[Vol. 1, Fragment II: Local Gazetteers (Sealed)]

  "Two rivers flow beneath the city of Jiankang. One is the Qinhuai, fragrant with rouge, flowing with desire; the other is the Yellow Springs, sedimented with five hundred years of Filth and madness. The office of the Miscellaneous Division is built exactly at their confluence. Note: High humidity, prone to mold, and... the soundproofing is terrible."

  — Records of the Jiankang Backstreets: The Abandoned Chapters

  [Internal Note / Directorate of Astronomy] "Station": Other departments call it a Yamen. The Miscellaneous Division calls it the "Mailroom." Because the only business here is sending things that don’t want to leave back to their hometowns.

  Xie Bi’an’s living quarters were a perfect definition of the phrase "destitute, with nothing but four bare walls and the smell of cat piss."

  Nominally, this was the official government office of the Directorate of Astronomy’s Miscellaneous Division. In reality, it was an abandoned grain transport warehouse in the southern part of Jiankang City. Because the terrain was low-lying, during the plum rain season, the water seeping through the floor cracks was deep enough to raise fish.

  It was now the Hour of the Tiger (4:00 AM), the darkest moment before dawn.

  The air was thick with an unsettling scent of rust, far more intense than what he had smelled on the pleasure boat. It wasn't the metallic tang of blood, but something rougher—like dragging one’s tongue across the spine of a rusted blade.

  Xie Bi’an pushed open the rotten wooden door. It screamed on its hinges. He lifted a foot to cross the threshold but froze mid-step.

  In a puddle of accumulated water by the doorsill, a "Thing" was trying to slip in under the cover of darkness. It was shaped like a skinned monkey, desperately trying to squeeze through the crack in the door. But the moment it touched a puddle of still-wet yellow liquid near the threshold, its body began to sizzle with the sound of corrosion.

  "Wooo..."

  The thing let out a shrill, low whimper. Visible to the naked eye, its body melted into a puddle of black pus.

  Xie Bi’an watched the scene without expression. He didn't walk around it. Instead, he lifted his boot—standard official issue—and stepped directly onto the twitching black residue.

  Squelch.

  With a wet sound, the last bit of filthy qi was stomped out of existence, extinguished as casually as a blind cockroach.

  "Low-level Filth. Disperses upon contact with Yang energy." Xie Bi’an scraped his sole against the ground, his tone filled with professional indifference and disgust. "Doesn't even qualify for sorting and recycling. Pure organic fertilizer."

  "Xianchan."

  He stepped inside, addressing the golden ball of fur in his arms. "How many times have I told you? Don't pee in the doorway. You are a Prison-Guarding Divine Beast, not a neighborhood security guard."

  The golden cat in his arms rolled over lazily, yawning directly into Xie Bi’an’s mind. His voice sounded entirely self-righteous.

  "Security guard? Is a security guard as dedicated as I am? Father, look for yourself. If not for that puddle of 'Golden Jade Liquid' I left last night, your broken shack would have been overrun by lonely ghosts and wild spirits long ago. Besides..."

  The golden cat poked his head out, his nose twitching twice in the air. A trace of disdain flashed through his amber eyes.

  "The smell of mold in this room is stronger than my piss. This is called fighting poison with poison."

  Xie Bi’an was speechless.

  He tossed the silver he had just earned on the pleasure boat—hush money forced upon him by Master Wang—onto a table missing one leg. The silver hit the wood with a dull thud, sounding not like precious metal, but like a stone sinking into mud.

  The room was dim. In the corner sat several dark brown clay jars plastered with talismans—his "inventory" that he hadn't had time to process yet.

  The moment the silver hit the table, one of the jars suddenly vibrated violently.

  From deep within the clay, a rapid thump, thump, thump of impact resounded. The talisman sealing the jar fluttered without wind. A faint red aura of baleful energy tried to squeeze out from the cracks, accompanied by a sharp hiss that sounded like fingernails scraping against glass.

  "Noisy."

  Xie Bi’an didn't even turn his head. He backhanded an empty teacup from the table and threw it behind him without looking.

  Smash.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  With a crisp sound, the teacup struck the agitated jar with surgical precision, shattering into pieces.

  The casual toss acted like a scalpel severing a nerve. The banging inside the jar vanished instantly. The rising aura was shoved back down as if by an invisible hand, and after a reluctant whimper, the jar fell completely silent.

  "Make noise again, and I’ll sell you to a brothel to be used as a chamber pot." Xie Bi’an threatened coldly.

  The jars in the corner seemed to understand. They collectively shrank back, and even the air in the room grew a few degrees quieter.

  "Meow."

  A cold, clear meow broke the dead silence.

  Anu, the silver female cat, leaped lightly from Xie Bi’an’s shoulder. She refused to let her paws touch the dusty ground, instead stepping on invisible nodes in the air, landing as gracefully as a tightrope walker onto the only clean object in the room: a rosewood grand armchair.

  She coiled her tail elegantly, sweeping the room with eyes like crushed diamonds before fixing her gaze on a pot of cold tea on the table.

  "Don't look at that. It's from yesterday." Xie Bi’an stripped off his official robe, which reeked of rouge and alcohol, and fished a porcelain bottle from a cabinet in the corner. "If you want dew, go gather it yourself. Right now, this is all we have."

  He poured a bowl of clear water and carefully dripped a single drop of golden liquid from the bottle into it.

  The drop dissolved instantly, releasing a faint, strange fragrance like burning metal. This was the "Essence" he had refined by grinding down excess Liuli fragments. To a normal person, it was gut-rotting poison. To these two cats who fed on Filth, it was the finest holy water.

  Anu sniffed it reservedly before deigning to lower her noble head, lapping it up in small, delicate sips.

  Xianchan had no such elegance. He jumped directly from Xie Bi’an’s arms onto the table and buried his face in the bowl, making loud slurping noises. His golden fur got soaked, looking like a starving ghost reincarnated.

  "Drink slowly. No one is fighting you for it."

  Xie Bi’an sighed, feeling the throbbing in his temples intensify.

  He walked to the window and pushed open the rickety frame.

  The wind outside had picked up. The scent of rust was now choking, strong enough to mask the natural stink of the moat. The waning moon on the horizon had turned completely scarlet, resembling a piece of organ meat freshly dug from a body, still dripping blood.

  From the direction of the distant Imperial Palace came the faint, muffled rumble of thunder.

  In Xie Bi’an’s vision, the Golden Dragon of Fortune that usually hovered over the palace was gone. In its place was a massive, writhing gray shadow.

  "The rust in the wind... is coming from over there."

  Xie Bi’an muttered to himself, his fingers subconsciously rubbing the corner of his robe.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Just then, a rhythmic knocking sound abruptly broke the silence.

  It wasn't loud, but in the dead quiet of dawn, it hit like a heavy hammer against the chest.

  On the table, Xianchan stopped drinking. His golden fur stood on end, a low growl rolling in his throat. On the armchair, Anu lifted her head, her silver pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she stared at the rotten wooden door.

  Outside, there were no footsteps. No sound of breathing.

  "Gleaner Xie, are you awake?"

  The voice that slipped through the crack in the door was high-pitched and ancient, sounding like two pieces of dry rot rubbing together.

  Hearing this voice, Xie Bi’an’s tense nerves actually relaxed. He rolled his eyes, turned, and pulled open the creaking door.

  "It's the middle of the night. Doesn't the Director sleep? Are you here to check attendance?"

  An old man stood in the doorway.

  He wore a gray Daoist robe washed until it was white, holding a pale paper lantern. At first glance, he was just an ordinary Daoist on the verge of death, his face dry as bark and covered in brown age spots.

  "Can't sleep." Old Man Yuan grinned, revealing a mouth full of missing, yellowed teeth.

  He stepped over the threshold with his lantern. The dim candlelight flickered across his face.

  In that instant, Xie Bi’an clearly saw the "age spots" on the old man’s face—spots that should have been still—suddenly open all at once.

  They weren't spots. They were eyes. Densely packed, tiny eyes.

  Dozens of gray-white eyeballs with no pupils rolled around on the old man’s withered skin before simultaneously fixing their gaze on the bowl of golden "Holy Water" on the table.

  "Such a fragrant smell..." Old Man Yuan inhaled greedily, the eyes on his face squinting into slits of excitement. "Gleaner Xie’s craftsmanship is getting better and better. If you took this water to the Ghost Market, you could trade it for half a life."

  "Cut the crap." Xie Bi’an leaned against the doorframe, ignoring the horrific face as if dealing with an annoying door-to-door salesman. "You wouldn't be here without a reason. Spit it out. Which trash can exploded this time?"

  Old Man Yuan chuckled. The eyes on his face closed, turning back into ordinary liver spots. He fished a blackened bamboo scroll from his wide sleeve and handed it over.

  "No trash can exploded. The Buddha... is hungry."

  Xie Bi’an frowned slightly, not reaching out to take it. He could smell the intense odor of boiled meat radiating from the scroll—the sweet, cloying scent of meat that had been boiled until it fell apart and fermented.

  "White Horse Temple?"

  "Smart." Old Man Yuan shoved the scroll into Xie Bi’an’s arms. "The abbot over there says the Buddha statue in the Great Hall has been sweating for days. And... three night-watchmen went in and never came out."

  Xie Bi’an looked down at the greasy bamboo scroll in his arms. It felt like holding a slab of pork belly.

  "This is a big job." Xie Bi’an looked up and extended two fingers, his tone turning mercenary. "I need extra pay. Grape wine from the Western Regions, five jars. And you need to advance me this month’s salary."

  "Deal."

  Old Man Yuan agreed with abnormal speed—so fast that Xie Bi’an felt he had asked for too little.

  "Since you took the order, go early and return early." Old Man Yuan turned to leave with his lantern. After two steps, he stopped, speaking with his back to Xie Bi’an.

  "By the way, Gleaner Xie. The moon in the sky lately... is a bit red. While you’re out collecting trash, be careful you don't get collected as Filth yourself."

  With that, the old man’s figure melted into the dawn fog like a puff of smoke, silent and trace less.

  Xie Bi’an stood in the doorway, clutching the meat-scented scroll. He looked at the waning moon, now bleeding red on the horizon, and felt his stomach churn.

  It wasn't hunger. It was a physiological nausea, and the "thorn" inside him throbbing faintly.

  "Damn it."

  He cursed under his breath, turned back into the room, and grabbed the ring-pommel saber from the table, hanging it casually at his waist. The scabbard was battered, looking more like a fire poker than a weapon.

  "Fatty, Anu. Stop drinking. Work time."

  Xianchan looked up, golden water still dripping from his mouth. "Where to? Another buffet?"

  Xie Bi’an pushed the window wide, letting the choking scent of rust fill the room. The corner of his mouth hooked into a cold arc, his eyes reflecting the specific laziness of an expert who has seen it all.

  "To White Horse Temple. I hear the Buddha there... is made of meat. Perfect timing. Let's go degrease him."