The witch walked over with a freshly wiped cup in her hand. Seeing the shop owner staring blankly at the oil lamp, she set the cup down on the counter with a light clack.
"What exactly are you thinking? Would you throw away an old friend for an outsider?"
The shop owner slowly lifted her eyes. The lamplight cast deep and shallow shadows across her face.
"Throw away? With what? If I run out to warn him now, when the demons attack tomorrow, this shop, you, and Levitel — all of you will be buried with Shi Jin's Enma Blade."
She paused, her fingertip brushing the coffee stain on the counter.
"As for my old friend… I'll find a way to explain once the demons retreat. Only if we stay alive can we talk about the future."
The witch curled her lip but said no more. She turned to check the barriers instead. She did not understand seven hundred years of scheming, but she knew the shop owner was always right.
Yet her heart raced like a frightened rabbit. The words "tomorrow we might die" stung like needles.
She stole a glance at the shop owner. Her foot had almost reached the door when she remembered the line about being buried with the Enma Blade, and her legs suddenly went weak.
Forget it. Her master was always right. There was no need to risk her life for strangers.
She dragged her feet back to the kitchen, her chest tight with unease, scrubbing the cups roughly.
Back at the inn, Shi Jin lay down fully clothed on the wooden board bed. His back pressed against the cold planks, but sleep was far away.
In the darkness, the faint sound of Levitel turning over in the next room was as clear as if it were right beside him.
He raised a hand to press between his eyebrows. For the first time in ten thousand years, he found solitude something to endure.
As dawn painted the sky pale gray, he got up and knocked on her door. Three light taps on the wood, his voice colder than the frost outside:
"Get up."
Levitel emerged rubbing her eyes, her hair still messy. Her small hand instinctively reached for his sleeve. Her fingertips barely touched the fabric before she pulled back as if burned, whispering:
"Where are we going?"
Shi Jin glanced down at her empty palm. His Adam's apple bobbed before he spoke:
"It's not safe these days. I'm taking you to stay with the witch from the clothing shop for a couple of days. I have things to handle."
Levitel pressed her lips into a thin line. Her eyes slowly reddened, but she blinked hard, holding back the wetness. Then she nodded softly, her small hands secretly moving behind her back, nails digging into her palms — she would not hold him back.
When they reached the Odd Jobs Shop, the shop owner stood inside the door, half her face hidden in the shadow of the curtain.
Shi Jin gently pushed Levitel forward, tilted his chin toward the shop owner, his voice flat but carrying unshakable weight:
"Her name is Levitel. Be good to her."
With that, he turned and left without the slightest hesitation. Only his cloak, fluttering in the morning light, drew a cold, sharp arc.
The shop owner watched his back disappear completely around the corner before turning to Levitel, forcing a cold smile. She stepped aside to let her in.
Before closing the door, she glanced in the direction Shi Jin had left, her fingers unconsciously rubbing her sleeve — the bargaining chip she had prepared about the Artifact Wielder remained unspoken.
Once Levitel sat down with a cup of hot tea, the shop owner slowly walked to the window, staring at the distant spot where Shi Jin had vanished. She murmured:
"What a pity. A corner of the iceberg melted, but beneath it lies still a mountain of blades and fire."
She turned to look at Levitel's reddened eyes and softened her tone.
"But don't worry. Since he dared leave you with me, he must have left a way out. You'll be perfectly safe here for these three days."
Levitel's hands holding the hot tea trembled slightly. She whispered:
"Miss Witch… will Shi Jin come back for me?"
The shop owner did not answer directly. She picked up Levitel's coat from the table, her fingertips brushing the frayed cuff, and said slowly:
"Last time there was a little girl just like you, clinging to his sleeve… she was never seen again."
Tears splattered against the rim of Levitel's teacup, rippling in the hot liquid. She bit her lip to hold back her sobs, but her shoulders shook violently.
The shop owner set the coat down, tapped her forehead lightly with the tip of a needle, and chuckled:
"Why are you crying? I was just joking. That girl left on her own. She thought he was too cold. Not like you, silly girl, waiting for him."
She tossed her needle and thread into a basket, her calculating expression fading, replaced by a gentle older-sister tone.
"Alright, I won't tease you. I've fixed up a room upstairs. Go get some rest."
She took Levitel's hand and led her toward the stairs, her steps lighter now.
This girl with red hair and bare feet was almost identical to the "foreign girl" written in the elven elder's diary from three thousand years ago.
The diary said the girl always walked barefoot on the blue stone slabs, her red hair blowing in the wind down to her waist, a faint mole at the corner of her eye — exactly like the one under Levitel's eye.
Last night, when Shi Jin had pointed the Enma Blade at her, the tip had trembled even as he barked "her affairs are none of your business".
The panic in his eyes was just like the smudged black ink on the last page of the diary, where the elder had written:
"If there is a next life, I will never let her wait alone in the snow."
The shop owner suddenly stopped at the stairwell. Levitel bumped into her back and whispered, "What's wrong?"
She did not turn around. She pulled a yellowed diary from her sleeve and pressed it into Levitel's hands, her voice rough as sandpaper:
"There's charcoal upstairs. Go warm your feet. This book… you should probably read it."
Levitel held the diary and climbed the creaking wooden ladder. The air upstairs was colder than below.
Embers flickered in the charcoal brazier, casting her shadow on the wall like a curled-up red mist.
She sat on a wooden stool covered with an old felt blanket, her bare feet stretching toward the fire.
Warmth had just reached her ankles when her fingertips flipped open the diary — and she froze completely.
The first page's handwriting was still clear and elegant:
"Winter, Gengchen year. Met a dragon girl in the peach forest. Red hair to her waist, bare feet stepping on snow-covered branches. A mole at her eye corner brighter than the red plum blossoms. When she smiled, a little tiger tooth showed. She said, 'My name is Ali. I'm from the volcano.'"
Further on, the page edges were frayed, the ink thick and bitter:
"She always sneaked out of the barrier, running barefoot on the stone slabs. Her red hair brushed my hand, hot as fire. I said 'The ground is cold.' She squatted to watch ants carry food, her tail tip flicking quietly behind her. 'Look how busy they are. Not like us, fighting every day.'"
The charcoal suddenly popped, a spark burning her fingertip. The pages flipped quickly to the middle — the words were almost carved into the paper, as if the ink had been mixed with blood:
"Autumn, Jiawu year. The demon realm broke through. She stood before his blade to protect me. Red hair soaked in blood, stuck to her pale face. Her last look at him was not hatred… but pain. When his blade pulled out, the blood splashed on my hand. It burned for five hundred years and never faded."
The next page was crumpled into a ball, ink blurred by water. Only a few words could be made out:
"I followed him for five hundred years, from the Eastern Sea to the Western Desert. Watched him behead everyone who called Ali a monster. Watched him plant fire crystal fruits she loved in the peach forest. But the fruits were red as blood, never sweet again. The blood on the blade seeped into my bones… I can't walk anymore…"
The last page held only one line, written crookedly, as if with the last of strength:
"The peach blossoms in my hometown should be blooming. I'm going home to see. Won't tell him. Afraid he'll put his blade to my throat again and say 'Whoever leaves dies.'"
Levitel buried her face in the diary. The pages smelled faintly of mildew, mixed with a ghost of peach blossom.
The charcoal light dimmed. Her shoulders began to shake, but she made no sound. Only tears fell onto the name "Ali", blurring the characters into dark wet patches — just like the un-dried tears in the diary.
Wind howled against the window frame downstairs.
When the shop owner pushed open the door, she saw Levitel with her face buried in the diary, her shoulders shaking like leaves in autumn wind.
She walked over, knelt by the brazier, her voice soft as if afraid to disturb something:
"This is the diary of the elven elder from three thousand years ago, passed down through generations.
Last night, when Shi Jin pointed his blade at me… I guessed. You must look a lot like that dragon girl in the diary."
Lamplight flickered on her face.
"I didn't give you this diary to make you fear him. I want you to know: the hand that holds you tight now… once crushed someone else's life three thousand years ago."
Levitel slowly lifted her head, tears still hanging on her eyelashes. Her voice was light, almost resigned:
"Ali in the diary was a treasure protected by his blade. But I'm just a half-blood dragon. I wouldn't have lived long anyway."
She rested the diary on her knees, her bare feet unconsciously rubbing a hole in the felt.
"Better to rot like a stone on the roadside… than to die under his blade like Ali. At least then, I could still see light in his eyes."
The charcoal cracked. A spark landed on her hand, but she did not flinch. She stared at the leaping flames and smiled — a smile sadder than tears.
The shop owner's voice cut like ice shards into the charcoal:
"You are not an Artifact Wielder. He killed Ali back then because she held a world-destroying artifact."
She stared at the mole at Levitel's reddened eye corner.
"But now he hunts Artifact Wielders across the world. His blade is never dry.
If you stay with him, you could be caught in the crossfire, or used as a hostage against him. Either way, you'll die.
Do you really want to walk that path?"
Levitel looked down at her palms, as if she could still feel the warmth of Shi Jin's touch. After a long while, she whispered:
"Even if I don't die by his blade… with him, at least I can see the sun rise every day without hunger or fear.
If I stay here alone, I won't even have that."
She hugged the diary tighter.
"I want to stay with him. Even if I die halfway… it's better than waiting to grow cold by a charcoal fire."
The shop owner's slender fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the brazier. Sparks jumped with her movement, her silver-white hair glowing softly in the firelight.
She had lived seven hundred years. The shop's wooden beams had been replaced three times, the charcoal extinguished and relit. She had seen too many fools rushing into flames like moths.
"Look at this charcoal fire," she said suddenly, her voice carrying the crispness of grass and trees.
"It looks warm, but get too close and it burns through bone.
He is that fire. After three thousand years, the cold at his core never faded. Ali threw herself in… not even ash remained."
She paused, her gaze falling on Levitel's bare feet.
"You are not an Artifact Wielder. You should have stayed by this fire until the demons retreated, then gone south to see real peach forests.
But you insist on following him… walking on the blood of his blade."
The charcoal cracked again. She sighed softly:
"Enough. Seven hundred years of wind cannot blow away three thousand years of obsession.
But if that day ever comes… if his blade points at you… don't smile at him like Ali did. Run. Run as far as you can from the Enma Blade."
Levitel suddenly tugged at the shop owner's sleeve, her voice thin as a spider's thread:
"Are the peach forests in the south… the same as the one Ali squatted in?"
The shop owner's fingertip stilled. Silver hair fell, covering half her face.
"Not the same. Ali's peach forest drowned in blood long ago. The ones in the south still bloom… pink as far as the eye can see."
Levitel stared at the charcoal fire and whispered:
"If… if I can walk away from him alive… I'll go see them."
The shop owner said nothing. She added a piece of charcoal to the fire. Sparks flared, stretching their shadows long on the wall.
As if seeing through her thoughts, she brushed the charcoal dust off Levitel's bare feet:
"No matter how pink the southern peaches are… they can't warm you like the blood on his blade. Am I right?"
Levitel did not nod. She buried her face in her knees. The lamplight shone on the mole at her eye corner, like an unshed tear.
"But that warmth burns," the shop owner's voice was a soft sigh.
"You think it's warm now… but when the fire licks your bones, it will be too late."
A soft creak came from the stairwell. The witch climbed up with a bamboo basket. Sweet osmanthus cakes inside still steamed, their fragrance mixing with the smoke of the charcoal.
Seeing Levitel huddled on the stool and the shop owner staring down at the fire, the air frozen silent, she set the basket down loudly on the table and forced a bright tone:
"Freshly steamed cakes! Eat while they're hot. They'll get hard if they cool."
The crisp sound of the basket hitting the table cut through the silence like a stone through ice.
The shop owner picked up a cake and gently fed it to Levitel. As the sweet, soft flavor spread on her tongue, she whispered:
"This cake is sweet. Eat more."
She paused, gazing at the gray sky outside, her voice carrying the sigh of seven hundred years.
"You two… you'll probably have a story no one can forget. I just wonder… will it be sweet… or bitter."
Levitel held the cake in her mouth. Sweetness spread from her tongue to her eyes.
She looked out the window. Snowflakes fell one by one, covering the eaves and stone steps in white. Even the wind tasted cold.
The diary in her hands was crumpled at the edges. The charcoal popped, casting her shadow on the wall, swaying with the snow outside.
The snow fell heavier, until even the window frame was dusted thin and white.
The whole world fell silent, save for the sound of snow falling.