Chapter 1: Neither Losing One's Soul Nor One's Heart

The city outskirts glowed with clarity, a gentle warm breeze rustled, and the early spring rain of February had just cleared over the Southern Creek. As the saying goes, “On lingering days, rivers and mountains are beautiful; the spring breeze fills flowers and grass with fragrance.” After the first rain of spring in Jiangnan Town, the dust of winter was washed away, and the weather was at once warming and still tinged with chill.

A verdant river, known as the Azure Python, wound around the town, bringing it endless vitality. To the west of town, a forest of bamboo, pines, and cypresses flourished, and from time to time, kingfishers trilled sweetly, their songs echoing above the city. The picturesque and tranquil scenery was a point of pride for the townspeople, who often praised their peaceful, prosperous era.

It was said that more than two centuries ago, this place had suffered the ravages of war, with nine in ten homes empty and the land nearly abandoned. Now, serenity and safety reigned, and the elderly would frequently mutter thanks to the protection of immortals.

Three miles beyond the town lay the Azure Python River. In the sunlight, its clear waters shimmered, and the trees by the roadside cast reflections that seemed even greener in the water. Beneath the surface, two blue-headed fish chased one another, occasionally poking above the water, carefree and at ease.

Suddenly, a small pebble broke the calm, skipping across the water before sinking, sending the fish scattering in alarm.

On the riverbank crouched a boy of eleven or twelve, his features plain, his hair unkempt and face smudged with dirt. His lips pursed slightly, as if sulking. Dressed in a gray-white cloth robe that could not be called clean or tidy, he clutched several stones in his hand and, with a flick of his wrist, sent another flying into the river, ripples spreading from where it broke the surface.

“Su Mu! Su Mu!”

A voice, clear and melodious, called out from the distance, stirring the imagination.

Drawing closer, it became clear the speaker was a girl of twelve or thirteen. She wore a long blue dress that accentuated her slender, youthful figure, exuding the vibrant spirit of youth.

She leapt lightly across the scattered stones at the river’s edge, carrying a faint fragrance as she reached Su Mu’s side. There was a lively energy about her, her jet-black hair tied with a blue silk ribbon, a few strands falling over her shoulders to accentuate her luminous skin. Though her face bore no trace of makeup, she was fresh and captivating.

Though Su Mu heard her, he merely shifted slightly and continued tossing stones, not looking at her.

The girl blinked, a subtle smile curving her lips, and then she laughed with a soft snort. She set down a blue embroidered cloth bundle she’d been carrying, turned to pick up a slightly larger stone, and, with a burst of energy, flung it into the water before Su Mu. The splash soaked his clothes at once.

Su Mu cried out and turned angrily, “An Rui, what are you doing?”

An Rui laughed, “You look fine, but why pretend to be deaf? I’ve called you so many times and you didn’t answer.”

Su Mu hung his head, wiping at his clothes, and muttered, “I was just enjoying the scenery. Why did you come?”

An Rui pouted, “Enjoying the scenery? You scared all the fish away! Hmph. Uncle Su specifically told me to keep an eye on you, said you’ve never been clever, not like us An family girls, born with quick wits. He said not to let that silly boy keep getting the short end of the stick. If I didn’t watch you, you might get snatched by a stray dog.”

She seemed quite pleased with herself, covering her mouth with a little giggle.

Su Mu opened his mouth but could not find words, sighing and lowering his head.

An Rui’s laughter faded as she took a closer look: Su Mu was dirty from head to toe, his clothes torn in several places. She wondered if he had really been chased by wild dogs.

“Bullied again? Come, get up and dust yourself off, it doesn’t matter,” An Rui said, brushing off Su Mu’s clothes, raising a cloud of dust, before stepping back, fanning her hand in the air in distaste.

Su Mu took a few quick breaths, then suddenly looked up and asked, “Sister An Rui, am I really, as Aunt Liu says, an animal in my past life, punished now by this strange illness? Da Bao and the others won’t befriend me, and Aunt Liu’s family looks down on me. But I saved them today—so why do they still treat me this way?” His voice trembled, on the verge of tears, though not a single drop fell.

An Rui sighed softly, gently hugging him and stroking his back. “Silly boy, don’t cry. They’re just blinded by jealousy and can’t bear to see others happy. To me, you’re the best in the world, unique and irreplaceable. Hush now, don’t be sad, take care of yourself.”

Su Mu’s cheeks flushed, embarrassed by her embrace. Thin-skinned, he shyly pulled away.

“Sister An Rui, you’re so good to me. Without you, I—I…” Su Mu caught his breath, but the rest of the words stuck in his throat.

An Rui felt a pang in her heart. Su Mu had been bullied since childhood. Though she often stood up for him, she could not undo the villagers’ hostility and insults, nor the wounds to his pride.

Su Mu’s father, Su Yan, had left his scholarly pursuits for business and now dealt in medicinal herbs—especially the herb named after Su Mu himself, which sold best. Su Mu’s name was inspired by that herb.

Su Yan’s first wife died young, leaving him childless. He remarried, and his son Su Mu was born when he was thirty, cherished above all else.

Not long after Su Mu’s birth, his mother accidentally spilled hot porridge on his hand. She was terrified, crying out in panic, but Su Mu showed no reaction—not a cry or whimper.

Su Yan, in the front hall conducting business, heard the screams and rushed in to find his son’s arm scalded, hot porridge still clinging to the skin. His wife sat limp with shock, hands trembling as she wiped the porridge away, while a maid hurried to help. But Su Mu’s fair arm was already red and swollen.

Su Mu’s mother’s hands were also blistered, tears streaming down her face unchecked as she ignored her own pain. Su Yan, pale with worry, did not scold his wife but barked at the servants, “Fetch ice water! Prepare medicine!”

Luckily, their own pharmacy had all the necessary remedies, and the burn could be treated. But as Su Yan reflected, he found it strange: burns were exceedingly painful, and even an adult would moan in agony—so why had Su Mu not cried?

He picked up his son, scrutinized him, then pressed a finger into the boy’s foot. Any other child would have cried, but Su Mu only giggled. Su Yan’s face darkened as he wondered, “Could this child be soulless, left with only the shell, unable to feel pain?”

Though Su Yan managed a pharmacy, his medical skills were average and he had never heard of such an illness. For a time, he consulted famed doctors from miles around, but none could name the disease.

Su Yan wore a worried frown day after day, and soon the gossiping servants spread word that the young master of the Su family felt no pain. Idle gossip reached the Su household—some said he must be repaying the sins of a past life, or was an animal reborn, fit only for suffering and scorn. Su Yan was furious.

By the time Su Mu was three or four, the family remained at a loss. They discovered that sometimes Su Mu would cry loudly but shed no tears, and was oblivious to heat or cold.

In time, they realized Su Mu could not produce tears. A doctor advised that medicinal drops be used regularly, or he might go blind.

Sometimes, Su Mu would curiously hit or bite himself, finding it amusing. This self-harming behavior only added to the family’s anxiety, and someone watched him at all hours, fearing he might injure himself or others.

His mother, heartbroken, patiently instructed him daily on right and wrong, reciting her lessons morning and night, and praying to the Bodhisattva for his protection.

When Su Mu disobeyed, his mother would weep, and though he could not feel physical pain, he felt heartache for her and resolved to curb his self-harming habits for her sake.

Though immune to pain, Su Mu was a frail child, growing only through careful attention and timely treatment. A kindly old doctor confided to Su Yan, “This strange illness—he may not live to adulthood. You must prepare yourself.”

The Su family, usually wary of exorcists and shamans, secretly invited a great sorcerer to perform rituals, burn talismans, and prepare charms, but nothing worked. Su Yan would often be seen driving the sorcerer out in a rage.

In despair, Su Yan and his wife resolved to have another child, in case misfortune befell Su Mu and there was no heir. Though Su Yan was already advanced in age, heaven smiled on them: the second son, Su Fu, was born when Su Mu was six, and after examination was found perfectly healthy. Su Yan wept with joy.

After Su Fu’s birth, Su Yan relaxed his vigilance over Su Mu, allowing him to roam more freely, with servants instructed to watch over him to prevent accidents.

At first, Su Mu was delighted by this newfound freedom, though he resented the constant supervision and would slip away on his own.

But when playing outside, he found that other children his age either avoided him or gathered to whisper strange things. The bolder ones threw stones at him, and when he ended up bloodied but unfazed, they scattered in terror. Neighbors rolled their eyes at him and warned their children loudly to stay away from the “reborn beast.”

By six or seven, a child already knows much and understands pride. After enough of this, Su Mu refused to go out. In secret, he confided his troubles to his mother, who could only wipe her tears and urge him not to go out alone.

A childhood without friends is cruel to any child. Su Mu grew ever more withdrawn, even secretly harming himself in hidden places for amusement—until An Rui appeared.