In the courtyard of the spirit residence, Yue Lin stood beside a bamboo sieve, worry clouding her face as she stared down at the three curled-up bundles of fur nestled inside.
"Miss," she called out, her voice trembling. "Little Snowball and Little Goldie are getting weaker every day. They don't even react to their bird toys anymore. And Little Coal… I saw her paw tremble when she was drinking water yesterday."
Across the yard, Song Miaozhu was trimming the petals of a paper-crafted magnolia. At Yue Lin's words, her fingers faltered, and the scissors made a faint crease in the edge of a bloom.
She set them down quietly and walked over.
Kneeling beside the sieve, she reached out and gently stroked each cat in turn. They responded, just as they always had.
Little Snowball strained to lift her snowy head. Little Goldie let out a weak but familiar purr. Little Coal, ink-black from nose to tail, nudged herself toward Miaozhu's palm and gave a soft breath.
Her fingertips traced their fur slowly, carefully.
Little Snowball's coat, once the purest white, was now tinted with yellow. Little Goldie's fur had dulled. Little Coal's coat remained jet-black, but thinned around her shoulders and hips.
Their movements were sluggish, their eyes dimmer than before. But they still leaned into her hand with the same trust they always had.
Miaozhu's gaze fell on Little Coal's twitching whiskers.
A dull ache settled behind her ribs.
These three had been with her for thirty-five years.
She had raised them from when they were barely bigger than her palm, back when she first stumbled upon them in an alley led by a ghost cat with calico fur. Little Snowball, the little snowball, had always rolled over to show her belly. Little Goldie, endlessly hungry, used to chase his tail until he fell dizzy. Little Coal loved the heights—cabinets, windowsills, fenceposts. She had ruled over them all with quiet dignity.
They had grown up beside her. Slept on her notes. Napped through her spiritual breakthroughs. Waited patiently as she studied the Secret Art of Paper Crafting.
Now, they couldn't even climb into her lap.
"Miss…" Yue Lin hesitated, her hands twisting the hem of her sleeve.
Miaozhu didn't answer.
She only continued stroking them, her fingers lingering as if memorizing the weight of their tiny forms, the rhythm of their breath. Every pulse beneath their skin felt faint—like candlelight flickering in late autumn winds.
The spirit residence was silent.
Only the rustling leaves and the cats' faint breathing stirred the stillness.
She had done everything. Alchemical red beans to boost vitality. Paper vine flowers for cleansing the blood. Gentle healing talismans. Every solution extended their time just a little more.
But in the end, they were just cats. Creatures who couldn't absorb spiritual qi. Their lives were short, even by mortal standards. Thirty-five years was already a miracle.
Last winter, Little Snowball still struggled to the veranda to sunbathe. Now, she could barely lift her head.
Miaozhu had known this day would come.
But knowing and facing it were two different things.
She remembered the snowfall that had blanketed Xiaozhu Mountain just a few days earlier. Yue Lin had gone outside to gather fresh flakes for tea, just as the ancients once had. Miaozhu had stayed by the paper stove, finishing the details on a new Lingxi design.
Then she heard three soft meows.
She looked down and saw them—Little Snowball, Little Goldie, and Little Coal—sitting side by side. Their little ghostly forms were translucent, shimmering faintly with yin energy. Not touching her, but near.
She turned to the nest.
The three bodies inside were still.
The moment had come.
No matter how prepared she thought she was, her chest tightened all the same.
For so long, it had just been them.
Only later had the paper servants arrived. Only later did she create Zhangli, Yue Lin, the others.
Now, the little ghost cats looked just as they had in their youth.
Little Goldie had once again found the end of her tail and was chasing it in circles. Little Snowball rolled over to flash her fluffy belly. Little Coal licked her paw, composed and elegant.
Even now, they were heartbreakingly cute.
But her hand passed through their bodies.
The softness was gone.
Soon after, a soft, silver glow unfurled behind them. The kind of light that came for all departed souls.
They paused. Looked back at her.
"It's alright," she said gently. "Go on."
In this age, the Underworld didn't wait long. Spirits were summoned quickly. If they lingered, the gate would pull them in by force—and the delay would be recorded.
"Meow…" Little Snowball gave a soft cry.
The three rubbed against her ankles one last time, looked up at her with eyes full of love, then turned and walked together into the waiting light.
Gone.
Just like that.
In the end, animals walked the same path as people. Their deeds judged. Their souls guided. But instead of the City of Souls, they passed into the City of Beasts.
Though Miaozhu could visit the Underworld, she couldn't follow them there. Fengdu City was for humans.
This was goodbye.
A real one.
She buried their bodies with care beneath the flowering plum trees, and from that day forward, burned offerings for them whenever she could.
She knew the cycle of rebirth well.
Newborn spirits often returned first as plants, then as beasts, then—if they gathered enough spirit and clarity—as people.
But she could make the journey easier.
Proper burial. Regular offerings. Paper gold burned with love and care.
And hell coins.
If they had enough of those, their afterlives would be soft. Restful. They could afford yin meals, soul rest lodges, and longevity incense. Eventually, with enough merit and spiritual strength, they could skip the low ranks of rebirth and return as humans directly.
She even visited the Tiandi Bank, transferring a hefty sum to their accounts.
Let them live comfortably. Let their days be gentle. And if they chose to become human someday, let that life be full of sunlight.
Even so, after they passed, Miaozhu found herself sitting quietly in front of their nest far too often.
The space felt hollow.
One afternoon, Zhangli approached with a photo in hand. "Miss," she said softly, "a family down in town has a new litter of kittens. They're quite cute. Would you like to adopt one or two?"
Miaozhu stared at the image for a moment, then shook her head.
"No. Having you all is enough for me now."
She still adored cats. Always would.
But their lives were too short. And their endings too hard.
Besides, no new kitten could ever replace the three little souls she had raised with her own hands.
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I'm crying (╥﹏╥)