Chapter 4: You'll Pay for the Button

He Xi's father, He Ci, was a renowned Confucian scholar in these parts. Ever since he became the head of the academy, scholars had flocked to him from far and wide, and He Ci's prestige had only grown.

He Xi had heard others say since childhood that back when she was just born, her father had been a fixture in brothels and gambling dens. Then a grave illness nearly killed him. After clawing his way back from the brink of death, he emerged a changed man—his temperament and conduct as different as night and day.

Not only did he take to books and make something of himself, but his relationship with his wife improved as well.

He Ci and his wife had only one daughter, He Xi, and they treasured her above all else. As for any rotten boy trying to steal away their precious pearl, He Ci had never had any patience for that sort.

The first time He Ci saw He Xi staggering home carrying an injured, unconscious man on her back, his first instinct was to toss the fellow out.

He Xi couldn't bear it, so He Ci reluctantly softened and said the man could be thrown out once his wounds healed.

The rotten boy did heal, but he lost all memory of his past. That alone would have been fine—except he took advantage of He Xi nursing him back to health to secretly sweet-talk her into pledging herself to him.

He Ci was so furious he grabbed a broom and chased Pei Yan around, beating him soundly.

Pei Yan's wounds hadn't even healed yet, but his stamina was something else—he ran clear from the east side of town to the west.

It was the first time the townspeople had ever seen the gentle, refined He Ci abandon all decorum and chase a man down with a broom.

To this day, the incident remained a favorite topic over tea and meals.

He Ci had been young once. He knew perfectly well that a young man with his eye on a girl had nothing decent going on in his head. His strictness came purely from fear that He Xi would suffer for it.

"A Xi, your mother's taken on a batch of fan-painting commissions and can't keep up. Your cousin's wedding is coming up soon, so go help out at his house first. Once your mother and I finish what's on our plate, we'll come find you."

He Xi saw through it immediately. Her father was making excuses to get her away, to give her something to do and keep her distance from Pei Yan.

She could tell, but she had no reason to refuse.

Besides, that dream kept replaying in her mind. She had a vague feeling that putting some distance between herself and Pei Yan—cooling her head a little—might be for the best.

So He Xi nodded obediently. "I understand, Father."

He Ci's eyes showed his satisfaction. He smiled warmly. "Take a day to pack. I'll escort you over."

He Xi murmured her assent.

Elsewhere, Pei Yan strolled along with snacks in hand, a candied green plum between his teeth, in fine spirits. Whoever greeted him got a brilliant smile in return.

A young man in his prime, brimming with spirit—who wouldn't warm to him?

He returned to the dilapidated Taoist temple and pushed open the door. With a creak, the old wooden door wobbled on its hinges, nearly falling off and cracking someone over the head.

Zhenxiang Temple had never seen much incense. Most of the courtyard wall had collapsed, dogtail grass and wild mugwort grew waist-high over the stone steps, and black mold and cobwebs crawled up the base of the walls.

In the center of the courtyard stood a clay Taoist statue missing half an arm, coated in years of dust. Bird droppings had crusted into the crevices of its carving, and the floor tiles beneath its feet were cracked in a dense web, pooled with murky water from days of rain. It squelched unpleasantly underfoot.

Under the roots of a ginkgo tree, a white-haired Taoist lay sprawled at his ease, fallen leaves tangled in his hair, his coarse robe stained with wine and hanging half-open at the chest.

The Taoist's cheeks were flushed from drink, his features slack and unbothered. Catching sight of the young man's return, he said with a grin, "Pei Yan, you're back. How much bounty did you pull in this time?"

Pei Yan tossed him a money pouch.

The Wine Taoist caught it and weighed it in his palm. "This is it? Not even enough for my wine this month!"

Pei Yan crossed his arms. "If it's too little, go earn some yourself."

The Taoist opened the pouch and counted out a few copper coins, sighing as he flopped back into the fallen leaves. He fumbled for the wine jar at his side and took a sip, the reek of alcohol spreading. "Stingy little brat. And I let you stay here for free."

Pei Yan wanted to marry He Xi, but He Ci said he had no proper trade and would never agree to marry his daughter off to some wandering vagrant.

So Pei Yan needed to find himself some legitimate work.

He'd lost his memories, but his skills remained. Within fifty li, there was only this one run-down Zhenxiang Temple, so he'd joined it, striking up a nominal master-disciple relationship with the Wine Taoist and becoming a disciple of Zhenxiang Temple.

Now Pei Yan was a proper demon hunter. Even if He Ci wanted to find fault, he couldn't call him an idle vagrant with no fixed home anymore.

The Wine Taoist wasn't satisfied. He put on a fawning smile. "Pei Yan, give me a bit more, eh? It's been ages since I've had good wine."

Pei Yan said, "Not one copper extra."

The Wine Taoist put on a stern face. "I'm your Master!"

"A master's not as important as a wife."

The Wine Taoist was struck speechless.

He considered himself a cheapskate when it came to saving money, but Pei Yan was worse. To scrape together the bride price He Ci demanded, Pei Yan would split a single steamed bun into three pieces and call that three meals a day.

Call him stingy—sure. But when it came to buying things for He Xi, he never hesitated to spend.

The Wine Taoist sat up, leaned back against the tree, and shook his head with two clicks of his tongue, voice dripping with sarcasm. "All this hustle now—careful you don't end up drawing water with a bamboo basket."

Pei Yan lifted his eyes and gave him a flat look.

The money pouch in the Wine Taoist's hand vanished. He shouted, "Hey, Pei Yan, what's the big idea!"

Pei Yan ignored him and turned to go.

The Wine Taoist scrambled for inspiration. "This time of year, the back mountain's crawling with fireflies. At night when they take flight, it's a gorgeous sight. Girls love flashy, useless things. Back in my day, that's the trick I used to get the madam of Chunxiang House to hand over her own underthings. The He girl's bound to love fireflies too!"

Pei Yan's footsteps paused.

The Wine Taoist pressed on. "Once the girl's happy, feelings deepen fast. Even if the elders object, she might just set her heart on marrying her sweetheart!"

The money pouch landed back in the Wine Taoist's hand.

Clutching it, the Wine Taoist reassumed his solemn elder demeanor. "Pei Yan, you're a disciple of Zhenxiang Temple. No crossing the line. More importantly, I don't want He Ci pointing his finger in my face and cursing me out. You can't actually go sneaking to the girl's house at night and steal her away, you hear me!"

Pei Yan's retreating figure grew distant. "Got it."

The Wine Taoist chuckled to himself.

If he really got it, there'd be ghosts.

Night fell, and a full moon hung high.

In Tingfeng Courtyard, He Xi's room was on the second floor.

She hadn't gone to bed yet. By candlelight, her fingertips pinched the bamboo ribs as she carefully pasted plain paper onto a fan. Just as she smoothed the last wrinkle from the surface, three soft taps sounded outside the window.

She knew that sound all too well.

He Xi set her work down and hurried over to push open the wooden window. Cool evening air rushed in.

A young man in a blue Taoist robe sat on a branch of the old tree beyond the wall, his robe hem dangling in midair, moonlight drenching his clean, handsome features. A lazy smile played at the corner of his mouth as he swung his long legs, every inch of him alive with reckless youthful energy.

"A Xi, I'm taking you out to play."