Wu Wei asked a lot of questions.
“Which sect are you from, anyway?” “What kind of spell is that light of yours?” “How did you end up in a place like this?” “Who’s your master?” “What cultivation technique do you practice?” “Have you eaten breakfast?”
That last question was actually the one that mattered.
Chen Yu leaned against the wall and watched the twelve-year-old little Daoist squat beside Ruyan’s ashes. He kept poking at the dark-purple ghost pearl with a twig while bombarding Chen Yu with questions, and Chen Yu wondered if the kid’s endless energy was itself some kind of cultivation talent.
“I don’t belong to any sect,” Chen Yu said. “I don’t have a master, I haven’t eaten breakfast, and I don’t know where this is.”
Wu Wei turned his head and looked at him with the expression of someone observing a rare animal.
“You’re a rogue cultivator?”
“What kind of cultivator?”
“You know, someone without a master or sect who figures out cultivation on his own.” Wu Wei’s tone carried a subtle note of sympathy. “Still, being able to release light like that…that’s pretty impressive.”
Chen Yu didn’t answer. His gaze fell on the oil-paper umbrella in the corner. Its canopy was still trembling faintly, and the sobbing inside had turned into occasional sniffles.
“That…” Chen Yu lifted his chin toward the umbrella. “What are we going to do about her?”
Wu Wei stood up and dusted off his hands, his face taking on a righteous, imposing expression. “She’s a ghost, and I’m a Daoist. By the rules, I should—”
“You should what?”
Wu Wei paused. A crack appeared in his righteous expression. “…Actually, I’m not entirely sure either. Master taught me to subdue evil ghosts that harm people, but she doesn’t seem to have actually hurt anyone.”
He looked at Chen Yu, then at the umbrella, and lowered his voice. “Did she try to drain your yang energy just now?”
“She tried,” Chen Yu said, “but she was holding the textbook upside down.”
Wu Wei was silent for three seconds, then fought very hard not to laugh.
A muffled, tearful voice came from inside the oil-paper umbrella. “I can hear you talking!”
The umbrella canopy opened a crack, revealing half of Xiaonian’s bluish-white face. Her eyes were red—assuming a ghost’s eyes could even turn red—and a transparent drop clung to the tip of her nose. Chen Yu had no idea whether it counted as a tear.
“I didn’t actually drain anything,” she said miserably. “And Sister Ruyan got beaten apart by you two, so I don’t have anywhere to go anymore…”
When she said “don’t have anywhere to go,” her voice suddenly grew quiet, as if she had touched upon something she didn’t want to remember.
Chen Yu glanced at her.
He remembered a few things. For example, he was also someone with “nowhere to go.” Twenty-five years old, with no parents and not many friends, he had been standing in the rain in Bruges when a bus sent him flying, thinking that life was neither especially good nor especially bad.
“Let’s go,” he said, standing up and putting the book chest back on his shoulders. “It’ll be light soon. Let’s find somewhere with people first.”
Wu Wei froze. “You’re taking her with you?”
“If we don’t take her, are we supposed to leave her here?” Chen Yu glanced at the clay deity statue, whose face had been smashed apart on both sides. “This temple can’t even protect its own statue.”
Xiaonian crawled out from beneath the umbrella, hugged the oil-paper umbrella, and floated behind Chen Yu, keeping a distance of about three paces—not too close, because the lingering aura of holy light on Chen Yu’s body made her skin itch, but not too far either, because the pine woods outside were pitch-black and she was scared.
A scholar afraid of ghosts, leading a ghost afraid of the dark, along with a little Daoist who had snuck away from his mountain.
Chen Yu thought the combination itself was pretty damn ridiculous.
After daybreak, the world became a little more normal.
At the end of the pine woods was a yellow-earth imperial road. Last night’s rain had turned it into mud, but at least the tracks of cartwheels were visible, proving that people had passed this way. Wu Wei said the nearest city was Qinghe City, about half a day east along the imperial road.
“Qinghe City isn’t big, but it has a City God Temple, a market, and inns,” Wu Wei explained as they walked, sounding like a conscientious tour guide. “There’s a Myriad Treasures Pavilion branch in the city where you can exchange things for money. Do you have any money?”
Chen Yu touched the cloth belt around his waist. Aside from a few thread-bound books he couldn’t understand and that brass lamp with a handle, there was nothing in the book chest.
“No.”
“Then how have you survived until now?”
“I only got here today.”
Wu Wei gave him another look reserved for rare animals, but didn’t press the matter. The little Daoist was talkative, but he had a strange sense of boundaries—once he reached a certain point, he would automatically stop asking, as if his sect had taught him some rule like, “If they don’t answer after three questions, don’t ask again.”
They walked for about an hour.
Xiaonian huddled inside the oil-paper umbrella, which Chen Yu carried tucked under his arm. Daylight was too harsh for her, so she could only hide beneath the umbrella, occasionally poking half her head out from the edge to look at the road.
People began appearing along the road: farmers carrying shoulder poles, merchants driving ox carts, and old gentlemen riding donkeys. Chen Yu noticed that these people dressed much like he did—coarse cloth robes, cloth shoes, and tied-up hair. But every so often, someone different appeared: travelers with bizarre objects hanging from their waists, burly men carrying greatswords taller than they were, and a young woman leading a deer that was white from head to hoof.
“That’s someone from Thousand Beasts Valley,” Wu Wei said, following his gaze and lowering his voice. “A spirit-beast cultivator. She’s a little socially awkward, so don’t stare. You’ll make her uncomfortable.”
Chen Yu looked away.
This world was livelier than he had imagined.
After walking a little farther, they came upon a gigantic old locust tree beside the imperial road. Its crown blotted out the sky, and several stones had been set beneath it as seats. Clearly, it was a place for travelers to rest.
A young woman sat beneath the tree.
She looked seventeen or eighteen. She wore a pale-green dress, with a wildflower tucked into her hair, and was eating a skewer of candied hawthorn berries with blissful contentment plastered across her face. Her features were exceptionally beautiful, her brows and eyes curved gently, and the corners of her mouth naturally turned upward. She looked as if she were always on the verge of smiling.
In fact, she was smiling.
She smiled as she ate the candied hawthorn, her shoulders shaking with laughter, though no one knew what she found so funny. A butterfly flew over and landed on the tip of her nose, and she smiled at the butterfly. When it flew away, she smiled at the direction it had gone. A gust of wind blew her hair into disarray, and she smiled at the wind.
When Chen Yu walked past her, she raised her head, looked at him, and smiled.
It wasn’t a polite smile. It was a smile that came from the heart, without reason, born purely from the joy of seeing another person. Her laughter was as clear as a mountain spring striking stone.
Chen Yu nodded and continued walking.
Wu Wei, however, stopped. He stared at the young woman for two seconds, then suddenly grabbed Chen Yu by the sleeve and pulled him aside, lowering his voice. “Fox demon.”
“Hm?”
“She’s a fox demon.” Wu Wei’s expression was solemn. “Look at her shadow.”
Chen Yu glanced back.
Beneath the old locust tree, the girl’s shadow had been stretched long by the afternoon sunlight. Its outline was more or less human, but a furry extension protruded from the end, like a tail.
“There are a lot of fox demons in the Northern Domain,” Wu Wei continued in a lowered voice. “Most of them are harmless, but some specialize in beguiling scholars. Master said the first thing to do when you encounter a fox demon is—”
“What?”
Wu Wei opened his mouth, then suddenly got stuck. His face reddened slightly. “Master said…when you encounter a fox demon from Spirit Fox Valley, don’t maintain eye contact with them for too long, because when it comes to scholars, they…”
He didn’t finish, because the girl had already stood up.
She held the bamboo skewer from the candied hawthorn between her teeth and walked toward them with a giggle, her steps so light it was as if she were walking on clouds. When she reached Wu Wei, she tilted her head and looked the little Daoist up and down.
Then she reached into her sleeve, pulled out a skewer of candied hawthorn, and held it out to Wu Wei.
“Little Daoist, want some candy?”
Wu Wei’s face grew even redder. He took a step back, one hand pressing against the talisman pouch at his waist. “I-I’m a disciple of the Tianfu Sect. Don’t you dare—”
The girl blinked, then suddenly laughed even harder, doubling over so violently that the candied hawthorn nearly fell to the ground.
“HAHAHAHA—why are you so nervous?—hahahaha—I’m just offering you some candy—hahahahaha!”
She couldn’t stop laughing. Tears were practically streaming from her eyes.
Wu Wei stood where he was, one hand on his talisman pouch, his face red as a boiled shrimp, caught completely between advancing and retreating.
Chen Yu stood beside him and watched the scene in silence for a long time.
Then he spoke.
“She’s just trying to offer you a candied hawthorn skewer, and you’re treating her like a monster.” He paused. “Though she is, in fact, a monster.”
Hearing that, the girl laughed so hard she squatted right down on the ground.
The fox demon girl’s name was Yingning.
She was indeed a fox demon from Spirit Fox Valley, but she said she was only passing through on her way to Qinghe City to buy candied hawthorn. She had already eaten seven skewers and planned to buy three more to take home to her mother.
“Your mother’s a fox demon too?” Wu Wei asked.
“Mm.” Yingning bit into a candied hawthorn and said with a smile, “Mother’s a fox demon, and Father was human. But Father isn’t around anymore.”
She was still smiling when she said it, but there was a blank moment in that smile, like a faint mark where someone had gently rubbed an eraser across a painting.
Chen Yu noticed, but said nothing.
Yingning quickly returned to her baseless cheerfulness. She skipped along ahead, chasing butterflies one moment, picking wildflowers the next, then turning around to smile at the three of them.
“You’re going to Qinghe City too? Let’s go together! It’s more fun to have company on the road!”
Wu Wei looked at Chen Yu. Chen Yu shrugged indifferently.
And so the group became four: a scholar who had crossed over, a little Daoist who had snuck away from his mountain, a little ghost girl hiding inside an umbrella, and a fox demon girl who was always smiling.
They walked for about another half an hour.
Yingning suddenly stopped.
Her smile vanished. This was the first time Chen Yu had seen her not smiling. Without the smile, her features looked unnervingly calm, even somewhat sharp. Her nostrils flared faintly, as if she were sniffing out something.
“Something’s wrong,” she said, without a trace of laughter in her voice. “Something’s coming.”
Wu Wei immediately became alert and reached into his talisman pouch.
Chen Yu felt it too. A smell had suddenly appeared in the air—rank and heavy, like the body odor of some enormous animal mixed with the scent of earth and rotting leaves.
Then he heard a sound.
It wasn’t footsteps. It was the sound of trees being smashed apart. One tree, then two, then three—the sounds of breaking wood came in succession from the forest to the left of the imperial road, drawing closer and growing faster.
Yingning’s expression changed.
“It’s something from Black Mountain.” She turned around, her face taking on a seriousness Chen Yu had never seen before. “Run!”
“What Black Mount—”
He didn’t finish. The forest exploded.
A gigantic black boar charged out of the trees. It was larger than an ox cart, its entire body covered in black bristles like iron armor, and its four hooves shook the ground and sent mud flying. Its eyes were dark red, and the breath blasting from its mouth reeked of sulfur.
A black mark was carved into its forehead, as if it had been branded there.
“Black Mountain demon mark.” Wu Wei’s expression changed too. “It’s Black Mountain Old Demon’s mountain-patrol beast!”
Yingning had already started running. She moved far faster than her appearance suggested, her pale-green dress snapping in the wind. In the blink of an eye, she had shot more than ten yards ahead.
“Running east won’t work!” she shouted over her shoulder. “It’ll chase us! Run north—toward Black Mountain! It won’t attack us there because that’s its territory. It only drives intruders away; it doesn’t kill them!”
“Run into a monster’s territory?” Wu Wei shouted as he ran. “What kind of logic is that?”
“Its job is to drive prey into Black Mountain!” Yingning’s voice came from ahead. “We’ll figure something out once we’re inside! It’s still better than being trampled to death right now!”
The giant boar was already catching up. It was far too fast for something of its size, every step carrying the force of an earthquake. Chen Yu ran at the back of the group, feeling hot breath spray against the nape of his neck, rank enough to make him want to vomit.
He glanced back.
The giant boar opened its mouth. Inside were three rows of crooked yellow teeth, every one as large as his fist.
Chen Yu turned forward again and ran faster.
Xiaonian let out a terrified scream from inside the oil-paper umbrella. “I don’t want to die a second time!”
They ran across the imperial road, through the farmland, and into the mountain forest to the north. The trees grew denser and taller, while the sunlight grew dimmer and dimmer. The yin energy in the air grew heavier, like cold water seeping up from underground and wrapping around their skin layer by layer.
Sure enough, the giant boar’s footsteps began to slow.
Then they stopped.
Chen Yu looked back. The black giant boar stood before a row of black stone pillars, as if it had reached some invisible boundary. It stared at them with its dark-red eyes for several seconds, snorted two streams of white vapor from its nostrils, then turned and ambled back into the woods.
Bent over and panting, Chen Yu raised his head and looked around.
They stood at the entrance to a dark mountain valley. Steep black rock walls rose on either side, covered in dark-purple moss. Twisted runes were carved into the row of black stone pillars, giving off a faint, sinister glow.
A cloyingly sweet smell of decay hung in the air, like overripe fruit rotting in the dirt.
Yingning stood beside the stone pillars, the smile completely gone from her face. She gazed into the depths of the valley and spoke softly.
“This is Black Mountain.”
Wu Wei swallowed. “Black Mountain Old Demon’s Black Mountain?”
Yingning nodded.
Chen Yu straightened and looked at the eerie valley before them, then glanced at the brass lamp with a handle he had unconsciously pulled from the book chest.
He was silent for several seconds.
“So,” he said in an exceedingly calm voice, “we were chased into a monster’s lair by a pig.”
Yingning couldn’t help laughing once, but quickly restrained herself.
Wu Wei didn’t laugh. He stared at the thick, impenetrable darkness in the depths of the valley, crumpling the talisman paper in his hand.
From inside the oil-paper umbrella, Xiaonian said softly, “I feel like…I’ve been here before.”
Everyone turned to look at the umbrella.
The canopy opened a crack, revealing half of Xiaonian’s face. Her expression was no longer miserable or frightened. Instead, she looked dazed, as if struggling to remember something.
“This smell…” She sniffed. “I remember this smell. Sweet and rotten. Before I died…the last thing I smelled was this.”
From deep within the valley came a low, long sigh.
As if something very, very old had turned over in its sleep.