The footsteps mixed into the sound of rain were very light.
Bai Heng did not move, but her divine sense extended outward like the gentlest of tendrils, reaching toward the source of the sound.
In the rainy night, a blurred figure was slowly making its way along the mountain path toward the back of the village.
The person wore a dark rain cape, the wide-brimmed bamboo hat pulled low so the face could not be seen.
The footsteps were not fast, yet steady, treading the muddy mountain path with almost no extra noise.
Bai Heng’s divine sense swept over lightly and withdrew at once.
No spiritual power fluctuations.
It should be a mortal.
But in the dead of night, during a torrential downpour, what was a mortal doing out here instead of sleeping at home?
Bai Heng opened her eyes and looked through the curtain of rain at the cave entrance.
The figure had already reached the bend in the path.
In the faint night light, the silhouette looked somewhat hunched, like an elderly person.
They were heading toward the forest behind the village.
Bai Heng had been to that forest.
Deep inside it stood an abandoned mountain god temple, dilapidated and rarely visited.
What were they doing there?
Bai Heng did not follow immediately.
She simply kept her divine sense at its faintest level, tracking the person’s position from afar.
The figure entered the forest.
The footsteps paused for a moment, then continued deeper inside.
After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, they stopped.
The location—was the abandoned mountain god temple.
Bai Heng could not extend her divine sense too close for fear of being noticed.
She could only sense from a distance that the person’s presence remained inside the temple for a long time without moving.
A while later, another presence appeared.
This one arrived even more quietly and stealthily.
Had Bai Heng not been paying close attention, she would have barely noticed it.
The second presence approached the mountain god temple from another direction.
Like the first, it showed no spiritual power fluctuations and seemed to belong to a mortal.
The two remained inside the temple for roughly half an hour before leaving one after the other.
The first figure—the one in the rain cape—headed back toward the village.
The second disappeared into the mountain forest in the opposite direction.
The rain continued falling, washing away all traces.
Bai Heng withdrew her divine sense and stared quietly at the curtain of rain outside the cave.
She had not clearly seen either person’s face.
But she had noted the direction the second figure took when leaving.
West.
To the west lay deeper mountains.
Crossing several ridges would lead to the town outside the range.
At dawn the rain finally stopped.
Bai Heng went about her usual routine, wandering the mountain forest and observing the village from afar.
She paid special attention to the figure in the rain cape.
In the afternoon she spotted the person at the village entrance.
It was an old woman with graying hair, dressed in coarse cloth, back hunched as she carried a bamboo basket out of the village.
The basket held some wild vegetables, as if she were taking them to the stream to wash.
Bai Heng recognized her.
It was Old Widow Wu.
The mute old woman who had taken in Lin Lan.
Bai Heng crouched on a distant hillside, watching the old woman walk slowly toward the stream.
Her steps were indeed labored, each one planted firmly yet slow, exactly like any elderly person her age.
But last night on the mountain path, her footsteps had not been slow at all.
Bai Heng remained motionless, simply watching from afar.
Old Widow Wu squatted by the stream, emptied the wild vegetables from her basket, and washed them one by one.
She washed slowly and carefully, no different from any other old woman cleaning vegetables.
Lin Lan appeared at some point, carrying a basin of laundry.
She squatted beside Old Widow Wu.
The two stayed close but did not speak—after all, Old Widow Wu was mute.
Lin Lan simply washed the clothes in silence, occasionally glancing into the distance.
When the vegetables and laundry were done, the two walked back together.
Old Widow Wu led the way, Lin Lan following a few steps behind.
There was no conversation, no eye contact.
They simply returned side by side to the small courtyard beside the old pagoda tree.
Bai Heng stared at that small courtyard for a long time.
In the following days, Bai Heng paid even closer attention to Old Widow Wu.
She noticed that the old woman rarely left her home and had almost no contact with the other villagers.
When she did go out, it was either to wash vegetables and clothes by the stream or to gather firewood in the forest behind the village.
Each time she went to gather firewood, she would stay in the forest for quite a while.
Sometimes half an hour, sometimes more than an hour.
Yet the amount of firewood she carried back was never much.
After observing several times, Bai Heng realized the old woman’s visits to the forest followed a regular pattern, almost like an appointment.
Yet Bai Heng never sensed a second person in that forest.
Perhaps the other person came from a different direction.
Perhaps Bai Heng had simply missed the moment.
Or perhaps that person’s concealment methods were far more advanced than she had imagined.
She had considered slipping quietly to the mountain god temple to see what was inside, but in the end she abandoned the idea.
If someone was truly watching from the shadows, any unusual movement could alert them.
She could only continue waiting.
Waiting for those people to reveal a flaw themselves.
At the end of the month, Qin Yun went into the mountains to hunt and encountered Bai Heng once more.
The day was clear.
Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor.
Bai Heng crouched on a moss-covered rock, lazily basking in the sun.
Qin Yun emerged from the trees and spotted her at once.
He paused, gazing at the white fox from a distance without approaching.
Bai Heng did not move either.
She simply remained crouched, eyes half-narrowed, as if sleepy or simply too lazy to bother with the passing hunter.
Qin Yun watched her for a while, then spoke.
“Can you really not talk?”
His voice was soft, as if speaking to himself or asking the fox.
Bai Heng did not respond.
She merely turned her head slowly and gave him a faint look with her clear fox eyes.
Then she yawned, tucked her head into her front paws, and continued sunbathing.
Qin Yun blinked, then smiled.
He shook his head, said nothing more, and continued deeper into the forest with his bow and arrows.
After a few steps he looked back again.
“That morning, I must have still been half-asleep.”
With that, he walked away without turning around.
Bai Heng stayed where she was, completely still.
Only after the boy’s footsteps had completely faded into the forest did she lift her head slightly and gaze in the direction he had gone.
Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting a faint golden edge across her snow-white fur.
She did not move much, simply staring quietly into the forest.
A long while later, she tucked her head back into her front paws and continued sunbathing.
At dusk, Bai Heng returned to the rock cave.
The moment she lay down at the entrance, her ears twitched slightly.
Something was not right deep inside the cave.
She rose slowly and extended her divine sense inside.
On the ground deeper in the cave lay something new.
It was a tree leaf, palm-sized, edges slightly curled and dusted with a bit of soil.
It looked as if it had been blown in by the wind, or deliberately left behind.
Yet there had been no strong wind these past two days.
Bai Heng walked over and lowered her head to examine the leaf.
Beneath it was a small ordinary mountain stone.
She gently nudged the leaf aside.
On the back of the leaf were several faint scratches made with a fingernail.
They were very shallow and messy, as if drawn casually, and impossible to decipher.
Bai Heng stared at the marks for a long time.
Then she lifted her head and looked toward the cave entrance.
Dusk deepened.
The last streak of red in the western sky was fading.
The mountain forest grew dark, birds returned to their nests, and the chirping of insects gradually rose.
She gently rolled up the leaf and stored it in her knowledge sea.
Then she lay down again, quietly gazing outside.
There was no moon tonight.
The night was thick, so thick it could not be dispersed.
this story is soooo slow. =p