My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

One pass ten, ten pass a hundred.

Gradually, people began to visit the place because of its reputation.

The first person to go was Widow Liu from the west of the city.

Three years after her husband's death, she missed him day and night. Hearing that there was a "love fairy tomb" in the mountains, she brought offerings and went up the mountain.

She knelt before the grave for an entire day, pouring out her heart.

As she descended the mountain in the evening, people said that the worry between her brows had dissipated considerably.

The second couple to visit were a young couple who were unable to marry due to family background obstacles.

They made a wish at the grave, and after descending the mountain, they were both forgiven by their parents, and their marriage went smoothly.

The third one, the fourth one...

Everyone who went there brought back new testimonies:

Some say they saw incense burning even in the rain;

Some say that the two butterflies don't leave even in winter;

Some people even say that they once saw the blurry figures of an elderly couple on a moonlit night, holding hands and standing on the stone steps, smiling at passersby.

The rumors grew more and more fantastical, and the nameless hill gradually acquired a name—"Tongxin Mountain," the grave became known as "Fairy Couple's Tomb," and the stone steps were called "Heavenly Love Ladder."

Three years later.

Tongxin Mountain has become a famous "pilgrimage site for love" within a radius of hundreds of miles.

On the first and fifteenth of each month, the stone steps are always crowded with people.

Young couples come to wish for a lifelong commitment, middle-aged couples come to pray for marital harmony, widowed elderly people come to express their longing, and even writers and poets come to seek inspiration.

They all follow unwritten rules:

Do not damage a single blade of grass or tree.

I won't disturb those butterflies.

The most amazing thing is those three incense sticks—they have never gone out in the past three years.

People began to believe that the love between Chen Shouren and Zhou Huilan moved the heavens, and that a deity passing by laid out stone steps for them, lit incense, and sent butterfly messengers to protect them.

As a result, offerings gradually appeared in front of the tombstone.

Some people placed wildflowers—mostly twin lotus, chrysanthemums, and vines in bloom.

Someone tied red ropes—two red ropes braided into a love knot—and hung them on both sides of the tombstone.

Some people left behind poems—filled with prayers and praises for love.

Of course, that's all in hindsight.

......

At 3:45 AM, it was still dark.

Thirty miles outside Wild Boar Forest, the teahouses along the official road were already lit up.

It was the same shop that Ye Qingfeng had visited before.

The shop owner was a thin man in his fifties, surnamed Wang, and the third in his family. Everyone called him Wang Laosan (Third Brother Wang).

This tea stall has been open for more than ten years, mainly catering to travelers in the early morning.

Merchants, bodyguards, and porters who set off before dawn could rest and have a cup of hot tea here.

Wang Laosan yawned as he added firewood to the stove.

The water in the large iron pot began to bubble, so he grabbed a handful of coarse tea leaves and threw them in, then chopped a few pieces of old ginger.

"This awful weather..." he muttered, glancing outside the shed.

The chill is heaviest before dawn in late autumn.

The official road was pitch black, and the distant mountains and forests looked like crouching giant beasts.

The wind whistled through the woods, making a somewhat eerie sound.

Wang Laosan rubbed his hands together, about to turn around to get the bowl, when he suddenly heard footsteps.

"Shopkeeper, are you still doing business?"

His voice was gentle, but tinged with weariness.

Wang Laosan looked up and saw a middle-aged man standing outside the shed.

He looked to be in his forties, wearing a faded blue cloth long gown, carrying an old book box on his back, and leaning on a bamboo cane.

He had a thin face but bright eyes, like a scholar.

"Come on in, please come in, sir!" Old Wang hurriedly greeted them. "Traveling so early?"

"Take advantage of the cool weather." The middle-aged man walked into the tea stall, unloaded his book box, and sat down at a table near the back. "A bowl of hot tea, please. And if you have any food, please have some too."

"We have freshly steamed cornbread and homemade pickles."

Wang Laosan deftly served teacups, and then took out two golden-yellow cornbreads and a small dish of pickled vegetables from the steamer.

The middle-aged man thanked him and began to eat slowly.

He ate very carefully, breaking the cornbread into small pieces and chewing slowly with hot tea.

Wang Laosan noticed that this person's book box was very special.

It wasn't the wooden or bamboo box that ordinary scholars used, but one sewn from cowhide, with four characters written in ink on the lid:

"Searching for the Strange and Unusual"

"Are you... a storyteller, sir?" Old Wang asked curiously.

The middle-aged man looked up and smiled: "I guess so. I travel all over the country, hear stories, write them down, and then tell them to others later."

He took out a small notebook from his pocket and opened it.

The notebook was already more than half full, with neat and dense handwriting.

"My name is Pu Songlin," he said. "You've run this teahouse here for many years, have you heard any strange or unusual stories?"

Old Wang scratched his head: "What stories could we possibly have in this poor, remote place... Ah, but a few days ago there was a Taoist priest..."

Before he could finish speaking, footsteps could be heard outside the shed.

This time there are two people.

It was still dark, and faces were not clearly visible; only two blurry figures could be seen standing outside the shed.

They were all dressed in dark clothes, standing straight and motionless.

"Esteemed guests..." Wang Laosan was about to greet them when he suddenly felt something was amiss.

Those two people... were too quiet.

Moreover, the location where he stood was very strange—he didn't go to the light, but stood in the shadow of the eaves where the oil lamp couldn't reach.

Despite the cold weather, they didn't rub their hands or stomp their feet; they just stood there quietly.

"Want to come in for tea?" Wang Laosan asked tentatively.

The two did not speak, but slowly walked into the teahouse.

They chose the outermost table and sat down, still in the shadows.

Wang Laosan tried hard to see their faces clearly, but the lights in the shed were dim, and the two men had their heads down.

Only the lower half of her face was visible—her skin was very white, unnaturally white.

"What would you two like to drink?" Wang Laosan asked.

There has been no response yet.

The two of them sat there like two wooden sculptures.

Wang Laosan felt a little uneasy, but since he was running a business, he couldn't just turn away customers.

He reluctantly carried two bowls of tea over and placed them on the table.

"The tea is here, please enjoy."

The two remained motionless.

Wang Laosan retreated to the stove and secretly glanced at Pu Songlin.

Pu Songlin was also looking at the two people, his brows furrowed, and he stopped writing.

An eerie silence fell over the teahouse.

The only sounds were the crackling of firewood in the stove and the bubbling of tea in the large pot.

Pu Songlin slowly finished the tea in his bowl and then had another bowl.

He appeared to be drinking tea, but his peripheral vision kept glancing at the two people at the outer table.

Over the years of traveling all over the country, he has seen many strange things and developed a keen eye for them.

Those two people... don't look like living people.

It wasn't about their appearance—he couldn't even see their faces clearly.

It was a feeling: there was no sound of breathing, no faint light from body heat, and even when sitting there, the hem of the long robe did not rise and fall with breathing.

Moreover, the temperature inside the teahouse seemed to be getting lower and lower.

It's not the cold air from outside that seeps in, but rather the cold seeps in from the inside out.

The cold was unique; it wasn't the chill of the wind, but rather like being immersed in ice water, seeping into your bones bit by bit.

Wang Laosan also felt it. He added a few more pieces of firewood to the stove, and the flames leaped high, but the shed was still cold.

"That's strange..." he muttered, rubbing his arms.