Standing outside the familiar grove, looking at the trees she knew so well, A-Liao suddenly felt a sense of unease, even fear. In the midst of the swirling sand and stones, there was no light, no discernible sound, only the sense of danger.

  A-Liao ran home as fast as she could.

  "Who did you get into a fight with this time?" The schorly man wearing gsses, with an apron tied around his waist, carefully pced a steaming bowl of soup on the Eight Immortals table in the middle of the room, then arranged several ptes of exquisite side dishes around the bowl.

  A-Liao stood at the door, nervously rubbing her hands. Her ponytail had come undone, there was a bruise on her cheek, and her red school uniform was marked with stains. Most of the buttons on her shirt had disappeared, and the few remaining ones were barely hanging on.

  "Two boys from the next css were asking a first grader for money, and the kid was trembling in fear,” A-Liao said, slowly inching closer to the table, her eyes gleaming at the spread of food.

  As soon as she stepped into this home, as soon as she returned to his side, all of A-Liao's anxieties vanished.

  "Did anyone else see it?” the man adjusted his gsses and asked.

  A-Liao stuck out her tongue. “No one was around; it was just in the middle of the small road behind the school. Not even a ghost was in sight.”

  "That's good. Fighting can get you expelled. They've been waiting for a chance like this for a long time,” the man sighed with relief. “So, do you want to eat first or take your medicine?”

  "Eat first!!” A-Liao cheered, then added, “By the way, something strange happened on my way home today. It felt like someone was following me. When I passed through the ginkgo grove, a weird wind pushed me back. There were strange noises in the forest, and I didn’t dare to look closely; I just ran.”

  "Oh, I see. Hurry up and eat,” he said.

  A-Liao had a home, but no parents.

  The man beside her was tall and thin, his emotions hard to read, with a handsome face and an ordinary name—Liang Yudong.

  She called him “Master.”

  The title of “Master” was more nominal than real. Over the eleven years, Liang Yudong had taken care of A-Liao's daily needs but hadn't taught her anything.

  He could make medicine, gathering herbs from the distant mountains, either drying or roasting them. Countless nights under the starry sky, the sounds of him grinding herbs would echo from the room in the far west of the yard.

  A-Liao had once peeked through the window crack into the western room, where the soft yellow light illuminated Liang Yudong as he focused on his work. He held a small spoon, scooping a spoonful of dark powder from a medicine jar, which he then pced into a delicate porcein bottle as white as snow, gently shaking it. As he shook, he gnced at an old stitched booklet next to him, its pages fragile and dry like withered leaves.

  He was skilled in medicine, often bringing back herbs from the distant mountains, either sun-dried or roasted. Countless nights under the dim moonlight, sounds of pounding herbs would echo from the room at the far west of the courtyard.

  A-Liao would often sneak peeks through the window, watching as Liang Yudong concentrated, lifting a small spoon to scoop a pinch of dark powder from a medicine jar and pcing it into a delicate porcein bottle as white as snow, gently shaking it. While doing so, he would gnce at a line-bound book beside him, its pages as fragile and ancient as withered leaves.

  A-Liao thought he was fully engrossed in his task, but every time she tried to look more closely, a gust of sand and wind would blow into her eyes from the window sill. By the time she managed to rub her eyes clear, Liang Yudong would have silently appeared at her side, pinching her ear and ushering her back to her room while she stuck out her tongue in defiance.

  Such scenes happen several times a year. That ancient book is the only thing that interests A-Liao besides red bean ice.

  She has tried to sneak a look at it, but she cannot understand it. The words in the book are dense and seem to mock her ignorance like little ants marching proudly. One page is almost worn out from being turned so often, making it look particurly old.

  On many clear summer nights or on frosty mornings with red plum blossoms in the snow, Liang Yudong would sit at the stone table in the courtyard, pouring himself wine to drink alone. When he becomes slightly tipsy, he often recites poetry softly, his voice like a whispering wind, carrying a hint of dreamlike beauty.

  A-Liao often sits nearby, listening to his voice. Although she cannot comprehend the meaning of the verses, she can feel the emotions and rhythms within them. Those quiet and beautiful moments fill her with warmth, as if the air itself is infused with a gentle poetic essence.

  `Mountains turn lush and green, autumn waters flow softly in the sunlight.

  Leaning on his cane outside the fence, he listens to the evening cicadas in the breeze.

  As the mountain breeze passed by, it lifted his neatly arranged clothes,

  scattering a few flower petals that settled in his jet-bck hair.′

  Every time this happened, A-Liao would hop over like a little rabbit, stand on the stone bench, and giggle as she plucked the petals from his head.

  "Had enough of your refined little moment? Don't you need to eat?" The beautiful atmosphere was often interrupted by a high-pitched voice.

  Dressed in elegant white, Mo Bai approached them with a frosty expression, carrying a basin of greens. She set it down heavily in front of A-Liao. "Brat, go wash these!"

  "Yes, ma'am! Sister Mo Bai!" A-Liao stuck out her tongue pyfully, grabbed the basin, and dashed off.

  "You've got quite the temper," Liang Yudong shrugged.

  Mo Bai shot him a sharp gre, watching as A-Liao ran off, and said coldly, "I don’t have your soft heart. I can’t stand people who act on emotions."

  How would one describe a woman like Mo Bai? For A-Liao, Liang Yudong was the first man she ever saw, and Mo Bai was the first woman she saw and could remember.

  The three of them lived under the same roof.

  Mo Bai was strikingly beautiful, with eyes that could enchant, exuding allure with every gnce. She adored dressing up, wearing a different outfit every day, though always in her signature, timeless white. She wasn’t Liang Yudong’s wife, nor was she a retive or even really a friend. Yet, she handled most of the household chores with a grumbling attitude, and sometimes she′d go on long trips to gather herbs for Liang Yudong. The rest of the time, she was nowhere to be found.

  Since she was little, A-Liao had never seen Mo Bai smile at her. Aside from shouting things like, “Take off those dirty clothes!” or “Get back here and go to bed!”, Mo Bai would just roll her eyes or ignore her altogether.

  A-Liao knew Mo Bai loved fish. Once, when Mo Bai was sick and couldn't eat, A-Liao secretly ran to the river behind the mountain to catch her the freshest fish. She nearly slipped and drowned in the process. But when she brought the fish soup to Mo Bai's bedside, Mo Bai spped it right out of her hands, spilling it across the floor, and told her to get lost.

  In this strange dynamic of the “twisted witch versus the innocent little mb,” A-Liao didn’t get angry; she was only puzzled. She'd thought it over endlessly and still couldn't figure out what she might have done to offend Mo Bai. Did Mo Bai think she was too ugly?