The person Yu Tan was talking to on the phone was Fan Yingqi, the current abbot of Qingyang Temple.
The old man was nearly eighty years old, still reeling from the shock that Yu Tan's "fated person" had appeared. But then Yu Tan followed up with "boil, fry, and roast," nearly sending his heartbeat into arrhythmia.
"Junior brother, don't do anything rash," Fan Yingqi pleaded. "He's your fated person, not some mortal enemy from a past life. Have you forgotten what Master said?"
The term "fated person" carried an inherently positive connotation—completely incompatible with anything like "cooking" or "dealing with violently."
Fan Yingqi was terrified that Yu Tan, true to his nature, might torment the poor soul and ruin some celestial arrangement. That would be a real tragedy.
"I remember," Yu Tan replied coolly. Mention of his master softened his tone a bit, but he still sounded detached. He asked, unwilling to let go, "Did Master leave any other words?"
Their master, Fan He'nian, had passed away at the ripe age of one hundred and ten. He had brought Yu Tan home from the northwest, where he found him among a pile of deadwood. That was just three days before his own birthday.
In those three days, he did three things, all centered around Yu Tan.
He made Yu Tan his last disciple.
He gave him a string of prayer beads and told him the beads would guide him to someone special—his fated person, someone of great significance to him.
And lastly, he asked Yu Tan, as repayment for saving his life, to protect Qingyang Temple if it ever faced catastrophe.
Yu Tan was only five at the time, still haunted by the memory of being abandoned by his own grandmother and thrown off a cliff thousands of miles from home.
Precocious even at a young age, he quickly realized that his near-death experience came from being too proud and too exposed too early. He resolved to keep a low profile until his wings were fully grown.
He remembered what Master had said—but scoffed at the idea of a "fated person."
What use was a fated person?
Even his own blood relatives had wanted him dead. If those bound by blood couldn't be trusted, what was some stranger bound by fate?
Still, he wore the prayer beads.
At first, because Qingyang Temple held weight in certain circles. Wearing them made others wary. Later, it was because after killing that treacherous couple, he'd been haunted by restless spirits and needed the spiritual protection.
Was it guilt? Remorse? A guilty conscience?
He had none of those things.
If not for the beads heating up when Hu Xiaoyu appeared, Yu Tan would've completely forgotten about the whole "fated person" nonsense.
But something strange happened—the moment Hu Xiaoyu showed up, he remembered.
Right now, on the phone—
Fan Yingqi replied with four words: "Go with the flow."
Predictably, Yu Tan snorted in derision on the other end of the line.
Hearing that, Fan Yingqi imagined his junior brother's emotionless gaze and blurted out, "That fated person… is your destiny."
Yu Tan: "..."
Fan Yingqi had no idea how cheesy that sounded, like something out of an old romance drama. It made his skin crawl. He quickly added a few more words: Don't mess this up. Treat him well. Keep him safe. Then hung up.
Qingyang Temple was a leading force in Daoism, and Fan Yingqi was a respected elder with formidable skills.
Even so, he couldn't see Yu Tan's future—not even a basic reading of fortune.
His father's last words—that "the fated person is Yu Tan's destiny"—were the only guidance he had to offer.
But what stuck most in Fan Yingqi's mind was how his father had treated five-year-old Yu Tan twenty years ago—not like a disciple, but more like a revered deity.
And no matter how much he asked, the old man never explained why.
Yu Tan held his phone, looking at his reflection on the dark screen—tired, indifferent—and let out a cold chuckle.
His destiny?
What was so great about being alive? The world was filled with ugliness, and he was just another part of it. Staying alive was just a way to spite those who wished him dead.
Why would he want a destiny? That just sounded exhausting.
As his twisted smile lingered, Hu Xiaoyu's face came to mind.
That seemingly clueless expression—he still couldn't tell if the kid was genuinely naive or just pretending.
Still, with life being this boring, a little toy like him might actually be entertaining.
Hu Xiaoyu had no idea that, in Yu Tan's mind, he'd already been labeled:
"A mildly interesting little toy."
When he saw the accusatory message from Li Yu, he didn't even bother replying.
As the young heir of the fox clan, Hu Xiaoyu still had some pride. Anyone besides Yu Tan could go kick rocks.
He scrolled through the original Hu Xiaoyu's chat logs with Li Yu—and his fox eyes narrowed in displeasure.
If not for knowing they were cousins, the messages could've easily been mistaken for a master ordering around a servant. All instructions and zero empathy.
Annoyed, he blocked Li Yu.
Time to move on. The original soul was probably off to reincarnate by now.
Meeting the original Hu Xiaoyu had been pure coincidence.
When he left the fox realm to find Yu Tan, the elders had helped him open a portal that would drop him somewhere nearby.
He landed near a villa on a mountain in Shencheng—and saw a body hanging from a tree.
That moment had chilled him to the core.
Normally, a fox spirit like him wasn't easily rattled—he'd seen far weirder. But that face… it looked 70% like his own.
It creeped him out.
Still, he was a good fox. He pulled the belt off the body and intended to bury him respectfully.
After all, imagining a face like that rotting and getting eaten by bugs was enough to make his fur stand on end.
Before burying him, he called out to the soul.
With the help of his spiritual energy, the newly dead soul appeared—surprisingly lucid.
After some hesitation, the soul made a request: to disappear entirely, without leaving a trace. Turn to ashes.
Living had been pointless, and death should be quiet and anonymous.
Hu Xiaoyu agreed, and out of curiosity, asked: "Do you know someone named Yu Tan?"
He was just taking a shot in the dark.
But fate played its hand—of course the original Hu Xiaoyu knew him.
That's when Hu Xiaoyu had an idea.
In exchange for opening a back door in the underworld—helping the soul reincarnate into a better family—he received the boy's memories and identity in the mortal realm.
The "back door" meant using his spiritual power to stabilize the soul, so that when it passed into the underworld, the soul collectors would be more willing to help.
That was karma.
But rebuilding a soul wasn't easy—it drained nearly all his spiritual power.
It was like having a phone battery go from 100% to 20% instantly, with just enough juice left for standby mode (i.e., maintaining human form).
Technically, Li Yu was partly responsible for the original's suicide.
But Hu Xiaoyu didn't care.
His karmic debt was paid. As for the rest—that was up to the laws of the universe to sort out.
From now on, he wanted nothing to do with Li Yu.
Someone with a shady heart probably smelled bad anyway. If Li Yu got too close, Hu Xiaoyu would just swat him away.
He thought about it briefly, then turned his attention back to the present.
He was thrilled to be living with Yu Tan again. That alone made him grin from ear to ear.
Feeling inspired, he searched up "How to Be a Good Bodyguard."
Half an hour later, he had already downloaded a dozen apps and was having the time of his life.
In short—smartphones were amazing.
As a fox spirit, he didn't need to sleep, so he played on his phone all night—until the battery died.
Li Yu tried calling again. He got blocked again.
There's only one way to keep a nine-tailed fox from becoming a phone addict: don't give him a charging cable.
Hu Xiaoyu checked the time: 2:30 AM.
Humans were asleep at this hour, so he couldn't ask anyone. Oh well…