At dawn, the sky had just begun to pale. Xiao Cui carried a bucket of cold water and tiptoed to the old woodshed, pushing the door open a crack to peer inside.
It was early spring and still bitterly cold. The cluttered room was dim, damp, and chill. The only candle flickered weakly, struggling against extinction, its dying light barely keeping the gloom at bay. The air felt as though it were veiled by a layer of yellow gauze, hazy and stifling, carrying with it an ominous, suffocating smell.
On a straw bed in the corner lay a motionless figure, as if already without breath.
Xiao Cui’s scalp prickled. She quickly shut the door and swallowed hard. Last night, Cui Mama had said Chun Tao probably wouldn’t survive till morning, and ordered Xiao Cui to check at dawn. If Chun Tao had already breathed her last, the body could be reported quickly and sent out to be buried. But Xiao Cui was terrified, and only now at first light had she dared to come look.
Chun Tao was a maid born in the household, daughter of the Lady’s own dowry maid. Orphaned early, she was raised in Liu Furen’s courtyard, treated better than common servants.
True to her name, Chun Tao’s beauty was like peach blossoms in bloom, and she was greatly favored by Madam. In her teens, she had been assigned as the personal maid of the Gu family’s eldest young master in Yunsheng Pavilion. Many speculated Liu Furen intended for her to marry into the family.
Rumors spread that Chun Tao had long been intimate with the young master, perhaps already his bed companion. True or not, everyone could see she acted more like a mistress than a servant—shouting orders in the courtyard daily—while the young master never once reproached her.
But a week ago, the eldest young master died of illness. In grief and rage, Gu Laoye dismissed everyone in Yunsheng Pavilion: some were sold, others sent off to labor on distant estates. Chun Tao, having given her body to the young master and now abandoned, had no support. Even Liu Furen shut her doors in feigned sickness. Despairing, Chun Tao threw herself into the lotus pond in the garden. Though rescued, she caught a chill and soon declined rapidly.
Once so proud and radiant, now she had been cast aside to die alone in the cold woodshed. Truly a pitiful fall.
Xiao Cui sighed at the thought—when suddenly the figure on the bed sat bolt upright. Startled, Xiao Cui collapsed against the doorway, nearly fainting, though she clutched the water bucket tight in her hands.
The revived Chun Tao stretched luxuriously, rolling her arms and legs.
“My great King Yama above! This body is so heavy,” she groaned, twisting her waist. Glancing around, she muttered, “What a dump. Colder and gloomier than the underworld itself.”
Her eyes wandered, and she seemed to be speaking to someone unseen.
“Yes, yes, I know, young master. I’ll mind my words, all right? Now will you shut up and stop nagging?”
“Time is short. We need to find one of your personal belongings quickly.”
Xiao Cui gaped as Chun Tao carried on a one-sided conversation with thin air. Her whole body trembled like a leaf.
Chun Tao paused as if hearing something, then turned her head. Only then did she notice Xiao Cui slumped by the door.
“Sorry. Did I scare you?” She came forward, crouched down, and spoke gently. “Can you stand? Do you need my help?”
In the dim light, Xiao Cui couldn’t see her face clearly. But something about her was completely different. Yesterday she had been at death’s door; today, she radiated vitality. Even her once proud, sharp gaze seemed softened.
Xiao Cui gradually calmed, though her words still stammered. “S–Chun Tao-jie, who… who were you talking to?”
“Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself. This water is for me? Have you been taking care of me these past days?”
“Y-yes. Please use it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Xia–Xiao Cui.”
“Such a lovely name. Thank you, Xiao Cui.”
Xiao Cui was dumbfounded. Chun Tao had never so much as spared her a glance, yet now she was saying thank you.
“Chun Tao-jie, are you really well already?”
“All better, all better. Xiao Cui, do you know why I fell so gravely ill?”
“Have you forgotten, jie? After the young master passed, the master dismissed the whole pavilion. You… you were too heartbroken over your devotion to him, so you jumped into the lotus pond…” Xiao Cui struggled to phrase it delicately—she couldn’t very well say outright: you wanted to die because you couldn’t marry into the family.
For some reason, Chun Tao glanced sideways at the empty air, her expression strangely complicated.
“Chun Tao-jie? You’re sure you’re really fine?” Xiao Cui nervously craned her neck, following her gaze—there was nothing but dust floating in the air.
“I’m fine. Any sorrow, any illness—just sleep it off, and it’s gone.” Chun Tao smiled faintly.
“Then you should rest more after such a sickness. I must report back to Cui Mama. I’ll take my leave.”
“Mm, go carefully.” Chun Tao nodded, pushing open the groaning wooden door for her.
Xiao Cui bowed and left. After a distance, she paused and turned back. The woodshed was half-swallowed in weeds.
How strange, she thought.
When Xiao Cui returned with a disbelieving Cui Mama, the woodshed was already empty. Chun Tao had vanished.
—
The shed was remote, and it was still early morning, so when Yi Si stepped out after leaving Chun Tao’s body, he walked a long while without seeing a soul.
He deliberately stepped on the cracks between stone tiles, strolling at leisure, while ahead of him Gu Yunwu floated lightly, guiding the way.
To others, Gu Yunwu was just a wisp of air. But Yi Si could see him clearly—yet also see the world through his translucent form.
A ghost could only return to the human realm on the seventh day after death. If they wanted to stay beyond that, they needed something personal from life to anchor themselves.
“How did you know Chun Tao would die this morning?”
“In Yama’s Hall, I peeked at the Register of Life and Death when Lord Yama tossed it aside. The Gu family’s names were all on that page—I happened to see that Chun Tao would pass in the early hours today.”
“Such luck falling into your lap. Truly sly.” Yi Si snorted in mock disdain.
“Thank you for the compliment, Si-ge,” Gu Yunwu replied smoothly.
“Then why did you laugh earlier?”
“When?”
“When Xiao Cui said Chun Tao sought death for you.”
Gu Yunwu gave a short laugh through his nose. “They say a mountain collapsed in the next village not long ago.”
“And what has that to do with you?”
“Exactly. What has it to do with me? Saying Chun Tao died for me is like saying I kicked that mountain down. Isn’t it ridiculous?” His voice was cool. “Chun Tao was just a pawn Liu Furen placed at my side. Why would she ever be loyal to me?”
—
Gu Yunwu’s birth mother, Li Shi, died giving birth to him. A few years later, his father married Liu Furen.
Sickly since childhood, Gu Yunwu was treated gently by his father, given tutors, and seen by countless famous physicians. An endless stream of expensive herbs and tonics was poured into him. To outsiders, it seemed Gu Laoye loved his eldest son dearly.
Even Gu Yunwu once believed it.
But as a boy, he never understood why his younger siblings visited Father daily, while whenever he went, he was turned away by servants or met only closed doors. His letters and messages were never answered.
Once, he even placed a stool by the courtyard gate, waiting endlessly just to glimpse his father passing by. But the man never came, always claiming he was too busy.
In twenty short years, his meetings with his father could be counted on one hand—holiday banquets, nothing more.
As he grew older, Gu Yunwu’s heart grew cold. He stopped expecting, stopped questioning whether Father’s kindness was genuine or hollow.
As for Liu Furen, her indifference was unsurprising. She was always polite, never cruel, but treated him as air. His younger siblings rarely spoke to him.
So in this grand Gu mansion, amid riches and splendor, Gu Yunwu lived draped in silk yet utterly alone—his only companions books and bitter medicine.
—
“When I was younger, I could still attend school, go about. But in recent years my health worsened, and I rarely left my quarters. Chun Tao tended me, but she was capricious. In good moods, she served well. In bad, she played tricks—forgetting to change the bed-warmers in winter, letting the brazier go out in the night, serving cold meals, wasting costly medicine in petty tantrums. Everyone knew she was Liu Furen’s person. No one dared say a word. So I could only endure. Over time, people said she and I were close, that I meant to take her as wife.”
“Annoyances, not murder,” Yi Si muttered. “Like pebbles in a boot—small, but walk long enough and they grind you bloody.”
“Your lifespan doesn’t match the Register. Someone harmed you. Could it have been Chun Tao?”
“Unlikely. She stood to gain nothing. She dreamed only of marrying me, ruling the household. Why would she kill me?”
“Outrageous! How could they treat you like this?” Yi Si burst out angrily.
Gu Yunwu fell silent. Lowering his gaze, he rubbed his brow with slender fingers, forcing a bitter smile. “In the end, it’s because I am useless.”
Yi Si sniffed hard. Was it his imagination, or did the scent of herbs from Gu Yunwu’s body flood his nose, leaving a faint bitterness on his tongue?
“Listen well. I may be a ghost-officer, but I cannot kill people for you. That would break the laws. I can investigate, but I won’t do the killing.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“However… if, in the process, there happens to be some scuffles, well—that’s another matter.” Yi Si stepped close, looked straight up into Gu Yunwu’s eyes, voice firm. “When I drag out the one who harmed you, you’d better watch carefully. Watch me beat him until his teeth scatter across the ground.”
Gu Yunwu froze. Through Chun Tao’s borrowed body, he could glimpse Yi Si’s true shadow. His features were small but well-proportioned, his jawline clean, his expression fierce when serious, but when he smiled his cheeks squashed into boyish softness. Together it gave him a youthful charm.
Gu Yunwu suddenly wanted to reach out and pinch those cheeks. But propriety held him back. Instead, to show gratitude, he gently smoothed a cowlick of hair on Yi Si’s head.
“Hey! Don’t touch me!” Yi Si jumped back like a bristling cat. “We were talking properly—why are you suddenly putting your hands on me?”
At his core, Yi Si was still a soul. By inhabiting Chun Tao’s body, he was subject to both the mortal and nether realms. If Gu Yunwu slapped him now, Chun Tao’s flesh wouldn’t bruise—but Yi Si would feel the sting.
“You stood so close, staring at me. You’re handsome, Si-ge. I couldn’t help myself.” Gu Yunwu withdrew his hand, the earlier bitterness gone, replaced by his usual harmless smile.
“So now it’s my fault?”
“Not at all. But as the saying goes, a gentleman does not linger beneath a crumbling wall. Si-ge, since you’re a woman now, best be cautious around men like me.”
“You and your twisted words! Instead of scheming, hurry and find a keepsake. If we don’t before today ends, once your seventh day is past you’ll have no choice but to return to the underworld.”
