Night fell.
The dishes were served, a lavish spread covering the table.
Mu Gesheng cared little for formal etiquette; he had been snacking happily all afternoon and had already announced that anyone hungry should just dig in. Wu Biyou seemed to have come specifically to scavenge this meal, picking up his chopsticks the moment the table was set. He wasn't the only one; Huang Niu was also feasting greedily. The two of them were a whirlwind of activity, even glaring at each other over the last piece of cherry meat.
The aroma had been wafting through the courtyard all afternoon, and An Ping’s appetite was thoroughly whetted. However, before he could pick up his chopsticks, Mu Gesheng called him into the kitchen. "Happy New Year."
The man looked at him with a beaming smile and handed him a red envelope.
An Ping was surprised. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words.
Mu Gesheng pressed the envelope into his hand. "It’s only natural for kids to receive lucky money during the New Year. You encountered quite a few malevolent spirits last year; you need this to press down the bad luck."
Inside the red envelope was an account card, the face of it printed with the words: *Bank of Heaven and Earth*.
"The Ghost Market will be opening in a few days. You can follow my 'daughter' and have a look around," Mu Gesheng said. "You know the rules of the Ghost Market, right? Aside from the stalls with green lanterns, you can swipe this card anywhere."
This was the first time An Ping had ever received lucky money like this; for a moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But since Mu Gesheng was being uncharacteristically generous, An Ping was about to offer some auspicious New Year's greetings when Chai Shuxin, who was nearby, spoke up.
"Take it."
He was steaming a ceramic pot, his features softened by the warm glow of the kitchen lights and the rising steam. "He’s just borrowing someone else's gift to show his own favor."
Mu Gesheng retorted righteously, "I call this 'the virtue of an elder.'"
Whether he had virtue was debatable, but the charlatan, who spent the whole year acting with a total lack of dignity, finally looked a bit like an elder. Mu Gesheng used a piece of crusty *guokui* bread to sandwich a slice of steamed pork with rice flour and handed it to An Ping. "Eat this to line your stomach first. Those two 'starving ghosts' out there are reincarnated; you might not be able to snatch anything from them."
The *guokui* was fresh from the pan, the salt and pepper seasoning crispy and flavorful with a long-lasting aftertaste. An Ping licked his lips as he walked out of the kitchen. Back in the dream, he could see the food but couldn't taste it, staring at the kitchen every day in frustration. Now, he had finally made it to this New Year's Eve.
The small kitchen of the Ginkgo Library could probably be considered a top-tier culinary school; almost everyone who had cooked there possessed excellent skills—except for Mu Gesheng.
An Ping looked at the table full of food. Compared to Song Wentong’s heavy oil and spice, Chai Shuxin’s cooking was clearly lighter and more health-conscious. There were four or five types of double-boiled stews alone. In front of him sat a dish of Honey-Glazed Ham, the bottom of the plate lined with large scallops, the ham tender and flaky, the dark sauce sprinkled with a handful of pine nuts. The dish next to it seemed to be Braised Sea Rice with Scallions, though it had already been devoured down to the sauce.
He wasn't sure about Wu Biyou’s tastes, but he noticed quite a few sweet dishes on the table. In his memory, Mu Gesheng wasn't a picky eater. Could it be that Chai Shuxin had a sweet tooth?
"What are you dazing off for? Are you eating or not?" Wu Biyou pointed at a plate of bayberry rice balls in front of him. "If you're not eating, I'm taking them."
An Ping snapped back to his senses and quickly reached out with his chopsticks.
The room was filled with rising heat and steam, much like those nights of drinking under the lamps years ago. It was the flavor of an old reunion.
By the time the meal was finished, it was already midnight. Mu Gesheng had pulled an electrical cord from somewhere, and several of them gathered in the courtyard to watch TV—it seemed to be the Spring Festival Gala. An Ping looked at the official on the screen wearing a red-topped hat. "Who is that?"
"He was apparently some Minister of Foreign Affairs when he was alive," Wu Biyou said, sitting as far away from Mu Gesheng as possible, his head buried in his game. "This is Fengdu TV."
An Ping was stunned for a moment, then sneezed. "Aren't you cold?" He looked at Mu Gesheng. "Half-Immortal, can't we go inside to watch?"
"The signal is bad inside." Mu Gesheng cracked melon seeds. "It’s fine. It’ll get warm in a bit."
"What do you mean?" An Ping didn't understand, but everyone was busy with their own things and ignored him. Huang Niu was in the kitchen helping Chai Shuxin wrap dumplings, poking his head out of the window. "Young Master An, do you want to come in and warm up for a while?"
An Ping couldn't stand the "dance of the demons" on the TV, so he ran to help in the kitchen. Speaking of which, Chai Shuxin hadn't seemed to leave the kitchen since he returned. "Lingshu Zi," An Ping said while washing his hands, "aren't you going to eat something?"
Chai Shuxin’s movements paused. "It’s fine."
Huang Niu laughed and patted his shoulder. "In this courtyard, aside from you and the Wuchang Zi, it doesn't matter if the rest of us eat or not. It’s mainly because the Tiansuan Zi is greedy. Just wait; there are three more meals tonight."
An Ping was dumbfounded. Three more?
However, looking at the pots and stoves full of food in the kitchen, it certainly didn't look like they were closing up anytime soon. Chai Shuxin was dry-frying Sichuan peppercorns on a spatula, the aroma exploding. There were three large basins of filling alone. An Ping recognized Chinese celery and yellow chives. "What’s in this basin?"
"Water chestnuts and corn—sweet filling," Huang Niu said. "There’ll be a basin of brown sugar dumplings later, too."
Brown sugar dumplings? An Ping had never heard of such a thing. It sounded like a "dark cuisine" invention of Mu Gesheng’s. He hesitated. "Sweet filling for dumplings? Is it good?"
"To each their own," Huang Niu laughed. "There are plenty of people with a sweet tooth."
A moment later, the dumplings were in the pot, and a drumbeat echoed from the courtyard. An Ping looked toward the sound. "What’s playing on the TV?"
"The Lion Dance of the Five Directions," Mu Gesheng said. "A type of dance music from the Tang Dynasty. It was almost lost, but after the founding of the country, the Fengdu Propaganda Department produced video tapes. It’s very popular in the Ghost Market now. There are even aerobics and square dance versions."
There were too many things to criticize that he didn't know where to start. An Ping couldn't help but wonder what the current Fengdu Ghost Market was like. Do ghosts even need aerobics? Demons and monsters jumping around, singing "Burn My Calories"?
That truly would be a dance of the demons.
Someone tapped on the window, and Wu Biyou’s head popped up. "Pack some food for me. Hurry, damn it, I’m about to die again."
Wu Biyou’s gaming skills were truly subpar; he was either about to die or on his way to dying. An Ping glanced at his screen and confirmed it was a lost cause. "Can't you come in and get it?"
"Rakshasa Zi is in there. I’m not going in."
An Ping was curious. "Are you really that afraid of him?"
Wu Biyou’s full attention was on the game, and he answered offhandedly, "Try picking a fight with him yourself and see... Fuck!" He was immediately headshotted. He nearly threw his phone. Seeing the boy about to explode on the spot, An Ping quickly pulled out his own phone. "How about this, I’ll play a round with you."
"Not playing anymore." Wu Biyou shook his head. "Are you free on the fifteenth of the first lunar month?"
"Why?"
"Didn't the old bastard give you lucky money?" Wu Biyou said. "The Ghost Market opens on the fifteenth. I’ll take you clubbing."
An Ping suspected he was hallucinating. "What did you say?"
"Clubbing." Wu Biyou clicked his tongue. "If you don't want to go, then forget it. If I don't take you, a minor like you won't even be able to get in."
An Ping: "...I'm an adult, thank you."
"Tch, then you won't grow any taller."
An Ping didn't know why Wu Biyou had such a massive grudge against height. The boy wasn't short; he was likely poisoned by Mu Gesheng’s words every day, acting like he had a severe milk dependency. Wu Zixu hadn't been short; according to his genes, as long as his wife wasn't a Thumbelina, Wu Biyou would definitely surpass 1.8 meters in the future.
Then he remembered that this kid had apparently only graduated from kindergarten; he really didn't know anything about genetics.
An Ping served Wu Biyou a plate of glazed taro, which the boy looked at with disdain. "Why do you like such girly sweet things?"
"I thought *you* liked them," An Ping said, taking a bite. "I saw that Lingshu Zi made quite a few sweet dishes tonight."
Disdain was one thing, but eating was another. Wu Biyou took the plate and said indistinctly, "The old bastard isn't picky, and he has a sweet tooth, too."
An Ping noticed his wording. "Too?"
"You didn't know?"
Wu Biyou suddenly realized something, and his expression shifted to one of someone waiting for a good show. "Otherwise, who do you think is going to finish this whole kitchen of food? Are we feeding pigs?"
An Ping thought about the two people who had been a whirlwind at the dinner table earlier and decided it was better not to nitpick the brat's phrasing.
Wu Biyou was telling him some strange tales of the Fengdu Ghost Market when the dumplings were ready. At the same time, a knock sounded at the door. "He certainly knows how to time it," Wu Biyou said, raising an eyebrow. "He catches the first pot of dumplings every year."
Mu Gesheng’s full attention was on the TV, oblivious to the world. Chai Shuxin and Huang Niu were busy serving the dumplings, so Wu Biyou ended up shoving An Ping to answer the door. The moment he opened it, a party popper went off with a *bang*, showering An Ping’s face with confetti. Laughter followed: "Happy New Year! May wealth pour in! Gong Xi Fa Cai!"
Standing at the door was a stunningly beautiful girl with red lips and a slender waist. Her long legs were visible beneath a short skirt, and one high-heeled foot was planted on the threshold, making her nearly a head taller than An Ping. "You must be An Ping, right?" She slung an arm around him like a brother, her speech carrying a bit of a Beijing accent. "Not bad, man! You're a good-looking fella!"
"Why the hell are you wearing high heels again?" Wu Biyou looked up at her. "Fuck, you even dyed your hair pink?"
"The pinker the hair, the harder the hit. I’m a 'King' rank now; I’ll carry you and help you get some kills to rank up later." The girl pulled a red envelope from her pocket. "Lucky money. Take it, man."
She then looked at An Ping. "I came in a hurry this time and didn't prepare a meeting gift. I’ll treat you to clubbing at the Ghost Market later."
This girl was incredibly trendy, her speech spirited and carrying an indescribable, carefree charm. Even though she was a head taller than him, An Ping couldn't help but feel a slight romantic stir. "Nice to meet you. How should I address you?"
Wu Biyou looked at him with a strange expression, seemingly holding back laughter. "The old bastard didn't tell him anything."
"It’s fine, it’s fine. Meeting is fate; we’re all brothers." The girl patted his shoulder boisterously. "I’m starving. Is my brother’s food ready?"
Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and Huang Niu walked out carrying a plate. "Tiansuan Zi, move your old self and make some room!"
"Dinner is served!"
A round table was set in the courtyard, red lanterns hanging high. An Ping was surprised to find that it was no longer cold around them.
He was secretly turning things over in his mind. This girl had given Wu Biyou a red envelope, so she might be an elder—but then Mu Gesheng spoke up. "Old rules: New Year's greetings for red envelopes."
"You got it." The girl snapped her digits. "Which piece do you want to hear this year?"
"You’ve worked hard tonight." Mu Gesheng looked at Chai Shuxin and joked, "What does our hero of the stove want to hear?"
Chai Shuxin took a sip of tea. "Whatever you like."
"Then let it be *The Romance of the Western Chamber* again," Mu Gesheng said, picking up his chopsticks and tapping them against a cup. "Give us a bit of 'The Matchmaker.'"
And so it began. The girl flicked a napkin, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "Oh, Miss, Miss, you are so elegant—"
The long note shifted as she looked toward Chai Shuxin. "Oh, Junrui, Junrui, you have such great talent—"
"Romance need not be bought with a thousand gold,
The moon shifts the flower shadows as the jade beauty arrives,
Tonight the debt of longing is cleared,
A pair of lovers, hearts content..."
The girl’s every look and gesture was full of drama. An Ping watched with delight, and even Wu Biyou started laughing. Huang Niu choked and coughed. "Oh, my heavens! Xingsu Zi, please just hurry up and get yourself married off! Stop bringing calamity to the people here!"
An Ping was still laughing, but after a few chuckles, he suddenly froze.
Wait, what did Huang Niu just call her?
Xingsu Zi?
?!?!
An Ping was completely petrified. Mu Gesheng seemed to have been waiting for this exact moment; the courtyard immediately filled with his and Wu Biyou’s frantic, hysterical laughter.
"The fifth was raised by the second," Mu Gesheng said between coughs and laughs. "When the second was young, he practically lived in the Guan Shan Yue brothel, raised among the powder and rouge. These two are exactly the same."
An Ping knew Song Wentong’s background, but he was still shocked for a long time. A face like a hibiscus, a waist like a willow, a beautiful and handsome appearance, with a murderous blade hidden in those romantic eyes—the "friend of women" had raised a cross-dressing boss?
Was this a family tradition?
The table full of food now made sense. Zhu Yinxiao had practically dived into a sugar jar, dipping brown sugar dumplings into honey. An Ping’s teeth ached just watching. No wonder it wasn't cold anymore; he was a descendant of the Vermilion Bird, and his element was fire. Even the lanterns seemed brighter, and the whole courtyard was filled with warmth.
Zhu Yinxiao smilingly accepted Mu Gesheng’s red envelope. "Thank you, sir." He turned to An Ping. "Sorry about that, man. I’ll treat you to a drink later."
He had the foundation of an opera performer; earlier, he had been using a falsetto to speak with An Ping, making him seem vivid and dainty. Now that he was speaking naturally, his voice was slightly raspy, carrying an indescribable, carefree charm.
Beauty in the bones, as fierce as fire.
In An Ping’s memory, Zhu Yinxiao had been a multicolored feather duster of a bird, teased by Mu Gesheng until he was crawling all over the vegetable patch. He stared at the "beautiful girl"—or rather, the man—in front of him for a long time, unable to see even a trace of the past.
Time truly was a slaughterhouse for chickens.
Zhu Yinxiao seemed to come every year for New Year's greetings. He chatted warmly with Mu Gesheng about family matters, punctuated by their loud laughter. Even Chai Shuxin was close to him, his expression showing concern.
An Ping remembered that the Master of the Ginkgo Library loved Kunqu opera, and performing a few pieces during the New Year was a tradition of the library. That year, when Chai Shuxin stayed at the library for the New Year for the first time, Mu Gesheng had also sung a piece from *The Romance of the Western Chamber*.
An old tune from some unknown dynasty played on the TV. Mu Gesheng and Zhu Yinxiao began a drinking contest, moving from the table all the way up to the roof. Chai Shuxin opened the main gate, revealing a street filled with flickering shadows.
The early part of New Year's Eve is very quiet; people are gathered in their homes for reunion dinners. But as midnight approaches, those full of food and wine walk out onto the streets to chat and joke in their drunken merriment. There is no moon on New Year's Eve, but the entire city is boiling with the light of lanterns.
Huang Niu carried a large pot from the kitchen and set it up at the entrance of the City God Temple. He began to distribute porridge—glutinous rice mixed with longans, lotus seeds, honey dates, and kidney beans. Children carrying lanterns gathered around the pot, their round faces a lovely, healthy red.
The line for the blessing porridge on the steps grew longer and longer. Wu Biyou tossed a soup ladle to An Ping. "Come and help."
Although the incense at the City God Temple was sparse, the blessing porridge on New Year's Eve was always popular; people loved to come here to seek good luck. When An Ping was young and spent the New Year with his parents, his mother would stop her mahjong game halfway through when she saw midnight approaching and specifically drive over to get the porridge.
Back then, he didn't understand the meaning of this bowl of porridge; he only remembered that it had snowed that night, and the air was filled with the scent of honey dates.
The pot of porridge was soon finished. An Ping and Wu Biyou carried the large pot back to the kitchen. The other boy suddenly asked him, "Do you know about the Ginkgo Library?"
"What about it?"
"When my dad was still alive, I heard him say that the Ginkgo Library was built inside a temple. Every New Year, the monks would distribute blessing porridge. At midnight, the most respected abbot would toll the bell to pray for blessings. People would sit on the long staircase, drinking porridge and listening to the bell."
An Ping thought to himself: *I know. I saw it with my own eyes.*
That year, the blessing porridge had been a medicinal recipe from Chai Shuxin. Song Wentong had spent the whole afternoon brewing it, only for Mu Gesheng and Zhu Yinxiao to secretly drink more than half the pot. The two of them were chased all over the city by Song Wentong with a soup ladle. In the end, Wu Zixu had to pay for the kitchens of several restaurants to catch up with that night’s distribution.
The kitchen door was pushed open, and Huang Niu walked in, carrying a small pot from under the stove. Inside was steaming blessing porridge.
He winked at them and said, "I secretly saved some. Drink it while it’s hot."
"I didn't say you couldn't drink it," Chai Shuxin’s voice came from outside the window. He tapped on the glass. "Come out. It’s almost midnight."
Huang Niu shuddered and said with a forced smile, "As expected, nothing escapes your fiery eyes..."
Before he could finish, a streak of fire soared into the sky, exploding into a shower of fireworks. Cries of surprise rose from the street. An Ping poked his head out of the window and saw Zhu Yinxiao standing on the roof, holding a bird feather. He lit the feathers one by one, and they spiraled into the sky like golden threads before bursting apart.
Wu Biyou pushed him aside, their two heads crowding into a single window frame. "Is 'Boil-the-Midnight-Snack' burning his feathers again?"
"Does Xingsu Zi do this every year?" An Ping nudged him with his elbow. "Fireworks and firecrackers are prohibited. You're a city management officer; you're just going to watch?"
"Firecrackers are banned in the city, but it doesn't say anything about burning feathers." Wu Biyou rolled his eyes. "I can't be bothered."
Chai Shuxin stood by the window, looking up for a long time. He said to An Ping, "There’s one last pot on the stove. Could you bring it out?"
An Ping then noticed a single burner in the corner, simmering a copper pot. "What’s this?"
Wu Biyou was still leaning out the window, but he snorted when he heard the question. "The old bastard’s private stash."
Curious, An Ping opened the lid. Inside the copper pot was a layered medley of meat and vegetables. The edges were decorated with egg dumplings and prawns, while the bottom was lined with ham and flower mushrooms. The aroma was overwhelming—both familiar and strange.
It was a First-Rank Pot.
***
**Glossary**
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 樱桃肉 | Cherry Meat | A traditional sweet and sour pork dish where the meat is cut into small, cherry-like rounds. |
| 粉蒸肉 | Steamed Pork with Rice Flour | A classic dish where pork is coated in toasted rice flour and steamed. |
| 锅盔 | Guokui | A type of thick, crispy flatbread. |
| 天地银行 | Bank of Heaven and Earth | Usually refers to the fictional bank on joss paper (hell money), but here it's a functional bank for the supernatural. |
| 鬼集 | Ghost Market | A marketplace for ghosts and supernatural beings. |
| 酆都 | Fengdu | The legendary "City of Ghosts" in Chinese mythology. |
| 狮子舞 | Lion Dance | A traditional Chinese dance; the "Five Directions" version is an ancient Tang Dynasty style. |
| 星宿子 | Xingsu Zi | The title for the successor of the Zhu (Vermilion Bird) family, meaning "Constellation." |
| 朱饮宵 | Zhu Yinxiao | The current Xingsu Zi. |
| 煮夜宵 | Boil-the-Midnight-Snack | A derogatory pun/nickname for Zhu Yinxiao (sounds similar in Chinese). |
| 一品锅 | First-Rank Pot (Yi Pin Guo) | A famous Huizhou-style layered stew, often served at important banquets. |
| 女装大佬 | Cross-dressing boss | Internet slang for a man who is exceptionally good at cross-dressing as a woman. |
| 关山月 | Guan Shan Yue | Literally "Moon over the Mountain Pass," here referring to a brothel/entertainment house. |
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