Doubt still clung to Kelor’s tale like fog on a river. Even so, that night the Little Moon Sage worked till moonrise, hanging mosquito nets like pale sails around every cot.
They set smoke to burn, a slow grey tide that smothered the air, and the mosquitoes fell like rain-beaten ash.
By Kelor’s plan, the next step was simple as a trail under lantern-light: find qinghao—sweet wormwood—and draw the bright cure from its bitter leaves.
The sun bled down behind the roofs like a cut orange. Kelor and Lingcai never saw Scarlet Leaf’s group; night shut like a gate, and they were likely stuck outside the walls.
Kelor didn’t care, her temper a lit match in dry grass. She stalked the temporary clinic with a sprayer, mist drifting like cold breath, and snarled under it:
“What’s with Sata City’s lord? Letting a plague run wild like weeds? Next time I’ll catch him and flay him like a rotten hide…”
The Little Moon Sage heard the mutter, let their puppet-threaded hand go slack, and wiped sweat like dew from a leaf before resting a moment.
“I’ve heard a bit. A strange faith sprouted in Sata City lately, roots no one can trace. The city lord became a believer. What came after, I don’t know. If you want answers, go look.”
Their own body was a lantern with little oil, so they relied on puppetcraft to raise the nets like spider silk. With patients’ families pitching in like ants, hands were scarce, but barely enough.
Kelor dropped the sprayer hose with a clatter like a snake on stone, then shouted to Lingcai, heat flaring in her eyes:
“This is plain dereliction! A-Cai, move! With me!”
Lingcai froze mid-way through setting the alchemical furnace, her little head peeking over the rim like a finch from a nest.
“Right now? You’re serious? Can’t we wait till morning…”
“I think we should go, and we should go now,” the Little Moon Sage cut in, voice steady as a millstone. “Lives are hanging by a thread. If we find the lord and get support, we can dam the spread.”
“Then, Grandmaster… how come you didn’t go?” Lingcai asked, voice tiptoeing like a cat on wet tiles.
“Do I need to say it?” The Little Moon Sage spread empty hands like bare branches. “Who would listen to me?”
“How could they not? Aren’t you the Great Sage of Seven Colors and Luminaries…” Lingcai muttered, then saw those empty hands, then pointed at herself, and remembered the identity pendant now hanging on her own neck like a quiet moon.
Oh. That tracks.
“One more thing,” the Little Moon Sage raised a finger, a single star in dusk. “The lord’s been missing for days. The new faith reeks of it. He’ll be hard to find. My guess? The Underworld rats are gnawing again.”
By “those rats,” they meant the secret societies in the Underworld, a burrow of shadows that included the Garden Witches.
As said before, most of those groups stayed underground like roots, only drinking from the grey water the law couldn’t reach. A few grew bold, stretching shoots into the surface world to grab a handful of coin; they either slipped by like eels or got their heads smashed bloody like melons.
The last ambitious one was BloodRose, one of the Garden Witches’ Four Heavenly Kings. Her end? The Little Moon Sage beat her half to death and snapped two front teeth like brittle sugarcane; rumor says she still whistles through her words.
Later, the Little Moon Sage’s disciple even blew up the Garden Witches’ main base—clean and bright as lightning—and scared them into silence so deep they didn’t dare dream of revenge.
Hard to say who’s the villain when the storm breaks both boats.
The Little Moon Sage yawned, a breeze through bamboo, then turned to Lingcai. “Moving early saves us from long-night worries. By the way, Lingcai, do you understand the cant?”
Lingcai shook her head, a bell with no clapper.
Cant… what even is that?
“It’s the second tongue of the Underworld,” the Little Moon Sage explained, voice low as a cellar. “Witches and warlocks use it to dodge taboo and tag their own. Miss the countersign, and they’ll peg you as an outsider and shut every door.”
“Huh?” Lingcai blinked, lost as a moth in noon. “Like what?”
“For example…” The Little Moon Sage cupped their chin like weighing a coin. “They might say, ‘Sky-king covers the earth…’”
Kelor rolled her eyes, a tide pulling back, and answered at once:
“…‘Pagoda pins the river fiend?’”
The Little Moon Sage stared at Kelor, surprise flaring like a struck match. “So you know this too?”
Kelor’s face all but spelled out I cannot with this, and she thumped the wall with a fist, a drumbeat of fury.
“You’ve got to be kidding me—it actually is that…”
Lingcai watched Kelor’s meltdown, a thought flickering like a firefly. She whispered to the Little Moon Sage, “Maybe she knew the cant… in her last life.”
The Little Moon Sage pondered, then nodded, solemn as a temple bell. “Then her last life wasn’t ordinary.”
“Go on, what else?” Lingcai pressed, curiosity bright as morning.
“They might ask, ‘Why’s your face red?’ You answer—”
From across the room, Kelor hit the line like lightning finding a tree.
“‘Full of vigor!’”
The Little Moon Sage faltered, shock deepening like frost, then tested again:
“‘Why’s it yellow now?’”
Kelor snapped back without a breath: “‘Wax against the cold!’”
Shock turned into thunder. The Little Moon Sage strode over, steps sharp as hail. “How do you know so much?”
Kelor threw back her head and howled, voice cutting the rafters like a blade:
“You two putting on some Tiger Mountain spy drama?!”
The Little Moon Sage blinked, baffled as a deer in snow, and turned to Lingcai. “Where’s Tiger Mountain?”
“I told you, don’t ask me…” Lingcai flapped her hands like startled sparrows. “I don’t know… you’ll have to ask her.”
“Anyway,” the Little Moon Sage clapped once, dust rising like sparks, “to learn the lord’s trail, we have to visit the Underworld’s meeting holes. Since you don’t know the cant, I’ll go with you. Otherwise, there’s no way in.”
They turned the blade of their words toward Kelor. “As for the princess over there, you’ll stay put. My iron golem guards this clinic like a mountain. Even a first-step Master-tier mage can’t test it. It’s enough till your escort arrives.”
Kelor didn’t marvel at how they knew her identity; maybe the wind just passed her ears. What stung sharper was being treated like baggage, left behind like a spare horseshoe.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m not up to it?” She held her anger tight, eyes burning like coals, glaring at the Little Moon Sage.
The Little Moon Sage only pointed to Kelor’s limping right leg, gaze steady as moonlight, and asked back, soft as rain:
“Well… do you?”
“…”
The words struck a bruise. Kelor fell silent, her breath a held tide.
The Little Moon Sage set a step-stone for her pride, voice easing like tea steam. “Staying isn’t idle. The girl you brought clearly matters to you. Watch over her, and your heart will rest easier.”
“…”
Kelor went fully silent. She stared at the unconscious, fever-broken girl on a makeshift cot, sores gleaming like poisoned stars, and her fist tightened like a knot of roots.
Seeing no more protest rise, the Little Moon Sage beckoned to Lingcai. “Let’s go.”
“Ah… okay. Mm.”
Before leaving, Lingcai looked back at Kelor.
The princess’s silhouette stood in the moonlight like ink on cold water, hiding a well of loneliness and grief.
Like a dog left out in the rain.
