Taotao loomed over Nana as she worked, his presence filling the narrow kitchen and making it difficult to breathe.
Nana stood at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, moving from pot to cutting board without wasting a motion. The fire crackled beneath a clay pot where fish simmered in a light broth, the scent of ginger and scallions rising with the steam. On the side, sliced vegetables, bok choy, lotus root, were arranged in careful order, while a second pan held thin cuts of meat, seared just enough to release their fragrance.
It was a proper meal, refined.
Taotao watched without really seeing as his attention remained on Nana, on how calm she was and how wrong that felt.
“You’re hovering,” Nana said without looking at him, her tone already edged with irritation.
Taotao didn’t move.
“Stop breathing down my neck. Make yourself useful,” she added, sharper now.
That got a reaction. He straightened slightly, frowning. “What would you have me do?”
Nana clicked her tongue and finally glanced at him. “Go find out if the young master needs anything.”
Taotao stared at her, saying nothing at first. Then, quieter but strained, he asked, “Why do you say it like it’s so easy?”
Nana returned her attention to the stove.
“He is not a young master,” Taotao continued, his voice lowered despite himself. “He is a demon.”
“No,” Nana replied calmly, stirring the pot. “He is a fox spirit. And if we act normal, if we don’t do anything to upset him, ten days in this house will pass quickly enough.”
Taotao’s jaw tightened. “Normal? What is normal about any of it?” His foot struck the ground in frustration. “I will not go to him unless he calls for me.”
The words had barely left his mouth when the air shifted and the fire beneath the pot died at once.
Taotao froze.
Nana’s hand stilled.
Ling Feng stood in the kitchen, his expression calm to the point of unease. His gaze moved slowly across the unfamiliar space, taking in the stove, the simmered fish in the pot, and the careful arrangement of the room. Everything seemed to hold his attention for a moment before his eyes settled on Taotao.
The man’s face had already gone pale.
Taotao had not even noticed Nana move. She now stood just behind him, close enough that he could feel her presence against his back.
Ling Feng lifted his hand where two black veils hung loosely between his fingers.
He extended them.
Taotao hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before stepping forward to take them with both hands. His fingers trembled as he unfolded the thin, light fabrics.
Confusion broke through his fear, and before he could ask, Ling Feng spoke, “Cover your faces.”
His voice was flat, offering no explanation.
Taotao swallowed hard. “Yes... young master.”
The words came out stiff and forced. He bowed immediately, lowering his head to avoid Ling Feng's eyes as he clutched the veils tightly in his hands.
“Also,” Ling Feng added, “don’t wear anything green.”
Taotao’s thoughts scrambled. He could not tell whether it was a suggestion, a warning, or something worse, and he did not dare ask.
Silence in the kitchen stretched, heavy and unmoving.
Then a sharp smack landed against Taotao’s back. His eyes were still lowered, and he flinched, nearly stumbling forward, startled.
“Stand upright, good-for-nothing,” Nana snapped, her voice cutting clean through the tension.
Taotao blinked and straightened. Only then did he realize the pressure in the air was gone, and along with it, the young master.
Taotao still had to make sure. He turned his head from side to side, but there was no sign of Ling Feng.
“I-I’ll... go make myself useful. I’ll go chop firewood now,” Taotao said suddenly.
Nana’s hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve before he could take the first step.
“What now?” Taotao cried, thrown off by her reaction. “You just told me to make myself useful.”
“Not like that,” she shot back, her grip tightening. “Don’t be dramatic.”
He exhaled sharply, irritation breaking through his composure. “Then what? I should just stand here and tremble with you? So the young master catches me idling again? Do you wish me dead?”
“Don’t you dare leave me!” Nana warned.
Taotao stared at her, frustration mounting. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then his gaze dropped to her face, and from there to the veils clutched in his hand.
He took one and handed it to her.
“Wear it at all times. Don’t forget.”
Nana took it, her brows knitting slightly. “For what?” she asked, tying the veil loosely around her face. “Is our appearance too unpleasant for the young master?”
Her eyes shifted to the food she had prepared, each dish arranged with precision. She had taken such care with it, and for what?
What was the point?
In that moment, something petty surfaced in her. A flicker of resentment, and she considered it, just a pinch too much salt, enough to ruin the balance. A small way to take something back.
Taotao saw it.
“Don’t,” he said immediately, his voice low and firm. “Nana, do not do anything that will get us both killed. Don’t even think about it.”
Nana blinked, then scoffed lightly and turned away. “I don’t know what you mean. I wouldn’t dream of ruining our fortune.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, she grabbed a dirty pan and thrust it toward Taotao.
“Here,” she said. “If you want to be useful, start with this.”
* * * * * *
Three days passed without incident.
Each morning, Nana rose early and prepared tea as Songhe had instructed. She measured the leaves, poured the water, and set the cup in its usual place. Twice a day, she prepared a full meal and arranged the dishes across the table, careful to leave nothing out.
However, the food remained untouched, cooling slowly in the stillness of the empty room.
At first, Nana thought the fault lay with the cooking. So she adjusted her approach, varying the dishes, adding small refinements, and coaxing richer flavors from simple ingredients, all in the hope that something, anything, might draw the young master out. For a time, she treated it as a matter of skill, convinced that it could be corrected with enough effort.
The pattern did not break.
In the end, she abandoned the attempt, and the meals became simpler, stripped of ornament and intention, until she found herself cooking only because it was expected.
Beneath that quiet surrender, something else began to take root.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
If the fox spirit refused to eat, wasn’t that a real danger to them both? The thought lingered, and with time, it sharpened, turning colder and more direct until she could no longer ignore it.
She brought the matter to Taotao.
He listened to her, and when she finished explaining, he gave her what reassurance he could. They had already endured half of what was required of them; three days had passed without incident. If anything were to change, if the young master showed even the slightest sign of aggression, they would not hesitate to act. They would burn the talisman, and the immortal would come to rescue them and end the contract.
He reminded her again to keep the talisman close at all times.
To reassure her, he reached into his sleeve and drew one out, holding it between his fingers as the faint markings glimmered in the low light. After a moment, he asked her to show him hers.
Nana turned to her robe, her movements automatic at first as she searched the inner fold where she had kept them. Her hand paused, then moved again with growing urgency, tracing every seam and hidden pocket.
There was nothing.
Her breath caught sharply.
“They’re gone,” she said, voice unsteady. “I kept them here... and now they’re gone.”
Taotao frowned, watching her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she snapped, panic beginning to edge through despite her effort to contain it. Her hands moved faster now, less controlled, searching the same places again and again. “They were on me. I’m sure. I’m sure...”
Her voice faltered, and the thought she was resisting forced its way through.
“He took them.”
The words hung between them.
Nana’s composure fractured, her gaze darting around the room as though the walls themselves had shifted.
“He took them. There’s no other explanation. Do you understand what I’m saying? He took them, and I didn’t even notice.”
Taotao stepped forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, steadying her.
“Enough,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Calm yourself first.”
She tried, but the fear had already taken hold.
He did not dismiss her outright. Whether she had misplaced them or not, they were gone, and the possibility she raised could not be ignored.
He reached into his sleeve and drew out several talismans, five in total, and pressed them into her hands, closing her fingers around them with care.
“Keep these,” he told her. “Do not lose them.”
Nana nodded, gripping them tightly, as though they might vanish if she loosened her hold.
“Stay alert,” he added.
She did not argue.
* * * * * *
One evening, the sound of a bell carried through the house, clear and unmistakable. It was a summons from Ling Feng.
In the kitchen, Nana moved at once, crossing to Taotao as he turned to go. He asked her to stay behind, but her hand caught his sleeve, holding him in place. He looked at her as if to ask what now.
“He has not eaten in six days,” she said, her voice dropping as her fear turned into cold dread. “What if...”
“Stop.” He cut her off sharply.
The word carried the weight of necessity rather than anger. He held her gaze as he reminded her that they were nearly finished.
“Four days,” he said.
Nana said nothing, though her grip loosened from his sleeve. Taotao turned and left the kitchen.
He adjusted the veil over his face before stepping into the common room.
Ling Feng was already there, seated in the elder’s place. He sat slightly reclined, his head resting against his hand. He did not shift as Taotao approached, and though his eyes were closed, it was clear he was not asleep.
His posture was relaxed, and for the first time, Taotao allowed himself to take a proper look at him. There was something too composed about the young master, too distant from anything natural. His beauty was exquisite, yet it unsettled more than it drew the eye. He did not avert his gaze, instead, his attention traced the small details, the bright red mark on Ling Fengs forehead, the fall of red hair to the side of his shoulder, the intricate lines of his garments catching the light.
Taotao remained where he stood, waiting, uncertain whether he had been acknowledged. With each passing moment, the stillness only grew heavier. His breathing grew shallow, and a faint dizziness crept over him, forcing him to steady himself to maintain his posture.
Still, Ling Feng did not shift or say anything.
The pressure continued to build until it edged toward something unbearable.
Then, just as it threatened to break Taotao, Nana stepped in and came to stand beside her husband. She lowered her gaze, careful not to look directly at Ling Feng.
It was then that Ling Feng opened his eyes, his gaze settling on them.
Taotao swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady. “How may we serve you, young master?”
Ling Feng spoke softly, reluctant.
“Nana, go make tea.”
Nana did not move, her body resisting the command even as her mind registered it. Taotao shifted slightly, his shoulder brushing hers in the attempt to urge her forward.
After a brief bow, she turned and left the room without a word.
Ling Feng’s attention returned to Taotao. Without looking away, he reached on the low table and picked up a sheet of paper. A drawing had been laid out upon it, clean lines and careful strokes forming the image of a hairpin with precise attention to detail.
He held it out.
Taotao stepped forward and accepted it with both hands, lowering his head as he did.
“You have four days,” Ling Feng said. “Find it and bring it to me.”
From within his sleeve, he produced a small pouch and handed it to Taotao.
“Open it.”
Taotao obeyed.
Inside was more gold than Taotao had seen in his lifetime. Ling Feng watched him, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Well, don’t just stand there. You don’t have much time, Taotao.”
The words lingered.
“Do not return without it.”
The meaning settled fully then. It was not a request.
Taotao lowered his head further, gripping both the drawing and the pouch more tightly than before.
“I understand, young master,” he said.
When he stepped back, it was measured and careful, as though any misstep might draw something unseen down upon him.
* * * * * *
Ling Feng watched Nana as she brought the tea to the table.
Her hands were steady enough to carry the tray, but not steady enough to conceal the tremor beneath them. He saw the slight hesitation in her steps, and the way her breath caught as she drew closer. She had expected to find an empty table.
In the House of Thousand Charms, humans had been plentiful.
They came and went like tides, voices, laughter, and music threading through every corridor. None of them had been like Nana or Taotao. They did not tremble, or shrink at the mere sight of him. If anything, they leaned closer.
They knew what he was, or at least what he appeared to be, and they still came willingly. Curiosity, desire—they cloaked it in admiration and reverence, in the language of beauty and mystery, but beneath it all there was always the same hunger. They simply wanted to touch something beyond themselves, even if it meant being consumed by it.
Ling Feng looked at Nana, who was now standing at his side, waiting to be dismissed.
She was not refined or perceptive—just raw in a way he found offensive. Her fear sat too close to the surface, her thoughts too easy to read. Clumsy. Desperate. Fragile in a way that made her presence here feel absurd.
And yet, she was here.
For what? To serve him? Test him?
What a joke.
His gaze dropped from her, and he shifted the teacup she had placed on the table, bringing it slightly off-center.
No. He would be the one to test her.
Measure her.
Apply pressure, just enough to see where the cracks began, if only to discover how long she lasted before something in her gave way.
Silence settled.
Ling Feng did not reach for the teacup again.
Time stretched thin around Nana’s nerves. At first, she held still, hands folded and eyes lowered. Then the stillness began to press back. Too quiet. Too long.
She glanced at him and found his gaze resting on her.
Her gaze slipped away, but soon returned to the cup, unwillingly, as though something kept drawing it back. A small thing. Nothing.
Yet it began to matter.
Her fingers twitched at her side. She stilled them, but her breathing had already grown uneven. The room seemed to close in, the air growing heavier with each passing moment.
He doesn’t want the tea.
The thought came uninvited and stayed.
He wants my blood, not tea...
“Nana?”
Her name cut cleanly through the silence.
She bowed at once, “Yes, young master?”
“You are dismissed.”
Relief struck fast, too fast. It almost showed. She turned to leave, forcing her steps into something measured and steady with difficulty.
“Nana?”
She stopped, frozen.
“Take the tea with you.”
For a moment, she did not move. Then she turned back, bowed again, and reached for the tray, more carefully this time, as though the slightest mistake might still be seen.
Ling Feng watched her until she left.