He say "You think I want to be trapped in this fan, hearing every pathetic thought you have?"

  Wang lee murmurs (ignoring yinzi) "... someone forced him."

  The moment Wang Lee hears the footsteps, he slams the fan shut with a sharp click—Yinzi's dark energy vanishing instantly as the painted fox on its surface freezes back into place.

  Wang Lee lifts his head slightly, steam curling around his bandaged frame as he eyes the child with sharp suspicion. The boy flinches under that gaze, fingers clutching a woven basket too tightly.

  "What do you want?" Wang Lee's voice is rough—dripping with warning.

  The kid swallows hard before whispering: "A-Are you... really a monster?"

  A slow smirk tugs at Wang Lee's lips. He leans forward just enough to make the water ripple ominously: "Yes. And if you don't leave in three seconds... I'll start eating."

  Wang Lee freezes—his entire body going rigid as the kid's words register. Steam curls between them like a veil, but his eyes narrow into slits.

  "...What?" His voice is dangerously low, edged with something unreadable—disbelief? Warning?

  The boy nods eagerly, undeterred by Wang Lee's glare "I wanna be monster too"

  Wang Lee stares down the boy silently for a long moment. Something unreadable flickers beneath his gaze—surprise, caution, or maybe a glimmer of curiosity.

  He asks finally: "Your name?"

  "L-Liang," the kid stammers, his voice trembling slightly. "And, um... my m-mom. Can dark magic bring her back?"

  A beat of silence follows as Wang Lee regards the kid carefully—weighing his words.

  "Liang," he begins slowly, "Listen... dark magic can do many things. But bring the dead back to life... That is beyond anyone's reach. No matter how powerful."

  Wang Lee steps out of the hot spring, wrapping himself in a robe. Liang stares up at him in awe and fear, clearly stunned to be speaking to the "demon" face-to-face.

  "How old are you, Liang?" Wang Lee repeats, his question echoing softly in the steamy cave.

  The boy seems to blink out of a trance at the question, his eyes wide as he stutters a reply: "...T-twelve."

  Wang-lee regards him shrewdly, noting with a subtle hint of surprise how young he is. His expression doesn't soften, but something like curiosity flickers beneath his cool gaze.

  Wang Lee lifts a hand, his fingers hovering just above the worst of the burn scars.

  "Afraid?" Wang Lee repeats, voice low and rough as he studies Liang's face for any hint of fear.

  The kid shakes his head hard: "Nope"

  "Hmm. Brave." Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

  Liang nods solemnly, his gaze dropping to the ground as he speaks. "My mother, Her whole face was scarred too. From a fire."

  "A fire?" Wang lee repeats, his voice even more low and rough than before. "Who started it?"

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  Back in the village, Liang's father paces like a caged animal—his voice sharp with panic: "Where is my son?!"

  A neighbor shrugs nervously. "I don't know! He was just here earlier..."*

  The man's face darkens. Without another word, he snatches up a hunting knife and storms toward the hot spring—every step radiating fury.

  Other villagers follow after Liang's father, eyes wild and fearful. Someone speaks up: "Maybe the demon took him!!"

  Others chime in:

  "Should we get weapons?"

  "The demon is too strong!"

  "We won't last a minute against him"

  The woman's voice cuts through the murmurs like a blade—sharp, furious. A hush falls over the group.

  "We all should kill him," she spits out, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes burn with rage. "That demon stole our crops last year! Stole my son's food from his hands!"*

  A ripple of agreement spreads through the crowd—their fear hardening into something more dangerous: bloodlust.

  The villagers grab whatever weapons they can find—wooden clubs, metal tools, even a few hunting knives—and start marching through the forest in a mob. Their faces are set with grim determination, their footsteps making soft sounds against the crunchy forest floor.

  Wang Lee hears the rustling of bushes before he sees them. The villagers emerge from the trees like a pack of wolves, weapons raised and eyes blazing with righteous fury.

  "There it is!" one shouts, pointing at Wang Lee crouched by the hot spring. "Kill that demon!"*

  Liang—still beside him—lets out a tiny gasp as his father steps forward at front group.

  Wang Lee's smirk is sharp, mocking. He leans back against a rock with lazy defiance—like he knows they won't strike. "Well? Come on then."

  The villagers freeze mid-step, weapons lowering slightly as Liang whimpers beside him. His father's grip on his knife tightens... but the man doesn't move to attack either.

  Liang's father strides forward, hands reaching for the boy. "There you are!" he growls. "Get away from the demon!"*

  Liang, however, doesn't move. He stays rooted to the ground, something like determination flaring up in his expression.

  "...He didn't hurt me," the kid says again, voice small but firm.

  Liang's father glares at the boy, his expression turning furious. "Shut up and come here!" he snaps.

  But Liang just crosses his arms defiantly. The kid stands his ground, small shoulders squared as his voice rings loud and clear: "No."

  Wang Lee's voice drops to something icy—almost amused. "Ah, Han. Yes, I'm going to eat Liang."

  A hush falls over the villagers like a dropped blade. Their faces drain of color as he continues: "So? You all get your free food... or I kill every one of your kids in this forest?"

  Their weapons tremble in their grips—not from rage now but pure terror.

  "Y-You monster!" Han sputters, but his voice wavers. "We won't let you—"

  Wang Lee just raises a brow, tilting his head mockingly: "Won't? Oh?" He flicks Liang's shoulder lightly, "Guess I'll start with this one then."

  (After few moments)

  The villagers stand watch around Wang Lee as he sits cross-legged by the spring, eating. They keep their weapons out, their faces fixed in expressions of wary terror—but none dare make a move just yet.

  They just watch him—eating.

  Wang Lee leans back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he surveys the tense faces around him. The villagers stiffen at his question—some exchanging uneasy glances.

  "Where... am I going to sleep?" he repeats, voice dangerously light.

  A beat of silence follows before a nervous farmer steps forward: "Y-You can't stay here! The demon is not allowed in our village!"

  Wang Lee tilts his head at the farmer, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Oh? The demon is not allowed?" he echoes, his voice just a touch too sweet. "And who's going to stop me?"

  The farmer falters—his knuckles white around his axe. "The village elders! They—We won't let you!"

  Wang Lee lets out a dark scoff. "The village elders?" he echoes, like the idea itself is hilarious. He stands up slowly, towering over the farmer and others. "And what will they do, hm? Throw some herbs at me? Make a little circle and start chanting?"

  "Shut up," he says, slow and deliberate, "And get me a room. Now."

  A pause. The farmer pales slightly as Wang Lee adds with icy precision: "...Or I burn your crops to ash by dawn."

  As the villagers scatter away, a few of them whisper to each other—glares thrown in Wang Lee's direction.

  "Why does he always come every winter?"

  Another murmurs gruffly back: "Must be some kind of curse. A demon seeking warm blood"

  Wang Lee's smirk widens as the realization dawns on him. His eyes glint with dark amusement.

  "Every year? But I wasn't here..." he muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "So there's some actual demon out there... and it seems I just inherited myself a new toy."

  Wang Lee sprawls across the elder's bed—too large for it, too unbothered—as he finally lets himself sleep. The room is stuffy with incense and old parchment, but he doesn't care.

  Meanwhile, outside the door: muffled footsteps. Whispers. "...Do you think it'll kill us in our sleep?"

  "Shut up! It'll hear you!"

  Midnight. When the village is utterly quiet save for the chirping of crickets.

  Wang Lee opens his fan, and Yinzi appears within it—already looking like he has a hundred ideas.

  "It's going to be fun," it says gleefully.

  Wang Lee just rolls his eyes, snapping the fan shut again. "Go on then. Go have your fun."

  Yinzi disappears in a blink, zooming out through the bedroom window. Wang Lee lies back on the floor, staring up at the dark ceiling.

  Flashback to days long ago: Wang Lee as a child, walking along the dirt road with his mother. They carry baskets of food and rice crackers, laughing softly at one another.

  Up ahead, a small temple rises like a jewel against the forest. Smoke drifts lazily from its wooden walls, carrying the scent of tea and sandalwood.

  As they approach, they see a group of monks tending the temple. Their orange robes billow in the soft wind.

  As they reach the temple, Wang Lee bows low to the group of monks. His mother hands over a basket of food—rice crackers, tea cakes, and sweet sesame balls. Other villagers do the same, some murmuring prayers of thanks. The monks accept the offerings graciously, faces calm and eyes serene.

  One older monk smiles down at Wang Lee. "May you be blessed, young one," he says kindly, patting the child on the head.

  As the other villagers leave—their footsteps crunching faintly on the dirt path—Wang Lee hesitates. His eyes linger on the temple for a moment. His mother calls from behind: "Come on, let's go."

  Wang lee come back at 9 am alone.

  Wang Lee watches as the monk—still half-asleep—stumbles slightly. His movements are stiff, unnatural... and then his head tilts too far to the side.

  A flicker of golden fur ripples a

  cross the man's skin like water disturbing a pond's surface. His fingers curl into claws, nails lengthening into sharp points.

  "Little human," a new voice rasps from him—not that of a monk anymore but something older, "...why are you still here?"