Chapter 24: Return to the Scene of the Crime

Mo Tu said nothing and walked away.

Qingyin collapsed back into her chair, unable to stop tears from welling up in her eyes.

Late into the night, Qingyin did not return to her room to sleep. Instead, she climbed up the magnolia tree and sat among its branches, staring blankly at the bright moon overhead. Over the years, her climbing ability had never waned. Around her, the large magnolia blossoms bloomed heavily, their fragrance fresh and intoxicating. A white figure emerged from between the leaves—a tree spirit, Magnolia—who floated over to sit beside her and asked, “Why aren’t you asleep at this hour?”

Qingyin glanced at her and tentatively reached out to touch her shoulder. Magnolia replied with a gentle smile.

Withdrawing her hand, Qingyin once again found herself puzzled by a question that had long haunted her. When she went “demon hunting,” the lesser spirits always kept a safe distance; if they came too close or made contact, they would be burned by invisible flames. Yet, when Magnolia touched her, nothing happened. She remembered that back when she served as a little maid for Scented Mink, there had been frequent contact too, and never any harm. It was only when Scented Mink later tried to attack her that her hand was burnt black. Now Magnolia, the tree spirit, sat close by without any issue.

It seemed that this burning power only activated when a demon attacked her with malice, or when she took the initiative to attack. And it was remarkably sensitive and precise.

But where had this unusual ability come from?

“Magnolia, other spirits are burned even by approaching me. Aren’t you afraid?” Qingyin asked.

“Of course I’m afraid, so I don’t dare provoke you. Why do you think I so obediently became your little maid?” Magnolia’s bare feet swayed gently in the night air.

Qingyin couldn’t help but laugh. “You, a maid? Sometimes you act more like an ancestor. Magnolia, what do you think I am?”

“I don’t know. But you’re definitely not a demon.”

“But look at the way I climb trees—doesn’t it seem like I’m not quite human? Rather like a demon?”

“Demons can recognize their own kind at a glance; it’s instinct. You don’t have any demonic aura. You’re as light as a feather when you climb, but you can’t fly—you’re like an immortal, but not quite.” Magnolia nodded toward the rooftop. “He must know. Why don’t you ask him?”

Mo Tu sat upright on the roof, gazing into the distance without moving, as if lost in thought. Despite the two women chatting away, even gesturing toward him, his ears never twitched—he seemed utterly uninterested in their conversation.

Qingyin looked at the cat’s back, lowered her gaze, and said nothing. Magnolia also saw that he knew, but if he didn’t want to speak, there was no use in asking. After a long silence, Magnolia asked, “And what about him? The first time you met, you called him ‘Heavenly God.’ Does that mean you know who he is?”

“I’ve never left this plot of land, my knowledge is shallow—I couldn’t possibly see through his true identity. I called him ‘Heavenly God’ just to flatter him, to stop him from eating me.”

“……”

They sat quietly for a while. Suddenly, Qingyin asked, “Magnolia, when did you become a spirit?”

Magnolia tilted her head in thought. “A very, very, very long time ago.”

“How old are you?”

“Over a thousand years old.”

Magnolia was a thousand-year-old magnolia tree spirit. For root-bound spirits like her, the path to cultivation was far more arduous and lengthy than for birds or beasts. The spot where she was rooted had to be uniquely favorable, a place where she could draw the essence of heaven and earth, and she needed to seize the rare opportunity when her spiritual awareness awakened. Only with relentless effort could she hope to become a spirit. Even after forming a spiritual core and taking human shape, for several centuries she could not stray ten paces from her tree. Her long life was etched into the tightly wound rings of her trunk.

Originally, the magnolia tree stood alone in the wild. Later, as the city grew up around her, she was enclosed within a courtyard. The first owner was a scholar—clean and gentle—who built the courtyard for quiet study. Each day he would read, write poetry, or paint. She was a tree; he was a man; they coexisted in peace. Later, the scholar achieved fame and sold the courtyard. The next family’s slovenly habits made the environment filthy and unbearable for her, so she transformed into a ghostly maiden and scared them away. The courtyard changed hands again and again, each new owner worse than the last. Magnolia came to believe that only that scholar had ever been truly refined. New owners would come and she’d frighten them off, and the place gained a reputation as a haunted house. Eventually, no one dared live there, and it was abandoned for many years—until two unexpected guests arrived.

“That would be you two,” Magnolia finished, sounding rather forlorn.

“So we disappoint you,” Qingyin said.

“I’ve given up hope on all people, to be honest. There are no more gentle scholars like him. Do you know how handsome he was? When he recited poetry under my branches, his elegance could still the wind itself.” Under the moonlight, Magnolia smiled wistfully, moonbeams shining in her eyes, making her look like a fairy.

After a while, Qingyin said softly, “Magnolia, you loved that scholar, didn’t you?”

Magnolia was taken aback. “Did I?”

“Yes, you fell in love with him.”

The tangle in Magnolia’s heart suddenly unraveled, and she sat there, dazed and overwhelmed.

Seeing her lost in thought, Qingyin did not disturb her. She glanced at the black cat stubbornly perched on the roof, sighed quietly, and prepared to climb down from the tree. Just then, she caught a glimmer in the night sky—a faint, shimmering light, like stardust scattered across the heavens. When she looked more closely, it vanished as if it had never been, leaving her to wonder if it was only an illusion.

She turned toward the roof and saw Mo Tu staring intently at the spot where the glow had appeared, his golden eyes cold and deep in the night. She wanted to ask him about it, but seeing that he clearly had no intention of speaking, she swallowed her question. Mo Tu watched the sky for a while, then stood and slipped away along the ridge, vanishing into the moonlight.

Qingyin felt more dejected than ever, tears prickling her eyes. Turning toward her hometown, her sorrow suddenly gave way to determination. She slid down from the tree, returned to her room, and pulled a small box from beneath her trunk. Inside, two emerald-green willow leaves lay quietly on red velvet, their veins flashing like fine golden thread.

These Cloud-top Willow Leaves, treasures from the Immortal Realm, were as vibrant as ever despite the passing years, as if freshly plucked. She placed the leaves inside her shoes, then cautiously took a step forward. Instantly, it felt as though she were riding a wind and fire wheel—she shot ahead with a whoosh, slamming into the magnolia tree so hard that the entire tree shuddered.

From above, Magnolia called down, “Qingyin, why are you kicking me?”

“I’m fine, really. It wasn’t on purpose,” Qingyin replied, clutching her nose as blood streamed down, tears brimming in her eyes.

After one attempt, she got a better sense of the leaves’ power. Balancing on tiptoe, she made her way to the wall, climbed up, and, facing the direction of Jiaozhou Prefecture, took a deep breath and launched herself forward. She shot out like an arrow, so startled by the speed that she couldn’t help but scream.

Magnolia, hearing the commotion, looked back. “Qingyin, what’s happening? Qingyin?…”

But Qingyin was already gone.

With wild cries, Qingyin sped through the night, spinning and tumbling uncontrollably. The Cloud-top Willow Leaves were indeed miraculous, granting her feet an extraordinary swiftness. Each step sent her gliding through the air at breakneck speed. At first, she crashed into eaves and tree branches again and again, but after countless tumbles, she finally gained her balance. Soon she had adapted to this flying pace; the wind howled past her ears and the scenery zipped by in the darkness. She also discovered that the speed was under her control—she could accelerate or slow at will. By the time she reached Jiaozhou Prefecture, she moved with ease.

The journey from the capital to Jiaozhou Prefecture took seven or eight days by carriage, but by dawn, Qingyin already saw the familiar city walls. Without slowing, she lifted her foot, took a step into the air, and soared above the wall, her whole body gliding into the city shrouded in night.