The girl perched delicately on the high-tension wire outside the window, her body swaying gently with the wind-tossed cables. She was clad in some strange, gauzy ancient attire, yet a pair of snow-white long legs thrust out from beneath the skirt, bared to the biting cold of the heavy snowstorm. Dangling from her bare feet were numerous gold and silver rings adorned with tiny bells, which chimed with faint, delicate sounds in the wind. Most astonishing of all was the sight behind her: a pair of massive wings, feathered in a riot of iridescent color, were slowly folding themselves inward.

The boy stared at her, his expression utterly blank, before finally forcing out two words: "Monster."

"Who's the monster!" A small stone flew in through the window, striking the boy on the head. The girl declared indignantly, "When you see a beauty like me, you should at least call me a fairy, or an angel at the very least."

"Definitely a monster," the boy mumbled, shifting his gaze away, reverting to the posture he held before she had called him—standing motionless, watching a specific corner of the courtyard outside the window.

"Hey, you called me here just to watch you zone out?" The girl waited a moment, then snapped impatiently.

The boy acted as if he hadn't heard, offering no reaction whatsoever.

Angrily, the girl began tossing the small stones she held one by one through the window, each one hitting the boy precisely on the head. The boy finally grew furious, snatching up a stone near his foot intending to throw it back, only to realize upon picking it up that it wasn't a stone at all, but a brilliant green emerald, shimmering with light in his palm. He quickly glanced at his feet—red, blue, green... a dozen magnificent jewels lay scattered on the ground, glittering alluringly in the sunlight. These were the things the girl had been casually throwing at him like pebbles.

"Let me be clear..." The girl threw another "stone" to recapture the boy's attention. "I don't accept those kinds of stones as payment, you hear? Remember, if you need a letter delivered, I only accept gold. Only gold will do!" the girl announced loudly to the boy from outside.

"These are gems, aren't they?" the boy asked, curious.

"Yes, they are gems." The girl still held several in her hand, so she simply hurled them all over. "I'm making myself clear: I will never be fooled again by tricky customers like you who talk about substituting payment with things of equal value. Isn't that just the same as making me work for free? Honestly!"

Seeing the girl's vexed expression, the boy asked, confused, "But aren't gems quite valuable too?"

"They are very valuable, yes, but they're useless to me. I can't spend them like gold, and after having two or three hundred pieces of the finest jewelry, wouldn't anyone grow tired of them?"

"You could trade them for gold," the boy thought. So many gems, surely that amounted to a considerable sum? He did a quick mental calculation and arrived at a very substantial number.

"I am a courier. Couriers are forbidden from selling goods, do you understand? We are not merchants; our profession is solely to deliver messages! That is why I only accept gold as payment, I only use gold for expenses, and I will never sell any item—that is the trade custom, do you comprehend the rules?"

"No, I don't," the boy shook his head in confusion. If something has value, isn't that enough? Why all these strange theories?

"Just pay me in gold. The amount of gold equals: [the weight of your letter] multiplied by [the distance you are sending it] divided by [the number of days in your deadline]. If the result is zero, then you only need to pay me one tael." The girl extended her hand to him, adding, "If you're bad at arithmetic, I can calculate it for you—if you trust me, that is."

"But I don't understand what you're talking about. I don't plan on sending any cursed letters!" The boy finished impatiently, losing interest in talking to the girl again, and returned to staring blankly out the window.

The boy looked up and sharply rebuked her: "Annoying monster, didn't I tell you? I have no letters to send, and I didn't call you here. You ran all the way here to talk to me yourself. I truly don't want to deal with you! Stop pestering me unreasonably!"

"What did you say, you untrustworthy liar, arguing so confidently?"

"You annoying, clingy monster!"

"You detestable fraud!"

...

The two of them began arguing across the windowpane, each convinced the other was being unreasonable and disruptive. Finally, the girl decided that wasting her precious time on such an irritating person was not worth it. With a disgruntled parting shot, "You better remember this, I won't let this go," she flapped her wings and flew away. The boy shot her retreating back a disdainful look and returned to his reverie.

The sunlight crawled across the wall, inching closer to the center of the room. Just as the shadow of the window frame reached its shortest length for the day, the girl reappeared outside, beating on the window and roaring at the boy: "It's you again! Tell me, are you sending a letter or not!"

The boy shouted back at her, "No! Get lost! You monster, what are you doing here now!"

"You liar, if you bother me again, I won't be polite!" This time, the girl couldn't be bothered to waste words; she turned and flew off. The boy, equally enraged by her repeated disturbances, snatched up the gems she had thrown earlier and hurled them after her retreating form, yelling curses: "Annoying monster, just go away!"

Both were certain the other was deliberately causing trouble, solidifying their opinion that the other was an insufferable individual whom they wished never to see again. Yet, fate decreed otherwise; a few hours later, as the sun began to dip behind the buildings, the girl returned to the window once more.

Her beautiful face was contorted with fury. She rapped sharply on the glass with her knuckles, shouting, "Are you playing the 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' game with me! I warn you, I will strike your entire family from my client list! I will tell every courier never to deal with your lying family again! Playing tricks on couriers for amusement—I've never heard of such a thing, I've never heard of anything so outrageous!"

She had been repeatedly summoned here by the "I have an important letter" signal emitted by the service contract she was bound by, and this time it had interrupted a date she had planned with her boyfriend. How could she not be furious? Usually, due to the nature of her profession, the girl was always treated with respect, or at least unfailing politeness to her face. This was the first time she had suffered such treatment, and she was bordering on losing control, ranting incoherently and threatening to smear the boy and his entire lineage as fraudsters.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't call you, and I don't know what a courier is. You say I called you and played a trick? Show me proof, or you're the liar," the boy yelled back, jumping up and down, naturally angered at being cursed as a fraud for no reason he could discern.

"You want proof?" The girl scoffed. "That's easy enough." She raised a hand, and a tiny bell detached from a bracelet on her wrist, floating lightly into the window. It paused before the boy and then emitted a soft burst of light. As the light shifted and morphed, an image materialized: a perfect depiction of this very boy, calling out with an expression of utter helplessness: "Please help me... I want to send him a letter... Please help me..." The boy in the projection looked so distressed and forlorn that, at first glance, they didn't seem to be the same person.

"And this, and this..." Several more bells flew over, revealing the same scene each time, but the boy's pleading grew more urgent and anxious with each iteration. It was that look of helpless despair that had brought the girl rushing back on the third summons, even after being tricked twice before, only to find it was another deception.

"Are you still going to deny it? Don't think for a second that we couriers don't make 'backups' when we accept a job. We keep detailed records of every assignment!" The girl shook the three small bells simultaneously displaying the boy's image, declaring triumphantly, "If you want to deny it, you’ll need a much cleverer trick than this. Trying to fight me with tricks like these, hmph..."

"I... I never said that. This is your forgery..." The boy stated flatly.

"What? You..." Faced with evidence yet refusing to concede, the girl was truly shocked by such brazenness. She was so angry she couldn't speak, her finger trembling as she pointed at him.

"I really didn't say that... Although I do have something I desperately want to tell him, I never uttered those words, nor did I call any courier. I don't even know there's a courier like you. Aren't postal workers supposed to wear green uniforms and just deliver mail? If you want to send a letter, don't you have to go to the post office yourself?" The boy looked at her, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

No way, he really doesn't know...

The girl touched her forehead. How could someone issue a message without being aware of it? Then she registered his age; he seemed too young...

"I don't know you, and you certainly never signed a service contract with me. It must have been another member of your family, or perhaps an ancestor who contracted with my uncle?" (She still hadn't fully organized all the client data she had inherited from her uncle.) "You might not know your elders made this arrangement. But according to the contract, as soon as you have a letter to send and I happen to be nearby, I am summoned and compelled to come. Go ask your elders; you'll understand how it works."

The boy replied expressionlessly, "I have no elders. I am an orphan."

"That explains it. Perhaps your family members simply haven't had time to tell you about this..." The girl seemed to realize something profound. She took another long look at the boy, top to bottom. "Let me examine you properly. Oh... your yokai lineage is very faint. Perhaps an ancestor seven or eight generations back was a yokai—something you probably don't even know yourself?"

"You're the yokai! I'm human!" the boy shouted angrily. Nobody remains calm when accused of being a monster.

"Of course you're not human. None of my clientele are mere mortals from the human realm. I am a courier of pure lineage, and I am very particular about my clientele."

These days, some couriers took on any type of business to expand their services, a practice that couriers from established courier families like hers deeply disdained. Couriers traversed all realms to serve deities, spirits, immortals, and gods, not humans from the mortal world. They had their own postal networks, their own technology, and should not appear on a courier's client list—unless the mortal was a cultivator or had relatives who were spirits or deities, which allowed for some flexibility.

"Though your lineage is distant, you still fall within my service criteria, especially since your ancestor signed a contract with a courier of my clan. The moment you have a letter to send and I'm coincidentally nearby, I am summoned and obliged to appear." The girl sighed. After all this back and forth, perhaps it wasn't entirely the boy's fault; she should have explained things more clearly from the start. "Forget it. I admit it wasn't your fault just now. I was too rash. I retract calling you a liar and apologize. You can give me the letter now."

"Then I apologize too. I shouldn't have called you a monster... even though you are pretty strange..."

"Insincere creature! The letter..."

The girl flew directly through the window as if it were empty air; the aluminum frames, glass, and anti-theft bars offered her no resistance whatsoever. "Please give me the letter and the payment, and I will send it for you."

"Can you really deliver it?" The boy looked slightly skeptical.

"Of course! How many times do I have to say it? I am a professional courier, professional, do you understand? No matter where your recipient is, or who they are, as long as you pay in gold and give a reasonable deadline, I can deliver it—though if you ask me to deliver something to Kunlun but only give me one day, you'll have to find someone else more capable."

"I... I don't have any gold..."

"What? I don't work for free!" The professional smile instantly vanished from the girl's face, and she turned to leave.

"I... I only have these!" The boy held out his hand, showing her the gems he had collected.

"Those are mine to begin with, and I won't be fooled again! I won't take any more useless things. I'm not accepting them. I only want gold!" the girl announced decisively.

The boy lowered his head, saying no more. After a long silence, the girl finally couldn't help but ask again, "You really don't have any gold?"

"No..."

"Then does the recipient of your letter have gold?"

"He... probably does..." The boy's gaze was distant and lost.

"Alright then, let's set it up for recipient-pays." The girl said brightly. "Give me the letter, the recipient's name, and the deadline."

The boy's eyes widened: "Recipient-pays? That's allowed?"

"Why not? I once delivered a divorce decree valued at fifty thousand taels of gold—paid by the recipient, of course. You should have seen that philanderer's face, haha, it was priceless! I chased him for the debt until he nearly jumped off a cliff!" The girl proudly boasted about a good deed she had done.

"That sounds like you two ganged up to shake him down," the boy mumbled quietly.

The girl narrowed her eyes. "What did you say? I didn't hear you clearly. Do you want this letter sent or not? If not, I'm leaving?"

The boy thought it over, then extended his hand to her. "I want to pass a message to him, to tell him..."

"Director, are you seriously considering waiving the medical fees for Patient Nineteen?" the Chief Surgeon asked cautiously. This was decidedly unlike the Director's usual manner. The boy's family hadn't contacted the media or sought public aid, and even if the fees were waived, it wouldn't benefit the hospital's reputation in the slightest. The Director usually kept the word "profit" constantly on his lips.

The white-haired Director leaned against the window, gazing outward for a long moment before finally nodding. "Yes..."

"But such a large sum..."

The Director was aging, and it seemed he had begun to believe in the mysterious powers of the unknown and the retribution of karma, a thought immediately springing to his subordinate's mind.

"Do you know who sent the letter? It was me! It was myself! You don't know, but I suffered from this exact same illness when I was a child. This disease is completely treatable, yet I watched myself slowly drift toward death because we had no money. My parents died from overwork trying to earn money for my treatment, and the other committed suicide out of despair. It was only later that a kind elderly couple paid for my treatment and adopted me, allowing me to survive and receive a good education. When I lay in that hospital bed, I swore to myself more than once: If I survive to grow up, I will become a good doctor. I will treat children in the same predicament and not charge them, so their families don't have to face what mine did. But I forgot... I forgot it all, every single bit... My heart was filled only with thoughts of the hospital's profit... Last night in a dream, I received a letter from myself. My younger self scolded me severely in it... This decision is final. Go handle the paperwork..."

Being severely scolded by his past self in a letter—what a bizarre occurrence...

The Director shook his head, watching the window with a faint smile.

I've decided. From now on, I will allocate a fixed fund every year specifically to help families with children like that. Even if it's just for a childhood dream.

His subordinates filed out, still slightly unconvinced by the Director's decision. This Director had studied medicine abroad when he was young, returning to earn national acclaim for his superb skills. In middle age, he founded this private hospital, which had since grown to a scale comparable to large state-run hospitals. In terms of medical skill, character, and ability, the Director was unimpeachable, except for one thing: he placed too much importance on profit. He would never do anything without a direct benefit, and if a patient failed to pay even a single penny less, he would watch them die at the doorstep. However, his hospital fees were fair and his medicine prices low, so no one accused him of poor medical ethics. It seemed that in his old age, he finally had a moment of conscience, a softening of the heart. Perhaps no matter how high the education or how scientific the field, old age inevitably brought a fear of the divine.

"Sending a letter to myself, specifically hiring a courier, and insisting the fee must be paid in gold—and I have to pay it... When did I develop such a vivid imagination..." the Director muttered to himself while looking out the window.

Suddenly, the telephone on his desk rang: "Hello? ...Wife, what is it? What? Thieves... What did they take? Nobody was hurt, I hope? ...As long as no one was injured, money and possessions are external things... Call the police, yes, call them. I'll be right back... Gold necklace, gold rings, gold ingots? That's all that's missing? Strange, I distinctly remember a savings passbook worth tens of thousands in my drawer... No, no, that's not my private stash... Anyway, I'm coming home right now..."

He hastily hung up and rushed out the door. In the corner beneath his desk, several tiny "pebbles" were scattering their mesmerizing glow in the sunlight.