Sunlight streamed in through the doorway, forming patches of light on the wooden floor as dust motes danced in the air.0

Inside, a wooden table separated the Daoist and the young girl, each sitting at one end, absorbed in their respective books.0

“Lights lit in the east, the west shines bright, 0

In every home, young ladies weave through the night. 0

Small looms and large clatter with song, 0

By dawn, three zhang and eight are spun strong...”1

The little girl read aloud, her voice clear and deliberate. Compared to the students in school, she only lacked the habit of nodding her head as she read.0

The Daoist rubbed his ears, glancing at her with mild exasperation. He shifted his posture slightly but chose to pretend he hadn’t heard anything, sinking back into his own book.0

It had been nearly six years since that chance meeting on a boat along the Liujiang River. They had spent a few days together, exchanging stories and ideas. The scholar, fascinated by tales of spirits and the supernatural, had shared his interests, ambitions, and questions about the world of immortals and demons. He had also captivated everyone on the boat with his storytelling.0

Even back then, Song You had known it was only a matter of time before that scholar’s stories would be bound into a ...0