Nie Jiuluo had anticipated it long ago: from the very beginning, Yan Tuo had come with a purpose. He wanted secrets—answers—and when direct questioning failed and force proved useless, he chose this patient, roundabout method instead.
It was indeed a great favor. If their positions were reversed—if Yan Tuo had fallen into her hands—what would she have done? She would have handed him straight to Jiang Baichuan, told him to lock the man down with iron chains, ensuring he couldn’t escape. She couldn’t guarantee he’d rot in a cell forever, but three to five years in the dark? That was easy.
Yet while Yan Tuo had every right as an enemy to harm her in countless ways, he hadn’t touched a hair on her head. How could she not feel a trace of debt? Compared to her life, what were a few answers worth?
Besides, Yan Tuo’s questions—“What is a Dog Tooth?” “What is ‘Taking Root and Sprouting’?”—were all things she could explain without revealing the core truths.
She began with a question of her own. “You were always with him. How could you not know what he is?”
Yan Tuo answered calmly. “One day, they just appeared beside you. If they don’t tell you, how would you know?”
A chill crawled up Nie Jiuluo’s spine.
She had said he. Yan Tuo replied with they.
She had assumed there was only one. In reality, it was a whole nest.
“They don’t know you came to find me, do they?”
“No. And they don’t know about you either.”
Nie Jiuluo stiffened. “Then didn’t they ask how you ended up in trouble?”
“They did. I told them I was driving past the board teeth when someone drugged me. Since Dog Tooth is still unconscious and there are no witnesses, truth or lies—my word stands alone.”
Her heartbeat quickened. No wonder she had been waiting for endless trouble after her identity was exposed—yet nothing happened. Yan Tuo had erased her from the story out of his own motives.
In other words, he wanted information from her—but didn’t want his companions to know.
“Is there conflict between you and them?”
“Miss Nie,” he said flatly, “that doesn’t concern you. I only want answers. Once I have them, we’re even.”
She studied him for a moment, then finally picked up a pair of chopsticks from the holder and rinsed them in hot water.
Yan Tuo let out a slow, silent breath. Her willingness to eat meant the conversation—and the deal—was proceeding well.
He bent down to grab a bottle of beer, knocked the cap off against the table, and asked, “Beer or tea?”
Nie Jiuluo nudged her teacup forward. “Pour me beer.”
They ate without conversation and drank without toasting—she didn’t rush, and he didn’t press her. The shop was open all night; there was more than enough time to digest even the longest secrets.
After a while, Nie Jiuluo asked, “Do you know Yu the Great?”
“Yes. Yu the Great who tamed the floods.”
“What else did he do?”
Flood control, channel excavation—wasn’t that his entire legacy?
Seeing he was stuck, Nie Jiuluo continued, “Do you know the ding vessels?”
It took Yan Tuo a moment to switch from the ‘top’ character to the ‘tripod vessel.’ “The ding from ‘contending for the Central Plains’? Yes.”
“And do you know what ding vessels were used for?”
“For cooking meat.”
Nie Jiuluo nodded once. “Alright. I understand your level now. I’ll start from the beginning and explain everything in detail—your four questions included. No recording allowed. Listen quietly. If you have questions, wait until the end. And since I’ll be talking for a long time, remember to pour my tea.”
She finished the rest of her alcohol.
Yan Tuo lifted the teapot and obediently filled her cup.
“In ancient times, ordinary people rarely traveled,” she began. “There were few means of transportation, roads were dangerous, and tigers and wolves roamed everywhere. Most lived and died where they were born. So they knew nothing of distant lands…”
Her voice was calm, steady, like unraveling silk as she explained the abdication system, Yu’s seventeen-year testing period, and the creation of the Nine Dings—each representing a province, engraved with maps, beasts, and local wonders.
Yan Tuo typed quietly on his phone: “Ding Books.”
Nie Jiuluo paused to sip her tea, then continued. “Let me ask—does soil look the same everywhere?”
He shook his head. “Different minerals, different fertility.”
“What about color?”
“That’s different too.”
She explained the blue-black soil of ancient Liang Province—cyan soil. Yan Tuo’s fingers tightened around his phone. Cyan soil. The second time he’d heard those words.
And then, finally:
“The creature you call Dog Tooth was anciently known as the Ground Owl. It was carved on the Liang Province ding.”
Yan Tuo’s breath stilled.
Nie Jiuluo went on, describing how Ground Owls only emerged from cyan soil, how other soil types were poisonous to them.
“Do you know what happened to the Nine Ding?” she asked.
His guesses—buried underground, in a museum—were met with a look that told him he was far, far from the truth.
She explained the journey of the Nine Dings through Xia, Shang, Zhou, and finally Qin—where the last official record ended. Everything after that was unofficial history.
She told him of Qin Shi Huang’s obsessions, Xu Fu’s voyage east, and the second, lesser-known proposal: the theory of the Ground Owl, submitted by the official who watched over the Nine Dings.
“The Ground Owl has two traits,” she said. “First: treasure-seeking. They are drawn to treasure veins—jade, gold, rare minerals. Hence the name ‘Gold-Sniffing Beast.’”
Yan Tuo froze. Lucky Cat.
So that joke wasn’t a joke at all.
He poured her more tea.
“The second trait,” she said softly, “is youth and longevity. They don’t age. Their skin doesn’t sag. Their fur doesn’t dull.”
Lin Xirou’s face appeared in his mind—unchanged across the years.
He finally asked, “Then what exactly is a Ground Owl?”
Nie Jiuluo answered with the weight of ages. “In ancient times, many mythical beasts existed. By the end of the Western Zhou, they all vanished. Scholars believe a purge occurred during the undocumented Xia–Shang era.”
She described Qin Shi Huang’s two-pronged strategy—seeking immortality in the east, and sending an elite, hidden force to hunt for Ground Owls in the south.
“On the night Xu Fu sailed,” she said, “another group—the Headwrap Army—slipped into the ancient forests of Southern Ba, where cyan soil lay hidden.”
Her last sentence dropped like a stone into a still lake—sending ripples through everything Yan Tuo believed.
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