yutang then aimed the front face of the metal box at the coffin. A beam of red light shot from the box and landed at the center of the coffin. In an instant, the dreadful thing vanished into thin air, and Zhang Sanfeng crumpled to the ground.

He seized her in one motion, hoisted her onto his back, and vaulted upward toward the ceiling.

Zhang Sanfeng leaned against his back in a daze, hearing only the rush of wind past her ears. A beam of white light descended from above. Her body grew very light—as though she were flying—hurtling at tremendous speed toward the source of that white light.

6.

She did not know how much time had passed. Zhang Sanfeng awoke on a warm stretch of sandy dunes. The fine, soft sand pressed against her cold cheeks, and it felt wonderfully soothing.

Beside her, Bai Yutang was gazing into the distance, lost in thought, wiping sweat from his brow now and again.

She hurriedly propped herself up and looked around. Before her truly stretched an endless, boundless desert!

Impossible—she was in England. Where in England could there be a desert this magnificent and vast?

Zhang Sanfeng pinched her thigh hard. Ow—that hurt!

“Stop pinching yourself. You’re not dreaming. This is deep within the Sahara Desert.” Bai Yutang drew his gaze back. “I can fly. How are your injuries? They shouldn’t be too serious—only a little blood was taken.”

Zhang Sanfeng instinctively pressed her hand to her chest, then turned around, pulled open her collar, and peered inside. The wound left by the tendril was no more than a small red dot.

“You… just who are you?” Zhang Sanfeng stood up, lunged toward him, seized him by the collar, and demanded furiously.

“A teacher at the Rose Cross. A staff member employed by 4E. A tireless student.” Bai Yutang shrugged. “I don’t quite understand what I am myself anymore. Oh—no. I’m not a person. I’m a demon.” He looked at her. “And so are you.” Zhang Sanfeng’s breathing quickened sharply.

“You’re not dim. You must still remember our conversation in the laboratory.” Bai Yutang pulled down her cold hands.

“You said I was a blood demon.” She looked into his eyes in disbelief. “What is a blood demon? A demon? A demon like that two-headed creature?”

“In essence, you and the two-headed serpent are both demons,” he said without any attempt to conceal it. “A blood demon is an existence of a higher order than a vampire—because you do not fear sunlight, do not fear the cross, do not fear garlic, and you possess speed that ordinary humans lack. If a blood demon is willing, they can circle the globe a dozen times or more in a single night.” He paused and sighed. “However, your purity is already insufficient—in other words, the blood within you that belongs to a blood demon has been artificially diluted, and accordingly, the abilities that would naturally belong to a blood demon have also been weakened.”

She stared, speechless.

No. No, this is absolutely impossible. She had lived seventeen years in complete normalcy—attending school, living an ordinary life, never doing a single thing outside the bounds of human behavior. How could she be a demon?

Bai Yutang stood up, surveyed their surroundings, and said: “Get up. We need to keep moving. We must reach the Flame of Apollo before nightfall.”

“What place is that?” Zhang Sanfeng asked in a daze.

“A place that will allow you to fully escape the Rose Cross—and escape 4E.” He took her hand, drew a deep breath, and pulled her with him as he sprinted off in the direction of that vast desert.

He could no longer fly. The strength remaining to him was only enough to run swiftly.

For a chocolate demon, the Sahara was far, far too hot.

Zhang Sanfeng stumbled along behind him. The two of them left a trail of footprints across a barren, desolate stretch of sand without a single blade of grass, and yet the road beneath their feet seemed as though it could never be walked to its end.

As the blazing sun grew more and more fierce, he had already led her over countless dunes, large and small. Finally, she wrenched her hand free from his grip. Her eyes were red and swollen—but she asked nothing. She simply looked at him with stubborn defiance, and no matter how he urged her, she refused to take another step.

Bai Yutang let out a long breath, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, and said: “Any meaningful exchange has to begin with facing reality. If you refuse to accept the fact that you are a blood demon, nothing I say will mean anything to you.”

“How do you expect me to believe it?! I’ve lived seventeen years as a person—and now someone suddenly tells me, ‘you’re not human, you’re a demon.’ How am I supposed to believe that?!” She shouted. “All I want is to find my brother and bring him home, and then live a quiet, peaceful life—that’s all!” As she spoke, tears welled up and spilled over. She sank to her knees, sobbing: “But you said… he was eaten.”

“Yes. Your brother was indeed eaten.” He offered no words of comfort. The sunlight stretched his shadow long behind him, like a blade driven into the earth. “And then? Will you die along with him? Or carry this grief—grief worth absolutely nothing—for the rest of your life? If your answer is yes, I will grant you that wish.”

His cold, emotionless words—devoid of all warmth—were precisely what caused the furious pounding of her heart to gradually calm. She asked slowly: “What on earth is the Rose Cross?”

“One of 4E’s testing grounds across the world.” His expression remained flat. “In truth, even I don’t know exactly what kind of organization 4E is. I only know that 4E is led by someone called the General. 4E has been conducting an ongoing experiment—perfectly implanting the spiritual power of various demons into any manner of object in the human world, creating a new kind of artificially made demon. These objects could be anything you encounter in daily life: pillows, bedding, pots, bowls, utensils, food, drinks, and the like. With demonic power infused, they become like puppets endowed with souls—able to speak, able to think, possessed of extraordinary abilities, and of course, obedient to every command of their creator.” He held her gaze and continued: “However, to perfectly fuse the two, a neutralizing agent is needed to allow the demonic power to smoothly enter the object. Blood demons—who are demons and yet in every respect infinitely close to humans—have blood that serves as a natural neutralizing agent. Unfortunately, there are no longer many blood demons left in this world, and many blood demons have chosen to intermarry with humans, causing their demonic essence to grow ever weaker, making them increasingly difficult to locate. Every year, those above dispatch many agents to search everywhere for traces of blood demons. Once found, they lure them into traps through various concealed means. A true blood demon is extraordinarily powerful—even a weakened blood demon like you, if your innate abilities were genuinely awakened, would be quite formidable. Therefore, the blood demon’s power must be suppressed without their awareness, and only then can the final capture be executed—otherwise, it is their own captors who may end up dead. From the moment you entered the Rose Cross, the meals you ate every day, along with the tea Mrs. Bell ‘kindly’ offered you and the pastries she gave you—all of it had been laced with bone powder hexed with a curse. Given only ten days, combined with a small trick I arranged, you walked right into our hands of your own accord—and subduing you required no effort whatsoever.”

Zhang Sanfeng was so shaken that she slumped to the ground.

“However, the alteration of objects is only the first experiment. 4E has a second experiment as well.” Bai Yutang saw fit to lay everything she wished to know entirely before her. “They felt that experimentation on objects alone was insufficient. Humans—the most spiritually elevated of all living things—are the finest material for creating a new kind of demon. And humans with extraordinary artistic talent, due to differences in their brain structure and modes of thought, are more receptive to demonic power than ordinary people. This experiment was actually carried out several hundred years ago. The test subject was a painter. The achievements he attained in painting were unmatched by anyone—yet he descended into madness and mental illness, remaining lost in lunacy for the rest of his life, and ultimately took his own life on the banks of the Oise River in France. After that, the experiment was suspended. Until ten years ago, when it resumed. The Rose Cross, as one of the testing grounds, recruits students under enticing pretenses. Every student has been under observation from the moment of enrollment, and the most outstanding and suitable among them are selected as test subjects. However, all the test subjects ultimately disappeared. Those who died in the process were eaten by that lackey two-headed serpent, while those who survived—I don’t even know where they were ultimately sent.”

“How can they operate so unchecked? All those missing people—wouldn’t their families investigate? Wouldn’t the other students at the school become suspicious? These aren’t just a few stray cats and dogs—these are living, breathing human beings disappearing!” She thought of the outcome the police had given her, and wondered how many other innocents inside the Rose Cross had been “erased” just like her brother.

“The capabilities of 4E are beyond what you or I can imagine. Erasing a person’s existence is far too easy for them. You must understand—they possess not only scientific genius but also the supernatural abilities of demons,” Bai Yutang said mildly.

“My brother…” What little strength remained in her had nearly entirely crumbled away.

“He is not coming back.” He was direct to the point of near cruelty. “When a blood demon and a human have children together, they will invariably produce a pair of twins—a boy and a girl. The daughter will inherit the blood demon’s innate instinct for blood, while the son will not. But regardless, neither of them can escape the identity of blood demon. The blood of a pureblooded blood demon takes three years to fully drain. Your brother sustained the Rose Cross’s experiments for three full years. In the month before you arrived at the Rose Cross, he had already…”

“Say no more!” Zhang Sanfeng’s fingers dug violently into the sand. “What about those video calls over these past three years?”

“Foolish girl—if they can erase a person, what difficulty is there in fabricating videos?” He shook his head.

“Why didn’t they just lure me and my brother there at the same time back then? Why go through the trouble of deceiving me for three whole years?” Zhang Sanfeng suppressed the searing pain in her heart and demanded furiously.

“4E has strict plans and regulations. Every testing ground operates according to rigidly set rules—how many test subjects to prepare, how much neutralizing agent, how many ‘products’ to produce. Every quantity is fixed—no more, no less. The Rose Cross’s quota for these three years allowed for only one blood demon to be used. Only after one was exhausted could the second be brought in.” He coughed a few times and wiped the sweat seeping from his forehead. “You and your brother had long since been spotted by the people of the Rose Cross. Your fate was decided three years ago, the moment you were discovered. The person who found your brother was that tall man—he has always been responsible for locating neutralizing agents for the British region. All across the world there are many people like him, constantly searching their assigned regions for the resources they need, and rivalries sometimes break out internally, with people competing to claim the same resources. That year, he went to China, and in some small harbor deep in the night, he came upon a boy crouching beneath a tree, weeping. The scent of a blood demon washed over him in full force. What happened after that, you already know—your brother was brought here by the Rose Cross’s enticing terms. That tall man crowed about it for a long time and said his luck was really something.”

She truly heard her own heart—breaking apart, piece by piece.

Her brother had not been led away by the enticing terms of the Rose Cross. He had only been wounded in his heart by his own sister, and he wanted to leave far behind him and return to her the fatherly love she had “taken” from him. If she had never said those terrible words to him—if he had not stormed out of the house that night—that Rose Cross, haunting the world like a vengeful ghost, would never have found him. If only he had stayed home that day…

Zhang Sanfeng’s fists clenched until her knuckles cracked. Then she threw a punch squarely at Bai Yutang’s face, then leapt onto him and wept and screamed and kicked: “You’re one of those devils too! You accomplice!”

He did not strike back. He let her fists fall on him. When she could strike no more, he asked: “Feeling better? If not, you may continue.”

She gasped in heaving breaths, slowly emerging from her frenzy, and looked at him. “What did you do to them at the end?”

“I slipped a drop of snake blood—from the pet snake you saw at my home—into your blood on the sly.” He gave a cunning smile. “The neutralizing agent must be absolutely pure. Even a single drop of blood that does not belong to it is enough to set off a disaster.”

“Why?” She looked at him with confusion. “Aren’t you their loyal and dedicated employee?”

“I simply detest them doing things at the expense of chocolate. Such a beautiful thing, and such a beautiful holiday—if it were to be ruined by a group of artificially made chocolate demons capable of causing deaths, that would truly be a sin.” He gave a light laugh.

“That’s all there is to it?” She was not entirely convinced. She looked him over again. “What exactly are you?”

“An emotional imbecile.” He lay back on the sand and laughed at himself.

“No wonder you could spend ten years as a cold-blooded creature and help carry out such horrors.” Zhang Sanfeng scooped up a fistful of sand and flung it at him. “Detestable imbecile!”

Bai Yutang looked at her with a smile. “You’re an emotional imbecile too. When someone puts on a superficial show of kindness for you, you immediately decide they’re a trustworthy good person—never knowing they harbor ulterior motives. When someone is cold and harsh toward you, you conclude they hate you and don’t love you.”

“What do you mean?” Zhang Sanfeng sensed something beneath his words. She recalled her father’s many behaviors toward her, and her heart became a complicated tangle of feelings.

“You’re a blood demon. But in all these years, have you ever once drunk blood—or even felt the urge to?” He turned the question back on her. Zhang Sanfeng was startled.

“When a human bonds with a blood demon, their blood turns blue. The medicinal injection you received every day was also blue,” he said slowly.

She seemed to have grasped something, and clapped her hand over her mouth in shock.

“No father would watch with open eyes as his daughter became a blood-craving monster. Perhaps he resents your mother for concealing her true identity when she married him—leaving their children born into a troubled fate they could never have chosen. But that resentment does nothing to override the nature of blood being thicker than water. He wanted to save his daughter. The only way to suppress a blood demon’s innate craving for blood is to use his own blood to perform a kind of ‘cleansing’ for you, then force you to consume large quantities of food to counteract the natural hunger your body has for blood. If this ‘treatment’ is maintained for more than ten years, your craving for blood should not surface again. That is why we said your ‘purity’ is already insufficient.” Bai Yutang paused and sighed. “He loves you deeply—only, that love was never spoken aloud. He did not want you to know that you were a blood demon, so he could never let you understand his behavior toward you. The love he seemed to lavish excessively on your brother—the love that appeared to be ‘more than enough’—was the love he wished to give you, but could not.”

Zhang Sanfeng’s heartbeat nearly stopped. She covered her ears with both hands, and tears fell like a broken string of pearls.

He loves you deeply—only, that love was never spoken aloud. The love he wished to give you, but could not…

Her heart felt as though it were being wrung by knives.

She pressed a trembling hand to her chest and asked, her voice shaking: “How do you know about my family?”

“Sometimes, I would talk with your brother,” he said lightly, brushing past the topic. He glanced at the sky and said: “You’ve rested enough. It’s time to move on.”

Across the golden sands, the air everywhere was so dry it seemed on the verge of catching fire. He took her hand and they continued racing forward—before he fell.

There was one thing he never intended to tell her.

In the three years her brother had been held captive at the Rose Cross, he had not once furrowed his brow, nor shed a single tear—not even as he knew death was drawing ever closer.

Occasionally, he would go to that side of the laboratory to look in on her brother, and sometimes, out of curiosity, he would have a conversation with this boy. The boy trusted him for reasons he couldn’t explain, and piece by piece, he told him about his family. At first, he assumed the boy was seeking sympathy—hoping he might help him escape. But even on the very last night before the boy died, not once did he make any such plea.

That evening, he was at the boy’s side. In those final fading moments, the boy asked: Will you bring my sister here too?

You won’t need us to bring her. Once she learns you’ve gone missing, she’ll come on her own. He told the truth.

If she comes—please take her away with you. It’s too cold here. She can’t bear it.

Those were the last words her brother left behind in this world.

Three years of a quiet, reclusive existence. A tragic end. And yet this boy had never once spoken a word for himself, never shed a single tear. In the very last moment of all moments, what remained in his heart was only his sister.

So this is what it means to be siblings.

His emotional studies had gained a little more content.

7.

In the final moments before the sun slipped below the horizon, Zhang Sanfeng suddenly saw—at the far edge of the rolling golden sands—a row of blazing golden flames. They stood at least ten or more meters high, running along the entire rim of the dunes, dividing this desert from the world on the other side.

At the sight of those flames, Bai Yutang—drenched from head to toe in sweat—suddenly found new strength. He called out with excitement: “We’re here!”

The flames drew nearer and nearer. Zhang Sanfeng felt only a wave of searing heat.

“Everyone marked as a target by 4E—whether as a test subject or a staff member—has a brand burned onto them. That red mark on your forehead: I have one too. As long as that brand remains, no matter where you run, they will find you. Only here in the depths of the Sahara, within this miraculous Flame of Apollo, can that accursed brand be erased.” He landed on the sand and gazed up at that roaring sea of fire. “Cross through these flames and your brand will vanish. They will never be able to find you again. Go back to your own world. Don’t worry—these flames will not burn you!”

Her hair whipped about in the scorching updraft, and she could not bring herself to take a step forward. He reached into his chest and pulled out a ruby, pressed it into her hands: “This will be of use to you. Above all else—live on in peace. That matters more than anything.”

“Why are you helping me?” Zhang Sanfeng gripped what she held, “Aren’t you one of them?”

“They cultivated me to learn everything knowledge this world has to offer. They told me emotions were the one thing I could never learn. They weren’t wrong about that—I still have never managed to learn emotion. But what I did learn is conscience.” He looked at the towering, magnificent flames before him—sacred and awe-inspiring—and smiled. “And your family. They taught me just a little bit more about emotion.”

As he spoke, he took out the small notebook, and on its final page, wrote: Emotional Symptom No. 53 — Sacrifice.

When he finished writing, he hurled the notebook with full force into the fire.

“Go. Though you no longer crave blood and no longer possess the speed of a pureblooded blood demon, as long as you eat your fill and then focus your mind and run forward, you’ll find you can outrun any ordinary person. No mountain, river, lake, or sea can stand in your way.” He patted her on the head. “Go on. Quickly.”

“What about you?” She hesitated, took a step forward, then turned back. “4E won’t let you go!”

He laughed. “Do you think I’m a fool? I certainly won’t just sit here and wait for death!”

“Then come with me!” She seized his arm and murmured, “I only have myself now.”

“Your mother is still out there, isn’t she? She only went away—isn’t that so? Perhaps she’s still alive!” he said. “You should go and find her.”

She bit her lip tightly and said nothing. Seeing her this way, he said with helpless resignation: “All right, all right—consider it a debt I owe you. I’ll go with you to find her!”

“Really?” She looked at him in disbelief.

“Of course. But you go first. Head to a city in China called Wang Chuan. There’s a tree demon there who runs a small shop called Bu Ting. Go there and wait for me!”

Before she could answer, he had already placed a firm, forceful palm against her back and shoved. She tumbled helplessly forward and fell into the brilliantly golden flames.

He was right—these flames did not hurt at all when they touched her body. Instead, they were like gentle water, washing away every speck of dust and grime until she was entirely clean.

He watched her disappear into the fire, and then sank powerlessly down onto the sand.

“Foolish girl,” he said softly. “I’m chocolate, you know. When the temperature is too high, I melt.”

He smiled.

His body slowly collapsed inward, gradually dissolving into the golden, glittering grains of sand—merging with them, becoming one with them…

8.

“How are you not dead? And why did you send her to find me?!” After listening to his account, I drained the last of my tea — and immediately felt that my mouth had gotten rather out of hand.

“I thought I was done for too. I was just worried that girl would keep running into trouble down the road, so I was hoping you could help her. From what I know, you’ve helped quite a few problematic monsters!” The chocolate fellow took a long, indulgent inhale of the tea’s fragrance. “But I didn’t die. I simply reverted to my original form, and then the 4E brand disappeared as well. That day, as I lay beside the Flames of Apollo, I saw her — her brand freshly washed away — turn around and come back for me. Of course, she definitely didn’t recognize what I looked like then. I had no desire for her to see me in such a pathetic state, so I quietly slipped into her coat pocket and came along with her to Bu Ting. What I hadn’t expected was that even a weakened blood demon could run at such breathtaking speed. She made it from the Sahara to Bu Ting in under a week — no wonder she was so hungry.”

My gaze drifted from the main hall toward a certain bedroom further inside. “Hold on,” I said. “You’ve fallen for that girl, haven’t you?”

I know my attendant has always had a tendency to leap to conclusions and fish for gossip — but what can I do?

“No.” He denied it flatly. “I only feel sympathy for her little brother.”

“You’ve fallen for her little brother?!” My mouth dropped open.

“You are absolutely shameless for your age!”

“Knowing full well the desert would be the death of you, and you went anyway. Heh heh. Nobody puts themselves through hell and high water just out of sympathy.” I turned on the tap and let the water rush over the cup in my hands. “That’s Lesson One from the proprietress’s curriculum on matters of the heart.”

He thought for a long while before admitting, with considerable reluctance: “Fine. As a monster of limited experience, I am still learning how to like someone.”

“Real feelings don’t need to be learned. When emotion is genuine, it rises from the heart on its own. You’ve already graduated.” I dried the cup and curled my lip. “That said — come back and have a deep discussion about love with me after you’ve lived to at least a tenth of my age. For now, we can only talk money!”

“Will you ever stop?! How much gold did that pigeon-blood ruby get you anyway?!” He leaped up onto my shoulder. “Now it’s time to talk about a return gift!”

“As long as it’s not my gold, anything goes!” I didn’t even look up. “I’d hand over Ao Chi as a pet if that’s what you wanted!”

The words had barely left my mouth when Ao Chi, who had been eavesdropping from the shadows this whole time, came charging out with the ferocious expression of someone who wanted to murder me and be done with it — fortunately, Zhao Gongzi caught him around the waist in a lazy hold.

I pointed calmly at Ao Chi and said to Chocolate: “Take a good look at that vicious expression of his. That, too, is a form of affection — though it’s one reserved exclusively for old married couples who’ve been stuck with each other for years.” Chocolate could only stare in exasperated bewilderment.

· Epilogue ·

The following evening, the weather was rather fine. The setting sun gilded the entire length of the alley.

I leaned against the doorway of Bu Ting, watching the silhouettes of a man and a woman walk away side by side into the distance. Before they left, I had said to the strikingly handsome man before me: “Remember — stay away from fire. Your current human form was conjured with a paper talisman of mine, and I can’t guarantee how long it’ll hold. You might revert back to your original form without warning after a month, or it might hold for a hundred years without any problem. Either way, if you have the time, put in the proper work to cultivate yourself — none of those crooked shortcuts. An artificially-made monster can never compare to a natural one!”

He nodded. “Your return gift — I will treasure it well.”

I asked him what his plans were going forward. He looked up at the lantern above my head and smiled: “Go forth, and ask no more.” Then he gave me a sincere, earnest bow and said: “Thank you, old monster!”

I planted my hands on my hips and hollered: “Get lost!”

He laughed heartily, took Zhang Sanfeng by the hand, and walked away.

And just like that, a piece of chocolate said its farewell — to me, and to who he used to be.

A piece of chocolate and a feeble little blood demon — what a strange pair. But I wished them safe travels. Whether or not it was love, I wouldn’t presume to say. But on a long and winding road, having someone beside you is always a good thing.

Though right up until she left, Zhang Sanfeng still refused to believe I was over a thousand years old. And this forthright, blunt-spoken girl also made it quite clear that she did not like women who were greedy for money — but because I had helped her wait for the person she’d been waiting for, she was, for the time being, placing me in the category of exceptions.

Please. I simply love money. That is entirely different from being greedy for it. (Chi Pian’er, voice from off-screen: That argument is so unconvincing, so very unconvincing!)

When I returned inside, I discovered that Ao Chi had eaten every last piece of chocolate in the house and was lying sprawled across the sofa with a bloated belly, gasping. The moment he saw me come in, he sat bolt upright and said, deeply disgruntled: “You were conjuring a human form out of a paper talisman anyway — did you have to make him so handsome?!”

“So sour, so sour!” Chi Pian’er screeched, fluttering past overhead.

I looked at the packaging papers strewn all over the floor, and at his indignant, puffed-up face — and suddenly felt a warmth bloom in my chest, a quiet happiness. Yes. Compared to so many others, the two of us were living well right now, living steadily. Facing each other day and night, with nothing hidden between us. No wrenching separations, no thorns or pitfalls — and that was worth more than any amount of gold. This, more than anyone, I knew.

I walked over and scooped Ao Chi up in my arms, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. “My dear — happy Valentine’s Day!”

Ao Chi froze for five full seconds. Then he began to stammer: “Well, the thing is — I actually prepared a gift a long time ago. I hid it in the foot-washing basin. I was going to surprise you, have you go find it yourself…”

I flung him directly across the room.

A foot-washing basin?! Ao Chi — is that thing sitting above your neck actually a brain? The couple’s “localized war” erupted once again, the house in constant uproar. Only the television, left on, continued calmly airing a Valentine’s Day special, its background music familiar and gently flowing—

lyrics from “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You”

What else is there to say? Perhaps just this one line—

May all lovers eventually become devoted partners. Happy Valentine’s Day! ^_^