A month later, the plane touched down in Chengdu, and the first thing Rui noticed was the air—thick with the scent of pine and jasmine, warm even at dawn. Qingyunzi stood at the airport gate, flanked by two young Taoists in gray Hanfu, their faces bright with excitement. "Welcome back," he said, hugging Ye and Dao Feng, then turning to Rui, his eyes soft. "I've been looking forward to showing you the mountain at sunrise. Shaoyang has told me you love quiet places."
The drive up to Xuanqing Mountain wound through green hills, the road lined with bamboo and wildflowers that nodded in the breeze. Lao Guo, who'd insisted on coming—"Someone has to make sure you boys don't burn the temple kitchen," he'd joked—sat in the backseat, pointing out every panda statue he saw. "Look, Rui! That one's holding a bamboo shoot as big as its head!"
The mountain's entrance was a stone archway, carved with the words "Xuanqing Daoist Temple" in bold, golden characters. Beyond it, stone steps climbed upward, winding through a forest of pine trees that smelled like resin and sunlight. The Taoists had prepared guest rooms—small but cozy, with wooden beds and windows that overlooked a lotus lake where fish darted beneath the lily pads. "Rest for an hour," Qingyunzi said. "We'll leave for the peak at 4 a.m.—sunrise is at 5:15, and you won't want to miss a second of it."
Rui lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, too excited to sleep. She thought about the first time she'd met Ye—his smirk as he handed her the glutinous rice, the way the grains had turned black in the alley behind Mr. Li's laundromat, the moment she'd realized everything she'd believed about "folklore" was just the tip of a very supernatural iceberg. Now, she was on his home mountain, about to share a sunrise he'd loved since he was a kid. It felt like a dream, the kind she didn't want to wake up from.
At 4 a.m., they gathered in the temple courtyard, lanterns in hand. The air was cool, dew clinging to the grass and soaking their shoes, and the stars were still bright in the sky—clearer than any she'd seen in New York. Qingyunzi led the way, his steps steady despite his age, while Dao Feng carried a thermos of hot ginger tea. Ye walked beside Rui, his hand in hers, his fingers warm against her cold skin. "Almost there," he whispered, pointing to a gap in the trees ahead. "The peak is just beyond that ridge."
The final stretch of steps was steep, and Rui's legs burned by the time they reached the top. The peak was a small, flat clearing, with a single stone bench overlooking the valley. Below them, the world was wrapped in darkness, the only lights coming from distant villages that twinkled like fallen stars. They sat on the bench, passing the thermos of tea back and forth, and waited.
Slowly, the sky began to change. First, a faint pink glow appeared on the horizon, spreading upward like watercolor spilled across paper. Then orange, then gold, painting the clouds in streaks of fire that looked like they could burn the sky. The sun crested the mountains, and light flooded the valley—turning the pine trees a vivid green, the lotus lake into a sheet of silver, the distant villages into tiny dots of color that seemed to wake up as the light touched them.
"Wow," Rui breathed, her eyes wide. She'd seen sunrises before—over the Manhattan skyline, over the ocean in Miami—but nothing like this. It was pure, unspoiled, like the mountain itself had been holding its breath just for this moment.
Ye wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "I used to come here alone, when I was a kid. Whenever I missed my parents, or got in trouble with Master for sneaking out to watch movies, I'd climb up here and watch the sunrise. It always made me feel like everything would be okay." He paused, his voice soft, almost shy. "Now, I get to share it with you. The best thing that's ever happened to me."
Rui turned to him, her heart so full it felt like it might burst. She kissed him, the sun warm on their faces, and he pulled her closer, his hand resting on the small of her back. Behind them, Dao Feng and Qingyunzi pretended to gag.
"Get a room," Dao Feng said, grinning. "Some of us are trying to enjoy the view, not watch you two make eyes at each other."
Lao Guo laughed, patting Dao Feng's back. "Leave them be. Love like that doesn't come along every day—especially not between an FBI agent and a Taoist exorcist." He pulled a camera from his pocket—"Borrowed from one of the Taoists"—and snapped a photo. "For the funeral parlor wall. We'll hang it next to the picture of Dao Feng covered in cinnabar."
After the sunrise, they walked back down the mountain, their steps slower, their conversation lighter. The Taoists had prepared breakfast: congee with pickled vegetables, steamed buns filled with pork, and cups of hot green tea that tasted like grass and sunlight. They ate in the temple kitchen, sitting around a wooden table, while the young Taoists peppered Rui with questions about New York.
"Do you really fight ghosts with a gun?" one boy asked, his eyes wide.
Rui laughed, shaking her head. "No, mostly with runes. But sometimes, a gun helps—especially if the ghost is possessing a person and won't let go."
Ye translated for her, his smile warm. Qingyunzi watched them, his eyes soft, as if he was seeing Ye as a man for the first time—not just his disciple, but someone who'd found his match. "Family," he said, to no one in particular. "That's the strongest magic of all. Not talismans, not swords—people who love each other, fighting together."
That night, they sat by the lotus lake, watching the stars reflect in the water. Ye played a flute— a simple, haunting tune his master had taught him when he was 12—and Rui rested her head on his shoulder. Lao Guo and Dao Feng sat nearby, arguing about whether Lao Guo's soup was better than the temple's.
"I'm going to miss this," Rui said, quietly.
Ye kissed the top of her head. "We'll come back. Whenever you want. This is your home too, now."
Rui smiled, closing her eyes. She knew he was right. Xuanqing Mountain wasn't just Ye's home—it was hers, too. And no matter where their adventures took them, they'd always have this place, this moment, this love.