A year later, Ye and Rui lived in a small house in Brooklyn, with a white picket fence and a backyard where Ye grew herbs for his talismans—mugwort, sage, peony, and a small peach tree he'd brought from Xuanqing Mountain. The living room had a bookshelf filled with Rui's medium journals, which were packed with sketches of runes, notes on cases, and photos: the sunrise on Xuanqing Mountain, their wedding, their honeymoon in Paris, Dao Feng making a face while eating Lao Guo's extra-spicy soup.
Every weekend, Dao Feng and Lao Guo came over for dinner. Lao Guo would cook—spicy Sichuan beef, dumplings, red bean buns—and they'd sit around the table, talking about their latest cases. Dao Feng had become a beloved advisor at the SPU, and he loved teaching new agents how to use peachwood swords and read Yin energy. "Yesterday, I taught a new agent how to draw a Binding Talisman," he said, grinning. "He almost drew it backwards. I told him Master would've made him clean the temple for a week."
Lao Guo laughed, shaking his head. "You were the same way, Dao Feng. Remember when you tried to use a talismans to fix the toaster? Burned it to a crisp."
Ye rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "I did not. That was Dao Feng."
Rui squeezed his hand under the table. "You totally did. Dao Feng showed me the photos."
One rainy afternoon, Rui's phone rang. It was Mike, his voice excited. "Rui, we got a case in Tokyo. A haunted shrine—reports of a kitsune, a fox spirit, stealing offerings from the villagers. The local police can't handle it—they say the spirit's too strong, and she won't talk to anyone. You two in?"
Ye looked at Rui, grinning. "What do you say? Want to see Tokyo? Eat sushi? Meet a fox spirit?"
Rui smiled, grabbing her bag. "Let's go. I've always wanted to see a real kitsune—especially one who steals rice cakes."
They packed their bags—Ye's peachwood sword, Rui's rune chips, the Xuanqing Whisk (which they'd brought back from Xuanqing for "emergencies")—and headed to the airport. Dao Feng and Lao Guo were waiting for them, waving goodbye. "Bring me back a souvenir," Dao Feng said. "A kitsune statue, maybe. For my desk at the SPU."
Ye laughed, throwing a pinecone at him. "Will you stop asking for statues? Last time, you made me carry a 10-pound panda from Chengdu."
The flight to Tokyo was long, but they passed the time by planning their trip: they'd visit the shrine, eat sushi at a tiny restaurant by the ocean, go to a traditional tea ceremony, and maybe even visit Tokyo Tower. When they landed, the sun was rising, and the air smelled like cherry blossoms and soy sauce.
The shrine was in a small town outside Tokyo, its gates covered in red lanterns that swayed in the breeze. The villagers were waiting for them, their faces worried. "The kitsune comes every night," an old woman said, through a translator. "She steals our offerings—rice, fruit, sake. We've tried to talk to her, but she runs away. She's scared, I think."
Rui closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers. She could hear her—a young fox spirit, her voice small and sad. They forgot me… my master was the priest here, a hundred years ago. He used to leave me rice cakes. Now, no one remembers him… no one remembers me.
Ye pulled out his bronze mirror, holding it up to the shrine's main hall. The mirror's surface rippled, and a kitsune appeared—small, with white fur and nine tails, her eyes filled with fear. "I'm not trying to scare them," she said, her voice soft. "I just… wanted someone to remember. To know we were here."
Rui stepped forward, her voice gentle. "We'll help you. We'll tell the villagers about your master. We'll make sure they never forget you."
The villagers listened, their faces softening. "We'll leave offerings for you every day," the old woman said. "Rice cakes, sake, fruit. Whatever you like."
The kitsune smiled, and her body began to glow. She vanished, but not before leaving behind a single white fox hair— a gift, Rui thought. She picked it up, tucking it into her journal.
They spent the next few days in Tokyo, exploring the city. They ate sushi at a tiny restaurant where the chef knew their order before they said it, visited the Tokyo Tower at night (where they saw a small, friendly ghost of a child who'd gotten lost), and went to a tea ceremony where Rui learned to make matcha (badly, according to Ye, who laughed when she spilled it on her sleeve).
On their last night, they sat on a rooftop, watching the stars over the city. Rui leaned her head on Ye's shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. The wind was cool, and the sound of a nearby temple bell drifted up to them.
"Remember our first case?" Rui said, smiling. "The woman in white in Chinatown. You called me 'Fei-Bi.' I thought you were a con artist."
Ye laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "How could I forget? You were so mad, you almost arrested me for 'disturbing the peace.' Now you're married to me. Life's funny that way."
Rui grinned, hitting his arm lightly. "I was right about one thing—you do have a terrible sense of style. That gray Hanfu you wore to our first meeting? It looked like a potato sack."
Ye gasped, pretending to be offended. "It's traditional! Master made it for me!"
They laughed, and Rui snuggled closer. Outside, the rain began to fall, soft and steady. Ye touched the peachwood pendant around her neck—the same one he'd given her before their trip to Sichuan, now worn smooth from years of use.
"I love you," he said, quiet now, like he was sharing a secret.
"I love you too," she said.
They sat there, watching the rain hit the rooftop, knowing their adventures were far from over. There would be more ghosts, more zombies, more vampires. More late nights, more close calls, more sunrises over mountains and cities and oceans. But they had each other. They had family. And together, they were unstoppable.