For several days in a row, Jiang Yiru didn’t come looking for him again.

She was, after all, a young lady with thin skin. After being treated so coldly by him, it was normal for her not to want to see him. Human hearts were fragile – no one could endure having their warm face meet a cold shoulder day after day.

One day, it rained again in the city. In the evening, when Gui Diao Tang returned from the mountains, he saw Jiang Yiru crouching across from his door.

Her clothes were somewhat soaked by the rain, making her look rather disheveled. She kept her head down, not knowing what she was thinking. She crouched under the eaves across the street, watching rainwater form crystalline drops that fell one by one into puddles on the ground. As she watched, her shoulders seemed to tremble.

Gui Diao Tang paused, then finally walked over to her.

Seeming to sense someone approaching, Jiang Yiru looked up, revealing eyes that had been crying.

His heart stirred: “You…”

Jiang Yiru turned her face away as tears fell drop by drop.

After a moment of silence, Gui Diao Tang said, “Come in.”

Jiang Yiru followed Gui Diao Tang into the house.

The room had returned to its former cold and gloomy appearance. Since Jiang Yiru had stopped coming to find him, the blue porcelain vase on the table had remained empty, without the scattered wildflowers that had decorated it daily.

He wanted to use magic to dry her wet clothes, then remembered that Jiang Yiru was an ordinary mortal girl. To avoid frightening her, Gui Diao Tang dragged out a fire stove from the house – this was left behind by the previous owner.

A fire was lit in the room, and the girl’s sobbing also stopped.

Gui Diao Tang looked at the woman before him. After staying quiet for a while, he finally asked: “Why are you crying?”

It would have been better not to ask. Once he did, Jiang Yiru’s eyes reddened again. She struggled to suppress the sob in her voice and slowly spoke: “My father scolded me.”

Jiang Yiru’s mother was in poor health, and her father had taken a concubine. The concubine had given birth to a son. Master Jiang favored sons over daughters. It wasn’t that he treated Jiang Yiru badly, but his kindness toward her was like how a master treats a pet cat or dog. People would give cats and dogs food, drink, and even good shelter, but they wouldn’t care about what the cats and dogs wanted to do in the future or what they were thinking.

After all, cats and dogs weren’t people.

As Jiang Yiru spoke, she began sobbing again: “I was just painting at home…”

She loved painting, always feeling that a blank piece of paper could become its world with just a few strokes of ink. In paintings, there were mountains and waters, birds and beasts, people and flowers, and freedom, better than the predictable life within the four walls of this city.

Master Jiang had torn all the paintings in her room to shreds: “What’s the use of learning these things! You’d be better off learning more embroidery and household management so you can be a virtuous wife when you marry into another family. Literature and painting are of no benefit to you – you’re not like your younger brother, who can take the imperial examinations! What else can you do besides these useless things all day?”

Jiang Yiru’s tears fell in large drops again: “Why can’t I paint…”

This girl’s tears came at will, looking somewhat jarring. A trace of murderous intent flashed extremely lightly through Gui Diao Tang’s heart. Just as he was about to say, “Then I’ll kill him for you,” he heard Jiang Yiru continue: “Do you also think this is something useless?”

He was stunned. Jiang Yiru stared at him through her tears.

Of course, this was useless to him. Not only painting, but all the things mortals pursued – power, wealth, youth, even affection – were meaningless to him. The only meaningful thing to him was probably cultivation. And these things couldn’t increase his cultivation.

The fire in the stove gently radiated warmth. Outside the window came the pitter-patter of raindrops. The small city was moistened by the fine rain, like pale ink wash slowly spreading across heaven and earth.

The man’s voice sounded in the room: “I don’t think so.”

Jiang Yiru looked up.

“It’s not entirely useless.” He said indifferently: “Didn’t you paint on my umbrella?”

Jiang Yiru was stunned, only then noticing that a blue paper umbrella was still placed in the corner of the room. After she had painted on the umbrella surface that day, although he hadn’t gotten angry at her, his instantly cold expression had still made Jiang Yiru aware of his displeasure.

She had thought he had already thrown the umbrella away.

“This umbrella was very plain,” the man said flatly, walking over to pick up the blue paper umbrella and sitting back down at the table. His handsome face looked somewhat pale in the firelight. No one knew that with the blue paper umbrella damaged, this tribulation lightning had cost him greatly in demonic essence, making the tribulation extremely perilous.

“Now it’s different. It’s very beautiful.”

Jiang Yiru stared straight at him. As she watched, tears gradually welled up again, but the corners of her mouth turned upward.

“Master Tang,” she smiled, “you are a good person.”

Gui Diao Tang’s hand holding the umbrella paused.

He was a demon, yet now he was being praised as a “good person” by a human – it was truly absurd. Just because he had saved her life in the mountains, she trusted him so much. Humans were too easily trusting of others.

“I’m not a good person.” Gui Diao Tang said, “That day in the mountains was just a casual act, not an intentional rescue.” His expression was somewhat cold, as if deliberately drawing a clear line between himself and Jiang Yiru.

But the implications and warnings in these words weren’t received by the girl.

She just smiled: “But you still saved me. Even if you’re not a good person to others, it’s enough that you’re a good person to me. I’m not that rigid. As long as you’re not a demon, it’s fine.”

A crisp “pop” sounded from the fire stove, like small pieces of firewood cracking under the sparks.

The rain fell like smoke and mist. He heard his voice, cold and heavy like the giant stones on Heishi Mountain, as he asked: “Demons?”

“Yes,” Jiang Yiru thought for a moment. “I once witnessed demons hurting people with my own eyes when I was young. To me, demons are the most terrifying. When they kill, they look very frightening. I think the most terrifying things in this world are probably demons.” She looked at Gui Diao Tang again. “But in a small city like ours, I don’t think any demons would appear again. The cultivators in your sects all have high cultivation – even if you saw demons, you wouldn’t be afraid.”

He didn’t speak.

Jiang Yiru looked at him. The blue-robed man sat before the fire stove. Though the room was warm and cozy, this man seemed to always be shrouded in a layer of pale, cold mist, clearly separating him from the human world’s warmth.

As if he didn’t belong here.

Was it because she had said something wrong just now?

Her heart tightened, and she quickly spoke again: “Even if you encounter demons and feel afraid, it’s okay. Don’t be scared – I’ll stay with you.”

On the blue paper umbrella, the varying shades of ink wash decorated the plain umbrella surface, making it lively. In the ethereal world painted on the umbrella surface, someone stood on the stone bridge, both blending into this prosperous human world and yet seeming out of place.

Gui Diao Tang’s gaze lingered on the umbrella surface for a moment. After just a brief pause, he looked away and lightly nodded, not denying Jiang Yiru’s words.

This was the first lie he had told since his birth.