Ding Songyan pointed toward the well at the mouth of the lane, both confused and bewildered.

"Miss Xiaoqing, did you just see mist rising over there, with figures moving through it?"

Xiaoqing and her maidservant traced the direction of his finger and both shook their heads.

"No."

After a moment’s thought, Xiaoqing’s eyes brightened with clear curiosity.

"Tell me what you saw in detail."

Ding Songyan described the mist that seemed to dissolve into the darkness, the figures in ragged clothes or armor bearing weapons. At the end he asked, "It wasn’t my imagination, was it?"

Xiaoqing’s smile bloomed, bright and lovely.

"No, no, no. What you saw was a scene from the netherworld."

"A scene from the netherworld?" Ding Songyan jumped with a start.

A vision of the underworld?

Xiaoqing nodded with an affirmative grunt and began circling Ding Songyan, sizing him up and down as she walked.

"It should be. Though I can’t be completely certain yet. One day, when I find a rhinoceros horn with spiritual properties, I’ll light it and show you the full netherworld landscape. Then you can tell me whether it matches what you saw tonight.

"So you have natural yin-yang eyes. Yang eyes by day, yin eyes by night."

Similar to Qu Zhongheng, except both yin and yang are concentrated in the same pair of eyes rather than split apart? Ding Songyan glanced around, wondering if there were any wandering ghosts nearby.

"Actually, that doesn’t add up either." Xiaoqing suddenly frowned and stopped walking. "Once natural yin-yang eyes can see the netherworld, they should always see it. Unless someone with the right cultivation method has placed a seal, why would it be visible one moment and not the other?"

"I don’t know either." Ding Songyan was equally at a loss.

He began to suspect this stemmed from his having "died and returned to life," carrying characteristics of both the living world and the netherworld. And that this peculiarity would gradually fade as he and this body grew more closely bonded, as he became more fully alive.

Xiaoqing murmured to herself, "If you truly have natural yin-yang eyes, then cultivating any art that connects to the netherworld or draws upon its power would yield twice the results with half the effort. But since your situation is unclear, I’ll ask on your behalf the next time I encounter someone from a relevant sect."

"Thank you, Miss Xiaoqing. But there’s no need to go out of your way." Ding Songyan did not actually want Xiaoqing inquiring with sects connected to the netherworld. That risked exposing his greatest secret.

Xiaoqing was about to speak when the sound of a night watchman’s drum echoed from the distant street.

"The midnight hour has come! The weather is dry! Mind your candles and lanterns!"

"It’s midnight already?" Xiaoqing jumped in alarm and said hurriedly, "Ding Songyan, just cool off in your courtyard. We have to get back."

She muttered, almost inaudibly, "Otherwise we’ll be found out..."

As Xiaoqing reached toward him, Ding Songyan’s vision went black then bright, his body swaying slightly. He was back inside the courtyard, looking at the family elm tree and the simple shed where firewood and coal were stacked.

The mosquitoes and moths that normally flew about in brazen swarms had all vanished. Only seemingly aqueous moonlight remained, dispelling the heaviness of the summer night.

Xiaoqing’s doing? Having a snake-yao around the house is actually nice. No more worrying about mosquito bites... Do snake-yao repel mosquitoes? As Ding Songyan’s gaze wandered, it suddenly froze.

In his eyes he saw the tightly shut door of the main house and the fully closed wooden windows of the west wing. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"..." The corner of his mouth twitched.

Doesn’t that mean I still can’t get back to my room to sleep?

I can’t exactly bang on the door and wake up Bull, telling him I somehow ended up in the courtyard, right?

As his thoughts churned, Ding Songyan tried to reassure himself. It had been thousands of years since the severing of heaven and earth. Snake-yao should no longer be able to pass through walls or teleport. Xiaoqing had most likely entered the room through a normal opening.

He went to the west wing’s wooden window and gave it a nudge. It moved—the latch inside had not been fastened.

Phew... He exhaled with relief.

...

The next day, with Xu Chang’an occupied handling his master Zhang Rui’s "estate," Ding Songyan came to Dangkang Temple alone to tell his stories.

Compared to previous days, the crowd gathered to hear his Legend of the White Snake had multiplied several times over, encircling him three layers deep. Xiaoqing and her maidservant had brought their light embroidered stools as usual and sat in the very front.

The flooding of Jinshan Temple was full of dramatic tension, combining the spectacle of supernatural combat with an eruption of emotions and the struggle of human nature. Many women in the audience gradually grew teary-eyed, and more than a few men dabbed at their eyes from time to time.

When the story reached Lady Bai violating the laws of heaven and being imprisoned forever beneath Leifeng Pagoda, Ding Songyan snapped his fan shut and struck his palm.

"As the saying goes: Waiting for a thousand years, waiting once more... Just for these words, heartbreak holds no regret..."

As the song sounded, as the words "waiting for a thousand years" settled into their minds, one listener after another began to weep openly.

Xiaoqing had assumed that she would not lose her composure today, being already aware of the story and having been moved once last night. But when "waiting for a thousand years," which had not been part of last night’s telling, was sung aloud, the merger of scene and song cut deep into her heart. She could not hold back herself as her eyes reddened instantly and tears slid down her face before she knew it.

Her maidservant had pulled out a handkerchief during an earlier passage and was already sobbing.

After a moment, Ding Songyan, who could not remember the rest of the lyrics, stopped there and announced there would be another installation. The audience collectively relaxed, knowing the story would not end with the eternal imprisonment beneath Leifeng Pagoda, and let him go without protest.

Nearly got trapped there. Storytelling really does have its dangers... Ding Songyan waved at Xiaoqing, who had once again tipped generously, then turned and headed toward North Water Street.

Xiaoqing, having heard his plans for the rest of the story the night before, did not press further. She dabbed at her eyes with a green silk kerchief and began looking for a restaurant.

...

After finishing a pork-filled steamed bun, a vegetable-filled one, and a sweet red bean one, Ding Songyan arrived at the Zhen estate at an unhurried pace.

In this world—at least in Dingjiang Prefecture—stuffed and unstuffed buns went by the same name. Both were called steamed buns. Those without filling were "plain steamed buns," and those with filling were "such-and-such steamed buns."

Ding Songyan’s selection was a balanced mix of meat and vegetable, giving him both savory and sweet flavors.

Once inside the Zhen estate, he did not visit Qin Nuansheng and instead, went to the Listening Water Pavilion. There, he met Master Yu, whose ear rims were white and whose arms and legs were disproportionately long.

"Have you decided?" Master Yu asked.

"Yes, Master Yu. I’d like to tell stories for the distinguished guest." Ding Songyan cupped his hands.

Master Yu showed a rare trace of a smile.

"Gutsy."

He gestured for Ding Songyan to follow. They wound through covered walkways and crossed pavilions in the vast Zhen estate, heading deeper inside.

Ding Songyan kept silent as he walked, observing the surroundings and noting the color of flowers, the shape of rockeries, the content of couplets, the style of brackets and eaves, and various mica-paned windows that could serve as landmarks.

The further they went, the quieter it became. Even servants disappeared entirely.

At last, Master Yu stopped before a two-storey wooden building, one half-hidden among flowering trees.

Two sword-bearing guards stood at the door, both in dark-blue fitted uniforms.

They stared straight ahead, making no move to stop Master Yu or Ding Songyan from entering.

Master Yu halted in the main hall and produced a thick strip of black cloth.

"From here, your eyes must be covered."

The distinguished guest doesn’t even want their face seen? That’s highly suspicious... Ding Songyan asked no questions and allowed Master Yu to wrap the black cloth twice around his face and tie a knot.

His vision plunged into darkness.

Then he felt one person on each side take hold of his arms and guide him through the building, turning this way and that, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending.

Gradually, the air grew cooler.

This was a stone staircase leading down.

Before long, Ding Songyan heard the sound of a heavy iron door opening.

He was led through.

This is nothing like where a distinguished guest would stay... If you ask me, this is a secret dungeon. As the thought whirled in Ding Songyan’s mind, he was settled into a wooden chair.

After the heavy iron door closed, an aged voice reached his ears, sounding as though sand were being scraped across metal.

"A new one?"

One of the people who had guided Ding Songyan here spoke in a low voice.

"Old sir, this is Ding Songyan. He tells stories outside Dangkang Temple. He recently wrote a tale called The Legend of the White Snake that has been very popular. Our patriarch thought you might not have heard it, so he sent him over specially."

That grating, uncomfortable voice spoke again.

"Ding Songyan. What is your connection to the Zhen family?"

"Old sir, my maternal cousin is a concubine to the second master of the Zhen family. I’m considered half a member of the household." Ding Songyan elevated his position slightly.

"That explains it." The aged, rasping voice gradually lowered. "Go ahead, then."

Ding Songyan gathered himself and began from "In ancient times, in the southwestern lands, at the foot of Qingcheng Mountain."

Compared to his first telling outside Dangkang Temple, he added far more detail and the story flowed with better pacing.

Though he could not see his listener’s expression, the "distinguished guest" would occasionally remark "somewhat interesting" or "not bad," giving him feedback. He grew more at ease the longer he narrated.

As he reached Fahai’s appearance and prepared to bring today’s session to a close, a strange sensation came over Ding Songyan.

The crown of his head seemed to open, and something cool descended through it, reverberating in an aged, rasping voice, "You’ve recently read the Secret Classic of Mountains and Seas?"

Ding Songyan’s gaze froze behind the blindfold.

How does he know?

I’ve never told anyone this darn secret!

Can he read minds?

I wasn’t even thinking about the Secret Classic just now!

"Do not speak aloud. Zhen Qianfan can hear." The voice continued to echo within Ding Songyan’s mind.

"It" took on a hint of amusement.

"In all my life, my greatest skill has been the art of numerology. Naturally, I can peer into your secrets."

He doesn’t seem like he’s going to threaten me or broadcast my secret... Is this a whispered transmission or some other method? And he seems very wary of Patriarch Zhen? Ding Songyan steadied himself, reached out blindly, accepted a teacup from beside him, and took a sip.

"Good. You have a quietude in your chest, young friend. You were quick to recover your composure and conceal the irregularity just now." The aged, rasping voice offered a word of praise.

By the time Ding Songyan handed back the teacup, his emotions had largely settled. He proceeded with the day’s closing as though nothing had happened.

The voice still echoed in his mind.

"If you doubt that my art of numerology is genuine, go to the Crimson Sleeve Street bathhouse in the North Lane pleasure quarter before 5pm today. Wait until 5:30pm. A fortuitous opportunity will find you there."

So kind as to offer guidance? And what will you want from me afterward? Have pity on me, a man who can’t even overpower a goose. Why do I keep stumbling into situations... Beneath the black cloth, Ding Songyan’s eyebrow twitched.