She slept especially soundly this time, and when she woke it was already the next morning. She shifted and tried to stretch, only to realize her hand was clinging to something — following her gaze, she saw a hand pressed to her cheek. Startled, she let go and gently moved Qiwu Jun’s hand aside.

　　At the slightest movement, Qiwu Jun opened his eyes and watched as she quickly pulled her hands away as if from a snake, then looked at her own palm with mild disgust — part amused, part baffled. Yesterday she’d complained she couldn’t move at all; now she seemed perfectly capable. Was she just pretending?

　　While Qiwu Jun mulled this over, the girl waved her hands in front of him like she couldn’t believe it. “My hands can move!” she exclaimed in disbelief.

　　She pushed herself up on her hands, trying to move her legs, but they still wouldn’t cooperate. She tugged the blanket aside to see what was wrong with them. Qiwu Jun hadn’t expected her to lift the sheet like that and turned his face away out of embarrassment: modesty, even if it was unnecessary.

　　The girl pulled the blanket back and, before she could inspect her legs, noticed the bright-red trousers and then the matching red top she was wearing. The outfit looked exactly like the inner garments a bride would wear on her wedding day.

　　“Su Mu—”

　　“Mm.” Qiwu Jun didn’t immediately realize she was calling his name.

　　“You said you didn’t know who I was. Then why did you kidnap the bride?” she asked, deadpan.

　　“Kidnap a bride?” Qiwu Jun blinked, confused. Kidnap? When he saw her clothes, he understood. “You’re overthinking it. The old woman changed you into that outfit,” he said, then tossed the gauzy skirt from the side of the bed onto the blanket. “That’s your dress.”

　　She examined the garment for a moment, then looked at Qiwu Jun. “So you really don’t know who I am?”

　　Qiwu Jun fell silent, which she took as an answer.

　　“But I don’t know who I am either,” she muttered. “What’s my name? Where did I come from? Where am I going? Why am I here?” Her thoughts stumbled over themselves until she suddenly asked, “Hey—you must know why I’m here, right?”

　　“Passing by Weak Water, saw you stranded, and picked you up,” Qiwu Jun answered expressionlessly.

　　“How would I have been at that — Weak Water you mentioned?”

　　“How would I know?” He felt irritated — this strange woman had appeared with the storm out of nowhere, and now she was interrogating him. He snapped a little. “Why are you being so sharp? I’m just trying to figure out who I am. I fell asleep and woke up knowing nothing — can’t I ask?”

　　She bristled in turn. She could only remember falling asleep, then waking to find she couldn’t move; her mind was blank. The unfamiliar scolding made her feel small and wronged, and tears pricked her eyes.

　　Qiwu Jun looked at the tearful girl, awkward. He had been harsh in the heat of the moment; who would dare speak to him like that? Still — ignorance is not a crime. He softened.

　　Silence settled over the room. To stop the tears, she tilted her head back and rubbed her eyes. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked, voice quiet and slightly nasal.

　　Qiwu Jun suddenly remembered: it had been a day and a night; she’d only had a bowl of ginger soup. Subconsciously, he’d not treated her like an ordinary person — mortals eat, sleep, and have basic needs.

　　He went out and shortly returned with food, setting a bowl before her.

　　“What is this?” she peered into the white, porridge-like bowl.

　　“Congee,” he said.

　　It was the old woman’s leftover porridge — with the old woman out and no other options, Qiwu Jun had searched the kitchen and found nothing else.

　　“Is this edible?” she asked suspiciously; it looked far from appetizing.

　　Qiwu Jun considered that even if she wasn’t someone extraordinary, she might still be the daughter of a wealthy family; white porridge was indeed plain fare.

　　“What would you like to eat?” he asked.

　　She propped her chin on her hand and thought theatrically, slowly listing: “Chicken marrow, duck gizzard, goose breast, shark fin, deer tendon, diced rabbit, sparrow tongue, candied fruit, peanuts, osmanthus cake…”

　　She rattled off the list and licked her lips — then realized Qiwu Jun had left the room.

　　Bored, she waited a long time but he didn’t return. She remembered being completely immobile earlier; now that her hands worked freely, maybe her legs were okay too. She tried to get out of bed, but no matter how she strained, her legs wouldn’t move — and suddenly she tumbled with a thud to the floor.

　　The old woman, returning with wild vegetables she’d collected, heard the noise and hurried in. The girl offered an embarrassed smile. The old woman struggled but helped her onto the bed and examined her legs with concern, then asked, “Do you want to go sit out for a while?”

　　“It’s not very convenient,” the girl answered. Of course she wanted to go outside, but how could she walk?

　　The old woman left briefly and came back pushing a wooden chair on wheels.

　　The girl sat by the stone table in the sun; the sunlight warmed her skin — strange, but comforting in a familiar way.

　　When Qiwu Jun came back, he found her dozing in the wheelchair, face flushed by the sun, the red clothes vivid against the light. A scent reached her nose and she opened her eyes to find Qiwu Jun standing before her. She looked up at him and smiled like a flower.

　　Qiwu Jun took something from his wide sleeve and handed it to her. She unwrapped it like a present and found duck gizzards. She didn’t wait for manners — she ate them with her hands.

　　They were delicious. How long had it been since she’d tasted something like this? She couldn’t remember.

　　Qiwu Jun watched with some enjoyment as she fed herself packet after packet. Though he had abandoned the Five Grains, he found himself tempted. In no time the packet was empty.

　　“Is there more?” she asked eagerly.

　　Qiwu Jun pulled another packet from his sleeve — diced rabbit this time. She ate without reservation.

　　He sat at the stone table. When the rabbit was gone, he produced roast chicken, grilled fish, osmanthus cake, and candied fruit. She ate a few candied pieces and finally stopped.

　　“Full?” Qiwu Jun looked around at the messy floor — bones, peanut shells, food scraps, and empty leather pouches. She had clearly been starving.

　　“These candied fruits are so sweet — too cloying if you have too many. Anything else?” Her eyes still shone with expectation.

　　Qiwu Jun reached into his sleeve again, surprised, and handed over one last packet. Her face lit up. Inside were peanuts — his final stash. Since she’d eaten most of it anyway, she started to play: shelling peanuts, tossing them up and catching them in her mouth. When she succeeded she beamed; when she missed she pouted. She delighted in the simple game.

　　The old woman returned with tea and saw the scene — Qiwu Jun sitting there, the mess on the floor, the empty pouches. “So she’s not an immortal after all,” she said, pouring tea. “This young master is a cultivated immortal — I thought the girl wouldn’t eat at all.”

　　“An immortal? They don’t eat?” the girl asked.

　　“Of course — immortals don’t touch the smoke and dust of the world.” The old woman looked at Qiwu Jun with reverent admiration.

　　The girl blinked. “So they’re really amazing? Can they call storms, move mountains, conjure things?”

　　Qiwu Jun didn’t reply. There’s nothing truly omnipotent about immortals — they simply possess abilities ordinary people don’t.

　　Half believing, she asked, “You’re so powerful… will you give me a name?”

　　Qiwu Jun was taken aback by such an unreasonable request and remained expressionless. Seeing his delay, the girl pressed, “Is it hard? I don’t remember my name; I need something to be called.”

　　“Call her Ruoshui,” Qiwu Jun said. She had first been found at Weak Water — “Ruoshui at first sight.”

　　“Ruoshui…” she mumbled the name, smiling. “The best goodness is like water — I like it. I’ll be Ruoshui.”

　　Qiwu Jun smiled a little: “Ruoshui” sounded better than “Weak Water.” He rose and returned to the house to sit cross-legged.

　　Only Ruoshui and the old woman remained in the yard.

　　“Child, I’ll make you chicken soup to strengthen you,” the old woman offered.

　　“Okay, thank you. But don’t call me ‘girl’ anymore — I have a name now. I’m Ruoshui, the immortal named me,” she said smugly.

　　“You really don’t remember who you are?” the old woman asked.

　　“No. I don’t remember anything.”

　　“Maybe the immortal took a liking to you, so he took you away and wiped your memory. That way, in this life he can keep you by his side.”

　　The old woman’s imagination was clearly fueled by romance novels; she pictured an immortal abduction turned into an immortal-lover tragedy.

　　“Yeah, I almost thought he’d kidnapped me on my wedding day,” Ruoshui said dramatically, glancing at the bridal innerwear still on her body.

　　Qiwu Jun—resting with his eyes closed—heard their chatter and let a soft sigh escape before shutting his eyes again.

　　The old woman continued, “No, that dress is from my youth. You were drenched when you arrived, and my clothes are coarse; I didn’t want to hurt your delicate body.”

　　“Oh, that’s thoughtful. Thank you, auntie.”

　　The two of them chatted happily. Ruoshui teased the old woman until she laughed, and the old woman shared funny stories that made Ruoshui almost cry with laughter.

　　Over the next several days the weather was fair. Each morning when the sun rose, Ruoshui would shout, “Su Mu!” and Qiwu Jun would carry her out into the yard to bask in the sun. He would sit and meditate, occasionally going out to buy snacks for her or buying chickens and ducks for the old woman to cook.

　　Whenever the old woman prepared to slaughter a chicken or duck, Ruoshui winced at the blood and felt faintly guilty — yet when the food was served she ate with the most voracious appetite.

　　Qiwu Jun had abandoned eating grain, but after the first time when Ruoshui devoured everything, she would always offer him a bite before taking her own. “Su Mu, do you want some?” she’d ask.

　　He would shake his head. She would tuck in and say, “You’re really missing out — it’s so good.”

　　Over time he would relent and sample a little, to humor her. Ruoshui would then grin like a child and ask, “Isn’t it tasty?”

　　Seeing those hopeful eyes, Qiwu Jun would nod slightly, “Not bad.” For him, food — whether chicken, fish, or candy — was just nourishment; there was no real distinction. After days spent together, Qiwu Jun still had doubts, but he had to admit she was human: she got hungry, she felt pain, she cried and laughed — a little glutton with a big heart.