Chapter 12

That day, a visitor from Penglai came seeking help and ultimately took Lin Juansheng away.

"No one knew what the matter was about, but our master cast a divination and decided to send the eldest senior brother to investigate." Mu Gesheng counted his money while lounging with legs crossed, "The eldest senior brother is truly considerate—he even remembered to leave me spending money before leaving. Unlike my old man, who hasn't given me a penny in years. Hey, third brother, whenever you visit Fengdu, do those elders of yours slip you any private funds?"

A fit of earth-shaking coughs interrupted, followed by a hoarse voice: "They do, but it's all spirit money—no matter how much I get, it's useless to spend."

"Fourth, stop talking to him so much. Anyone would think this room houses a consumptive ghost." The door was kicked open as Song Wentong walked in carrying a soup tureen. "Third, save your coughing—any more and you'll ruin your throat completely."

"What can I do?" Wu Zixu sighed, holding a tobacco pipe helplessly. "Who knew smoking would be so hard to learn?"

"The Guwang pipe has been passed down through generations of Yin-Yang masters, just like Second's Scarlet-Licking Blade—it's a symbol of identity for each Wuchangzi. Forget the rest, but at the very least, summoning underworld messengers with smoke shouldn't involve choking yourself half to death every time." Mu Gesheng said, "Keep this up, and rumors will spread. I hear Fengdu already whispers that this generation's Wuchangzi is a milk-fed young master who can't even smoke properly."

"To hell with that milk-fed young master—I'll chop him to pieces with one slash." Song Wentong lifted the lid of the tureen. "Throat-soothing soup. Drink up and keep practicing."

"Second Brother, you made snow pear and white fungus soup?" Mu Gesheng's eyes lit up, but just as he reached for it, his hand was swatted away. "Get lost, none for you."

"Playing favorites." Mu Gesheng pouted, then turned to Wu Zixu. "By the way, did Second Brother take you to Guan Shan Yue yesterday? How was it?"

The question alone made Wu Zixu choke on his pear, coughing violently as if half-dead.

"Shut it, enough already." Song Wentong smacked Mu Gesheng on the head. "There's more in the pot in the kitchen. Go serve yourself if you want some."

"It seems it didn't go well." Muge understood, "But this time, Second Brother, you actually didn't lose everything? How did Aunt Zhao let you come back?"

"Lost it all, and Third Brother didn't have enough money either." Song Wentong's face was as dark as a pot's bottom, "Aunt Zhao made Third Brother sing a song, and let us go after he finished."

Muge was shocked: "Third Brother sang?!"

"He did."

"The sun rises from the west—what song is that?"

"A funeral dirge."

"...What?"

Wu Zixu couldn't take it anymore and defended himself: "I'm from the Yin-Yang family. For generations, Wuchang disciples only learn this. It's all because you insisted I sing, Second Brother."

"So you're singing funeral dirges in the middle of the night?"

"This is the mildest version. When a Wuchang opens their mouth, even ghosts flee in terror. If I sang anything stronger, it might summon something unspeakable."

"Now you're full of explanations—why didn't you seem so composed last night?"

Mu Gesheng listened to their bickering, holding back for a long while before finally bursting into uproarious laughter.

He was promptly thrown out the door.

With nothing better to do, Mu Gesheng found two sturdy-looking ginkgo trees, strung up a hammock, and slept like the dead, completely losing track of time. Just as he was happily counting money in his dreams, something smacked him across the face. Blinking groggily, he thought Song Wentong was messing with him again. "Second Brother, you asking for death...?"

Then he snapped awake—because the figure before him wasn’t Song Wentong, but a vividly colored pheasant.

After a brief staring contest, Mu Gesheng swiftly grabbed the bird by the neck and hoisted it up. "Since when did Second Brother start raising chickens?" He gave it a shake. "So fashionable—did someone give you a dye job and a perm?"

The pheasant let out a strangled shriek, but Mu Gesheng paid no mind. He first plucked all its colorful tail feathers clean in one go, then stood up gleefully. "Another shuttlecock! Let's take you to show Lao Er—ha! That'll piss him off."

But Song Wentong shook his head as he looked at the chicken in his hands. "This isn't mine."

"Not yours? Could it belong to the monks at Baishui Temple? Wait, no—don't they abstain from meat?" Mu Gesheng looked surprised, lifting the chicken by its neck for inspection. "Is it wild? Since when do wild pheasants dress this flamboyantly?"

"It doesn't quite resemble ordinary pheasants either. Though pheasants are colorful, their hues aren't usually this... distinctive," Wu Zixu chose his words carefully. "As if someone dunked it in a dye vat."

The chicken in Mugesheng's hands was a riot of colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—as if its ancestors for seven generations had been the Seven Fairies, culminating in this garish, motley offspring. "Want to eat it?" Song Wentong eyed the chicken in Mugesheng's grip. "We could make a pot of spicy chicken stew."

"Eat it," Mugesheng decided instantly. "I'll pluck the feathers."

Before the words had even settled, the pheasant let out a shrill cry, pecked Mugesheng viciously, and bolted out the door. Mugesheng wasn’t about to let it go—grabbing Song Wentong, he gave chase. But they hadn’t run more than a few steps when they collided head-on with someone. "Shifu?" "Sir!"

The master of Ginkgo Retreat looked down at the chicken at his feet, bent over, and picked it up. "What are you two up to?"

"Catch the chicken." Mu Gesheng said, "We're having chicken hotpot tonight."

The master of Ginkgo House looked at the featherless pheasant with an indescribable expression, "You want to eat it?"

"Can't we eat it?" Song Wentong's expression changed, "Does this chicken belong to you, sir?"

"It was my oversight. You weren't at the study yesterday and missed the visitor from Penglai." The master of Ginkgo House said helplessly, "Yesterday, an esteemed guest came from Penglai. Besides inviting Juansheng, there was another matter—entrusting me with the care of the Star Child."

"Xingxuzi?" Mu Gesheng was stunned, "The Vermilion Bird bloodline, the Zhu family head Xingxuzi?" He reacted swiftly, looking incredulously at the chicken in Ginkgo House Master's hands, "Are you saying—?"

"Mm, you've guessed correctly." Ginkgo House Master said, "This thing you were just about to eat is our newly arrived fifth brother."

Song Wentong: "..."

"As descendants of the Vermilion Bird, the Zhu family ranks among the Seven Noble Houses. But the Vermilion Bird is an auspicious omen that does not appear in chaotic times. With war now raging across China, the Zhu family must remain hidden from the world. However, the Seven Noble Houses swore an ancient pact to steer the course for all living beings when winds of change arise. Thus, during turbulent eras, the Zhu family always sends forth Xingxuzi into the world to aid the seven houses."

In the waterside pavilion, the master of Ginkgo Hall held the chicken in his arms and looked at the three people before him, "This is the current Star Child, Zhu Yinxiao."

"What?" Mu Gesheng didn't catch it clearly, "Cooked midnight snack?"

"Sir, don't interrupt randomly." Song Wentong kicked Mu Gesheng, "If it's not you, then why is the Star Descendant a chicken? Has the Zhu family run out of people?"

"I recall that when the Vermilion Bird was young, it couldn't take human form and resembled a pheasant in appearance and habits." Wu Zixu mused, "So the Star Descendant is still very young? Why didn't it wait to grow older before emerging? The mortal world's turbid energy is heavy, hardly conducive to the Vermilion Bird's growth and transformation."

"Chaos reigns in these troubled times; the hour waits for no man." The master of Ginkgo House smoothed the pheasant's feathers, "Months ago, I cast a divination—it was already time for the Star Descendant to emerge."

"So that's how it is." The three bowed in unison. As the Celestial Diviner who calculates fate, the seven families all defer to his omens. None would dispute a divination personally cast by the master of Ginkgo House.

"So this is Old Five." Mu Gesheng looked quite pleased. "Excellent, I'm finally not the youngest anymore."

"Pointless competition." Song Wentong said, "Master, given your physical condition, it would be better for us to take care of Old Five."

"Very well." The master of Ginkgo Study handed a stack of talismans to Song Wentong. "These are transformation charms. When Zhuque is young, its spiritual meridians are unstable and it may take human form, but maintaining that form consumes tremendous energy. If Yinxiao ever transforms into human shape and cannot revert within two hours, use this charm."

"Know how to use it?" Wu Zixu peeked over. "The Yin-Yang School also has some knowledge of charms—I can teach you."

"I can." Song Wentong took the talisman without changing his expression. "Don't underestimate the Mo family's legacy."

Raising chickens is no easy task, and raising children is even harder. But when you're raising both a chicken and a child, it perfectly illustrates the meaning of "utter chaos and pandemonium."

Wu Zixu was too busy, and Mu Gesheng was too unreliable, so the task of caring for Lao Wu fell entirely on Song Wentong. Every day, besides preparing special meals for Mu Gesheng, he also had to add extra dishes for Zhu Yinxiao. After a few days, Mu Gesheng expressed deep dissatisfaction with the dwindling variety of food. "Second Brother, stop fussing over making milk paste for Lao Wu. It's a divine beast—it doesn't need such delicate food."

Song Wentong watched as the man drank half a bottle of milk. "What do you want?"

  “我知道它吃什么，明儿我带老五去吃饭，你不用瞎操心了。”

  接着第二日松问童就在白水寺菜园找到了晒太阳的木葛生，雉鸡被这人丢到了菜田里，满地啄虫。

  两人照例打了一架，然后达成共识，第二天饭桌上加了一道菜色——炒蚕蛹。一盘熟一盘生，木葛生吃菜，朱饮宵吃虫。

  木葛生有半夜翻厨房的习性，他睡得晚，天天少不了夜宵。自从老五来了之后，雉鸡就成了他的重点食材候补，松问童不得不夜夜搜查厨房，“老四你怎么又把它扔进砂锅里去了？！”

"Nothing much, just giving it a bath. It rolled around in the vegetable patch and got filthy today."

"You're fucking bathing it in a clay pot?!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Then why the hell are there scallions, ginger, garlic, Sichuan peppercorns, and cinnamon in the pot?!"

"This is called a medicinal bath."

During Zhu Yinxiao's first transformation, the master of Ginkgo Residence was absent. Song Wentong calmly plastered talismans all over the child's body, but to no avail. Unfazed, Song proceeded to light incense, beat a hand drum, and even began reciting some nonsensical incantations. In the end, he even lit up Wu Zixu's makeshift pipe. The summoned underworld messenger stared at him blankly, asking, "Does Master Mo have any instructions?"

"Nothing's wrong." Song Wentong remained perfectly composed.

"...What exactly are you doing?"

"Jumping the Great Spirit."

As for what to call Zhu Yinxiao, Song Wentong and Mu Gesheng had argued more than once—

"Can you stop calling Old Five 'Midnight Snack'?"

"Then what should we call him?"

"……"

One day, Wu Zixu, as usual, had pulled an all-nighter. Carrying a lantern, he stepped out of his study only to find Zhu Yinxiao drooling on the doorstep. "Little Five?" He picked up the bare-bottomed child. "What are you doing out here? Hungry?"

The half-grown child blinked at him, sucking on his fingers, then let out a long, drawn-out crow from his tiny mouth.

Mu Gesheng's room immediately erupted. "Little Five, can't you have some dignity?! As the Vermilion Bird, crowing like a rooster every day—aren't you ashamed?!" The sentence referenced three identities at once. The fledgling Vermilion Bird's form was ambiguous, and everyone had been haphazardly calling it whatever came to mind—a right mess. At such a tender age, Little Five shouldered multiple roles, truly a busy little soul.

Wu Zixu pinched Zhu Yinxiao's cheek, and the pair—one tall, one small—gazed into the distance as the boy began to laugh.

"Dawn is breaking."