My girlfriend is a Miao demon.

As thunder ripped through the winter night sky, Xiang Nanfeng, the abandoned child of the dream world, once again fell into the icy abyss of the Miaoyao Tower's underground palace.

Dark green water stains seeped from the damp stone walls, and spider webs spun in the dim light. The hollow sound of water droplets hitting the stone slabs echoed through the underground palace, mixed with the musty smell of decay in the air.

A red silk ribbon abruptly wrapped around the cold stone pillar, extending all the way to the depths of the underground palace, where a woman stood—the pearls and jade on her phoenix crown were covered in thick dust, her crimson wedding robe was stained purple by the dampness, and the peony patterns in the shadows looked like wriggling venomous insects. The sticky footprints on the stone slabs were the marks left by her skirt dragging over the moss.

"Luyao, Luyao, is that you?"

Xiang Nanfeng's throat tightened, and he tried his best to speak, but he probably never made a sound.

The woman dressed as a bride walked towards her, grabbed her wrist, and a sharp pain shot from her skin to her brain, like a cold insect or a knife cutting her inch by inch.

The woman's right hand, which was gripping her wrist, was completely devoid of flesh and blood; it was a stark white bone that gleamed coldly in the faint phosphorescence, with a few strands of dried spiderwebs entwined between her fingers.

"South Wind... South Wind..." Her voice, hoarse from the friction of rocks, sounded like a thousand poisonous insects swarming into her ears. "South Wind, don't forget your promise!"

Suddenly, a strange, eerie wind swept through the underground palace, forcefully ripping off the bright red veil: the grayish-black downy fur was covered in dust, the dark tear ducts oozed sticky fluid, the long, narrow, boat-like mouth split open all the way to behind the ears, and unknown pieces of rotting flesh clung to the sharp fangs. A bloody, murderous aura, carried by the eerie wind, rushed towards them.

It's it! It's it! It's here!

That wasn't Lu Yao at all; it was clearly a blue-faced, fanged jackal.

"Don't come any closer! Don't come any closer!"

Xiang Nanfeng was suddenly awakened from his sleep. The thunder and rain outside the window continued, but the chilling scene in the underground palace of Miaoyao Pagoda more than 20 days ago seemed to be imprinted on the entire ceiling. The bone-chilling cold injected into his bones made him shiver all over.

The thunder and rain continued outside the window, and Xiang Nanfeng sat up. Perhaps it was because he had been getting up early for several days and had formed a new biological clock, but he was no longer sleepy.

Xiang Nanfeng composed himself, preparing to tell Mao Xigu Master about yesterday's setback with the broken stone tablet. But as he turned on his computer, logged into QQ, and was about to type in his account of this failed evidence-gathering experience, Mao Xigu Master's message popped up first:

"Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I need to return to Wangshan immediately. I might arrive the day after tomorrow or the day after that. I will call you as soon as my plane lands and then contact you again."

Mao Xigu's QQ signature has now been changed to "Out of contact while traveling." Upon seeing this, Xiang Nanfeng simply closed QQ and shut down his computer.

This belated support and the first meeting with his comrade filled him with a strange sense of excitement and security. He couldn't help but rub his hands together, from his hands and arms all the way down to his shoulders, even though the bone-chilling cold still lingered.

Alright, let's set off early and get on the road as soon as possible!

Zhenru Temple, a name commonly found throughout China, includes temples in Putuo District of Shanghai and Jiangdu District of Jiangsu Province. Its name originates from the *Cheng Weishi Lun* (Treatise on the Establishment of Consciousness-Only) by the Tang Dynasty monk Xuanzang. The character "Zhen" means true, signifying the non-illusory nature of reality; the character "Ru" means constant, symbolizing the unchanging characteristic. Together, "Zhenru" signifies that this principle remains constant and true in all circumstances.

Hidden in the mountains of Shounan is the Zhenru Temple, a temple steeped in history. It was first built in the 39th year of the Kangxi Emperor's reign in the Qing Dynasty, which is 1700 AD. Having weathered more than 300 years of vicissitudes, it remains an ancient temple with a continuous stream of incense offerings. It is also the oldest historical site with clear records in the entire Wangshan City, carrying hundreds of years of local cultural memories.

Interestingly, this memory doesn't really belong exclusively to the people of Wangshan, but rather to the people of Changqing, who live next to Wangshan City.

It turns out that Yunding Township, where Zhenru Temple is located, and another township, Liqi Township, both belonged to Changqing County before 1989. When Wangshan County was abolished and established as a city in 1989, these two townships were incorporated into Wangshan in order to expand its jurisdiction.

Yunding Township, as its name suggests, derives its name from the towering, cloud-piercing peak in Shounan Mountain. The newly demarcated county boundary between Yunding and Changqing County is defined by the midline of the summit of Tiannan Peak in the northwest of Shounan Mountain. Zhenru Temple is situated precisely on the summit of Tiannan Peak, east of this midline. The temple's location is exquisite, half perched on a mountaintop and half clinging to a cliff face. Its red walls and black tiles blend harmoniously with the surrounding natural scenery amidst the verdant mountains and forests.

Thanks to its unique geographical location, on clear, sunny days, standing in front of the gate of Zhenru Temple and looking north, the entire panorama of Wangshan City unfolds before your eyes without reservation:

The rows of buildings, the crisscrossing streets and alleys, and the winding river are all clearly visible and can be seen in their entirety. If you turn and look southeast, clouds and mist often swirl around the mountains, and the secluded Shounan Mountain in the distance appears and disappears in the sea of ​​clouds. Birds occasionally fly by among the verdant mountains, and the hazy scenery is like a fairyland. The night before, Wangshan had just experienced a night of thunderous rain. After the rain stopped, the mountains were clean and the scenery along the way was beautiful, with "dewdrops falling among the pines and clouds and mist covering the streams and bridges."

If it weren't for what was on my mind, and if it weren't for the unexpected disappointment of finding the half-stone tablet last night, this trip to Zhenru Temple would truly have been a pleasant one.

This itinerary was arranged two days ago.

At ten o'clock in the morning, the sunlight pierced through the lingering mist in the mountains of Shounan, gently illuminating the mountain path of Tiannan Peak. Following the south wind, I slowly ascended the stone steps, reached the summit, and right on time stepped through the ancient gate of Zhenru Temple. A middle-aged monk in a gray robe stood guard at the entrance, scrutinizing the young man with a camera slung across his shoulder and a name tag around his neck.

Today is a workday, and it's almost the end of the year. It rained all night, and the mountain roads are difficult to walk on. There are hardly any devout pilgrims or persistent tourists who would insist on going up the mountain to burn incense and worship Buddha at this time.

"You mean to the reporters?"

"Yes, this is the city television station. My name is Xiang Nanfeng."

"Yes, come with me. The abbot is waiting for you in the meditation room."

"Thank you for your help!"

After entering the mountain gate, walking around the main hall, and passing several ancient and vigorous pine trees, you will arrive at Master Mingyuan's meditation room.

The monk reached out and pushed open the bright red lacquered wooden door.

A long, soft creak broke the surrounding silence as the wooden door opened. The door faced the main hall of the meditation room, and sunlight streamed in obliquely through the window, falling on a thick elm wood altar.

The altar has clear grain and a warm luster from years of wear, and it stands upright against the wall in the center of the main hall. In the back of the altar stands a simply carved wooden shrine, in which a simple bronze Buddha statue is placed in the center. The Buddha's face is compassionate, and its body has a dull bronze luster, as if it has accumulated hundreds of years of time.

In front of the bronze Buddha, there is a brass incense burner. The body of the burner has been covered with a dark brown patina from years of incense burning. Inside the burner, three sticks of incense are burning quietly, and wisps of smoke drift slowly upwards.

Xiang Nanfeng subconsciously sniffed, and a deep, rich sandalwood scent wafted towards him, mellow and refreshing, penetrating his nostrils in wisps. It was clearly the scent of the three burning sandalwood sticks.

Beneath the elmwood offering table, a yellow cloth prayer cushion sat neatly. The cushion appeared to have been used for many years; the once bright yellow cloth had long since lost its color, becoming dull and mottled, with even finely frayed edges revealing the light brown cattail reeds beneath. Kneeling on the cushion was an old monk.

His head bore the marks of ordination, nine scars clearly imprinted on his pale scalp. His slightly sunken back of the head faced the door, his back ramrod straight, exuding an aura of tranquility. The old monk seemed to hear the sound of the door hinges turning; he shifted slightly, about to turn around.

At this moment, the middle-aged monk who had led Xiang Nanfeng into the temple, holding the half-open wooden door, bowed slightly to Xiang Nanfeng and gestured for him to enter. Then, he quietly turned and left. The old monk inside slowly turned around. Perhaps because he had been kneeling for a long time, he couldn't help but let out a hoarse and deep cough as he stood up.

The voice was soft, yet it seemed to possess a power that pierced the heart. In that instant, Xiang Nanfeng had a strange, strong intuition that the answer he sought was surely found here.

"Ahem, are the reporters here?"

"Yes, it's me. Greetings, Master! I'm so sorry to have disturbed your meditation!"

Xiang Nanfeng stepped forward and approached Master Mingyuan, who looked to be at least eighty or ninety years old. Just then, the master was about to rise, and Xiang Nanfeng quickly went to help him. He took the master's arm and helped him to his feet.

"Master, I am a reporter from Wangshan City TV Station. My name is Xiang Nanfeng."

Xiang Nanfeng leaned closer to help him up, and only then could he clearly see the monk's face. The old monk had a face like ancient jade, with kind and benevolent eyes. Although his face was full of wrinkles, there was an unyielding gentleness in his eyes. There seemed to be a faint smile on his lips, which gave people a sense of closeness and peace of mind.

"Master, this is my first visit to you. I should have come to ask you for guidance on Buddhism."

"Take your time to learn Buddhism, young people should focus on their work, right?"

Xiang Nanfeng was amused by the monk's humor. He scratched his head, just smiling but not knowing how to reply.

"Yesterday, Section Chief Wang from the Religious Affairs Bureau called. You want to ask about the Buddhist history of Wangshan? Come on, let's talk inside." Master Mingyuan said, leading Xiang Nanfeng into the inner room. Inside the inner room was a square Luohan couch, also made of elm wood. On the couch was a kang table, and under the couch was a footstool.

The monk sat down on one side of the couch and then gestured for Xiang Nanfeng to sit down as well. Xiang Nanfeng politely bowed, but only sat halfway down.

"Here, freshly brewed tea, have some." Master Mingyuan pointed to a pair of teacups on the kang table. He pushed one of them to Xiang Nanfeng and was about to pick up the teapot next to him. Xiang Nanfeng quickly grabbed the teapot first, poured tea into the empty cup in front of Master Mingyuan, and then poured half a cup for himself.

"Master, I'm so sorry to bother you, please go ahead!"

"Alright, let's drink together. The tea at the temple isn't very good, so please don't be shy. Feel free to ask any questions you may have."

"Well... alright, since you put it that way, I'll ask you something." Xiang Nanfeng said, setting up his camera with a practiced air, turning it on, and adjusting it before continuing, "It's like this, our TV station wants to do a program about the history of Shounan Mountain. I heard that there used to be a Buddhist pagoda in Shounan Mountain called Miaoyao Pagoda. I wonder if you've heard of this pagoda? Also, I think pagodas are a unique type of Buddhist architecture, and where there's a pagoda, there must be a temple. Do you know which pagoda Miaoyao Pagoda and which temple it belonged to, when that temple was built, and when it was destroyed?"

"This... the Myriad Jade Tower..."

Master Mingyuan sighed, raised his head, and stared intently into Xiang Nanfeng's eyes until Xiang Nanfeng felt uneasy. Only then did he speak:

"The Miaoyao Pagoda, right? Yes, there is indeed a Miaoyao Pagoda in Shounan Mountain."

"Really?" Xiang Nanfeng was so excited he almost stood up. "Master, Master really knows about this tower!"

"Yes, I know, I've heard of the Miaoyao Pagoda. That was many, many years ago, when I was still a young monk, my master told me about that pagoda."

"What did your master say? Could you tell me?"

"My master only said that there used to be two large temples in Shounan Mountain, one temple and one nunnery. The temple is our Zhenru Temple, and the nunnery is said to be called Miaoyao Zen Nunnery. The Miaoyao Pagoda is a pagoda in Miaoyao Zen Nunnery."

"Miaoyao Zen Nunnery? Not a temple, but a nunnery?"

"right."

"Master, do you know where this Miaoyao Zen Temple is?"

"I don't know. I only know that it's deep in the mountains of Shounan Mountain, much deeper than our Zhenru Temple."

"Do you know when this Miaoyao Zen Temple was built and when it fell into disrepair?"

"Well... I only know that the nunnery has a longer history than Zhenru Temple. Our Zhenru Temple was first built during the reign of Emperor Kangxi of the Qing Dynasty, and I think Miaoyao Nunnery must have existed since at least the Ming Dynasty. As for when it disappeared, I don't know."

"Master, what else do you know about this Miaoyao Zen Temple and Miaoyao Pagoda? Anything is fine!"

"That's all I know. This nunnery must be very far from Zhenru Temple, and besides, we are a temple, while they are a nunnery..."

"Alright, alright, Master, that's all. It's already been a great help. Thank you anyway!"

Xiang Nanfeng knew perfectly well that being able to ask these questions was already a considerable gain. At least these fragments of information corroborated his conjecture, which he had derived from local chronicles—Miaoyao Pagoda was indeed a Buddhist pagoda, and a temple had indeed existed deep within the remote Shounan Mountain.

He said no more, tapped the screen of his phone to turn off the light, and then gathered his paper, pen, and notebook into his backpack. As he tidied up, he turned to thank the old monk warmly and exchanged pleasantries, clearly preparing to take his leave.

But just then, as he zipped up his backpack, bowed slightly, and was about to utter his final words of farewell, the old monk sitting beside him interrupted him, preventing the polite words from spilling from his lips:

"Comrade reporter... oh, no, young benefactor, where did you learn about the Miaoyao Pagoda?"

"Oh, a colleague told me," Xiang Nanfeng replied casually, not even noticing the change in address. The secrets of the dream world must not be revealed, so he hastily made up a lie, his speech unconsciously quickening, "Our station is making a special program on the Buddhist history of Wangshan City. A colleague found the Miaoyao Pagoda while looking through the county annals, so I came to ask you if this pagoda really existed."

"Hehe, really?" Master Mingyuan's laughter was soft, yet it felt like a thin sheet of ice pressed against the back of someone's neck. "When making a program about Buddhist history, why ignore the well-known Zhenru Temple and instead focus on the little-known Miaoyao Pagoda?"

The awkward smile on Xiang Nanfeng's face instantly turned into a stiff mask. The lie was like a fine needle, pricking him so much that he dared not look up and meet the old master's gaze. Naturally, he did not see the fleeting, somewhat eerie curve at the corner of the other's mouth.

"We should ask about Zhenru Temple! But... but this program has to be done episode by episode!" He hurriedly tried to cover up, his voice trembling. "Didn't you also say that Miaoyao Zen Nunnery has a longer history? So we'll start with this pagoda. When we get to Zhenru Temple, I'll have to bother you again!"

"Is that really true?"

The monk's tone suddenly turned somber, like a dense, oppressive cloud pressing down on his head.

Xiang Nanfeng felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, realizing that the air around him felt strange. He stiffly turned his head and met the old monk's unfathomable eyes—where was the gentle kindness in them, replaced only by a chilling scrutiny.

"Master... Master, what do you mean by that?" His tongue began to slur, and his palms were already sweating.

"Young benefactor, let me offer you a word of advice." Master Mingyuan leaned forward, his voice low yet sharp as ice picks piercing the ground. "Three months ago, someone came and asked the exact same question. But that person was much more honest than you. He said he followed a wolf-faced man here. But now… he's dead."

"What?! The wolf-faced man? He...he's dead?! Master!"

These words struck Xiang Nanfeng like a bolt from the blue. His blood seemed to freeze instantly, then explode; cold sweat streamed down his forehead and back, and his vision blurred, almost causing him to lose his sight. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, and his throat tightened as he pressed on:

"Master, who is that person? Who is the one chasing the wolf-masked man?"

The monk lowered his eyes, his fingertips slowly caressing the prayer beads. The clinking of each bead seemed to strike a nerve in the south wind. After a long while, he slowly uttered a name:

"Him? He's from Youdu, isn't he? His name is Zuo Sigong."