DNSTU 6. Little Sprite

Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, Xiang Ye returned once again to the unfinished building.

It had only been a day since he last left, and everything looked exactly the same as it had yesterday. Yet to his eyes, it all felt strangely unfamiliar. The world was no longer the one he thought he knew. Old Xiang was not merely an eccentric old man. If everyone who left Lu Ye was fated to pass through a gate, then to Xiang Ye, that gate should be called Rashomon.

A place suspended between truth and illusion.

A neighbor in the complex spotted Xiang Ye and greeted him warmly. It was Aunt Qian from Building 2. She was in her sixties and made a living collecting recyclables and selling vegetables. Half of the vegetable plots carved out of the open space in the neighborhood were hers.

“Xiao Ye, it’s rare to see you bringing a friend home. Where are your parents? Why aren’t they here?” Aunt Qian was genuinely pleased that Xiang Ye had managed to find his parents. Just a few days ago, she had been the one who spent the most time with Song Ling, sharing all her sympathy for Xiang Ye.

“They went back ahead of me,” Xiang Ye replied.

“I see. That’s all right, we’ll take it step by step.” Aunt Qian watched his expression closely, no doubt spinning some bittersweet story in her mind. She patted his shoulder and said, “Come by my place later. Your Uncle Zhao is cooking today. Don’t you love his twice-cooked pork? Take a bowl home. The light at my place is out again too. Can you check if it’s still fixable?”

Aunt Qian was warm-hearted. Aside from occasionally asking people to help with small chores, she had no other faults. Since Xiang Ye was wearing long sleeves, she did not notice the injuries on his body.

He nodded in agreement, took his leave, and continued forward.

The wild grass in the complex had not been cleared, and snakes were known to appear, especially in the heat. Xiang Ye casually picked up a branch to use as a walking stick. He did not run into any snakes, but he did come across the Yellow Immortal again.

The Yellow Immortal was once more stealing melons from the vegetable patch. Life was hard for everyone, so whenever Xiang Ye caught him in the act, he simply turned a blind eye.

The wild pigeons had no objections either. At most, they cooed from nearby and scattered as soon as Xiang Ye got close.

A half-abandoned housing complex like this was a rare sight. Even Xing Zhou was experiencing this kind of untouched residential environment for the first time. Watching Xiang Ye move through it with practiced ease, he could more or less understand how someone who had lived through the events of last night could remain so calm.

Xiang Ye lived in Building 7, the only resident in the entire structure. Naturally, there was no elevator in an unfinished building. Every day, he climbed up and down to the ninth floor on foot, building up both experience and stamina. As a child, he used to think Old Xiang had bought the place specifically to torment him. He even fantasized about installing a lift basket on the outside wall to create an automated pulley system.

Later, Old Xiang told him that it was because he was too weak.

Despite climbing the stairs every day, Xiang Ye’s physical strength never improved much. He had even been late to school on many occasions because of it. All the teachers were so moved they could cry, so he became the only student who was never punished for being late.

When the fake Shen Yanzhi and Song Ling came here to deceive him, they too had paid their dues sweating their way up those stairs. That thought gave Xiang Ye a small sense of satisfaction.

But today, Xing Zhou climbed all nine floors without breaking a sweat, not even slightly out of breath.

Xiang Ye turned his head away and refused to look at him. He pulled out his key and unlocked the door, only to find the place in utter disarray. It seemed the wind and rain from last night had blown the window open again. The gusts had knocked over the stove and floor lamp. The rocking chair was covered in leaves, and the carpet was dirty and still damp.

He had always liked that rug. Old Xiang had been too poor to afford renovations, so the walls and floors had only been roughly coated with putty. He had called it a “craftsman aesthetic.” The rug was something Xiang Ye had found at a secondhand market. Its pattern resembled the kind of primitive totems painted on ancient pottery, though it was hard to say what style it actually belonged to.

Aside from the rug, the rocking chair, the stove, and the floor lamp were all old junk he had scavenged from outside. Like an ant hauling things back to its nest, he picked up what others discarded, cleaned and polished it, then slowly decorated his home. In the process, he had learned all sorts of odd little skills.

Now, looking at the chaos before him, that pent-up energy in his chest suddenly drained away. He had no desire to clean up, and no interest in putting effort into any of it again.

None of it mattered.

He walked over in silence and picked up the ukulele lying on the floor, its strings broken. His gaze shifted to the window. It had likely been blown open again because of the latch, which he had not had time to repair while dealing with his fake parents a few days ago.

Fortunately, the other windows were intact. The kitchen and bedroom had sugffered no damage. Water and electricity were still running, though the water often cut out and the voltage was unstable. Nothing serious.

The room Old Xiang used to occupy had already been turned into a storage room. Xiang Ye went in and retrieved a toolbox without missing a step. He said to Xing Zhou, “I’m going to Aunt Qian’s. You—”

He glanced once more at the messy living room and added, “Make yourself at home.”

Xiang Ye strode out the door. If he stayed any longer, he might be tempted to throw everything off the balcony, maybe even start cursing out loud. Xing Zhou stood by the window and watched as he walked away, kicking stones as he went.

One rock must have been especially in the way and too heavy to kick. Fueled by frustration, Xiang Ye set down the toolbox, picked up the rock, and hurled it into the creek nearby with a loud splash. Water sprayed everywhere, startling a flock of birds into flight.

Then he dusted off his hands, picked up the toolbox again, and calmly continued on his way.

Xing Zhou had watched the whole scene unfold. Just then, a slightly spirited voice came through his earpiece. “Boss, are you in Jiangzhou now? Where are you staying? Want me to book a hotel for you? I’m telling you, that place has amazing food—”

“Send over a window.”

“Huh?”

“One and a half meters by one point eight.”

“Oh—oh, okay, I got it.” The voice on the other end hesitated. “Wait, Boss, why do you need a window? Are you camping outside? But a single window won’t help with that—”

“Deliver it to Xiang Ye’s place.”

“Oh… Boss, did you break into his house again and smash the window?”

“Jueming.”

“Here!”

“Be quiet.”

Silence returned at last. A long while later, the voice came back again. “So… what color frame do you want?”

Xing Zhou glanced around the room. “Black.”

Jueming replied, “Black is great, black is super cool. But didn’t Xiang Ye drop his phone in the lake? Boss, maybe you should buy him a new one. He lives in an unfinished building, probably can’t afford it. Without a phone, if he gets taken again, I won’t even be able to track him. Get him a phone, please, it’s super convenient. I’ll get him a number and install anti-surveillance software. I’ve been eyeing this new model lately, it’s amazing, not only does it have a killer camera but—”

Xing Zhou took off the earpiece.

Peace at last.

Elsewhere, Xiang Ye was in Aunt Qian’s living room fixing the lightbulb.

Uncle Zhao was cooking in the kitchen. Aunt Qian sat in the living room working on her sewing. As she stitched, she chatted with Xiang Ye. Before long, the conversation shifted to Xing Zhou.

“Hey, Xiao Ye, does your friend have a girlfriend? Remember Aunt Wang from the next complex over? Her daughter—”

At first, Xiang Ye just listened. When Aunt Qian started rambling further and further, he finally said that Xing Zhou was already taken.

Aunt Qian looked disappointed. One look at Xing Zhou and she could tell he lived off a government salary. That upright aura and that build made it obvious he had to be either a soldier or a police officer.

Half an hour later, Xiang Ye came out of Aunt Qian’s home with dinner in a small bamboo basket. By now the sky had darkened. He looked at the sun setting in the distance, then turned to glance back at Building 2 where Aunt Qian lived.

The lights were on in one of the fourth-floor units. Human silhouettes moved behind the window. Aunt Qian and Uncle Zhao were sitting down to eat.

Xiang Ye stared upward for a long time. He did not know if he would ever get another chance to return here and bask in the warmth of an ordinary, human life. He reached instinctively to the back of his neck. He still did not know exactly where that key-shaped bone was growing, but as long as it existed, it served as a constant reminder.

He could never go back.

The setting sun stretched his shadow long across the ground. The twice-cooked pork was starting to cool, and only then did he come back to himself and continue walking home.

Though maybe it could no longer be called home at all.

Thinking about the mess waiting for him, a trace of coldness crept across Xiang Ye’s features. But when he pushed open the door, warm light poured out and enveloped him.

The entire room had changed. The floor was clean. The floor lamp had been stood upright and was glowing warmly in the corner. The ukulele had been hung on the wall. Its strings were still broken, but it had been wiped down until it gleamed.

Xing Zhou was sitting in the rocking chair. He had taken off his trench coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He was tending the charcoal stove with Xiang Ye’s little tongs, stirring the coals as firelight danced over his face, softening his features.

When he looked up and saw Xiang Ye, he said, “The new window will be here soon.”

Xiang Ye opened his mouth but said nothing.

Xing Zhou was roasting potatoes. He had found them in a corner of the kitchen, still covered in fresh dirt. When Xiang Ye walked over and stood in front of him, he picked up a potato with the tongs and asked, “Mind if I?”

Xiang Ye’s voice was hoarse. “Why are you doing all this?”

Xing Zhou replied, “I’m used to it.”

“You’re used to it?”

“Everyone in the Enforcement is like you.”

No family, nowhere to return to.

He did not say the rest, but Xiang Ye was smart enough to understand. Not just anyone could do the work the Enforcement did. The strange techniques from Lu Ye put anyone nearby in danger. One misstep could threaten the people they cared about.

Xing Zhou was ten years older than Xiang Ye. He had seen much more. There was no way Xiang Ye could hide what was on his mind. He was still young, after all.

“Want some?” Xing Zhou stuck a roasted potato on a pair of chopsticks.

Being seen through like that made Xiang Ye feel awkward. He always thought he concealed it well. The sense of loss, the anger, the sorrow and grief were like mosquito bites in summer. As long as he did not scratch them, no one would know how unbearable the itch was.

Clumsy and a little melodramatic.

Xiang Ye took the chopsticks from his hand. Only after looking around did he remember there was just one rocking chair in the house. The other chairs had been too old, and after Old Xiang died, he had chopped them up for firewood.

Xing Zhou stood up and gave him the seat. Such a tall man, squatting there and tending to a little stove, stirred an unexpected sense of guilt in Xiang Ye. But then again, he was the patient here. He had every reason to sit in the only chair.

Just as he sat down, a strange sound came from beside him. It was faint, as if someone were shouting from far away, but the voice was indistinct, layered with a crackling rustle that instantly reminded Xiang Ye of what had happened a few days ago. His hair stood on end.

“Who’s there?!”

“I’m here! It’s me!” This time the voice was clear enough, but Xiang Ye didn’t recognize it at all. He sprang up at once and pinpointed the source.

It was a wireless earpiece resting on the arm of the rocking chair.

Xing Zhou explained, “A communications officer from the Enforcement. Jueming.”

Jueming shouted, “What do you mean communications officer? I’m obviously the little sprite who lives in the earpiece!”

Because the sound came from the earpiece, Jueming had to shout extremely loudly to be heard. After just a few lines, he nearly passed out from shouting and even choked on his own saliva, erupting into a fit of coughing.

Xing Zhou was completely unfazed and didn’t respond at all.

But once Jueming caught his breath, he started rambling again. Xiang Ye picked up the earpiece to listen and immediately heard something outrageous.

“…Is that Xiang Ye? Xiang Ye, right? Hello, hello, nice to meet you. Please take care of me. Don’t listen to our boss’s nonsense. I’m not Jueming, I’m a little sprite. And our boss isn’t called Xing Zhou either. His real surname is Tian, and his given name is just one character, Luo. He’s the most famous—”

Goddamn Tianluo ¹a figure from Chinese folklore. She is a magical snail spirit who transforms into a beautiful woman and secretly helps a kind man with housework, cooking, and chores.

“Hello? Are you still listening? This is a secret, you know? You can’t tell anyone. If you do, the Tianluo will vanish, and you’ll lose your kind and thoughtful electronic sprite forever…”

Since Xiang Ye was holding the earpiece close, Jueming was no longer shouting, so Xing Zhou didn’t hear anything. He continued calmly roasting potatoes and reheating the food Xiang Ye had brought back over the stove.

Xiang Ye decided to keep the little sprite’s secret. And after all that nonsense, his mood had strangely lightened. Looking at the roasted potato in his hand, drawn in by the smell, he finally felt a bit of appetite.

Dinner passed peacefully. No one paid the little sprite any attention, so he muttered to himself off in the background.

Xiang Ye was tempted to ask, does a Tianluo eat a lot? Aunt Qian had given them not just the twice-cooked pork but also a plate of vegetables, plus two large bowls of rice packed tight. All of it was gone now, even the roasted potatoes.

Xiang Ye never ate much to begin with. He had stopped using his chopsticks long ago, while Xing Zhou looked completely composed, giving nothing away about whether he was full.

“Are you planning to stay here with me?” Xiang Ye asked. I did plant some potatoes in a little patch downstairs, but I probably can’t afford to feed you.

Xing Zhou looked at him, seemingly confused why someone who seemed fairly intelligent would ask such a foolish question.

Xiang Ye realized it too. He figured maybe he had been too moved for a moment, or perhaps the little sprite in the earpiece had polluted his soul.

But Xing Zhou still gave him a way out. “I’m staying to protect you.”

“What about the situation in the north? Don’t you need to handle that?”

“I left people there.”

So the Enforcement included more than just Xing Zhou, the little sprite Jueming, and the Twin Executioners. There must be others. Xiang Ye, feeling guilty for not being more careful with his words, remembered there was an old army cot in the storage room. He and Xing Zhou went to retrieve it together.

Xiang Ye could barely count as a convalescent. Heavy lifting like this wasn’t his job. Instead, he used the moment to see if Old Xiang had left behind any clues and started rummaging through the organized boxes in the storage room.

“What’s that?” Xing Zhou suddenly looked over.

“One of Old Xiang’s sketchbooks,” Xiang Ye answered instinctively, then froze.

He looked down at the open sketchbook in his hands. His gaze landed on the image.

Withered grass stretched to the horizon, a barren plain.

Amid swirling grey-white mist stood a grand vermilion gate. The gate was open, or rather, it was little more than a frame. Mist poured continuously through it, and sometimes shafts of sunlight would flash across it, making one wonder what lay beyond that gate.

“Lu Ye,” Xing Zhou said in a low voice.

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  a figure from Chinese folklore. She is a magical snail spirit who transforms into a beautiful woman and secretly helps a kind man with housework, cooking, and chores.