I just became the Pirate King, and you're telling me I also time-traveled at the same time.

Su Wanwan stroked the fur behind the white wolf's ear with her thumb. The white wolf slowly closed its eyes and its body trembled slightly, not because of the cold, but because of something it couldn't describe, something that welled up from its bones.

"You'll stay with Senior Bai Xi," Su Wanwan said. "She'll take care of you. She might complain about being a nuisance, but she'll take care of you. Be good, don't bite her things, don't steal her osmanthus wine, and don't sleep on her blanket. She seems like she doesn't care about anything, but actually she cares about everything. She cares about her comb, her wine, her blanket, her tree, she cares about many things, but she just won't say it."

The white wolf opened its eyes. It looked at Su Wanwan, its pale blue eyes glistening with a thin layer of moisture—not tears, but something even thinner, like morning dew, gone as soon as the sun came out. Its tail swayed slowly behind it three times, then stopped, the tip curling slightly as it did so, like an unfinished sentence.

Su Wanwan stood up and turned to look at Chu Yang. Chu Yang stood on the edge of the low hill, the wind making his robes flutter, his hair blowing across his face, obscuring half of it. He didn't brush his hair aside, just stood there, looking at her through the gaps in his hair. She couldn't see his expression, only that his eyes gleamed briefly through the gaps in his hair, like a star peeking out from behind the clouds.

"I'm leaving," Su Wanwan said.

Chu Yang nodded.

Su Wanwan turned and walked south. Bai Lang followed at her left foot. The dagger Chu Yang had given her hung heavily in her sleeve. Bai Xi sat far, far ahead of her, perhaps brewing tea, perhaps drinking osmanthus wine, perhaps combing her hair with that broken-toothed wooden comb. She might have fallen asleep while combing, and the comb would slip from her hand and fall to the ground. She would then wake up, pick up the comb, and continue combing.

She didn't look back. She knew that if she did, she would see Chu Yang still standing on the low hill, Sun Wukong still standing in his shadow, the white donkey still standing on the edge of the saline land, and the white dragon horse still carrying Tang Sanzang standing in the wind. She would see those she didn't want to leave, and then she wouldn't be able to go. So she didn't look back. She looked ahead, at the dark green mountain shadows, at the ever-rising sky above them, and walked step by step. The white wolf was at her feet, each step landing beside her footprints, its paw prints and her small footprints side by side, like two lines of thread sewn together.

After walking about a hundred steps, a voice came from behind.

"Girl!"

It was Sun Wukong's voice. The sound was very loud, carrying far across the vast wilderness, hitting the distant mountain walls, bouncing back, and becoming a smaller, more distant sound, like an echo, yet not quite an echo.

Su Wanwan stopped and turned around.

Sun Wukong stood atop a low hill, his golden cudgel poised in front of him, his hands supporting him, his body leaning slightly forward. The sun behind him was already high in the sky, its light casting a black silhouette over him. His face and expression were obscured in the silhouette; only the outline of the tuft of hair on his head was discernible, like a circle of flames ruffled by the wind.

He pulled the golden cudgel from the ground, raised it above his head, drew a circle in the air, and then pointed it in Su Wanwan's direction. When the tip of the cudgel pointed at her, it flashed—not with gold, but with a very faint orange-red light, like the setting sun, which flickered for a moment and then went out, like a match burning in the wind.

Sun Wukong retracted his staff, planted it back on the ground, and braced himself with his hands, in the exact same posture as before. He said nothing. But Su Wanwan felt he had said a lot. All those words were hidden in the circle drawn by the staff, hidden in the orange-red light, hidden in the gesture of pointing at her. She didn't understand, but she felt she did.

She waved at Sun Wukong. She waved three times, each wave slower than the last. Then she turned and continued walking south.

The white wolf walked a few steps to her feet, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and glanced in the direction of the low hill. It was looking at Sun Wukong. Its pale blue eyes narrowed in the sunlight, becoming slits through which a sliver of light shone, as fine and bright as a needle tip. It stared for a couple of moments, then turned back and followed Su Wanwan's footsteps.

The wind blew from the west, carrying the bitter, astringent smell of the saline-alkali land. It blew Su Wanwan's hair across her face; she brushed it behind her ears, her fingers touching the tips of her ears, which were cool. She withdrew her fingers, tucking them into her sleeve, where she touched the dagger. The dagger was cool, pressed against the back of her hand like a small piece of ice.

The entrance to Qiyue Ridge was closer than she had imagined. She thought it would take a whole day to walk, but she saw the river in less than half a day. The river wasn't wide, the water was shallow, and it was as clear as glass; the stones and aquatic plants on the riverbed were clearly visible. There was a stone bridge over the river, broken in the middle. The broken half had fallen into the river and was half-submerged, covered in moss. Su Wanwan waded across the broken section of the water. The water was so cold that she gritted her teeth. The white wolf followed behind her. The water reached its belly; it stretched its neck, held its head high, and walked cautiously in the water with its four legs, like a duck with legs.

Beyond the river lay the entrance to Qiyue Ridge. A thick, white fog, as thick as milk, enveloped the valley. Su Wanwan stood before the fog, taking a deep breath and catching the scent of Bai Xi—not the scent of osmanthus wine, not the scent of tea, but something more fundamental, like tree roots, deeply embedded in the earth, seeping through the fog, faint, astringent, and with a hint of sweetness.

She reached her hand into the fog. The fog was cool and damp, like a wrung-out wet towel pressed against her skin. It coiled around her fingers like an invisible snake, crawling up her fingers, across the back of her hand, over her wrist, and to her sleeve. In the sleeve was the dagger; the dagger touched the fog, making a sound. A very faint sound, like a plucked string, a soft "hum" that echoed in the fog for a long time.

The fog dissipated. Not completely, but it revealed a path. A narrow path, barely wide enough for one person to pass through, with fog still on both sides, white as walls. At the end of the path was a courtyard, and in the courtyard stood a tree, beneath which sat a person.

Bai tide sat under a tree, a wooden comb in her hand, her hair loose. A pot of tea sat beside her, the tea no longer steaming, as if it had been sitting for a long time. Her eyes were closed, and Su Wanwan assumed she was asleep. She walked three steps away, and Bai Xi opened her eyes. Those eyes gleamed briefly in the mist, like two polished copper coins, then dimmed, returning to the ordinary, weary eyes of an elderly person, cloudy and tired, with an expression that said, "I knew you would come back."

"You're back?" Bai tide asked.

"I'm back," Su Wanwan said.

Bai tide glanced at her, looking her up and down twice. She saw the five tails behind her, their fur fully grown, fluffy and white, like five small silver flags in the mist. She saw her face, the marks of wind and sand, the chapped lips, and the bruises around her eyes that hadn't completely faded. She saw the hilt of the dagger peeking out from her sleeve, the black rope attached to it, its color deepened by the mist.

Bai tide's gaze lingered on the hilt of the dagger for a moment. A second, then three. Then it moved away.

"What is that?" Bai tide asked.

Su Wanwan took the dagger from her sleeve, held it with both hands, and offered it to Bai Xi. The dagger's leather sheath was damp with mist, feeling slippery to the touch, like a fish just pulled from the water. Bai Xi looked at the dagger but didn't take it. She stared at it for a long time, until Su Wanwan's hands began to ache, before she finally reached out. Her hand paused above the dagger for a moment, then she grasped the hilt and pulled the dagger from its sheath.

The blade was still grayish-white, not reflective, and looked like an unburnt bone in the fog. Bai Xi held the blade up to her eyes, examining it several times, then gently rubbed it with her thumb. The blade made a cut on her thumb, but no blood was drawn; instead, a white mark appeared on her thumb, like a scratch from a piece of paper.

"Did Chu Yang ask you to bring this to me?" Bai tide asked.

Su Wanwan nodded.

Bai tide sheathed the dagger and placed it on her knee. Her hand rested on the sheath, her knuckles slowly tightening. Her fingers were slender, with prominent knuckles; when she tightened, they resembled a string of small beads, arranged neatly from thick to thin, from large to small. She looked down at the dagger for a long time, her hair falling from her shoulders, obscuring half her face.

Su Wanwan stood there, unsure what to say. The white wolf stood at her feet, its four legs trembling, not from the cold, but from Bai Xi's aura. That aura was too strong for the white wolf, so strong that its body reacted even before its mind—its ears drooped, its tail tucked in, and its body curled into a small ball, pressed against Su Wanwan's calves, like a frightened child.

Bai tide finally raised her head. She didn't look at Bai Lang; she looked at Su Wanwan.

"You've brought back another problem," Bai tide said.

Su Wanwan opened her mouth, wanting to say, "It's not a problem," but before she could speak, Bai Xi had already stood up. Her movements were slow, like an old tree pulling itself out of the ground, each joint making a subtle sound. She tucked the dagger into her belt, picked up the teapot at her feet—the tea had stopped steaming—shaked it, and hearing that there was still half a pot of water left, carried the teapot towards the house. She stopped at the threshold, didn't turn around, and said something to Su Wanwan with her back to her.

"Come in. There's still half a pot of tea left, it's cold, but you'll have to make do with it. As for the wolf, let it sleep in the yard. There's no room for it inside."

The white wolf's ears twitched. It understood the tone of the sentence, "There's no room for it in the house." It wasn't a tone of disdain, but a statement of fact, like someone whose house is too small telling a guest, "The sofa isn't long enough; you'll have to sleep on the floor." The white wolf loosened its tail, its body stopped trembling, and it climbed off Su Wanwan's calf. It walked to the tree root, circled twice, coiled up, rested its head on the root, and closed its eyes.

Su Wanwan followed Bai Xi into the house. The room was the same as before: a bed, a table, a chair, a stove, and two more jars in the corner, making a total of four, all neatly arranged. The oil lamp on the table was still lit, but the wick was very short, and the flame, like a soybean, flickered in the wind, about to go out.

Bai tide placed the teapot on the table, reached under the stove for a bowl with a small chip on the rim, wiped it with her sleeve, poured half a bowl of cold tea from the pot, and pushed it towards Su Wanwan. Su Wanwan picked it up and took a sip; it was cold, bitter, and had a musty, woody taste. She finished it sip by sip, put the bowl back on the table, and left a few tea leaves at the bottom, dark and gritty, like a small clump of mud.

Bai tide sat down in the chair, untied the dagger from her belt, and placed it on the table. Her hand didn't leave the dagger; her fingertips slowly traced the sheath, running her fingers over every line, every bump, every scratch. Her expression didn't change, but Su Wanwan noticed her breathing had changed. It was slower than usual, her inhalations deeper, her exhalations shallower, as if she were enduring something.

"That dagger," Su Wanwan said, "was something Chu Yang asked me to bring to you."

Bai tide's fingers paused on the scabbard. She picked up the dagger and tucked it into her sleeve. Her sleeve was deep enough that the dagger was completely hidden, as if melted into her clothes. She pulled her hand out of her sleeve, revealing a wooden comb between her fingers. The one with the broken teeth. She began to comb her hair, stroke by stroke, from the top of her head to the ends, pausing at the ends with each stroke before lifting it again.

"That kid Chu Yang," Bai Xi said, combing her hair, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall—a spot that was empty except for a patch of blackened plaster. "What did he want to tell me by having you bring this?"

Su Wanwan thought for a moment and said, "He didn't say anything. He just handed me the dagger and said, 'Bai tide recognizes this.'"

Bai Xi stopped combing. The comb stopped in the middle of her hair, half above and half below, like a broken bridge. She held that position for a while, then continued combing. When she reached the ends, she used too much force and broke a few strands of hair. The broken hairs fell onto her shoulders, white as the first snow of winter.

"I know him," Bai tide said. "Of course I know him. This dagger killed a wolf." She pulled the comb from her hair, placed it on the table, and tapped the surface three times with her knuckles, neither too hard nor too soft, like knocking on a door. "It wasn't an ordinary wolf. It was the wolf king. The wolf king before me." She glanced at Su Wanwan, her eyes holding something Su Wanwan had never seen before—not hatred, not resentment, but an older, deeper, heartwood-like color. "Chu Yang's master killed him. With this dagger."

Su Wanwan clenched her hands tightly on her knees.

Bai tide looked away and picked up the comb again. This time, instead of combing her hair, she held the comb in her hand and twirled it, pinching the handle between her thumb and forefinger, turning it round and round.