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By the autumn of the fourth year of Zhiyuan, Yin-Yang Mountain was as peaceful as ever.0

Mountain winds rustled the ancient pines surrounding the temple. The entire mountain was quiet, with no visitors coming to burn incense. Only faint music drifted from a mist-shrouded pavilion across the way, disappearing almost entirely by the time it reached them.0

Beneath the pines sat a girl in a three-colored outfit, a boy in black and white, and a five-year-old girl in a small Daoist robe with her hair in buns.0

The three of them sat cross-legged facing each...0