From thirty-one onwards, no name was ever made.

Though Mo Tu hailed from the Celestial Realm, he knew well that the word “karma” was a mystery even immortals struggled to comprehend.

Qingyin suddenly said, “Mo Tu, I think we should take Dong Zhanchu’s case. Since he knows Fang Ai, perhaps we can find more clues through him.”

Mo Tu’s expression hardened. “No. There’s a heavy aura of evil about him. If you get close, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Qingyin clenched her teeth. “So what if there’s risk? Even if it means my body is crushed to dust, I must find the true culprit…”

“No! I won’t allow you the slightest harm.” Mo Tu’s words fell like a hammer, and he turned to stride into the house.

Watching his retreating figure, Qingyin was filled with frustration. That phrase, “I won’t allow you the slightest harm,” ought to be comforting, but spoken in such a cold, hard tone, it left her heart feeling bruised.

The tree spirit stood in silence for a long moment, said nothing, and returned into the trunk.

Deep into the night, the black cat nestled, as usual, in Qingyin’s bedding. Suddenly, it darted from beneath the covers, poked its head out, and its pointed ears stood alert.

“What is it?” Qingyin mumbled sleepily.

“There’s a sound underground,” said the black cat.

The words startled Qingyin awake. Sound underground—how could that be?!

The black cat leapt off the bed and dashed outside. Qingyin, too frightened to be left behind, hurried after, slippers flapping, and called in a hushed voice, “Hey, wait for me!”

At the door, she found the black cat standing beneath the eaves, gazing up at the magnolia tree. The tree was trembling, though there was no wind. Suddenly, a muffled “boom” sounded from below, and all fell silent—the trembling ceased.

Standing beside the black cat, Qingyin asked blankly, “What happened?”

Mo Tu replied, “Magnolia has left.”

“What?”

“She severed one of her root veins and left the tree.”

“I thought she couldn’t leave the tree?”

“Normally, she can’t. But there’s a ruthless method for temporary departure. Sever a root, and she can leave the tree for ten days.”

“Sever a root? Can a tree even survive that?”

“Ancient trees that have turned spirit usually have three main roots. Breaking one sacrifices a century’s cultivation in exchange for ten days away. If she’s not back in thirty days and all three roots are severed, the tree withers, and the spirit perishes.”

“Withers… perishes… Are you saying if she doesn’t return in thirty days, Magnolia will…”

“She’ll die,” Mo Tu said.

Qingyin gazed up at the silent magnolia tree, her mind a tangled mess. She turned to the black cat. “Mo Tu…”

“No.” Mo Tu cut her off, turned back inside, and leaped onto the bed, though his own heart was in utter chaos.

The tree spirit had severed her own root to seek out that scholar. Such a small, naive tree spirit, with scant magic and a pure heart, yet she dared to risk her cultivation and her very life. Where did she find such courage? Was it fire, not sap, that flowed in her veins?

For reasons he couldn’t grasp, her reckless act filled him with a strange mix of shame and anger.

Yes, shame and anger—no better words came to mind.

But what had a lovesick tree spirit’s affairs to do with him, a divine beast? Why did he feel as though he’d been slapped?

Mo Tu puzzled over it to no avail, his heart restless.

Qingyin entered.

“Mo Tu, I’m going to find Magnolia.” Her face was grave, her voice unwavering.

Mo Tu kept his face cold and silent.

That indifferent look of his always seemed to open a chasm between them. She sighed inwardly. “Even if there is no connection between Dong Zhanchu and Fang Ai—even setting aside revenge—I must find Magnolia. You said yourself Dong Zhanchu dwells long in evil places, and Magnolia’s path is fraught with peril. After living together so long, I see her as family. I can’t ignore her danger. So, no matter how you oppose it, I will go. I’m not asking your permission, only informing you.”

With that, she turned to leave.

The black cat suddenly leapt to the doorway, transformed in a blink into a tall, slender youth, and barred her way.

Qingyin raised her hand suddenly, fingers forming a spell, a feathered arrow poised to strike, fury flashing in her eyes. “Mo Tu, if you stand in my way, don’t blame me for using force.”

A flicker of surprise appeared in Mo Tu’s eyes, as if he hadn’t expected her to turn on him.

Seeing his look, Qingyin’s heart wavered, her resolve nearly crumbling—she almost reached out to stroke his ears and comfort him, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” Yet her hand remained steady, spell unbroken.

“Mo Tu, Blood Dove Nine Feathers said you come from the Heartless Upper Realm. But here in the mortal world, sometimes ‘emotion’ outweighs life itself.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous light flashing within. He stepped forward and pressed his chest to her outstretched hand.

Through gritted teeth, he spat, “Go on, shoot me if you dare.”

The murderous aura Qingyin had struggled to summon evaporated at once. She blinked, flustered. “Don’t think I’m bluffing—I really will…”

He glared, stepping closer. Her arm weakened, her spell dissolved into an open palm pressed to his chest in an attempt to hold him back, but he only pressed his advantage, forcing her back until she stumbled against the bed and fell.

He leaned over her, arms braced on either side, caging her in, glaring fiercely down. “You really wanted to kill me, did you?!”

Qingyin surrendered, flustered. “No, I was just trying to scare you…”

“You clearly formed the spell!”

“I did, but I would never have fired!”

A moment ago so fierce, now she was hastily explaining, wriggling in a vain attempt to escape. He would have none of it. With all the authority of a thundercloud, he trapped her, arms and legs entwined.

“If you had the chance, you’d have hurt me.” His anger had not abated in the least.

“I wouldn’t!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I swear!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Then what will make you believe me?”

“I don’t know!” Mo Tu was bristling with fury.

How does one soothe an angry, bristling cat? In desperation, Qingyin reached out to scratch gently beneath his chin.

His anger melted away at her touch. As she continued, coaxing him with gentle strokes and soft words, he let his head fall to her shoulder, the tension draining from his limbs. Still, his face remained stern, eyes half-closed and stubborn.

Not until he was thoroughly mollified did he mutter, “I’m not trying to stop you. I just want to ask—do you even know where to look for Magnolia?”

So he hadn’t meant to bar her way.

Mo Tu’s expression remained grim. “Much as I hate the thought of you in danger, since I’ve sworn to help you avenge your family, and Dong Zhanchu is linked to Fang Ai, we have to investigate. But…” He cast her a glance. “You must promise to keep yourself safe.”

Qingyin suddenly hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, her voice bright with joy and excitement. “Mo Tu—Mo Tu, you’re so good to me!”

Mo Tu seemed momentarily dazed. Qingyin, caught up in her happiness, missed the fleeting shadow that crossed his eyes.

At dawn, Mo Tu circled the courtyard and found something unusual. He called Qingyin over.

Standing outside the wall, she followed his gesture and looked up. On the top of the wall were two deep black handprints.

“What…?” Qingyin couldn’t help but climb up for a closer look. Worried that passersby would notice her strange behavior, Mo Tu quickly supported her waist and helped her up. The prints looked as if they’d been stamped in black ink—delicate, like a woman’s hands. The blackness was ominous. With the wall so high, anyone leaving prints here would have needed a ladder.

She pressed her hand beside the print and peered into the courtyard, directly at the bamboo couch beneath the magnolia tree.

Whoever left the handprints must have been spying inside.

Mo Tu boosted her to sit atop the wall, then leapt lightly up to join her. Gazing at the bamboo couch, he murmured, “It must have followed me back from the Jiao Prefecture yamen that night. I was so exhausted, I didn’t sense it lurking nearby.”

Qingyin glanced at the eerie prints. “Can you tell what made them?”

Mo Tu frowned. “I can’t say. But they reek of bitter resentment.”

Qingyin said, “I wonder if Dong Zhanchu’s sudden visit is related to the owner of these prints? Last time, when he saw me write ‘Fang Ai’ on the paper, he seemed terrified. He probably won’t come again. I don’t even know where he lives. How do we even start looking?”

Mo Tu looked toward the magnolia tree. “Perhaps Magnolia has already pointed the way.”

“What?” Qingyin followed his gaze. The southern branches of the magnolia were withered. Her heart sank. “What’s happened to the tree?”

Mo Tu replied, “Breaking a root weakens her. Branches wither as a result. In order to leave in a certain direction, she had to sever the root that led that way. Judging from this, she went south.”

“South…” Qingyin looked in that direction. “But that’s a wide area, with many households. It won’t be easy to search. Maybe we can check the census records…”

Mo Tu glanced at her. “Have you forgotten what lies to the south?”

Qingyin started, then realized, “Jiao Prefecture!”

She had assumed, as most clients were from the capital, that Dong Zhanchu lived here too. But now she recalled—though he spoke standard dialect, his accent held traces of the countryside. Was he truly from Jiao Prefecture?

Mo Tu pursed his lips, leaning lazily on her shoulder, grumbling, “Looks like we have another journey ahead.”

The neighbor lady passed by below, saw them sitting on the wall, and scolded, “You two, get down before you fall and break your necks!”

They scrambled down, faces flushed, and hurried away.