Chapter One: Silly Girl Ji Mo

An old, weathered temple dedicated to the mountain god stood silently beside a winding, rugged path. To the right of the temple’s entrance, a slab of bluish stone as tall as a man rose from the ground. Not far from it, an ancient tree—so massive that several people would be needed to encircle its trunk—towered above, its lush branches and leaves spreading wide to cast a deep shade over the entire temple. It was early summer, and unknown birds chirped joyfully amid the foliage, occasionally dropping colorful splashes of droppings below.

Through the dappled sunlight filtering between the leaves, a small figure lay motionless beneath the old tree. It was a girl of about seven or eight, her eyes tightly shut, her features delicate. A patch of dried blood, half the size of a palm and tangled with a lock of hair, stained her forehead. She neither moved nor made a sound, even as the birds above occasionally dropped filth onto her body. Whether she was alive or dead was uncertain.

Around midday, soft footsteps sounded along the mountain path. They belonged to a boy, perhaps ten years old, dressed in rough homespun clothes, with a simple, honest look about him. From a distance, he caught sight of the girl under the tree. His expression changed at once; in a few quick strides, he reached her side, knelt down, and checked for breath. Relieved to find a faint, steady respiration, he let out a long sigh.

“Xiao Mo, Xiao Mo, wake up, please wake up!” Still breathing hard with relief, he grasped the girl’s arms and shook her, calling her name as he did so.

Who is shaking me? Ji Mo felt as if her head was about to split apart, her mind a swirl of confusion. She had no desire to open her eyes, but the constant shaking forced her to. When she finally managed it, the first thing she saw was a familiar, childish face. Ji Mo stared blankly for a moment, then said, “Brother Zhao Hu, stop shaking me. You’re about to shake my bones apart.”

“You—you can talk?!” The boy blinked in surprise, then, overjoyed, gripped her arms even tighter, his eyes burning with excitement.

Talk? Why is Brother Zhao Hu so shocked? Haven’t I always been able to speak? Ji Mo grew more bewildered, wanting to ask, but just then a spike of agony shot through her head, and darkness overtook her once more.

This time, however, the faint did not last. After a brief moment, consciousness returned. As soon as she opened her eyes, she saw Zhao Hu crouched by her side, his face etched with anxiety. Her mind now brimmed with memories she seemed to have lost: her parents had died three years ago, and she, whether from grief or trauma, had lost all memory and even the ability to speak, becoming a simpleton.

Recalling the scene of her parents’ passing, Ji Mo’s face turned deathly pale. She could not tell if these memories were dream or reality. Anxious, she grabbed Zhao Hu’s arm. “Brother Zhao Hu, my parents—are they still alive?”

“Xiao—Xiao Mo, your illness is gone? You remember the past?” Zhao Hu, startled by her sudden grip, nearly toppled onto her. He quickly steadied himself against a tree root, gazing at Ji Mo in amazement.

“Brother Zhao Hu, my parents—they’re gone, aren’t they?” So the memories in my mind were not dreams, but truth after all? As Zhao Hu’s answer came, Ji Mo’s vision dimmed. She clung to his arm even tighter, her nails digging into his flesh.

“Xiao Mo, it’s been three years now. Don’t be too sad. Come, let’s go home. When you didn’t show up at lunch, I guessed you might be here. Sure enough, here you are. How did you hurt your forehead? Did you fall, or did someone push you?” Zhao Hu was only ten himself, and, seeing Ji Mo’s distress, he was at a loss for words, his heart filled with worry.

“I’m all right, Brother Zhao Hu. Thank you—for everything your family has done for me all these years.” Ji Mo stood in stunned silence for a while, tears welling in her eyes, but they did not fall.

Zhao Hu was Ji Mo’s neighbor, two years her senior. Before she turned five, their bond had been as close as siblings. Ji Mo had always been clever and mischievous, like a little fox, and though Zhao Hu was older, he often followed in her footsteps like a loyal shadow.

Ji Mo’s family were not natives of the village. Her parents had brought her to Zhao Family Village when she was small, making a life there. When they died, she became a true orphan. Without her parents and with her mind clouded, she would surely have perished if not for the Zhao family’s care. This thought filled Ji Mo with deep gratitude.

Even as a child, she had been far cleverer than her peers, though a bit lazy by nature. The accident that left her mind clouded lasted three years. Now, with her memory restored, she found herself not only retaining her former intelligence but also possessing a calmness and resilience rare for her age. She knew that no amount of grief could change what had happened.

When faced with something you cannot change, the best thing to do is to accept it. Her parents had often told her that when they were alive. Before she was five, Ji Mo, though more perceptive than most, could not truly grasp its meaning. But now, awakened from those three lost years, she understood.

“Xiao Mo, are you really all right?” Zhao Hu waved a hand in front of her eyes, still unsure.

“Of course. Did you want to see me bawling and covered with snot and tears?” Ji Mo shot him a sidelong glance.

“Good, that’s good. But you don’t need to thank us again. When your parents were alive, they helped our family often. After they passed, and you fell ill, we could do nothing for you. My parents have always felt guilty. If you keep being so polite, they’ll be unhappy.” Zhao Hu heaved a sigh, patting his chest.

“Brother Zhao Hu, a great favor needs no thanks—I won’t say it again. Let’s go home. Otherwise, Uncle and Aunt Zhao will be worried.” Ji Mo smiled, struggling to rise.

“All right, let’s go. Does your head still hurt? Do you remember how you got hurt?” Zhao Hu helped her up, pointing to the dried blood on her forehead.

“It hurts a little, but it’s nothing serious. As for how it happened, I have no memory of it.” Ji Mo tilted her head, thinking for a moment, but could only shake her head.

Zhao Hu gazed at her wound. The blood had dried, making it impossible to judge the injury. He decided to wait until they were home to clean it. With that, Zhao Hu said no more, leading Ji Mo down the slope toward the village. As they reached the outskirts, they encountered Zhao Qin, the village chief’s youngest son, and Zhao Cheng, the eldest son of the village butcher.

Zhao Qin, twelve, was a lanky youth, half a head taller than Zhao Hu. Zhao Cheng, eleven, was of similar height, but chubby, with beady little eyes that darted about, giving him a sly look. At the sight of Ji Mo, Zhao Cheng’s eyes glinted; he let out a loud whistle, stepped forward, and blocked their path. “Well, if it isn’t the village idiot. Zhao Hu, don’t you get tired dragging a fool around every day?” Zhao Qin, seeing Ji Mo, merely frowned and stood aside, saying nothing.

Village Idiot—‘Silly Girl’—was the nickname given to Ji Mo after her parents died and she grew dull. Soon, everyone in the village called her that—everyone except the Zhao family.

Zhao Hu’s face darkened. He pulled Ji Mo behind him and glared coldly at Zhao Cheng. “Zhao Cheng, what do you want? Move, or I’ll beat you up.”

Zhao Cheng raised his brows and glanced at Zhao Qin, who said nothing, his face expressionless. Seeing Zhao Hu’s angry stare, Zhao Cheng grunted and stepped aside. He might be taller than Zhao Hu, but unless Zhao Qin helped him, he was no match for Zhao Hu in a fight.

“Hmph. Your family protects her so fiercely—aren’t you just after her property? Stop pretending to be so high and mighty.” As Zhao Hu and Ji Mo took a few steps, Zhao Cheng’s voice rang out again behind them.

Furious, Zhao Hu stopped, ready to turn and argue, but Ji Mo tugged his sleeve. “Brother Zhao Hu, why argue with petty people? Let’s go home—I’m hungry.”

“You—you can talk? You’re cured?” For the first time, Zhao Qin’s eyes narrowed. He turned to look at them.

“What, does it surprise you to see me speaking again? Or are you shocked that my foolishness is gone?” Ji Mo stopped and met Zhao Qin’s gaze.

“Heh, not at all! In three days, the Water Moon Sect will open its doors to recruit disciples—a once-in-a-decade event. Ji Mo, your recovery is perfect timing. Congratulations!” Zhao Qin smiled, his face full of apparent sincerity.

“Thank you.” Ji Mo looked at him quietly, said nothing more, and turned to leave, pulling Zhao Hu along. Behind them, Zhao Qin and Zhao Cheng watched their retreating figures, lost in thought.