39 Stealing Time

Qing Yin leapt straight into a lotus pond within the garden, washing away the blood and filth clinging to her body. The black mist in the garden had not yet dispersed, serving as an excellent cover. Because Mo Tu had just carried out a bloody massacre, the nearby rat spirits had all fled without a trace, leaving the area in utter silence, so there was no need to worry about being watched.

The black cat crouched atop an artificial rock by the pond, keeping watch. Behind him, the gentle sounds of water rippled, and amidst the emerald lotus leaves, a fair shoulder and back emerged; her raven hair hung loose, floating in the water like clouds.

Qing Yin scrubbed herself vigorously, wishing she could rub off a layer of skin, determined to cleanse all the blood from herself. She also took off her clothes and washed them thoroughly, finally letting out a long breath of relief.

Just as she was about to leave the pond, she realized she had no change of clothes. Draping the wet garments over herself, she found them clammy and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a black robe was thrown down from above. The black cat on the artificial rock said, “Wear this for now.”

She clutched the black robe to her chest, looking up at the cat with suspicion. How did this creature know she was wearing wet clothes? Had it been spying on her just now? Looking up, all she saw was a fluffy ball of black fur, and she relaxed. It was just a cat—what did it matter if it had seen her?

Whenever he assumed feline form, she would unconsciously lower her guard, always feeling that he was not of her kind, and so she rarely took precautions.

However, at this moment, he hadn’t changed back; so where had this black robe come from? She had always assumed the robe was conjured from his fur, but the black cat clearly still had his pelt intact.

Unable to resist, she asked, “How did you make these clothes?”

The black cat replied, “Nothing special, it’s just an illusion. It feels like clothing, but in fact, it’s nothing at all. Even when you wear it, you’re actually still naked.”

What?!

Qing Yin, who had just thrown the robe over herself, felt instantly uneasy at his words. She kept touching the garment, worried that the illusion would vanish any second.

The black robe, being made for the original owner, hung loose and oversized on her, no matter how much she wrapped or tucked it around herself—it barely stayed in place. Really, if it’s just an illusion, couldn’t he have made it fit her figure better? She wrung out her wet clothes by the shore and hung them on a tree branch to dry.

Turning back, she reached toward the black cat. “Mo Tu, come here.”

The black cat jumped down from the artificial rock and leapt into her arms. Qing Yin noticed a leaf stuck on his head and reached out to remove it. The black cat glanced at it and said, “That’s a leaf from the demon tree in the open ground.”

Hearing this, she weighed the leaf in her hand for a closer look. It was thick, dark green, and almost black. When she tore the leaf open, a foul-smelling sap oozed from the edges. Qing Yin quickly threw it to the ground and frowned. “What kind of tree is this?”

The black cat replied, “There was a soul-forbidden altar dug out beneath its roots, with roots extending into the altar. When it was broken, tiny bones spilled out—most likely belonging to one of those children born on the fifteenth of the seventh month who went missing. If I’m not mistaken, this demon tree used the rat spirits to steal infants, place them in the altar, and absorb their essence through its roots.”

Qing Yin drew in a sharp breath. “So the cause of the missing children really is rooted in the Dong family! If Dong Zhanchu knew about this, why wouldn’t he just reveal the truth, instead of repeatedly asking me to find a way to save Yin’er?”

Mo Tu sneered, “Because he’s a coward. What I’m curious about now is: why does the demon tree cultivate itself through such an evil practice, and what means did it use to control the Dong father and son? Last night, under cover of the mist, I gravely wounded the demon tree with my magic. I believe it will soon reveal its true form.”

Qing Yin nodded. “Then we’ll just have to wait and see.”

She reached for his paw, wanting to check his pulse. After last night’s fierce battle, she wondered how much damage his body had suffered.

The black cat jerked his paw away, unwilling for her to touch him.

“Tsk, what’s that for? Let me have a look,” Qing Yin insisted.

The black cat relented, letting her hold his paw, though he turned his face away, staring into the distance.

Qing Yin checked his pulse for a while and exclaimed in surprise, not believing what she felt. She checked again and again. Mo Tu, growing impatient, pulled his paw back, kicked off the ground, climbed up a tree, and lay motionless on a branch.

Qing Yin, however, was delighted. She hopped twice under the tree and called out, “Mo Tu, it seems your internal injuries have healed! How did this happen?”

The black cat lay there, silent and sullen.

Qing Yin called again, “Is it because you ate so many rat spirits? Isn’t it?”

Yes.

The black cat answered silently in his heart. In one night, he had devoured over a hundred rat spirits. For a Xie-cat, it was the perfect tonic—better than even the pills of the Supreme Lord. After this gluttonous feast, his health was doubly restored. While he waited on the artificial rock for her to finish bathing, he’d already realized his injuries were nearly healed.

It should have been cause for celebration—five years ago, he would have been overjoyed. But now, for some reason, he felt no happiness at all.

A strange restlessness gnawed at his heart.

Beneath the tree, Qing Yin finally sensed that the cat was unhappy. She looked up at him in confusion. “Mo Tu, you’re not happy? Your wounds are healed—why aren’t you glad?”

Yes, his injuries were healed, so why wasn’t he happy?

He looked down and shot the woman below a ferocious glare.

Fool. Now that he’d recovered, he could return to the Celestial Realm, hand her over to the Celestial Lord, and let them throw her into the alchemical furnace, turning her into a single pill…

So why was this fool so inexplicably happy?

It was then that he finally faced the true source of his gloom.

He suddenly regretted having consumed so many rat spirits. Why hadn’t he exercised more restraint? Why had his recovery come so quickly? He had thought it would take decades for his wounds to heal, affording him an excuse to linger with her, drifting through the years together. That dreaded end, which he found himself more and more unwilling to face, had still seemed far off—he wouldn’t have to confront it for a long time yet.

But unexpectedly, the end had arrived ahead of schedule. He wasn’t ready.

A shaft of sunlight pierced the black mist. The surroundings brightened, as the darkness melted away like snow before a flame. Dawn had come. The light revealed the battered remnants of the garden—shattered flowers and broken branches, the aftermath of a fierce battle.

In the distance came hurried footsteps. Before long, Dong Zhanchu approached, his face haggard. When he saw Qing Yin, he called out, “Immortal Yin!”

Hearing the voice, the black cat put aside his troubles for the moment to deal with the present. He leapt down from the tree into Qing Yin’s arms.

Dong Zhanchu came forward, concern in his voice. “Immortal Yin, are you unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” Qing Yin replied, glancing at him as she tidied her wet hair.

Dong Zhanchu said, “Last night, a strange mist rose suddenly, and there were odd noises all around. I wanted to check on you, but as soon as I left the courtyard, I got lost in the fog and wandered all night without finding my way. This morning, I saw I’d walked in circles around my own courtyard the entire night—my shoes are worn through.” As he spoke, he raised his foot to show her. Sure enough, his toes poked through the worn sole, proof of his words.

Qing Yin said, “Your estate is full of strange happenings. Many little demons ran wild last night.”

Dong Zhanchu flushed with embarrassment. “Did any of them harm you?”

Qing Yin gave a cold laugh. “No problem—they’ve all been dealt with.”

“Truly?!” Dong Zhanchu’s face showed his astonishment.

Qing Yin asked, “What’s the matter?”

Dong Zhanchu sighed. “Immortal Yin, you truly are remarkable.”

Qing Yin shot him a sidelong glance. “Such praise. It seems you know well what happened last night. Do you know who sent the demons to attack?”

Dong Zhanchu hesitated for a long moment, then mumbled, “I… I don’t know…”

Indecisive and lacking all responsibility. Though he worried about saving his son, he placed all his hopes on her, while he himself shrank into his shell, not daring even to show his face.

At this, Qing Yin was thoroughly disappointed in him.

Her gaze turned cold, and she no longer looked at him. “Where is Yulan? Send her to me.”

Zhanchu turned and walked away, his steps faltering and slow. Qing Yin watched his retreating back for a while, then suddenly called out, “Young Master Dong?”

Dong Zhanchu halted and turned slowly, asking, “Is there something else, Immortal Yin?”

Qing Yin stared at his face in silence for a moment, then said, “Nothing. Go on.”

He turned again and walked off slowly.

Qing Yin murmured, “Did you see that?”

The black cat in her arms replied, “I did. Dong Zhanchu seems to have aged thirty years in the space of a moment.”

When Dong Zhanchu had first approached, he had simply looked tired and pale. Now, after just a short conversation, his spirit seemed even more depleted. By the time he had walked a few steps and turned back again, the hair at his temples had gone white, and his face had sagged. Yesterday, he’d looked barely over twenty; now he appeared to be fifty or sixty years old.

The time he had stolen seemed to be draining from him at lightning speed.

What had caused his sudden aging?

As Yulan arrived carrying Yin’er, the black cat jumped from Qing Yin’s arms and slipped silently into the flowerbeds.

Following the scent, Mo Tu soon found Dong Zhanchu. The man was making his way toward the great tree in the bamboo grove. He walked painfully slowly, his steps dragging, his back bent, and he coughed with the frailty of a man in his seventies or eighties.

As Mo Tu entered the bamboo grove, he noticed that the magical traps there had also lost their power. He kept his distance, hiding among the bamboo to watch.

As Dong Zhanchu approached the tree, a black shadow slowly emerged on the trunk, gradually taking the shape of a withered old man—a figure so decrepit, he might have just crawled from a grave.

Mo Tu watched for a long time before recognizing him—this nearly skeletal elder was the magistrate Dong. He too had aged beyond recognition overnight.

So the tree demon was none other than Magistrate Dong—this surprised Mo Tu greatly. He had only suspected the demon tree used some method to enslave the Dong father and son, not that the truth would be so direct. But, as far as he knew, Magistrate Dong was a mere mortal—how had he become a tree demon?

Now, the two faced each other, and it was hard to say which looked the older.

For a moment, the two elders stared at each other in silence. Then Magistrate Dong spoke, his voice like air leaking from bellows: “Fool—how does it feel to die slowly of old age?”

Dong Zhanchu replied in the same hoarse, aged voice, “Father… why is this happening…”

“Why?!” Magistrate Dong’s skeletal hand trembled as he tried to slap his son, but he had no strength. “Because you let the wolf into the house—you brought that so-called Immortal Yin, and the black cat she brought is actually a divine beast from the heavens. Last night, he gravely wounded the tree. Our lives and the tree’s have long been joined as one. When the tree is wounded, so are we.”

Dong Zhanchu asked, “Then why… why am I…?”

Magistrate Dong let out a chilling laugh, his voice ghastly as if from the depths of hell. “Do you think that when the tree dies, you’ll survive? That you can keep enjoying the lifespan stolen from those babies? Let me tell you: from the very beginning, what was bound to this tree was not just our lives, but our very longevity. We are all the tree’s slaves. When the tree dies, so do we. What’s the matter, do you regret it now?”

Hiding in the bamboo grove, Mo Tu understood. Strange as the tree was, it was only a tree; under some evil sorcery, Magistrate Dong, once a mere mortal, had become a spirit attached to the tree.

Dong Zhanchu’s body trembled, barely able to stand.

Magistrate Dong’s tone turned suddenly mournful: “Zhanchu, the pain of dying is one thing—but think of the sins we have committed over the centuries. After death, we’ll be dragged to hell, to suffer endless torment—skinning, boiling, the works. Are you willing? Are you?”

Dong Zhanchu shook his head in terror, crying out in pain, “But Yin’er… Yin’er…”

Magistrate Dong rasped, “Yin’er was born on the fifteenth day of the seventh month—that is fate! Given the evil we have done, we should never have had offspring. Yin’er was destined for the soul altar, to become a spirit fruit, to be offered to our master in exchange for immortality. At least then, her death would have meaning.”

Suddenly, a strange voice rang out: “Nonsense! Yin’er will live well—you two are the ones who should have gone to dust long ago!”

Magistrate Dong started in fright and shouted hoarsely, “Who’s there? Who’s speaking?”