"The dead crave redemption; yao spirits demand absolution."
The ragged Taoist Jialan crossed paths with Shui Chan during her water purification rites. White-haired yet spry, he navigated demonic valleys with a horsetail whisk, claiming kinship with all unrestrained things. He ate half-raw fruit, shot pheasants with her bow, and called himself a "wandering soul." His eyes held both childlike wonder and abyssal stillness.
Fleeting Sanctuary
Shui Chan traced routes on Liuzhou water-paper under lacquered lamplight. "We stay three days before Yellow Springs Valley."
Jialan snatched the map. "Obsessing over charts, Miss Luo? Rare paper—perfect for talismans!" He gulped wine, moonlight pooling in his cup. "Others fret over calligraphy. My talismans *work* because I paint emptiness."
The talisman he tossed her pulsed with unshakable intent. Shui Chan nodded, her face glacial in moonlight.
"Such beauty deserves—" Jialan's dirt-caked fingers brushed hers.
She snatched her hand back, dagger drawn. "Touch me again, I'll sever it."
"Apologies, apologies!" Jialan laughed, unbothered. "Lover's ghost haunting you?"
Shui Chan's silence answered.
Yellow Springs
At dawn they entered the cursed valley. Jialan's tattered fan fluttered as Shui Chan's arrows pierced lesser demons. When a bear-yao ambushed them, she pivoted midair—arrow through its heart—only to be throttled by its dying claw.
Jialan's talisman severed the limb. As she gasped against cave walls, his hand closed gently on her throat.
"*What do you feel now?*" His eyes mirrored her panic. "You've forgotten stillness beneath the fear."
She aimed her bow, trembling.
"Finish the stragglers," Jialan turned, humming. "I'll wander east. Emptiness needs no redemption."
Alone, Shui Chan touched her bruised neck. The valley echoed his lesson: In the void, even salvation is illusion.