She exchanged it for money.

She did not take part in the sacrifices, yet survived by relying on her own peculiar habits—placenta could be eaten, disgusting though it was, yet also clean. When the famine ended, everyone's gaze returned to normal, save for one whose eyes still glowed green. That was Bai Zongnan.

Bai Zongnan had discovered "value" in the "sacrifices." He suffered from chronic headaches, an ailment left over from his youth; doctors had always said only like could heal like. After much reflection, he sought out the village chief to discuss the matter. For Bai Zongnan knew, aside from being the chief, the man was also the father of a simple-minded son. After much inner turmoil, the chief agreed to Bai Zongnan's plan.

They decided to continue the ritual of "sacrifice," but this time, there would be no more drawing of lots.

After all, people themselves were "wealth"—how "wonderful" was that? Bai Zongnan thought, his lover had long since left him, and raising a child required money; all of this could be exchanged for money.

But everything was overheard by Liu Ruoyun, hiding outside the door. Having just given birth to a posthumous daughter, she could hardly believe her ears and threatened to call the police.

That night, she was dragged by Bai Zongnan and his accomplices into the ravine. Bai Zongnan still remembered: when she was pushed into the abyss, the despair in her eyes had already replaced all resentment. As they poured gasoline over her, she made no attempt to escape, but instead, in a frenzy, lunged at them, reaching upwards and leaping wildly.

She cried out, "Chief, Uncle Wang, Bai Zongnan does not blame you, truly does not blame you, just spare Jie’er, I beg you, please spare Jie’er..."

Perhaps it was Bai Zongnan's expressionless face that moved her; the madness in her eyes was overtaken by ferocity. She stopped leaping madly, but instead sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving Bai Zongnan and the chief.

"If you don't spare Bai Zongnan's daughter, even as a ghost, Bai Zongnan will never forgive you!"

This was the last sentence from a mother about to die.

As the flames consumed her, everything seemed once again buried by Bai Zongnan.

Afterwards, Bai Zongnan discussed with the chief, deciding to tell the village she died in childbirth, and let Aunt Chen handle the matter—she was, after all, the authority in such things.

"But you would never have guessed, Aunt Chen, timid as she was, kept a final shred of conscience and did not harm the little girl. She found a way to send her out over the back mountain." At this point, Sheng Jie’s voice choked with emotion.

The two women prepared carefully—disguises, directing, pretending to be ghosts—to cover their tracks, but were discovered by Bai Zongnan's son, Wang Qiang.

To keep the secret safe, Aunt Chen frightened Bai Zongnan's son several times, warning him not to go to the back mountain again. All this, Bai Zongnan himself did not know at the time.

Over the years, Bai Zongnan's "organization" grew ever larger and more sophisticated, no longer limited to villagers, and even used unsuspecting outsiders to help with their deeds, such as Wang Jian, or the man in the duckbill cap.

Retribution came. Bai Zongnan's evil deeds could not escape the heavens. In a car accident, his son Qiang lost his life, leaving only his white coat behind. Before his son’s grave, Bai Zongnan’s hand holding the water pipe trembled. Son, let your father help fulfill your dream of becoming a doctor.

Many years later, the only person who knew the truth, the girl Liu Jie, had grown up. She returned to the village under the alias Sheng Jie—was it to expose Bai Zongnan’s crimes?

“So, that car accident on the mountain road was no accident, was it?” Bai Zongnan seemed to mutter to himself, voice calm.

Xiao Jie gazed at Bai Zongnan for a long moment, then spoke: “Bai Zongnan, you know what you’re thinking. Whether it’s you, or Wang Jian, or anyone who ever helped you—you are not innocent…”

Bai Zongnan stared blankly at the valley before him. Once a shelter from wind and rain for the village, it had become a field of slaughter to cover up his and the chief’s sins.

Suddenly remembering something, Bai Zongnan took something from his breast pocket and handed it to Sheng Jie—a ring, found in Wang Jian’s pocket inside the cave.

Thus, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Bai Zongnan rose to his feet, as if in a dream—Qiang’er, Qiang’er’s mother, what had he done…

Sheng Jie—no, Liu Jie—stood with tear-filled eyes; her gaze held both hatred and regret. Bai Zongnan did not know how to face her, for he understood: some things can only be felt when one truly learns to be human again.

Bai Zongnan, known as Alan, was a demon—a little demon, who lived in the northern desert of the Great Xia dynasty’s imperial capital.

The Northern Desert was a no-man’s-land, endless sands where only the hardiest cacti survived.

Bai Zongnan’s true form was an immortal herb. In a sense, his very existence was an act of fate.

Yet Bai Zongnan knew: this fate was not bestowed by heaven, but by a person.

No—he, too, was a demon—a fox demon.

At that time, Bai Zongnan had not yet gained sentience. He struggled out of the soil, facing nothing but sweeping yellow sands, his feeble consciousness nearly extinguished by the relentless, day-and-night north wind.

This world was far from kind to Bai Zongnan. Damn heavens, Bai Zongnan cursed quietly with what little consciousness he had left, only to be scattered by the wind. At the moment of death, he felt a warmth he had never known before.

Amidst the howling storm, a faint voice was not lost but reached Bai Zongnan’s mind with precision.

“Tsk, tsk, truly remarkable—you’re so small, yet your vitality is tenacious; admirable… cough, cough.”

The voice faded, growing weaker, but the warmth remained unchanged.

Slowly, Bai Zongnan found he could not die, and more than that—his consciousness grew with visible speed. The once unbearable storms and cold seemed less terrifying.

“Thank…”

Knowing nothing yet, Bai Zongnan clumsily tried to convey his gratitude with his spirit.

“You’re welcome.” A white figure appeared, blurry in Bai Zongnan’s mind—a manifestation of spiritual thought, elegant yet unstable.

“Cough, cough, saving your life cost me sixty years of cultivation. So, you belong to me now, and you must live well.” The figure gradually solidified—a man in white.

Bai Zongnan had never seen a human, nor understood beauty or ugliness, but at that moment felt this man was extraordinarily handsome, with sword-like brows, phoenix eyes full of authority, though his face was pale and haggard.

“My name is Jialuo, a fox. Don’t worry, you won’t die. My blood is more than just warmth… cough, cough. As for a name, let’s call you… Alan.”

…

Alan… Lan…

Bai Zongnan awoke from the dream.

Sitting up on his stone bed, Bai Zongnan brushed aside his loose black hair, memories of these past years surging forth…

First scene

Bai Zongnan, known as Alan, was a demon, originally an immortal herb. His name was given by another demon, Jialuo, a thousand-year fox. On the night Jialuo saved him, he sacrificed the chance to grow a seventh tail, watered Bai Zongnan with his blood, and helped him survive.

From that day, Bai Zongnan began his path of cultivation.

The journey of an immortal herb was arduous, but Jialuo aided him.

“There’s not much distinction between demons. All things have spirit; as long as there’s intelligence, one can develop consciousness, communicate with heaven and earth, gather spiritual energy, and break fate’s shackles. That’s cultivation…”

“Communicating with heaven and earth is the first step. Focus, forget yourself, forget Bai Zongnan, sense the spiritual energy around, draw it into your body…”

“Yes, just like that…”

After teaching Bai Zongnan the cultivation method, Jialuo would disappear for a time—sometimes months, sometimes years. Fortunately, a demon’s life is long, so Bai Zongnan was never anxious and progressed step by step.

Whenever Jialuo returned, he would bring “nourishments” from all over the Great Xia empire—relic fragments from the western sacred mountains, spiritual pills from the eastern Taoist palaces, bug scriptures from the southern Miao tribes…

Jialuo not only taught cultivation but also let Bai Zongnan taste the empire’s treasures—except for one place: the imperial capital, Zijing City, which Jialuo had never visited.

Bai Zongnan grew, and Jialuo witnessed his growth. Bai Zongnan’s consciousness extended miles beyond, and when Jialuo was absent, Bai Zongnan could occasionally hear passing cultivators discussing curious tales.

One day, Bai Zongnan swayed his branches and asked, “Master, I’ve heard the imperial capital holds countless treasures, even a millennia-old spiritual pearl. Why not steal it and let me try it?”

“How many times must I say, don’t call me Master.”

Jialuo gently brushed Bai Zongnan’s branches with his eighth tail, as gentle as ever.

“Zijing City? I’ll go someday.”

With that, the fox closed his eyes, lazily lying beside Bai Zongnan.

How much time passed, Bai Zongnan wasn’t sure. Counting leaves, he reckoned that in three months he could take human form and travel the world with Jialuo. The thought filled his heart with ripples, and he marked the date on the hard gravel with his branch.

“Ouzhuo Year, eighteenth of June.”

From that day, Jialuo never returned. At first, Bai Zongnan thought he was traveling as usual and continued cultivating.

Ouzhuo Year, twelfth of September—a day worth commemorating. Bai Zongnan took human form—a young woman. Spiritual energy swirled around her like a thin veil.

Full of joy, she sat in meditation, palms together, eyes closed, waiting to surprise Jialuo.

Days passed, but Jialuo did not come. Bai Zongnan grew restless and wished to seek him.

But if he returned and did not find her? So she left a spiritual message in place, so he would know she’d gone looking for him.

With that, Bai Zongnan rode the wind south out of the northern desert.

She remembered Jialuo’s warnings: the desert was devoid of people—even the Demon Suppression Division of the capital never ventured there, so magic could be used freely. But upon entering the northern territories, under imperial control, it was best not to use magic carelessly, lest she be caught and executed.

Bai Zongnan entered a small city, stole some clothes from a shop, and swapped out her magic-made garments.

Dressed in new clothes, she walked the bustling, noisy street, feeling nervous.

"Where are you from, pretty girl? Come, join me for a drink." A hand landed on her shoulder.

Bai Zongnan shrank back instinctively, staring blankly at the bearded, slovenly man before her.

“Not half as handsome as Jialuo…” she thought, showing her disgust.

“Drink with you? Looking like that, who would want to?” She shoved his hand off and turned to leave.

“Feisty, I like that,” the man pressed closer, lifting her chin.

Fury rose, but before she could act, a figure in blue flashed by, and the man screamed, sent flying.

“My apologies, miss. I am Qing Yang.”

The sudden change left Bai Zongnan speechless, staring at the bowing man in blue.

He gazed at her, amazement flickering in his eyes. Bai Zongnan felt something strange, self-consciously touching her hair—a habit from her days as a herb.

“Thank you for driving off that ugly brute.”

Without another word, she turned to go, ignoring the curious crowd.

“Miss, wait,” Qing Yang hurried after her. “Are you traveling? Forgive my boldness, but may I ask your destination?”

Bai Zongnan forced a smile, about to answer, when she noticed the jade pendant on his belt—a Demon Suppression Division badge, as Jialuo had described.

So she asked instead, “Have you heard of Jialuo?”

He frowned. “You mean the nine-tailed fox?”

“Yes.”

“I heard that last month, on the fifteenth, at the Mid-Autumn Festival, he entered Zijing City to steal the millennial spiritual pearl, and was subdued by the chief, Lu Ding. The demon must now be imprisoned in the Demon Locking Tower.”

The news nearly made Bai Zongnan faint, but she steadied herself and forced a smile. “What a coincidence, I was just heading to Zijing City. Could you tell me the way?”

Qing Yang found it hard to connect her to the legendary fox, especially with the grand festival approaching and so many heading to the capital. Still, as a lone young woman, she drew curiosity.

“May I ask your business in Zijing City? If it’s inconvenient, never mind. I’m bound for the city myself.”

Bai Zongnan smiled, “My uncle works there. With the festival coming, I want to see the sights.”

“The journey isn’t short. Since you’re alone, why not travel together?”

Seeing his expectant look, she nodded.

They set out together. By nightfall, they found a ruined temple to stay in. Qing Yang settled her on the stone bed, taking the straw mat by the window for himself.

That night was anything but peaceful.

The wind outside whistled, sharper than the desert gales, rattling the battered window frames. Lying on the cold stone, Bai Zongnan gradually adapted and drifted to sleep.

She woke to flickering light and sat up, startled by what she saw—a withered, pallid face, eyes hollow, floating in the moonlight, only a face, nothing more.

She covered her mouth to stifle a cry, her eyes flashing with spiritual power as she stared.

“It’s been long since anyone slept on that bed…” the face sighed.

“So you’re a demon. Well, human or demon, now that you’re here, stay with me…”

A chill ran down her spine.

“What do you mean? I have to travel tomorrow, I can’t stay here.”

She looked away, speaking softly.

“Heh, you have no choice. No one leaves this temple.”

“Really? Then let’s see.”

Qing Yang, already awake, drew his sword and stood by the door.

The pale face twisted, cackling. “You two think you can break this barrier?”

Qing Yang frowned, slashed at the door, but the space merely rippled and returned to normal.

“You think I don’t want to leave? My daughter died here—I stay to guard her, and can never leave…” The face wept and laughed, and neither Bai Zongnan nor Qing Yang knew what to do.

Bai Zongnan steadied herself. “Sir, what happened to your daughter? And to this temple?”

The face grew calm, eyes empty. He told his tale.

His name was Lin Yi, a ghost, once the clan chief of a northern family who hunted demons, independent of the Demon Suppression Division, heirs of a demon-slaying sword. The sword was passed only to sons, but in his generation, he had only a daughter, Lin Siqin.

He arranged for her to marry the city lord’s son, offering the sword as dowry to unite their families in defense of the north. But as she grew, she fell for a Taoist from the east. On the night of her betrothal, they eloped, stealing the sword.

Enraged, both families sent men to chase them. They found Siqin, but the Taoist escaped, and the sword vanished.

Ashamed, Lin Yi called off the marriage. To prevent further scandal, he built this temple and confined Siqin here, hoping solitude would change her heart. Every day, her maid Ah Xiang brought food, and a tutor taught her to read, always locking the door upon leaving. All requests but leaving the temple were granted.

He never expected that three months later, his daughter would die—poisoned. Distraught, he executed Ah Xiang, but the tutor disappeared.

On the day of her death, the door was locked; she lay quietly on this very bed, never to wake.

Afterwards, Lin Yi dismissed his servants and moved into the temple to be near her. One night, he dreamed of Siqin, asking why he did not seek her killer. Only two people had entered the temple that day—one dead, the other missing. In his last dream, she smiled bitterly, “Father, stay with me. Let’s be here together, forever.”

From that night, Lin Yi could never leave, even in death.

Bai Zongnan tilted her head, thoughtful. “If we find the truth about your daughter’s death, can we leave?”

Qing Yang, still moved by the story, looked to Lin Yi.

The face hesitated. “Perhaps, but after twenty years, can the truth be found?”

Qing Yang sheathed his sword. “Sir, tell us more of that day. We may be able to help.”

Lin Yi’s face remained pale, silent for a long time, then, “Very well. I have some power left to recreate that day’s events. Let’s see.”

Visions flickered before Bai Zongnan and Qing Yang, fragments filling their minds.

They helped Lin Yi uncover the truth of his daughter’s death. Relieved at last, Lin Yi’s face faded, his final words drifting away: Thank you…

Qing Yang walked outside—the barrier was gone. He returned, yawned, as if he had done nothing of note, and reclined on the straw mat.

“Rest, miss. Tomorrow we must travel again.”

Bai Zongnan nodded dazedly, lying down once more. It was a long night.

That night, she dreamed of Jialuo again—the night that changed her life.

In the haze, the white figure blurred…

Upon waking, Bai Zongnan glanced at the sleeping Qing Yang, quietly used her power to carve the date—Ouzhuo Year, twenty-fourth of September—on the pillar. She lay down, intending to sleep again, but noticed a new scar on her left wrist. She thought nothing of it and soon drifted off.

Three days later, they reached the legendary gates of Zijing City. She had always imagined coming here in human form with Jialuo, but now, her companion was but a chance acquaintance.

She shook her head with a bitter smile, hurrying after Qing Yang.

“Halt!” A cold, stern voice broke her thoughts.

Before them stood a tall, armored man with three soldiers behind. Qing Yang, having already shown his badge, turned, frowning.

“This lady travels with me, seeking family in the city,” Qing Yang explained.

The man saluted. “Sir Qing, it’s not that I wish to trouble the lady. With the Grand Festival in four days, most guests have already arrived. Lord Lu instructed us to check everyone’s origin before entry. If the lady can show proof, she may pass. You, as his disciple, surely know the rules.”

Qing Yang approached Bai Zongnan, asking quietly, “Do you have a pass, or any proof of your family? A letter from your uncle, perhaps?”

While the guards spoke, Bai Zongnan probed with her senses, discovering their tokens bore today’s date.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, then overheard the soldiers murmuring.

“The General’s Residence and the Demon Suppression Division are equals, but now, after catching a great demon, we’re stuck with guard duty and their passwords, with no right to change them.”

“Forget it, the password is simple, and Lord Lu even gave us tokens so we don’t forget. How could anyone forget such an easy password?”

“They’re in charge now. The festival is theirs. The password shows who’s boss.”

Hearing this, Bai Zongnan formed an idea and stepped forward.

“Sir, my uncle is a guest in the General’s Residence, newly transferred here, so I have little to show. But he told me a password for entry.”

The armored guard paused. “Only those of the Residence know the password. If you know it, you may enter. So, what is it?”

Thus, Bai Zongnan and Qing Yang entered Zijing City. Qing Yang soon received an urgent summons to return to the Demon Suppression Division.

He bid her farewell, handing her a jade pendant—smaller than his own, but otherwise identical. If she needed help, she could find him at the Division. Then he hurried off.

It was Bai Zongnan’s first time in the capital, a city a hundred times larger than the northern town she’d known. Jialuo had often spoken of this unique imperial city, and now she saw it lived up to its fame.

The buildings towered above her, the smallest several times her height. Since taking human form, her cultivation had flourished.

Within the capital, she dared not use her senses recklessly, but her keen intuition detected a majestic aura from many buildings.

Imperial power—under heaven, all was imperial land. Here, rules reigned supreme.

She remembered Jialuo’s words: Humans had ruled these lands for centuries, maintaining their supremacy through might and law. They would even turn against their own kind if necessary, slaughtering all who opposed them. So, a supreme bloodline emerged—the royal family. Those who conformed would flourish; those who defied would perish. Generation after generation, they ruled by this principle.

Jialuo had smiled wryly when he spoke of this.

But Bai Zongnan—no, Alan—most despised such rules. One day, when she became a nine-tailed fox, she would destroy them all.

Back then, swaying her leaves, she had cheered him on…

Returning to reality, Bai Zongnan felt a deep sense of helplessness under the imperial presence.

No wonder Jialuo was subdued—here, even the greatest powers meant nothing.

“Jialuo, your little demon has no grand ambitions, only wants to save you and go home together, is that alright?”

She fingered the jade pendant Qing Yang had given her, recalling he’d said Jialuo was imprisoned in the Demon Locking Tower.

Was the tower part of the Demon Suppression Division?

Jialuo had been caught stealing the millennial spiritual pearl, which, he’d told her, could only be found in the Myriad Buddha Shrine.

“Sigh, why steal a pearl and get caught…”

She wanted to complain, but remembered the soldiers’ talk—perhaps the General’s Residence and the Demon Suppression Division were at odds. To learn their secrets, the Residence might be a good place to start.

But ultimately, all such intelligence would end up in the palace.

The mere thought made her shudder. The capital teemed with cultivators, the palace even more so. With her current skills, she could barely conceal her demonic aura; the palace was out of the question.

She decided to investigate the General’s Residence, Demon Suppression Division, and the Myriad Buddha Shrine in turn.

Scene Three: Find Jialuo’s whereabouts

Scene Four: Collecting evidence

Scene Five

Leaving the Myriad Buddha Shrine, perhaps due to the ancient mirror, she felt dizzy, the world around her distorting.

“Bridge that is not a bridge, road that is not a road… flower that is not a flower, mist that is not mist…” The old monk’s fading chant grew ever more ethereal.

With every step, her head grew heavier. What was happening? No, she’d finally gotten a clue—she must find Jialuo…

Clenching her teeth, she forced herself toward the Demon Suppression Division.

At last, the distortion overwhelmed her, and she collapsed, just glimpsing a flash of blue as she lost consciousness.

…

Who knows how long passed before Bai Zongnan awoke.

Before her stood the golden ancient mirror. The old monk sat beside, tapping his wooden fish, eyes closed, silent.

Had she returned to the Myriad Buddha Shrine?

Rubbing her aching head, she saw her fair, slender wrist.

“Hey, old monk…” she tried to speak, but no sound emerged.

She tried to send out her spirit, surprised to find her spiritual power unusually strong, easily sweeping the space. It was vast, dignified, unlike the shrine she’d known, yet five fathoms around her lay in mist, her eyes unable to pierce it.

Was this—the palace?! The thought burst into her mind.

As she tried to probe the old monk with her spirit, he opened his eyes, calm and steady.

“Donor, you are well, I trust…”

What kind of greeting was that? Bai Zongnan wanted to laugh—had it been so long? Was the monk daft?

He looked away, murmuring, “The legendary Jialuo—skinned, his flesh and blood exhausted, his soul imprisoned in the Demon Locking Tower. Feeling for his fate, I went to see him, hoping to preserve his last wisp of soul. But the fox said, without his essence, he could never return. Only a demon named Alan could save him, because it is said that in her body flows his blood. Just one drop, and with Jialuo’s power, he could regrow flesh and spirit, and escape…”

He raised his head, gazing at her with hollow eyes. “If Alan wishes to save him, let her drip a single drop of blood on this ancient mirror. Jialuo will receive it.”

As Bai Zongnan listened, she raged and questioned, but the space was frozen—she could not touch the monk, nor make any sound.

At “Jialuo will receive it…” she went mad, lunging for the mirror, baring her wrist to bite.

Jialuo’s place in her life was beyond reason; what was one drop of blood, or even her life? Her life was his to begin with, wasn’t it?

In the mirror, she glimpsed a wild-eyed man in white about to bite his own wrist.

So Jialuo truly was in the mirror. Bai Zongnan smiled—she could save him now.

Without hesitation, she bit into her wrist.

Warm blood flowed, just as it had on that night long ago.

She smiled, extending her wrist to the mirror, letting the drops fall…

She closed her eyes in happiness. “Jialuo, your little demon is here to save you.”