The voice on the other end of Yu Tan's call belonged to Fan Yingqi, the current abbot of Qingyang Temple.
The old man, nearly eighty, was still reeling from the shock of learning that Yu Tan's so-called fated one had appeared. But when Yu Tan followed that announcement with the words "boil, fry, roast, stew," the abbot nearly went into cardiac arrest.
"Junior brother, you mustn't act rashly," Fan Yingqi pleaded. "This person is your fated one, not some enemy from a past life. Have you forgotten Master's words?"
The very term-fated one carried a sense of blessing—completely incompatible with being "cooked" like a meal. Fan Yingqi feared that, true to his cold nature, Yu Tan might torment the poor soul and disrupt some higher design of destiny. That would be a tragedy beyond repair.
"I remember," Yu Tan replied coolly. Mention of their master softened his tone, but only slightly. After a pause, he asked, still reluctant to let go, "Did Master leave any other words?"
Their master, Fan He'nian, had passed at the age of one hundred and ten. Three days before his death, he had brought Yu Tan home from the northwest, where he had discovered the boy abandoned amidst a heap of deadwood.
In those final three days, he had done only three things, all of them for Yu Tan.
He accepted Yu Tan as his last disciple.
He gave him a string of prayer beads, saying they would one day guide him to his fated person—someone of great importance.
And finally, he asked Yu Tan, as repayment for saving his life, to protect Qingyang Temple should it ever fall into peril.
Yu Tan had been only five then, still haunted by the memory of being cast away by his grandmother and hurled from a cliff thousands of miles from home. Precocious even in childhood, he had already learned the bitter truth: that his brush with death was the price of standing too tall, too soon. From that day, he resolved to bide his time in the shadows until his wings were strong enough to carry him.
He remembered his master's words, yes—but scoffed at the idea of a fated one.
What use was fate?
Even blood kin had wanted him dead. If blood can not be trusted, why should he place faith in a stranger bound only by destiny?
Still, he kept the prayer beads.
At first, it was out of convenience—Qingyang Temple commanded respect in certain circles, and wearing the beads made others wary. Later, after slaughtering the treacherous couple who betrayed him, the beads offered protection from the spirits that plagued his nights.
Guilt? Remorse? A burdened conscience?
He felt none of these.
If not for the beads heating in his palm when Hu Xiaoyu appeared, Yu Tan might have forgotten the whole nonsense about fate altogether. Yet the moment the boy showed up, memory returned unbidden.
Now, over the phone—
"Go with the flow," Fan Yingqi answered at last.
As expected, Yu Tan snorted in derision.
Hearing that, Fan Yingqi could almost see his junior brother's cold, unreadable gaze. He hastened to add, "That fated one… is your destiny."
Yu Tan: "..."
The abbot winced. It sounded unbearably saccharine, as though lifted from some cheap romance drama. He quickly added a few urgent reminders: Don't ruin this. Treat him well. Keep him safe. Then, flustered, he hung up.
Qingyang Temple was among the foremost of Daoist strongholds, and Fan Yingqi himself a respected elder with formidable skill. Yet even he could not glimpse Yu Tan's future—could not even perform the simplest divination.
All he had were his father's last words: The fated one is Yu Tan's destiny.
What weighed on him most, however, was not those words but the way his father had treated the boy two decades earlier—not like a disciple, but like a deity to be revered. And no matter how many times he asked, the old man never gave an explanation.
Yu Tan lowered his phone and caught his own reflection on the darkened screen—tired, indifferent. A cold chuckle escaped him.
Destiny?
What value was there in living? The world was steeped in ugliness, and he was part of it. He lived only to spite those who had once wished him to be gone.
Why should he long for destiny? That sounded more like a burden.
And yet—just as that twisted smile curved his lips, Hu Xiaoyu's face intruded upon his thoughts.
That guileless expression—he still could not tell if the boy was genuinely naive or merely pretending.
Still, life was unbearably dull. Perhaps this little creature might prove a passable diversion.
In Yu Tan's mind, Hu Xiaoyu had already been branded with a label:
A mildly amusing little toy.
Meanwhile, Hu Xiaoyu had received Li Yu's accusatory text but didn't bother to reply.
As the heir of the fox clan, he still had his pride. Anyone but Yu Tan could go and eat dirt.
Scrolling through the chat logs between the original Hu Xiaoyu and Li Yu, his fox eyes narrowed with displeasure.
If not for the blood tie, those messages might have been mistaken for orders given to a servant—commands without a shred of care.
With a flick of his wrist, he blocked Li Yu.
The original soul was likely on its way to reincarnation by now.
Their meeting had been pure coincidence.
When Hu Xiaoyu had first left the fox realm to search for Yu Tan, the clan elders had helped him open a portal that would drop him somewhere nearby. He had landed on a mountain villa in Shencheng—right beneath a tree, where a body hung suspended.
The sight chilled him to the bone.
Normally, fox spirits do not rattle easily. He had seen stranger things. But that face… it resembled his own by seventy percent. The thought of it left his fur standing on end.
Still, he was a good fox. He removed the belt from the body and planned to give him a proper burial. The idea of such a face rotting and being devoured by worms was unbearable.
Before laying him to rest, he summoned the soul.
Aided by his spiritual energy, the newly dead appeared—surprisingly lucid. After some hesitation, the boy made a request: that his existence vanish without a trace, that he fade to ashes.
Life had been meaningless; death should at least be quiet.
Hu Xiaoyu agreed, and, curiosity piqued, asked one question: "Do you know someone named Yu Tan?"
A gamble.
But fate was merciless—of course the boy knew him.
And thus an idea was born.
In exchange for opening a back door in the underworld—helping the soul reincarnate into a better life—Hu Xiaoyu took on his memories and his mortal identity.
That "back door" meant using his spiritual power to stabilize the soul, so the underworld's wardens might show mercy.
It was karma.
But the work of rebuilding a soul drained nearly all his power. Like a phone battery plummeting from one hundred to twenty in an instant, leaving just enough to maintain his human form.
In truth, Li Yu bore no small share of blame for the original's death.
But Hu Xiaoyu did not care.
His karmic debt was settled. The rest was for heaven and earth to decide.
From that moment, he resolved to sever all ties with Li Yu.
Someone with a heart that foul likely reeked as well. If Li Yu dared come near, he would swat him away like a fly.
And so, he turned his gaze back to the present.
He was positively delighted to be living under the same roof as Yu Tan once more. The thought alone stretched his lips into a wide grin.
Feeling inspired, he pulled out his phone and searched for: How to Be a Good Bodyguard.
Within half an hour, he had downloaded a dozen apps and was having the time of his life.
Smartphones, he decided, were miraculous things.
Foxes did not need sleep, so he played until the battery died.
Li Yu tried calling again. Blocked again.
After all, there was only one way to stop a nine-tailed fox from becoming a phone addict: never give him a charging cable.
When he finally checked the time, it was already 2:30 in the morning. Humans would all be asleep, so he couldn't ask anyone.
Oh well.