Death is cold. After she died, her soul lingered, watching as people prepared her corpse for burial. Because she had died coughing up blood, they must have thought she was diseased. She watched as her body was burned into ashes, scattered by the wind.
To have one’s bones crushed and ashes scattered—this was the punishment reserved for the most heinous of sinners. It was also the divine retribution for the Ji family.
She had devoted herself with passion to mastering the Ji family’s ancient craft, yet she was unable to cross the Naihe Bridge (a mythological bridge in the underworld). Each day, she wandered the old Ji family estate. There was still so much she wanted to create. She didn’t want to die.
So she stayed in the old house, floating day after day, hovering above the chair she used to sit in, longing to use a brush to sketch out all her imaginative designs.
She had no idea what the future held for her. Perhaps one day, a powerful figure would come to banish her, seeing her as a restless spirit. Or perhaps she would eventually be able to cross the Naihe Bridge and enter the cycle of reincarnation. Or maybe she would simply float there forever, holding on to the passion and dedication that had once consumed her.
That was the last of her memories from the mortal world.
When Tan Yin woke up, there was a heavy rainstorm outside, with rain pattering loudly. She hadn’t closed the window, and the floor was wet.
Now, she was once again human. Only mortals dreamed. Whether she liked it or not, those ancient, faded memories continued to invade her dreams, forcing her to relive her short, fleeting life.
Perhaps, deep in her subconscious, she had been hoping to dream about him—his face, his voice. She could no longer recall what he looked like, so even a dream that brought her a hint of those memories would be a great joy.
The rain outside showed no signs of stopping. Tan Yin walked to the window, ready to close it, when suddenly a melodious call of the Elysium bird reached her ears. Golden light shimmered in the air, and in the blink of an eye, a splendid golden carriage stopped outside her window. Ancient golden runes rippled across the carriage’s surface like water, and a gentle, elegant fragrance filled the air—it was the unmistakable grandeur of the Youhu clan. This was the first time she had seen something so grand.
The carriage curtain was pulled back by a hand clad in a black silk glove, revealing a plain, unremarkable face—Yuan Zhong had changed his face again. Truly, he was a master of disguises.
His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, clearly excited. “Little Ji! You’re awake! Want to come out and play?”
Tan Yin was about to refuse without a second thought. It was rare for her to dislike someone as much as she disliked him. But she couldn’t refuse. She needed to ensure that he stayed close to her at all times.
She hesitated for a moment, and Yuan Zhong’s body twisted comically as he leaned halfway out of the carriage. “Sister Ji, there are so many bad people out there, only your broad shoulders can protect me! You have to come! Oh, and do you want to see me perform a face-changing trick?”
Yuan Zhong rubbed his face, clearly proud of his skill—it was his specialty, and no one else could replicate it.
Tan Yin couldn’t help but feel a bit curious about his many masks. The craftsmanship was so fine, and there were so many of them. How did he manage to wear them all without showing any seams?
“Why do you always change your face?” she asked. “Do you wear all those masks at once?”
Yuan Zhong gave her a mysterious smile and whispered, “Want to know? Come with me, and I’ll tell you.”
Tan Yin suddenly understood why Tang Hua hated him so much and had thrown him into the pond. Anyone would be driven mad by him—he never took anything seriously and was impossible to reason with.
With a sigh, she relented. “Fine, I’ll go.”
Yuan Zhong happily slipped back into the carriage. In the next moment, she gracefully entered as well, like a butterfly. The carriage was quite spacious, furnished with soft cushions for resting, and there was even a small sandalwood table with a glass jar on top, filled with grapes—green and purple. Yuan Zhong was happily picking out the biggest, roundest grapes to eat.
Grapes, first thing in the morning? Tan Yin suddenly recalled the old saying that foxes loved to eat grapes, and the thought made her smile a little. Her dislike for him lessened slightly.
Noticing her gaze on the grapes, Yuan Zhong quickly declared, “These are my breakfast, the Grand Monk’s breakfast.”
Tan Yin didn’t respond, instead pulling back the corner of the curtain and quietly watching the scenery outside. Her sleeve was suddenly tugged gently, and when she turned, she found two golden, steaming sesame buns wrapped in oiled paper being held up to her nose.
Yuan Zhong, holding the buns, looked at her with a grin. “These are for you.”
Surprised by his thoughtfulness, Tan Yin took one and smiled slightly. “Thank you.”
Yuan Zhong was clearly pleased, clapping his hands together and murmuring, “Sister Ji, girls should smile more often. You look so much prettier when you smile.”
That... reminded her of something someone once said to her.
Tan Yin bit into the bun in silence, then asked, “No one has seen your real face. Does that mean no one knows your name either?”
Yuan Zhong looked taken aback for a moment. “You want to know my name?”
Tan Yin shook her head, but after a pause, she nodded. “I’m just a little curious.”
She was curious as to why he kept himself so well hidden—his appearance unknown, his name a mystery. Although she didn’t fully understand the level of secrecy required by someone like the Grand Monk of the Youhu clan, he didn’t seem like someone who needed to conceal everything about himself. So why all the mystery?
Yuan Zhong was toying with a grape, his long, slender fingers spinning it effortlessly between them without dropping it. His hands were remarkably deft, each joint clearly defined. The green grape danced between his fingertips as he continued to play with it.
His face was full of smiles, and his eyes gleamed, but his voice took on an unusually soft and gentle tone. “Sister Ji, they say when a woman becomes curious about a man, it means she’s starting to like him. You must like me quite a bit, don’t you?”
He looked utterly pleased with himself, his face radiating smugness, as if love were written all over it. The grape jumped from his right hand to his left, and then back again, as he played with it joyfully.
Without hesitation, Tan Yin shook her head firmly.
“Oh no, oh no,” Yuan Zhong covered his face dramatically, pretending to be shy. “I’m so heartbroken, so sad, and so embarrassed…”
Interacting with him required cultivating a calm, unaffected demeanor. She needed to pretend she hadn’t noticed any of his outrageous antics. Otherwise, she might lose her mind like Tang Hua and do something rash and regrettable.
“But even if Sister Ji likes me,” Yuan Zhong sighed theatrically, blinking at her, “I still can’t tell you my name. My name is a priceless treasure too.”
Tan Yin, chewing her sesame bun, pretended not to hear him. She decided that for the rest of the trip, no matter what he said, she wouldn’t respond.
The Elysium birds pulling the carriage were much faster than ordinary spirit beasts, and before noon, they had traveled thousands of miles. As the scenery outside began to change, Tan Yin saw signs of human life. Gone were the endless forests and mountains, replaced by small villages and towns. She couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the view outside.
In her short life of just seventeen years, she had never left the Ji family’s ancestral home or ventured beyond a hundred miles of it. After that... well, she had never set foot in the mortal world again. Everything outside was new and fascinating to her.
As the landscape changed, they passed a small village with a few scattered farmhouses, smoke rising straight up into the sky like white dragons made of mist. Then came a small town, where an old man sold colorful pinwheels that spun like a kaleidoscope of flowers as they passed by. Finally, they arrived at a bustling, prosperous city. The Elysium birds slowed down and flew lower. At the corner of the street, acrobats performed with children under ten flipping one after another, while the sound of drums and gongs echoed noisily. At the entrance of a gambling den, a crowd gathered, likely watching as some unlucky gambler was beaten after losing all their money. Across the street, there was a stall selling fried tofu, its fragrant smoke mingling with the city air, carried off by the wind.
Tan Yin watched in rapt attention. She had never been to such a city. The architecture, the colors, even the people’s clothes were completely different from what she had known. It was both intriguing and exciting.
The carriage finally stopped, and all the people around instinctively stepped back in awe. Though mortals, demons, and immortals now mingled freely, it was still rare to see such an elaborate carriage pulled by Elysium birds. They likely assumed some great immortal was inside, someone they dared not offend.
Yuan Zhong glanced at Tan Yin. She was still gazing out the window, her eyes fixed on the simplest of sights—a regular shop selling clay pots across the street. How could something so ordinary captivate her for so long? Normally, when he went out to handle affairs, he kept a low profile to avoid attracting attention. The mixed crowds outside could easily cause trouble if he showed off. But today, seeing how delighted she was, he had deliberately driven the carriage through the town. She didn’t even notice anything was amiss, which made him pause in thought.
“Shall we find an inn to stay at?” he finally said, though his tone was far from serious. “I’ve always dreamed of sharing a room at an inn with a beautiful lady. Sister Ji, should we stay up all night chatting by candlelight?”
Tan Yin barely suppressed a sigh, feeling even more certain that this man was hopelessly incorrigible.
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