Lu Huan still had countless questions in his heart, such as—

Why did you come to me?

Why are you so good to me?

Why do you stay by my side?

Why me, of all people? Do you want something from me, or are you trying to pull me into the capital’s power struggles, to help you accomplish something?

But at this very moment, as he felt that person beside him, the gentle breeze twining around him… all those questions suddenly became unimportant.

What he cared about more was—

Can you stay by my side for a long time?

One day, will you leave?

Have you ever been this good to someone else… and in the future, could you not have anyone else—no one at all—just look at me?

Countless delicate feelings surged in his heart: hope, joy, unease… layer upon layer, like soft waves lapping against the shore.

And as his heartbeat pulsed, the restless murmurs in his heart gradually quieted, until only one most important, most certain thought remained—

That the appearance of this ghost god beside him… was the best thing that had ever happened in his life.

He feared nothing else—only the other’s sudden disappearance.

Thinking of this, Lu Huan remembered the other’s eight-day absence.

It was as if their connection had been abruptly severed—he had no idea what had happened. He kept waiting quietly in the courtyard, watching eight rounds of sunrise and sunset, yet nothing came.

…If it happened again in the future, he feared he still wouldn’t know where to look for them.

Lu Huan didn’t want to show that he’d been anxiously waiting for eight days, but he truly wanted to know. He hesitated, held himself back—and then couldn’t. The words slipped out:

“Those eight days you disappeared… did something happen?”

In Su Xi’s eyes, the little cubon the screen looked just like a child left in kindergarten for eight whole days without being picked up—face full of sorrow and grievance.

Now that she’d finally returned, he hurried to grab her hand, lifting his chubby bun face to ask anxiously where she’d gone, why she hadn’t come to get him.

As if the questioning weren’t enough, he even tried to act casual—pretending he was just asking in passing…

Su Xi was struck right in the heart, practically collapsing on the spot from how cute he was.

She thought she must be poisoned by this game. Ahhh, why did everything her little Zai Zai did seem so adorable?!

But—how was she supposed to explain that she’d gone to take an exam?!

And that the exam lasted two and a half days and her phone had been confiscated?!

Su Xi scratched her head, racking her brains. After thinking for a while, she turned the screen toward the little Zai Zai’s desk, flipped open the book scrolls, then picked up a brush, posed as if she were writing, and finally tossed the brush aside and rolled up the scroll.

She opened the window, let the wind lift the scroll, as if it were sneaking away at last.

She was trying to tell him—that on her side too, she had to attend the Tai Xue [Imperial Academy] to take examinations; that they’d tested the top three in class; that even if they passed, they couldn’t yet enter the capital as zhuangyuan [top scholar in imperial examination.]; they still had to attend university, then pursue a master’s, then a doctorate—in short, it was extremely exhausting.

But such a long explanation was obviously impossible to make clear.

The little Zai Zai stared at the pages fluttering wildly in the wind, at the window opening and closing, yet he didn’t mind at all. Instead, his eyes lit up slightly, and he guessed:

“Do you mean—that these past few days, your soul was confined in the underworld, and even in the underworld, they too must conduct examinations—and only after passing could you come out?”

On the desk, writing—examination.

Open the window, let the wind take it away—escape.

Su Xi, hearing the little Zai Zai’s words, nearly climbed out of bed; she could only laugh and cry—what the hell, what underworld?! Was the little Zai Zai treating her like some female ghost?!

But setting aside the ghost identity, his guesses were eight or nine parts right. Wasn’t school basically no different from the underworld? Only after the exams were over could you be dismissed.

Anyway, since it couldn’t be explained clearly, let him understand it that way.

A mischievous smile rose at the corner of Su Xi’s lips as she tugged at the little Zai Zai’s left hand—Yes.

Lu Huan had never before believed in strange forces, but today he had to. Moreover, perhaps even ghosts and gods had their own rules: though they possessed strength beyond mortals, they, too, had rules to follow just like people in the human world…

In his mind a picture of the underworld slowly took shape—monsters and specters, bizarre and fantastical—and he began to wonder: did this ghost god come to him because the underworld had assigned some task that it had to complete?

After all, besides being gentle to him, many of the things this ghost god did seemed purposeful.

Perhaps there was some reward-and-punishment mechanism…

…forcing it to go through him, or to use him, to accomplish certain things.

If so, much could be explained…

Even while thinking this, Lu Huan’s emotions did not stir greatly; his eyes and the corners of his brows were still bright. Whatever its purpose, at least one thing was certain to Lu Huan: it harbored no malice toward him, and it had always treated him gently.

It was his first and only friend… and the beam of light he most wanted to reach.

“I see.” Lu Huan said softly.

He looked at the slips of paper burned by the candlelight until only ash remained, and mocked himself: “These past days, I even thought… you would never come back.”

Outside the screen, Su Xi looked at the little Zai Zai. He lowered his eyelids faintly; his chubby face was calm, yet Su Xi’s heart—like that of an old mother—filled suddenly with guilt. She hadn’t meant to leave you alone in the kindergarten…

She looked at the little Zai Zai and couldn’t help doing something she’d always wanted to do—she stuck out two fingers, pinched his chubby face, and lightly nibbled.

Although she couldn’t actually feel anything through the screen, watching the little Zai Zai’s drawn face being gently pinched—and imagining that soft, bouncy texture—Su Xi was nearly intoxicated.

Ahhh, I pinched the little Zai Zai’s face! Let me die! Ah Wei is dead¹Ah Wei is dead (阿伟死了) is a popular Chinese internet meme used to express excessive cuteness overload — basically, “I can’t take it anymore, it’s too cute I’m dying!”!

Inside the screen, the little Zai Zai was shocked, as if struck by a thunderbolt, frozen in place!

He plainly felt that gentle breeze fall across his cheek; before his ear rims had the chance to flush, that wind pinched his face—

That person touched his face?!

Lu Huan froze like a slab of stone; he had never experienced anything so light and frivolous! Instinctively he wanted to open the hand that lay on his cheek, but he could not tell where that person was and feared hurting them.

So he could only stand there, utterly stunned, letting his right cheek be tugged and then released.

Lu Huan: “……”

Although he had known that ghost god for quite a while, this was a bit too, too frivolous—yet the ghost god’s character was capricious and sprightly; perhaps it didn’t regard the matter as important.

It had given him so many things and treated him so well; it was his only friend… If it wanted to be a little frivolous, then—let it be.

After the wind pinched his cheek, it didn’t seem to leave—it lingered, brushing lightly once more.

The redness on Lu Huan’s ear tips spread in an instant, dyeing his neck.

Even after Su Xi withdrew her hand, his neck was still flushed scarlet.

“…Nonsense.” He held it in for a long while before squeezing out the word.

Yet though he said so, the candlelight illuminated the youth’s face, revealing a blush bright as the evening clouds. There was no trace of displeasure in his eyes—only a subtle brightness, a quiet smile. The face that was usually cool and pale as white jade now, reddened so deeply, carried an unexpected, vivid allure.

But because of this, all the gloomy emotions in Lu Huan’s heart were swept clean away.

He looked sideways, testing the waters a little, and said to his ghost god, “Since you’ve taken advantage of me, you must promise me one thing.”

Su Xi, thoroughly pleased, withdrew her hand and tapped on the table: What thing?

Lu Huan pressed his lips together, trying hard to sound casual. “In the future, don’t suddenly disappear again.”

After he made his request, his whole body tensed up.

But the other agreed almost at once—his left hand was tugged, meaning All right.

A surge of joy rose within Lu Huan, but he tried to suppress it, then added another condition: “When you come in the future—”

His gaze fell upon the pear blossom seeds on the desk, and an idea came to him. Quickly, he said, “When you come, place a pear blossom petal in my palm. When you leave, take the petal away. Can you do that?”

Outside the screen, Su Xi looked at the little Zai Zai’s request. She wanted to marvel at his cleverness, but—wait a minute—how had she suddenly become an online friend with a login/logout protocol?! Wasn’t she just playing a game?!

Su Xi was momentarily thrown off balance. Still, she tugged the little Zai Zai’s left hand, answering: All right.

This was fine too. From now on, if she greeted him when logging in and out, the little Zai Zai wouldn’t wait around in vain.

After they finished their little pact, Lu Huan’s expression clearly grew brighter. He immediately began asking a flurry of questions—about where Su Xi’s home had been before she became a ghost. Su Xi couldn’t answer and could only say it was somewhere very far away.

The little Zai Zai asked many more questions, and though Su Xi couldn’t give concrete answers, she still chatted idly with him, one reply after another.

The little Zai Zai didn’t seem to mind how much information he got. Instead, he seemed intent on piecing together, in his mind, her voice, her features, and her figure.

───♡───

Lu Huan had never imagined he could learn so much. Now, even though he still couldn’t touch her, this was far better than when he could only communicate through written notes.

He stood before the window, looking out into the dark night sky—for the first time in his life, his eyes shone like stars. He seemed like a traveler parched from a long journey, who at last had found a spring, his heart soothed at last.

Then suddenly, a thought struck him—

He hesitated, then asked, “When did you come today? This evening, I was sitting by the doorway… did you see me?”

His left hand was gently turned.

Lu Huan: “……”

A rush of heat shot through him, his face flushing red!

So—that dazed, lovelorn self sitting by the door, thinking she’d never come back—had all been seen?! And the notes he’d written earlier, pretending indifference, claiming he hadn’t been anxious, that he didn’t care—those too had all been seen—?!

And also—“those wood carvings—”

Lu Huan hadn’t said it aloud, but he could easily guess—those little trinkets he carved every day and claimed on the note to have “picked up by chance” at the marketplace… the other must have known all along!

At that thought, the redness on his face spread wildly, coloring even his neck in a faint blush.

Outside the screen, Su Xi saw the little Zai Zai lower his lashes helplessly, his heartbeat quick and uneasy, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and bury himself in it—she nearly burst out laughing.

You play games, you pay the price—who told the little Zai Zai to be so duplicitous before!

Then Lu Huan thought again: at this very moment, his blushing face was also visible to that person. That realization made him panic all over again. He hurriedly walked a few steps away, rubbing his face hard, and muttered, “You—turn your head away for a moment.”

Su Xi laughed out loud and hooked his finger, signaling that she’d “turned away,” though she kept smiling at the screen, eyes glued to him.

The tiny little dumpling of a boy, cornered and flustered, stood by the wall rubbing his face desperately, trying to calm down—so cute it hurt!

After a good while, Lu Huan finally managed to compose himself. He did his best to forget what had just happened, forcing his voice and expression back to calm, pretending nothing at all had occurred.

Turning back to the desk, he picked up the pear blossom tree in the first box and said, “Since you’ve given me these pear blossom seeds, I’ll plant some here and some at the farm. Will you come out with me to plant them?”

There was a faint glimmer of anticipation in his eyes—for he had never done anything together with that person before.

Su Xi tugged gently at the little Zai Zai’s small left hand, indicating Yes.

Lu Huan pushed open the door, deliberately pausing as though waiting for the ghost god to follow him out, before softly closing the wooden gate.

He walked to the patch of ground he had previously dug up—where he had planned to make a fish pond come spring—took up a spade, crouched down, and began to bury the pear blossom seeds.

Su Xi watched the little figure planting the trees.

But this time was different from before. Back then, she had also watched him work, but couldn’t communicate, afraid that if she tried to interact—if something suddenly flew up—she might startle him.

Now, though—Su Xi picked up the bucket by the wall. The bucket rose into the air by itself and poured water over the freshly planted soil. This way, she felt much more involved.

Lu Huan pressed his lips together, his eyes bright, the corners of his mouth curving upward unconsciously.

He had always eaten, slept, carried water, chopped firewood—all alone. He had never imagined that one day, there would be someone by his side.

Even if that person was a ghost god, unseen and untouchable, knowing they were there was enough.

When the tree was almost planted and only the final covering of soil remained, fine, delicate snow began to fall from the sky.

The snow thickened quickly, turning into large, downy flakes.

Lu Huan looked toward his side and explained, “This should be the last snowfall in Yan Country. It’s a pity—though it snows in the capital, the northern lands are suffering drought.”

As the snow grew heavier, he couldn’t help glancing to his side. Then he stood, ran back into the house, and brought out an oil-paper umbrella.

He opened it and set it upright in the ground, saying to the breeze beside him, “Come in—squat here.”

The large snowflakes fell silently onto the umbrella’s surface, soon covering it with a thick white layer, as quiet and pure as moonlight frost.

Su Xi turned herself into wind, slipping under the umbrella to play along—but she couldn’t help feeling amused. The capital had been snowing for days, yet she had never seen the little Zai Zai use this umbrella before. It had always been propped behind the wooden gate, unused.

And really—what need did a ghost have for an umbrella?

Su Xi wanted to laugh, but then words appeared on the screen.

The little Zai Zai crouched by the ground, covering the soil as he said, “Though you cannot tell me where your home is, who your family name is, or what you look like, your nature is pure and kind. When you were alive, you must have lived in a happy, warm home, with family who cherished you. If they were here, they would never let you be caught in the snow and fall ill.”

He paused, then lifted his head slightly, gazing at the umbrella beside him—as though looking at the girl beneath it—and said softly, “Now that you are by my side, it’s my turn to do these things for you.”

“I don’t want you to feel wronged.”

Snow fell thick and slow, drifting endlessly through the air. The young man’s expression was calm, but his gaze was strangely earnest.

There was no moonlight—only a faint candle glow beneath the distant eaves, dimly lighting his face. His skin, pale as snow itself, seemed to carry a soft, silvery sheen.

“……” Su Xi didn’t know why, but her heart suddenly gave a small, gentle thump.

In the snowy courtyard, the little Zai Zai crouched alone, a small bundle of warmth amid the cold. The umbrella rested beside him, shielding not himself but the space next to him.

He had been born into a harsh world, one that could well be called a swamp of hardship and cruelty—and yet, he still said such words to her.

Footnotes

• 1
  Ah Wei is dead (阿伟死了) is a popular Chinese internet meme used to express excessive cuteness overload — basically, “I can’t take it anymore, it’s too cute I’m dying!”