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Chapter Text

Neighboring villagers called this mountain the Fragrant Mountain.

The scent of wisteria flowers enveloped the slopes like a curtain that swayed even without the slightest breeze. Purple and white petals seemed to absorb and reflect the moonlight, so from a distance the mountain looked like a heavenly garden or a picture embroidered on smooth silk.

Yet the God of War of the Southwest was haunted by a bad feeling. It seemed to him that the sultry floral scent hid something sinister beneath it, just as too much powder on a courtesan's face usually concealed illness. The flowers of this wisteria vine were too large, and their fleshy petals felt greasy, like white mutton fat. As he went deeper into the thicket, he began to notice annoying swarms of black flies, lured by the sweet flower nectar.

Mu Qing knew that all parts of this beautiful plant were poisonous.

In the village at the foot of the mountain, they said that some time ago people used to live on its slopes. But now there was nothing left of those villages except for the ruins drowned in greenery. Wild ginseng gatherers and hunters also no longer ventured there, because medicinal plants and game had long since disappeared from the Fragrant Mountain. On his way, Mu Qing did not hear any birds singing, and only some small bones, bleached by time, crunched under his feet. A couple of times he even noticed human skulls entwined with vines.

The God of War went to this mountain to investigate the mysterious deaths of his followers.

There were hardly any living trees left. Thick vines had strangled them in deceptively loving embraces, filling the withered crowns of chestnuts and maples with their own shoots and flowers. Mu Qing placed his palm on one of the vines and felt it pulsate under his fingers, like a monstrous twisted umbilical cord. As if one huge creature were sucking the life of the entire mountain.

One of the plant's thin, delicate tendrils suddenly began to move and gently wrapped itself around Mu Qing's wrist, graceful as a jade bracelet. The heavenly official felt a slight tingling on his skin, as if the wisteria shoot had tried to launch sharp roots into his living flesh. He pulled his hand away from the vine, and the tendril let go of his wrist, although it immediately tried to cling to the fabric of his sleeve searching for support.

The zhanmаdao flashed in Mu Qing's hand, cutting through the thick vine. Instead of a smooth, slightly damp cut, there was thick black liquid splashing out in all directions. The leaves it fell on immediately darkened. The heavenly official grimaced in disgust and immediately wiped the blade of his saber with a handkerchief, fearing that stains of filth would stay on it forever.

“Disgusting,” he muttered under his breath.

Mu Qing loved life. But he had never seen it so insolent before. For some reason, it made him feel sick.

The heavenly official returned to the path and after a few hundred steps found confirmation that although people no longer lived here, they visited the mountain quite regularly. On the tree branches closest to the path were tied red wedding ribbons and bows - some were faded and frayed, and some were brand new. Also there were wooden tablets with writings in cinnabar ink. Mu Qing removed several and shuddered at the sight: he knew that writing someone's name in red ink was extremely unlucky. Some mortals believed that way you could even curse a person. But it seemed that the locals had their own special rituals.

"But you don't care anymore, do you?" he whispered to the names on the tablets. "You're already dead, how could anything be worse?”..

Along with the names, all the tablets indicated the age and occupation of the deceased, as well as the date and time of their death. All was documented with the same care with which matchmakers write down the birth dates of a future couple to check their compatibility.

Gao Haomiao, 25, a student, died of overwork. Dandan, 16, an inn maid, died of lung disease. Lin Shiyun, 20, an official's daughter, died of lovesickness. Yuan Xun, 40, a caravan guard, killed in the line of duty.

There were many others.

Mu Qing took out the records he made in the village at the foot of the mountain, and found the same names in the list. All these people were locals, young or not so young, but all of them died virgins. Speaking about them, the villagers shared their fears that the dead would be lonely and cold in the afterlife without a partner. Some were genuinely worried that their relatives did not find family happiness. Some were more afraid that the deceased would return to the village as vengeful ghosts. Some were sincerely caring, others were tormented by guilt. It took a long time for the villagers to admit that their Fragrant Mountain was home to a Divine Matchmaker who could solve a problem of such a delicate nature. The village head then even bragged that people from other parts of the land began to come to the village specifically to climb the local mountain. On a night when the moon was especially beautiful they would hang a tablet with the name of their dear dead on a tree branch.

But the heavenly official was not familiar with any “matchmaking deity.” The Palace of Ling Wen didn’t have any records about them either, and that was utterly suspicious.

Mu Qing snapped his fingers, and a shimmering scroll with the task given to him by the Civil Goddess hung in front of him in midair. There were other names of women and men who had died before marriage, many, many names. But none of them were residents of the village at the foot of the Fragrant Mountain. And the cause of death for all these people was cruel and the same: all of them were strangled in their sleep. On the necks of all the victims there were dark blue marks from a rope. Or maybe from the demonic vine that had crawled into their houses?..

Mu Qing put both lists away and continued up the path until he suddenly heard a playful female laugh and two voices singing a frivolous song, not always hitting the rhythm and notes:

The storm has passed, the thunder has fallen silent for a while.
The rain has poured down hard from the Jade Mountain.
Exhausted and out of breath to my delight,
My lover slowly gets up to put on her robe.
And in her clouded eyes the light still flickers
Of the fire of passion, which faded only after a hundred victories...*

Carefully parting the curtain of lush leaves and garlands of flowers, Mu Qing saw a secluded clearing, almost like a cave among the walls of greenery. Dozens of fireflies hovered above the ground, and their flickering green lights resembled flames of candles in the temple of some deity. But there was nothing holy neither in this deathly light, nor in the frivolous singing and in the intoxicating flower aroma.

Fluffy carpets and silk-embroidered cushions were casually thrown onto a large, flat stone resembling an altar. Heaps of ​​fruit and delicious sweets were piled high on golden plates like offerings, and a couple of already empty wine jugs were laying on the ground. Flies and large, furry-bellied moths had already flocked to the scent of the treats.

The hostesses of this midnight feast were two beauties sitting opposite each other. At first glance they looked like celestial fairies. One of them wore a light, delicate purple dress and her hair was adorned with silver hairpins in the shape of wisteria flowers which gently jingled every time the woman bowed her head. On the beauty's lap lay The Book of Changes, and fortune-telling sticks were scattered in disarray at her feet along with a mother-of-pearl-decorated cup. Her friend's wide orange sleeves resembled the folded wings of a swallowtail butterfly, and her thin ankles, decorated with wide gold bracelets were peeking from under her translucent bloomers. Her nails were painted scarlet. The phoenix-shaped eyes of this lady and her eyebrows were extremely beautiful, but… When she turned around a little, it became clear that something was wrong with the lower part of her face. Her cheeks resembled old yellowish paper, her lips were sunken as an ancient toothless woman’s, and the skin on her neck hung in ugly folds. The contrast was quite eerie. And yet she smiled as if everything was normal for her.

These beauties were not celestial fairies at all. Mu Qing had not met the first one before, but he assumed that she was the spirit of the old wisteria vine that had destroyed all other trees on Fragrant Mountain. The second one was just a half-faced demoness.

Some aging beauties are said to turn into such monsters if they become so obsessed with their appearance and male attention that they stop at nothing to hold on to their elusive youth. For the sake of external beauty, they devour the flesh of young maidens, wash their bodies in the blood of blooming men, and prepare pills from the dried umbilical cords of babies. But no matter how hard they try, they never manage to hide their ugliness completely. The younger and more beautiful one side of their face becomes, the more the other side ages. But the half-faced demonesses never admit their mistakes and do not stop in their madness. Judging by the appearance of this one, there was already a lot of blood on her hands.

“Flowers like a purple haze wrap around the trunk of a tree that has reached the sky… ” ** the demoness sang in a deep, slightly hoarse voice and abruptly interrupted herself: “Jiejie, will my betrothed come today?”

"Of course he will, don't even doubt it, meimei," the lady with flowers in her hair gently smiled, reassuring her friend. "It's not for nothing that mortals call me the Divine Matchmaker. My star maps never lie, and my marital bonds are tight."

Only now did Mu Qing see thin strings stretched between the palms of the beauties sitting opposite each other. They moved their fingers to the rhythm of the songs and wove different shapes with the strings. Mu Qing recognized the "falling star", the "western gate", the "spring butterfly"... Children from the poor neighborhood he grew up in used to play just like that, if the only toy they had was a string. His mother also taught him to play, using scraps of sewing thread.

But the ladies of the mountain were not playing the usual “string cradle.” The strings between their fingers were faintly glowing and pulsating, as if they were alive. The heavenly official could see where they were wrapped around the half-faced demoness’s hands, but for the wisteria spirit, the threads were extensions of her fingers. Mu Qing immediately recalled the greedy thin shoot that had tried to wrap itself around his wrist a little earlier.

Mu Qing placed his palm on the hilt of his zhanmadao. The blade seemed to respond to the presence of demonic qi, slightly moving out of its sheath. It was as if the weapon sensed its owner's desire to cleanse the mountain.

"He's coming, he's coming! I’ve heard the sound of his footsteps!" suddenly exclaimed the half-faced demoness. Her sensitive, pointed ears must have caught the barely audible clang of metal.

She quickly tore the strings between her fingers and reached for a thin red veil to cover the ugly lower half of her face.

"Jiejie, how do I look?" she asked, quickly adjusting her braided hair, decorated with bright beads and feathers.

"Oh, our Lady Yanwei is as charming as ever," the wisteria spirit replied, touching her friend's hand encouragingly. "No man dead or alive can resist her forever and ever."

They turned and looked at Mu Qing at the same time, pretending to be demure maidens who had been taken by surprise. The demonesses were trying so hard that their deathly pale cheeks even showed an almost natural blush of embarrassment! Mu Qing calmly observed how their eyes opened wider and wider, and their surprise suddenly became genuine. And then fear, anger and disgust followed, distorting delicate features and making their faces less and less human.

“That's not him!” hissed the half-faced one. “It's not my betrothed at all, but some lousy cultivator! Who did you conjure, you old, gnarled branch, huh?!”

Mu Qing attacked first, not bothering to say anything. He was not the kind of god of war who liked to get up high first and strike a dramatic pose with his cloak fluttering and all that as he passed judgment on demons. If he happened to be patrolling the mortal world with a newly ascended General Pei who liked to show off, he would roll his eyes and pretend to not know him. Mortals would still be happy to come up with heroic descriptions of their patron's actions, so why bother?

The God of War of the Southwest had acted with certainty. His blade flashed so fast that it was barely visible to the eye, and it split the flat stone like lightning. Scraps of carpets and golden plates flew in all directions. The demonesses darted to the sides in fear, like dry leaves caught in the storm. It would not be difficult to neutralize them, Mu Qing thought.

"My lord cultivator!" exclaimed the wisteria spirit. "What do you think you are doing in my domain?!"

“So you were the guardian spirit of this mountain?” Mu Qing asked casually. “Okay, I’ll mention it in the report to The Palace of Ling Wen.”

“What do you mean, “was”?! Ignorant fool!” The demoness dodged the next slash and rose into the air, her skirts and hair fluttering. “For I am still the guardian of this place! I am the oldest tree in the area!”

"Look around," Mu Qing replied coldly. "Your vines have long since killed everything you were supposed to protect: plants, animals, and birds. I don't care what exactly drove you so mad that you allowed demonic energy to corrupt your spiritual core, but it must stop now."

As if in response to his words, brown spots slowly began to spread across beauty's light purple dress. It was like tree bark growing on it. In a sense, this was also a manifestation of abundant life, but Mu Qing felt disgusted by this sight.

"So it's YOU he came for!" the half-faced demoness cried out with relief, as she was hiding behind a fragment of the altar stone . "Then deal with him yourself, my dear friend!"

She waved her wide sleeves and disappeared behind them. Then the light fabric slid onto the grass and the next moment disappeared without a trace, like morning mist.

“Yanwei, where are you going? Help me!.. Oh what an ungrateful, two-faced bitch!”

Now dark spots began to appear on the demoness's face, and her fingers already resembled dry, hooked branches.

“What did I do to you?!” she cried. “Just leave me be! I will stay on this mountain and continue to be its guardian. Have you seen that village nearby? When its inhabitants lose their loved ones, they put my flowers on their graves. When they mourn, their tears water my roots. When they lament that their dead are lonely, I find them a match! It's a win-win partnership!”

"So that's how you became a matchmaker for the dead? You were corrupted by the rotting corpses from the cemetery, and so from a spirit you turned into a demoness," guessed Mu Qing.

He was about to strike again and cut the abomination down by its roots, but he suddenly stumbled and lost his balance in a very inelegant way. Thick vines shot out from the ground and grabbed his ankles like tight shackles. But as he fell, he still managed to grab the wisteria spirit by the hem of her dress.

Only a small cloth remained in his hands. The dress easily slid off the body of the demoness, which was already covered with thick bark and only slightly retained the outlines of a seductive female figure. The wisteria rose on a pedestal of thick intertwined vines, ready to strike the immobilized god of war and poke out his eyes with branches, strangle him with shoots, swaddle him tightly and embrace until all that was left of him were only bleached bones.

Mu Qing calmly chopped down the vines at his feet and rolled to the side to shield his face from the dark, acrid juice that spurted out in all directions. Wisteria let out a cry of pain and collapsed to the ground. Her legs had already fused into a twisted tail, and she looked like a wooden snake-woman now.

Mu Qing kicked the weakened roots off his ankles and crawled closer to the fallen demoness to deliver the fatal blow. His face and arms were already covered in thin cuts from the branches that lashed at him, but he did not pay attention to such trivialities. All he could think about now was how hard it was to wield a long saber when it was entangled in hundreds of small shoots.

“What did I do wrong?! Haven't you ever heard of "ghost weddings"?”

“If you were just bringing together the ghosts of virgins, the Heavens might turn a blind eye to it,” Mu Qing said through clenched teeth, threw his leg over the thick intertwined vines, and fell on top of the demoness. “But you started killing yourself!”

“Oh, what could I do? There weren't enough marriage partners for everyone! The mortals from the village were grateful to me! As for others, why do I care?!”

"Oh, come on, don't blame it all on the locals. You would’ve killed them too when the victims in the other villages ran low", Mu Qing snorted coldly, weighing the zhanmadao in his hand and trying to figure out how to cut off the creature's head more effectively.

"He's coming after all!" the wisteria suddenly creaked out of place, and her eyes widened as she looked somewhere over the god of war's shoulder. "The betrothed one is here, but he came for the wrong person!"

“Do you think I'll believe your ridiculous tricks? Are you expecting me to turn around? Foolish creature!”

Jingle!..

The forest on the mountain around them was filled with the howling wind raised by the divine saber, sounds of branches breaking and rocks crumbling. But a clear silver ringing broke through the noise of the battle and sent an icy chill to the back of Mu Qing's head. It was as if everything around them had slowed down, and the blade-like wisteria leaves froze in midair.

Jingle! Jingle!..

Someone was slowly approaching.

The bubble of silence burst, and all the delayed sounds and stopped time fell upon Mu Qing at once. The momentum swung him forward, he lost his balance, and so he thrust his zhanmadao into the ground in front of him to keep from falling. Now he could no longer stop hearing the jingle of silver jewelry and the sound of firm, confident footsteps behind him, as if someone was stamping their heels on a stone courtyard rather than on soft fallen leaves.

“What the hell... why is he here too?”..

Mu Qing's heart skipped a beat, as if it had been squeezed by a clawed paw. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, like that of a stray cat meeting a tiger. It was an instant instinctive fear, washing over him like a tide. Mu Qing was completely overcome by the desire to fight and survive. He did not want to believe himself, but he already knew exactly who was standing behind him. The need to look back and the desire not to look his fear in the eye intertwined in his thoughts and tied itself into knots in his chest.

Even the monstrous wisteria seemed frightened, like a praying mantis that was just about to feed on a cicada and suddenly discovered a siskin behind it.

A silver ghost butterfly circled in front of Mu Qing's face. Almost translucent, seemingly so harmless and innocent, but its sharp wings cut through the darkness of the night. The air no longer smelled of flowers and warm rot, but only of iron and blood. Mu Qing's gaze darted behind the flickering beacon, and in the next moment, the silver butterfly weightlessly landed on his forehead, touching the bloody cuts almost gently…

And the next moment, a sharp pain pierced Mu Qing’s body. He was jerked up off the ground, and for some reason his right hand suddenly weakened and hung limply. Splashes of blood gushed from his throat. His fingers unclenched on their own and released the handle of the zhanmadao. The steel pitifully clanged against the split altar stone.

The disturbed butterfly fluttered lightly and flew away with a light breeze. Mu Qing slowly and almost against his will lowered his heavy head and saw that his chest just below the collarbone was pierced through by a thick intertwined wisteria shoot, which had once been the hand of a demoness. He had been distracted by another enemy only for a moment, and now blood, shining like cinnabar varnish, was spreading on his the simple white hanfu of the wandering cultivator.

“This is nothing,” Mu Qing muttered, spitting out blood. “I can handle this kind of wound. I won’t die from it.”

He felt his right hand go numb, but he was also skilled with his left. If only he could reach the zhanmadao… He had suffered worse injuries, and if there were scars on his immortal body, he would no longer remember how many there were. Overall, the situation did not seem desperate enough to urgently enter the spiritual communication array and request reinforcements. He was not in a bad enough situation yet to ask for help.

And anyway, would anyone even respond? In truth, he had stopped trying to befriend anyone in the Heavenly Palace. So Ling Wen would have to resort to persuasion and lies to get the other gods of war to agree to help General Xuanzhen. Especially against the Supreme Ghost. Most likely, she would end up sending Feng Xin just for fun, knowing how much they hated each other. And Feng Xin would see his rival in such a pitiful state, like a cicada strung on a hawthorn thorn. No, Mu Qing still had some self-respect left, and he did not need such a saving.

Footsteps and the clink of silver behind him. With a corner of an eye, Mu Qing saw a flash of robes as bright as the flames that had completely consumed the temples of 33 heavenly officials. Even he himself had already forgotten the names and titles of those losers; in his memory, only his own stupid desire to please them and be an equal to them remained. Maybe he even wanted to become their friend. Because at that time he had no one else in the Heavenly Palace except these casual acquaintances. And he so desperately wanted to fill the icy emptiness in his heart that he himself had created.

But that was a long time ago. Before Feng Xin's ascension to the Heavenly Realm. And after his ascension Mu Qing no longer tried to please any of the other officials.

And there was another reason why he couldn't allow a foolish archer to appear here. After all, he was the thirty-fourth person that Crimson Rain Sought Flower had challenged. Feng Xin would lose his temper and fight him, and Mu Qing would be unable to stop them. But Supreme could not be defeated by a whirlwind of arrows fired from the mighty black bow, nor could he be outshouted by even the most intricate curses that boiled water and crumbled stones. Even if the statues and temples of Nanyang were ugly, Mu Qing did not want to see them burn and crumble into oblivion, not really.

So he pressed his lips together and did not reach out with his left hand to touch his temple and enter the spiritual communication array.

“Thank you for your help, Lord,” wisteria creaked with difficulty. Her stiff hand holding Mu Qing was shaking with tension and pulsating with the demonic energy being sent into it.

"The Divine Matchmaker promised me that under the full moon on the Fragrant Mountain I would meet the one I have been looking for so long. So why are you giving me this fake?" a cold, mocking voice replied.

Blood oozed out from the scratch on Mu Qing’s forehead and filled his eyes, so he could only see a blurry scarlet silhouette appearing in front of him.

“That's right, Lord Supreme. That’s right, but... My promise is still valid, your destiny was here. It's just that this cultivator came out of nowhere and started fighting!” complained wisteria.

“Without a good reason?”

“Ah, Lord Supreme, well, you know these ineradicable virtuous idiots! My crime against mortals is not so great at all. So what if I killed a few! But look how happy ghosts are! They no longer have to wander alone for hundreds of years. And anyway, mortals die all the time of disease or drunkenness, so at least there was good use for them”.

“G-good use?” Despite the situation, Mu Qing couldn’t help but chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Only a true demon would kill the living for the benefit of the dead!”

“It’s all for love! You must have a heart like the eye of a needle, if you don’t understand other people’s feelings!”

The vine went deeper into the wound, but wisteria's words also made it more painful.

Heartless. Cold-blooded. Indifferent.

All these cruel words were spoken to him by a man who had become closer to him than his family over the past couple of centuries. By the one of the few whose opinion was still important to Mu Qing. Since a random demoness had immediately seen the same qualities in him, maybe that man was right after all?..

“Well, at least I have a heart!” Mu Qing exclaimed, not even arguing with the wisteria, but with his own thoughts. Blood bubbled on his lips. “Unlike ghosts and demons. Creatures like you cannot have feelings! You deserve only to be laid to rest!”

“The dead long for love too,” Crimson Rain said in an icy tone.

These words fell with such weight that even the wisteria shook in terror, although Mu Qing expected that the demons should be on the same side.

“Enough of this bickering,” Supreme continued. “Matchmaker, do you know who this cultivator is? He is the famous General Xuanzhen, the God of War of the Southwest. If you want to kill him… well, get in line. He owes me a debt, so his life or death belongs to me first.”

“Bullshit!” Mu Qing exclaimed, spitting hot blood to the side. “I do not belong to anyone, especially…”

Crimson Rain's hand moved to his hip, and his deadly scimitar made a silver ark in midair with a piercing whistle. Mu Qing closed his eyes, but it was the wisteria's hand that had been severed. Acrid black blood sprayed out in all directions, and the roots convulsed and plowed the ground, scattering clods of earth and wood chips.

“Why?!”

“You don’t understand the meaning of love either”.

The demonic plant howled so loudly that it shook the mountain, and dry leaves rained down from the dead trees. Mu Qing fell to the ground, and immediately rolled to the side, clutching his barely functioning right hand to his chest. Almost blind, he reached out to the zhanmadao with his left hand, summoned his spiritual weapon and almost touched the leather-wrapped handle… And then he cried out in pain when his palm was pinned to the ground by a metal-shod heel.

The Crimson Rain Sought Flower, with his blade raised, towered over Mu Qing, higher than the trees and mountains. Even if the situation had become desperate enough for him to ask for help, it was already too late for that.

The attackers and victims in this unexpected fight changed so quickly that it was already impossible to tell which one was the cicada, which one was the praying mantis, and which one was the siskin. The howling wisteria lashed out with her vines in all directions, like a mad wooden training dummy. Mu Qing felt the blow of the gnarled whip on his legs and lower back, and it was as if a dozen roots dug into his body, trying to grow and hold on. He saw how the same whip shot up like a wave and tightly wrapped itself around the Supreme's right hand, breaking the silver bracer. The demon instantly turned on his heel, crushing the bones in Mu Qing's palm with his boot, and grabbed the vine himself, wrapped it around his wrist once more, and then abruptly pulled it towards himself with such force that the wisteria's roots did not hold on to the ground. Something huge, like a fallen tree, crushed Mu Qing and knocked the air out of his lungs.

He simply couldn't believe it. Has his story ended like this? After everything he had been through? Before he had even had a chance to tell Feng Xin and Xie Lian how he felt about them? If Mu Qing himself had heard such a ridiculous tale of the rise and fall of a god by a storyteller in a teahouse, he wouldn't have thrown a single copper into his offering bowl. Oh, Heaven was so unfair to him, teasing him with ascension and then taking it away after only a few centuries!

Mu Qing must have fainted. Coming back to his senses was extremely surprising. Shouldn't the Crimson Rain Sought Flower have killed him?

Instead, the Supreme stood very close and did nothing. Mu Qing saw his narrow boots decorated with silver chains in front of his face, their ringing floated in the air and died down. Wisteria spirit also no longer made a sound, turning into a dead dry tree.

It was hard to tell how long this calm would last. Something had to be done, and urgently. Mu Qing tried to lean his bloody hands on the ground and lift his broken body, and he even succeeded with great effort and a dull groan through his bitten lip. The rustle of fabric - and everything before his eyes was painted in flaming scarlet. It was the Crimson Rain squatting in front of him. The demon stretched out his hand and lightly lifted Mu Qing's face by the chin, as if he was touching something unpleasant and dirty. One eye of the demon looking at the god seemed to him like a dark abyss, and the other like a dazzling star. In other circumstances, Mu Qing would have been able to appreciate the beauty.

“You worthless piece of trash. So what should I do with you?”

“Damn Calamity, why are you so obsessed with me?” Mu Qing still somehow had the strength to be angry. It was as only anger and resentment flowed through his meridians instead of spiritual strength. “What did I ever do to you?! Our paths have never even crossed before!”

"As usual, you overestimate your importance and your life," the Supreme's voice sounded with contempt. "I don't care about you. But since it comes to that, let's play a little game of chance..." He snapped his fingers, and a pair of dice appeared in them. The scarlet dots on the edges sparkled like bloody rubies. "If you throw more than me, well, I'll let you live a little longer."

“Are you completely crazy?! I won't play any stupid games…”

But the dice were already rolling on the altar stone, and Mu Qing couldn't help but watch their edges flicker. Every time a cube bounced, his heart bounced too.

“Eleven,” announced Crimson Rain, as if passing a sentence.

He placed the dice into Mu Qing's right hand and clenched his fingers into a fist.

“Less is defeat, more is victory. Roll the dice, and there will be no turning back. Here we go!”

How could Mu Qing win under such conditions? He would have preferred not to play at all, but his arm was stiff due to his wound, and the demon was holding his wrist tightly. The dice were thrown with a deafening thud. Or was it the blood pounding in his ears? Mu Qing didn't even see where the dice rolled or how they landed. Well, however, did it really matter how much he lost?

The Crimson Rain Sought Flower bent down and looked closely at something on the ground.

“Well, that will be interesting,” he muttered with slight surprise.

Mu Qing closed his eyes. The blow to the base of his neck was quick and almost painless.

"I don't want to die. I still have so much to do" — was his last conscious thought.

Chapter Text

Mu Qing found himself in a strange place, on the border between his dreams and reality. He felt so weak he didn't even have the strength to open his eyes, and anyway his eyelashes seemed stuck together. It was as if something heavy had settled on his chest, crushing him like a stone slab, and there was no one to break it for him. Mu Qing tried to move even a finger, and several times he thought he was successful, but then time and time again he realized he was just slipping into a nightmare thick like a mire.

The gods have stepped off the Wheel of Samsara. This Mu Qing clearly remembered. So… what happens to them in the end? Do they simply vanish from the world without a trace, like a fleeting spring cherry blossom? Or do they remain like this, swaddled hand and foot on the shaky border between life and nothingness? Mu Qing didn't know which he would prefer. He was afraid of dying and disappearing, but the prospect of being trapped forever within his own thoughts was also terrifying.

Mu Qing felt someone's scrutinizing gaze on him. The weight on his chest shifted slightly, and something heavy shifted, settling more comfortably, moving its clawed paws. A sharp pain echoed through Mu Qing’s body.

"My collarbone is cracked," he noted absentmindedly.

After a couple of hundred years of service as a heavenly official, even the most terrible wounds no longer surprised or frightened him. It became a recurring part of his immortal existence as God of War.

Then he heard faraway voices, only vaguely human, with strange tones and echoes of animal growls and purrs.

"...Did the Master bring us a new toy?"

"Shh, don't break it. It's not for us. Maybe the Master has finally taken a concubine?"

"Ayah! I'll just bite it a little. One tiniest piece, no one will even notice…”

Mu Qing felt a hot breath on his neck and cheek and a smell of raw meat. Then something wet and rough, like a large cat's tongue, touched his ear.

He cried out in disgust and opened his eyes wide. Finally, he regained full control of his weak body and pushed away the heavy thing sitting on his chest.

Finally Mu Qing found himself on a black obsidian couch. All his muscles were tense, as if he was a tight spring. His gaze fell on his clenched fists and he saw bloody knuckles, but judging from the itch beneath the skin, the broken bones had already begun to heal.

The size of the room he found himself in was difficult to observe because of the darkness swirling in the corners like flakes of dust. But by the way voices echoed off the walls and ceiling, the hall was quite spacious. Some half-decayed rags and ribbons with black-and-white embroidery hung from the ceiling like cobwebs, and Mu Qing easily recognized Taoist symbols. This place resembled an abandoned cave temple.

A muffled, guttural growl erupted nearby, and multiple eyes flared with crimson. On either side of the couch, on cushions laid out on the stone floor, sat creatures straight out of nightmares: a tigress dressed in a colorful hanfu, a woman with a neck as long as a goose's and with a smoking pipe just as long, a huge golden fish with bulging eyes and short, hairy arms and legs. There was also a frog in a green robe and a tall hat of a palace eunuch, and someone with a bestial face: his body was human, but instead of hands, paws with polished black claws were visible from the sleeves of a courtier's purple robes. It was either a wolf or a big fox. Mu Qing felt dizzy and seeing double when he saw two identical girls: eyes like large buttons, circles of blush on their cheeks, and high hairstyles adorned with silk peonies intertwined like the stems of a pair of cherries. Between all those creatures Mu Qing was like a feast served on a table, and the beasts curiously reached out to him, extending their arms, paws, and fins.

"He's awake, he's awake!" the frog clapped his hands and bounced around like a ball. "Now he can play with us!"

"Dream on, you fool!" laughed the fox-faced courtier and then added mockingly: "That's venerable General Xuan Zhen himself, the God of War of the Southwest! He's too proud to play with anyone. He considers everyone beneath him."

"That same General Xuan Zhen? The one who was once merely a servant of the most beautiful God of War in a Flower Crown?" the twin demonesses clarified in unison. "The one who humbly swept his rooms and served him tea?"

"That same one," the fox-faced courtier nodded solemnly.

Mu Qing clenched his fists until they cracked, gritted his teeth and pressed his back against the stone couch. He felt so beaten and battered on the outside and so shattered on the inside right now, yet he had to escape this demonic den. And first, he had to figure out how. It felt like he had to start some pointless, arduous task over and over again, and he was so, so tired. Oh, fine, here we go again. The main focus should be to calm his thoughts, to calculate his next actions properly, and to strike at the exactly right moment.

"So it was he who changed the Crown Prince of Xianle's bedclothes and waited by his bed? If you get my drift…" gurgled the frog-eunuch. "Well, I'll be damned, after all that he even worked his way up to the ranks of heavenly officials! Who would have thought the Heavens are so understuffed they hire just everyone! Then maybe I too can become a big boss up there ?" He put his hands on his hips and struck a comically proud pose.

"Heaven official or not, I'd still like a bite!" The tigress licked her muzzle with pink tongue, her whiskers quivering. "I liked the taste of his ear, so sweet and firm, purrr! I’d love to squeeze him until he squeaks and to devour him whole!"

"Don’t be too impatient, jiejie," hissed the goose-necked woman, arching her long white neck to get a better look at Mu Qing. "I'd rather play with him to my heart's delight first. I imagine he's trained in all sorts of things. You know what else they say about him? That he played games with the Crown Prince... hee hee..."

"Is he skilled at weiqi? I didn't know royal servants were taught even that."

"Idiot, that's not what I meant! They say the mountain temple where they both studied in their youth was very, very boring. So, the innocent prince would dress the servant in his rich clothes, comb his hair, and give him precious hairpins, dressing him like a doll. And the servant would sit in front of the mirror, apply pearl powder and crimson lip balm. And then he danced for His Highness, just like a cheap courtesan from a flower house”.

"Oh, what a pervert!"

It was torturous: every word falling from the demonesses' lips felt like a red-hot nail driving into Mu Qing’s bones. He was washed over by a wave of heat, then plunged into the cold. He felt as if he were ready to burst from anger and to shatter into tiny, stinging fragments flying in all directions, so as to wipe the vulgar grins from surrounding ugly faces and to slit their laughing throats. Long shadows of obscene innuendo trailed behind these words, casting shadows across the fondest memories he had left: of the golden morning light, of the first touch of silk against his skin, of the scent of jasmine from the bottle of hair oil by the mirror, of His Highness's caring hands, running a sandalwood comb through his soft locks... Such simple things.

"Oh, look, his lips are trembling! He's angry! Why would the Master need such an angry concubine?"

"...And in the winter, the mountain temple was incredibly cold and lonely. So they say, by order of the Emperor, the Crown Prince's bodyguard specifically found a pretty boy, so he could take off all his clothes and warm His Highness's bed. Women weren't allowed in the temple, you know what I mean?.."

"Shameless creatures! Shut your filthy mouths!"

"What's the matter, my dear? Does the truth hurt that much? Your dirty deeds are rumored throughout the three worlds. Well, how else could a dirty scum become the prince's favorite and his general? You tried to seduce him, right?"

"No, listen to me! They say the bodyguard liked to invite him into his bedroom too. And while he fucked him, His Highness slept in the next room, completely unaware that these two were deceiving and betraying him every night…”

Perhaps if Xie Lian and Feng Xin had been other young aristocrates, all those things would have been true. It would have been hard for Mu Qing to refuse them; their positions were as different as clouds from mud. And handsome servants often became their masters' playthings. Oh, Xie Lian and Feng Xin had many flaws, but they never tried to exploit their positions for some bedroom fun. While with them, Mu Qing never feared being forced to sell himself.

He couldn't listen any longer, couldn't think straight. He was ready to break his arm, just to make this sophisticated verbal abuse stop. He jumped into the air from the bench, his fingers forming a blade gesture and filling it with sparkling spiritual energy. The wind he raised scattered the half-rotted curtains... Somewhere seemingly far away silver bells jingled warningly, but he couldn't hear them over the roar of blood in his ears.

The motley company of demons recoiled, like puppets whose strings had been pulled simultaneously, and only a single, motionless, dark silhouette remained before Mu Qing. It was someone tall and stately, very broad-shouldered, dressed in robes the color of vein blood, with a belt of silver butterflies around his hips. The Supreme stood with his head slightly lowered, his face hidden in deep shadow.

"Master, Master!" Tiny demons danced around him in a broken dance of shadow theatre. "Your concubine is insulting us! And we did nothing but tell stories that mortals tell!"

Mu Qing recoiled. He could barely breathe from the anger choking him. Had he ever fallen asleep near Xie Lian and Feng Xin on the feather beds in the palace and on the thin mats in some abandoned huts? Well, yes, it was hard to count how many times. Had their relaxed hands ever wandered over each other's warm, sleepy bodies? True, there were moments when each of them needed innocent comfort.

And had young Mu Qing ever dreamed of something more: the strong hands of one man clutching his bare thighs, and the gentle voice of another man telling him it was all right and that he could be whoever he wanted and love whomever he wanted? Oh, yes, but...

But that's different.

"Are all these stories true?" asked the Crimson Rain Sought Flower deliberately slow. His voice was menacing, like distant thunder. "Did you sleep with your master?"

"How dare you... how dare you all... HOW DARE YOU EVEN MENTION CROWN PRINCE OF XIAN LE?! He would never commit such dirty deed! He is the most chaste... the purest man in the world! Say what you will about Feng Xin and me, but leave him alone!"

A blinding flash erupted in the room. The curtains were torn off and swirled around the enraged heavenly official. Mu Qing swung his open palm and dealt the Supreme a resounding slap.

His hand hurt like it had struck a block of ice. His fingers cracked again, but he felt neither pain nor self-pity.

Now the Crimson Rain Sought Flower would definitely kill him. Mu Qing just knew it. The only consolation was that he had at least managed to be sincere at the very end. It would be a shame to die without ever having said what he really thought, even if not to Xie Lian's face.

The small demons surrounding the two of them froze in awkward poses, their wild dance stopped. At first, Mu Qing thought that it was just his own sense of time deceiving him, that he was merely trying to stretch out the final moments of his life, but no. Everything around him truly froze and changed, as if casting off an enchanted haze. The twin demonesses now looked exactly like the brightly and tastelessly painted paper doll servants that were buried with the village dead to wish them a better afterlife. The fish demon turned into a festive lantern of yellow brocade, swaying in the air. The tigress transformed into a scroll painting on the wall. The goose-necked woman became one of the white ribbons hanging from the ceiling, and the most ordinary, wet frog hopped off somewhere.

The Supreme demon was the only real one, and the others were merely his puppets. He slowly raised his hand and touched his cheek as if in surprise, though there was no trace of a slap on his pale cheekbone. Then he snapped his fingers.

In the silence, the single dry snap sounded like an explosion. The small demons suddenly scattered into Mu Qing's face like a blizzard of tiny shreds of funeral money! He ducked slightly and covered his ears from the deafening rustle, momentarily blinded and disoriented by the white whirlwind. And then he run.

He was afraid that his legs, weakened by the previous fight, would buckle and he would fall. That he would trip over something in the darkness. That the cursed demon would catch up with him at any moment and a clawed hand would strike between his shoulder blades, pierce his ribcage, and squeeze his desperately beating heart. He brushed aside the pile of scraps of paper thrown at his face and suddenly found himself on an open terrace. Below, as far as he could see, through the darkness moved chains of scarlet and golden lights as if dancing in a mysterious ritual. And from above it all starred an ominous bloody moon, like a single, watchful eye. Mu Qing froze for a moment and inhaled a hissing breath, overwhelmed by the powerful demonic aura of the place. Then, bracing himself with one hand on the carved railing of the terrace, he leaped over it and fell into the darkness.

…Mu Qing felt as if he were leaping from a high cliff toward the barely visible ribbon of a cold river winding below. But in reality, he had barely fallen from the second floor of a building. He landed safely, the heels of his boots digging into the ground, then rose, and ran again.

At first, he couldn't see anything around him, but soon he glimpsed lopsided shacks and slanted stalls. A crimson-lit fog swirled around him, and figures slowly emerged from it: some as huge as a mountain, some with a shaggy snout, some with the branching antlers of a deer. Some passersby were tangible, brushing against Mu Qing's shoulders as if he were swimming against the current and battling the waves. And others seemed like mere echoes of something living, passing right through him and leaving a trail of cold in their wake. Then smells appeared: the overheated oil from food stalls, the fresh blood from a butcher's counter, the wilted flowers from a passing bare-shouldered beauty, the heavy smoke of incense from a fortune teller's tent. And sounds, too, rolled in gradually, like a wave on the shore: merchants touting their wares, courtesans beckoning customers into teahouses. And from all around came laughter, the sound of rolling dice, cries of pain, groans of pleasure, grinding and slurping sounds. And if somewhere behind him was the jingling of the cursed silver jewelry on the Supreme’s boots, it was impossible to hear.

Mu Qing stopped, completely lost. To his left, a vendor was selling noodles: the man had eight thin, spidery arms, each deftly holding chopsticks and briskly serving several customers at once.. The noodles were black and incredibly thin; Mu Qing had never seen anything like it, and it took him a moment to realize they were actually not noodles at all but human hair. To his right, a beggar sat on the side of the road; he was dressed in faded rags reminiscent of a Buddhist monk's robes, but his shaved head had long since grown a shock of untrimmed tangles. A paper fan, made of such pure white paper that it seemed to glow in the dust, was laid out before the beggar. The beggar's brush danced as if on its own, creating swirls of scarlet and green.

"Hey, pretty boy!" someone called from above. "Yes, yes, you! First time here? In need of a job? Come visit us at the Spider Lily House. We have plenty of people here who would love to try your fresh peaches!"

Mu Qing raised his head, prepared to fight back with words or with fists, but on the second floor of the building, which had clearly seen better days, all he saw was a crowd of giggling girls with bright bird feathers in their hair and dark-skinned young men with their bare torsos adorned with gold chains. A worn-out woman's shoe dangled from the building's sign.

"Where are you going? Don't be shy!"

Mu Qing dove back into the crowd slowly flowing between the stalls. He already knew where he was. This was the infamous Night Market — a place where the most dubious deals were made and where any treasure could be found, but only by chance. Poisons from distant western lands were sold here, miracle healers and retired swordsmen practiced here. Many were already dead, but that didn't stop them from enjoying life. Gold was of little interest to anyone at the Night Market; here, they demanded a different price — years of life, good fortune, the fulfillment of wishes, and blood oaths.

It was practically a city of ghosts, demons, and those who had nowhere else to go. At the councils of the Gods of War up in the Heavenly Capital this place had long been discussed as a problem, but even heavenly officials had to descend here from time to time in search of information or rare magical items.

Mu Qing had never been to the Night Market before. He wandered lost in the maze of passages between the stalls and bizarre buildings, dodging hands that tried to touch his clothes or taste the tips of his hair. More than once someone called out to him:

"Hey, cultivator, what are you looking for here? Come in and see what cursed swords I have in my shop!"

"And here we have golden silkworm venom!"

"My dear, would you like your fortune told? Oh, I see, I see, death awaits you in a fiery pit. Buy a protective talisman made from water dragon scales! Definitely not a fake!"

Finally, Mu Qing stumbled from the crowd which was seething like a poisonous brew. Then, out of the thick fog, a massive red gate emerged before him. Although there were no walls around the Night Market and nothing for the gates to close, this solitary structure stood firmly on the ground, for it was a door between worlds. Mu Qing touched the slightly warm wood, pulsing with spiritual power, and felt a little calmer. One step over the high threshold — and he could leave this failed mission behind. It wouldn't be a failure, he assured himself, for he hadn't failed if he had survived his encounter with the Supreme.

Oh, let the Crimson Rain Sought Flower stay behind, let him rage and pursue as much as he liked, but General Xuan Zhen would always move faster in light steps. And he would never again set foot in the Night Market with its chaos of sounds and smells, its filthy narrow streets, its ugly stalls, brothels, and gambling houses.

“Help! Somebody, help!”

Mu Qing heard the screams but didn't turn his head, although his back tensed, and his fists immediately clenched. He'd heard plaintive voices calling from the shadows before, and he'd heard even more stories of naive, virtuous cultivators who believed the pleas, followed the call... and were never seen again. It was important for a heavenly official to quickly learn that demons come in all shapes and sizes, and that an innocent girl encountered at the Night Market could prove more dangerous than a powerful rakshasa. Officials who failed to learn this lesson quickly left the service for unnatural reasons, and Mu Qing, after all, already had a couple of centuries of experience under his belt. He would never fall for such a simple trick; he wouldn't listen, he'd close his heart, and he'd pay no attention.

"Don't touch my brother! Grrrr!"

“You, little bastard! Dare to bite?! Damn you!”

There was a thud and a thin, pitiful howl. It was a child's voice. And Mu Qing turned around.

From the gate, he could see the entrance to an alleyway between two boarded-up shops. The darkness was barely dispelled by the flickering, deathly green light of a few ghostly lights. They swirled in the air above the heads of two muscular spider-demons and squeaked in unison: "Help! Save us! Help!" Perhaps that was all they could say after their brutal deaths. But the spiders merely waved their hairy paws, as if they were pesky bugs.

"Are you trying to steal from us, you stinking brats?!"

The demons playfully tossed back and forth a lifeless body of some small animal, so thin and filthy that Mu Qing couldn't discern its fur color or even its breed. A second, identical creature crouched on the ground, growling and yapping, causing the laughter of the spiders. Its uncombed tail lashed wildly against its scrawny sides.

"What a pathetic sight. But it doesn't concern me," Mu Qing told himself, but his hand had already habitually reached his hip, searching for the hilt of his saber to quickly solve the problem the way he was used to in Heaven.

Zhanmadao!

His fingers clenched in emptiness, and a realization pierced his heart: the weapon had been taken from him. It remained in the hands of the damned Crimson Rain Sought Flower! Although Mu Qing never gave his saber a name, nor did he purchase a luxurious sheath for it or hang jade pendants on its hilt like other Gods of War, deep in his heart his weapon was very dear to him.

Mu Qing first picked up this zhanmadao at the age of 16, while preparing to play the role of Demon at the Lantern Festival in Xianle.

It was His Highness who advised him that a saber would be more suited to his fierce fighting style than the elegant, light jian-sword, which required precise swordsmanship. At first, Mu Qing didn't understand this at all. In those cheap novels, beloved by Feng Xin, about brave heroes wandering the lands of rivers and lakes, the cultivators always had swords with beautiful names like "Laughing Pride" or "Frost Flower." Xie Lian himself had a whole collection of two hundred elegant blades, which he was very proud of, he even cleaned and polished them for hours himself, not entrusting this task to his servant and bodyguard. In all stories, sabers were used by bandits and unjust cultivators. But what’s worse was that such characters were never the main leads. And the Demon's role in the ritual performance, no matter how important, was also not the main one. The Demon was needed only to make the Warrior Who Pleases the Gods shine in comparison. This annoyed young Mu Qing. So his fighting style and he himself were not fit to be the main lead? Will he always be just a supporting character in the grand story of the brilliant Crown Prince?

And yet, when Mu Qing reluctantly swung the long saber, he unexpectedly liked its weight and the way its long hilt rested confidently in his palms. He found beautiful the sound the blade made cutting through the air. And soon the heavy zhanmadao fluttered in his hands as lightly as a feather. Perhaps, he thought, it's not the weapon that makes a man a main hero.

He never regretted this choice.

With his zhanmadao, he had survived the war with Yong'an. At night Mu Qing dozed off in the army tent, hugging the saber and feeling the weight of Feng Xin's head on his shoulder. And during the day he discussed battle strategy with Xie Lian while monotonously sharpening the blade.

It's no wonder that the newly ascended God of War chose as his spiritual weapon not some precious ceremonial sword, but a long saber. Infused with his spiritual power, it never grew dull again, could change size and even shape, and would emerge from his Qiankun sleeve at the mere thought of it. For hundreds of demons this zhanmadao was the last thing they saw.

And now Mu Qing could no longer summon it. His sleeves were empty. This terrible feeling of something missing was even more unpleasant than the pain of his broken fingers and collarbone. Not to mention the shame of returning to Heaven without a spiritual weapon and admitting it had been so easily taken away by demons! Mu Qing imagined Feng Xin roaring with laughter so loud it would shake the ceiling of the Palace of Divine Might, and he gritted his teeth in frustration.

No, he couldn't leave the Night Market yet. It's not that he felt sorry for the small, childish-voiced demons being bullied by the larger monsters. He simply couldn't leave this place without his zhanmadao. He must defend his honor, not the little beasts, right?

Mu Qing didn't have his usual blade, but there was a stone lying at his feet. It was the weapon of all the poor, the desperate, the oppressed. He picked up the boulder, weighed it in his hand, and throwed it at the spider-demons.

The stone struck one of the demons in its bowl-shaped eye, some yellow liquid sprayed, and the air immediately filled with the disgusting smell. The enraged spider howled, flailed its hairy legs, tossed the little creature aside, and lunged at Mu Qing. His companion immediately followed, happy for a larger prey to toy with. The second small beast desperately sank its teeth into the spider's leg and dragged itself along the ground, but its tiny weight barely slowed the larger demon.

"Where the hell did that damn cultivator come from?! This is our territory!"

"Let’s wring his neck!"

"Careful! Watch out, watch out, save your soul!" the alarmed ghostly lights darted toward Mu Qing like a flickering cloud.

The lights were dim, because these souls must have left the world of the living very long ago, but they were too stubborn and foolish to go for reincarnation. And even if they had no ill intentions now, their uneven light made it difficult to concentrate and see the battlefield clearly. The buzzing of their mosquito-like voices also was irritating.

"Go away!" Mu Qing dismissively waved his hand. "You're no use!"

He easily dodged one spider-demon and slipped past the clutches of another. But the God of War knew he was not at his peak: his spiritual strength was almost gone, his wounds hadn't healed, and he didn't have his usual weapons. He couldn't hold out like this for long. His gaze darted to the side, searching for the body of the tortured little animal. But he didn't notice the lump of dirty fur on the ground. Could it be that the brat has figured out how to escape on his own? That would have been the best solution for everyone!

The second animal continued to cling to the spider-demon until it shook its leg so hard that tiny jaws unclenched. The little demon flew toward Mu Qing, but immediately jumped to its paws and barked again. Both spiders rolled their eyes and moved toward them, as if closing pincers; they were confident in their win in this fight. Mu Qing took a few steps forward.

"Stupid animal! Why don't you run? The best a weakling like you can do is retreat and survive to become stronger!" he hissed through his teeth, pushing the creature behind him.

When the toe of his boot sank into the creature's side, Mu Qing immediately felt a pang of guilt and hoped he hadn't kicked it too hard.

The spiders swung again from both sides, their claws flashing like sharpened sickles, and Mu Qing had to leap high into the air to avoid a double blow. He landed on one knee and skidded backwards slightly due to his momentum, leaving a furrow in the dust. Only now did he understand why the brave little one hadn't run away.

A dry well. Nearby was a small hole in the ground, and the little beast yelped near it, crouching on its front paws. Could it be that his brother was nowhere to be seen because he was there? Mu Qing peered into the darkness and saw the outline of a small body sprawled limply at the bottom. A faint, pitiful whine reached his ears.

The God of War made an instant decision: he scooped the second tiny demon under his arm and leaped into the well, too narrow for the spiders to squeeze through after him.

He landed on something soft and wet: there was no water in the well, only an ankle-deep layer of mud. The sky above seemed like a bright spot the size of a hole in a small coin.

Stones and clods of dirt rained down from above, it was the spider-demons raging, having discovered their victims were out of reach. Mu Qing crouched at the bottom of the well, shielding the two little beasts with his back.

"Damn cultivator! Little bastards, fox spawn! Rot in this hole all you want! Let giant worms eat your flesh! Don't even hope of getting out!"

Mu Qing could only wait until they finished their screaming and left to find new objects to torture. He estimated that the well wasn't that deep, and its walls were textured enough to climb out easily. He was almost certain he could do it until he heard a scraping sound from above, as if something heavy was being dragged. A sense of dread sent his heart plummeting into an abyss far deeper than this hole in the ground. The bright opening above his head was closed by the lines of a grate.

"Bite the dust!" shouted the spiders as they went away.

Mu Qing spent a few more moments at the bottom of the well, trying to calm his racing pulse, then jumped. His fingers closed around the thick metal bars. It seemed the spiders had broken off a gate or a window grate from one of the bizarrely ugly buildings in the Night Market, used it as a well lid, and sealed the trap.

Mu Qing gritted his teeth. If only he had been at his full strength, if only he hadn't felt foolish pity for the demon children, he wouldn't have found himself in this stupid situation! If only, if only... It was time to remember that demons are demons, even if they're tiny and seem harmless, even cute. Any association with them leads to disaster. How many more mistakes does he need to make to harden his heart once and for all?!

A drop fell on his face and ran down his cheek. Then another. A third landed on his clenched fingers, and Mu Qing saw that the water falling from above was stained scarlet. Or maybe it was simply the light from the lanterns reflecting in it.

"Oh, come on! Seriously?!" exclaimed Mu Qing. "Rain from the clear sky?!"

Mortals called this kind of rain the "fox rain."