Liu Si and Ding Wang died. This news quickly spread throughout the city. Han Sheng had survived the ordeal, only injuring one leg, which gave people the final piece of gossip for their tea-time conversations.
But before the Liu and Ding families held their funerals, the Zhuang family held theirs first.
“Yue Niang,” Zhuang Hai sat before the gravestone, slowly lighting incense and candles. “I took their lives as an offering for you. No one knows what happened to you—you remain pure and unblemished.”
Fresh soil traces turned up on either side of the newly placed stone tablet, contrasting with the desolate autumn grass in the distance. Zhuang Hai fell silent for a long while. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “You can close your eyes now.”
He suddenly could say no more, lowering his head to his chest. “Why did you… why couldn’t you let it go…”
The autumn wind swept through the wild grass, dissolving into a suppressed sob.
A transparent young woman stood beside Zhuang Hai, reaching out her hand only to pass futilely through his shoulder.
Brother…
After a long while, Zhuang Hai raised his head again, his expression resolute and determined.
He walked toward the city. He had kept Yue Niang’s coffin from being buried precisely for revenge.
Now he had killed Liu Si and Ding Wang. Their bodies bore traces of crossbow bolts, and furthermore, there was still Han Sheng—this matter couldn’t be concealed. When he had prayed to Marquis Wu for help with his revenge, he had bought that crossbow as a backup plan. Liu Si and Ding Wang were dead, but whether they died at Marquis Wu’s hands or his own made a difference. Mortal law couldn’t touch divine beings, but it could touch him.
He had already prepared himself.
Zhuang Hai returned home. White paper lanterns swayed in the wind. He sat down in a chair, slowly exhaled, and closed his eyes.
Brother…
“…Brother…”
Zhuang Hai opened his eyes to see a familiar slender figure standing in the doorway, her back to him.
“Yue Niang!” Zhuang Hai smiled and stood up, walking over, completely forgetting that Yue Niang was already dead. “What are you standing there for? Come inside!”
But Yue Niang didn’t turn around. She remained standing there. “Brother, don’t worry.”
“Worry about what?” Zhuang Hai pulled her around. “Why do you keep facing away? Did your makeup smudge today?”
Yue Niang turned with his force, revealing a smiling beauty’s face.
Zhuang Hai was startled, then laughed. “Why did you put your embroidery over your face?”
Though the beauty’s face had gentle eyes and a smiling mouth, it didn’t move at all. Looking closely, it was clearly an embroidered beauty’s face.
Zhuang Hai reached to remove it, but Yue Niang pressed his hand down. “…Brother, about those people—don’t worry. Marquis Wu took care of it. No one will know you did it.”
“Which people? What matter?” Zhuang Hai frowned, suddenly sensing something wrong. “Yue Niang, what’s happened to you? Let me see you.”
Yue Niang’s hand trembled on the beauty’s face, slowly moving away. “Brother… what do you see?”
Zhuang Hai removed the embroidery and saw Yue Niang’s gentle face wrinkled with an expression both sad and worried. He sighed in relief and smiled. “See? You’re fine. Why frighten me?”
But Yue Niang suddenly burst into tears.
Zhuang Hai became flustered. “What’s wrong? Who bullied you? Don’t cry.”
Yue Niang looked at him through teary eyes. “I… I must go. I’m with Marquis Wu now, living well. Don’t worry.”
“Don’t…” Zhuang Hai reached to grab her, but Yue Niang had already retreated backward, drifting away until she vanished.
Zhuang Hai felt a pain in his chest and opened his eyes with a start. He was still sitting in the chair. The doorway was empty, with only white paper lanterns swaying sporadically in the autumn wind.
He pressed his chest, his lips trembling twice. Was it a dream?
But even the next day, when Liu Jiangcheng and Zhu Kangning pulled him along to eat hot pot, no one came looking for him. The shop was filled with steaming heat. People discussed the latest excitement—although the Liu and Ding families had hired Daoist priests from Xingfeng Temple, they still couldn’t save the two men’s lives. And the only survivor, Han Sheng, remained silent about everything.
People accepted this with a certain inevitability. After all, it was Marquis Wu! What did Xingfeng Temple matter? Among all the nearby places, where did people live more comfortably than under Marquis Wu’s protection? When Marquis Wu decided something, who could change it?
At the entrance, the shop assistant still smiled as he distributed roasted chestnuts, each one piping hot and soft. Tucked in one’s clothing, they warmed the heart, driving away the autumn chill.
Zhuang Hai stood up and walked toward Old Man Yu selling chestnuts nearby.
“What are you doing?” Zhu Kangning asked.
Zhuang Hai waved his hand. “I’m going to pay respects to Marquis Wu.”
…..
The long wind came from afar, falling upon the distant outskirts.
This was already beyond the several towns protected by Marquis Wu, arriving at the border of the territory protected by Xingfeng Temple.
Standing at this boundary, one could better see the differences between the two sides.
Both were shrouded in malevolent qi, but the malevolent qi under Xingfeng Temple’s jurisdiction was diffuse—born from the turning of great calamity and the fearful suffering of all living beings. It seeped into every creature, chilling their bones and disturbing their hearts, with only one place where clear qi rose vigorantly. Within Marquis Wu’s domain, the malevolent qi was concentrated. It had been refined through unorthodox evil methods and brazenly shrouded the entire territory like a fierce and mighty beast. Where it crouched, no other evil qi dared intrude.
The actions of Marquis Wu and Xingfeng Temple couldn’t be judged as good or evil, right or wrong—they were simply two different choices. Marquis Wu had the will to protect; Xingfeng Temple looked after itself. The latter’s aid to those under its jurisdiction was limited to what didn’t affect their own interests—rather like mortal laborers who gave only as much effort as they were paid, with anything extra counting as compassion. As for more evil matters, amid great calamity when one could barely protect oneself, better to sweep the snow from one’s own doorstep.
Li Chi manifested his form, withdrawing his gaze from the sky above Marquis Wu’s territory and turning it to the clear qi on the other side. That was Xingfeng Temple’s aura.
Three people had come to settle karmic debts with Marquis Wu: an old Daoist who had lived for hundreds of years and fought with Marquis Wu before, a young Daoist boy reincarnated after being killed by Marquis Wu in his previous life, and the one Li Chi was most interested in—the last one, a young Daoist. He was the only one of the three whose age truly matched his appearance.
This young Daoist hadn’t cultivated for long, yet his edicts could trouble Marquis Wu. This wasn’t because he was exceptionally talented, but because of the thread of royal qi about him. He carried the bloodline of Liang Kingdom’s royal family.
Though mortal law couldn’t touch cultivators, as a deity protecting a region, one inevitably formed connections with the local people, creating karmic ties with the mortal ruler. Edicts from one bearing royal qi would naturally affect the local deity, and if the deity accepted incense from this land, the effect would be even greater.
Just like over two thousand years ago when the ruler of Lu Kingdom targeted the Huai River God—except the Huai River God was a deity of heaven and earth who accepted no incense and protected no living beings, so the Lu Kingdom ruler’s edicts had no effect on him.
Now the three had returned to Xingfeng Temple. The young Daoist boy looked displeased, the old Daoist showed no emotion, and only said to the young Daoist whose breathing was still uneven. “Changshou, you should go rest.”
Changshou. This was his name, not his Daoist title. Common people often named children this way—Changshou, Yaoshi, Qubing, Qiji—wishing their children health and longevity. On any busy street, if one shouted “Changshou!” without a surname, four or five people might turn to look.
Li Chi’s gaze fell from afar. This young Daoist had no Daoist title, only the name Changshou, and he had no surname. More precisely, his surname had been concealed.
Upon him rested a thread of clear qi from Xingfeng Temple. This clear qi was unremarkable—everyone from Xingfeng Temple carried more or less clear qi as part of their shared fate. But the clear qi on Changshou wasn’t as simple as it appeared. It not only concealed his surname but also covered most of his royal qi, leaving only a trace visible, making him seem like a distant relative from many generations before the current Liang King.
But Li Chi saw clearly—with such royal qi, he was likely within two generations of the current Liang King. However, Changshou seemed completely unaware. Li Chi followed his karmic thread, which led to Liang Kingdom’s royal capital, also obscured by the greater royal qi there.
Li Chi raised his finger and plucked at the air. Heaven and earth were the qin, karma the strings.
After plucking, he didn’t transform into wind and rise, but stood in the road, slowly walking forward as if waiting for something.
…..
On the outskirts, a small road wound long, connecting two towns and the border between Marquis Wu and Xingfeng Temple’s territories.
The clip-clop of ox hooves sounded. An ox cart traveled on the road, heading toward Xingfeng City under Xingfeng Temple’s jurisdiction.
Driving was a wiry old man with rough, dark skin. His rough, callused hands gripping the whip were covered in scars, raised high to urge the ox onward.
Two children sat behind—a boy about fourteen or fifteen with thick eyebrows, large eyes, and a sturdy build, and a gaunt little girl with a sallow, listless face who looked sickly. Both children were wrapped in thick padded jackets, their gazes fixed on the cart or road, not looking to either side.
It was now late autumn, yet the woods on either side of the road still held greenery, casting deep shadows on the ground that obscured what lay within. The turbid light of dusk stretched these shadows longer, slowly encroaching toward the middle of the road.
Looking carefully at the edges of the shadowed woods, one could see scattered bits of white—scattered bones, and filthy gray things fluttering in the wind—tattered clothing.
In these times, many died of starvation, which fed the wild dogs in the woods. These wild dogs, having tasted human flesh, could never forget it. At first they remembered fear, only dragging people who had collapsed roadside into the woods to devour, whether alive or dead. But after consuming many corpses filled with resentment and unwillingness, the wild dogs’ eyes gradually turned blood-red and their courage grew. They even dared to attack lone travelers on the road.
Dusk was approaching. No one else was on the road, only the sound of the ox cart.
Suddenly came two caws of “gua gua” from the woods. The boy’s mind wandered, about to instinctively look toward the sound. The little girl beside him suddenly coughed violently. The coughing brought the boy’s awareness back. He hurriedly patted the little girl’s back and reached into his clothes for medicine. “Little sister, how are you?”
The little girl coughed for a while before slowly calming down. She pushed away his hand with the medicine, shaking her head. “I’m fine. I just choked. I’ll be better in a moment. This medicine is hard to gather—save it.”
The old man driving kept his face taut, saying sternly, “We’re back late today, just in time for the transition between day and night. Don’t look to either side. Da Luo, watch your sister.”
“Yes, Father!” Da Luo quickly responded, pulling a small knife from under his thigh and gripping it. Though the knife was still in its leather sheath, Da Luo’s heart gradually steadied. His other hand held the little girl’s. Though the cawing rose again from both sides, he didn’t turn his gaze.
Over time, too many had died miserably in these woods, which had gradually become a place haunted by ghosts and demons. People used to travel this road in groups to guard against wild dogs, but later ghosts and demons began luring people into the woods, so no one dared look to either side anymore.
The old man drove the ox cart, also keeping silent and staring only at the road ahead, urging the ox to go faster. They had to find the next resting place before sunset.
But…
“Whoa! Whoa!”
The ox cart suddenly stopped.
The old man’s hand went to his chest, watching the front warily.
In the middle of the road ahead stood a youth in dark green robes with a qin case on his back. Seeing them, he began walking over.
The old man’s hand emerged from his chest gripping a carving knife. “Stop right there!”
Li Chi’s steps halted as he smiled. “Elder, don’t be nervous. I’m just a traveler passing through who wishes to hitch a ride.”
The old man stared at him for a long moment, his fingers rubbing back and forth along the carving knife’s edge, before saying in a heavy voice, “Come then.”
Li Chi smiled. “Many thanks.”
The two children dared not look to either side, only scrutinizing him carefully as he approached. The old man kept his eyes fixed on him. Seeing him settle safely at the very back of the cart without approaching the children, he tucked the carving knife back in his chest and turned to drive the cart again.
The children had been watching the road and cart before, but now with something new to see, they both stared at Li Chi, looking at his dark green robes of indeterminate material and the qin case resting on his knees. Though wary, they couldn’t help being curious.
Li Chi smiled at them. Da Luo unconsciously smiled back. The little girl looked exhausted—after watching a while, she closed her eyes to rest, one hand gripping her brother tightly.
The ox cart moved steady and fast, but the sky grew darker. Cawing rose again from the woods on both sides, the sound growing denser, disturbing the mind.
The little girl’s face paled further. She seemed unable even to cough now, only breathing rapidly, her other hand digging into the boy’s flesh. Da Luo paid no mind to this pain, even trying to focus on it to keep his attention from being drawn by the cawing.
“Giddyup! Giddyup!” The old man cracked whip flowers in the air again and again, urging the ox to move faster.
The shadows from the woods had stretched longer, nearly covering half the road. Wild dog howls began mixing with the cawing, and a mournful wind sound passed through the woods like weeping.
Da Luo’s face paled, his pupils dilating, but he didn’t dare close his eyes and kept staring at Li Chi.
The ox pulling the cart grew restless, making the cart sway.
“Ha!” The old man suddenly expelled a shout from his chest, bright as a thunderclap from thin air.
The chaotic sounds in the woods were instantly suppressed. The road quieted considerably, but pairs of oil-green or blood-red eyes lit up beneath the tree shadows.
Da Luo swayed as the cart jolted, his eyes sweeping to the side and catching sight of several ghostfire-like eyes. A chill shot to his head. “There are—there are some!”
“Brother! Don’t look!” The little girl dug her nails into his hand, leaving several crescent marks.
Da Luo came back to himself and slowly exhaled, steadying his heart. Looking at Li Chi again, he sensed something strange. Neither the earlier chaos from the woods nor his father’s thunderous shout had affected this youth who’d stopped them on the road for a ride at all. He sat perfectly steady at the cart’s end, not even swaying once.
A thought flashed through his mind and he suddenly called out loudly, “You’re riding in our cart, so you’ll reach our destination with us safe and sound, right?”
“Da Luo!” The old man shouted to stop him, but it was too late—Da Luo had already asked.
He fell silent for a moment, exhaling a long breath amid the clip-clop of the ox cart, his hand going to his chest again as he asked, “Now that you’ve asked, you’ve asked. Fine. This old man also wants to ask this passenger who hitched a ride halfway—can we make it safely through this road?”
Li Chi seemed stunned by their question for a moment, then suddenly laughed. “Of course! You’ll definitely make it safely through this road!”
As his words fell, the old man seemed invigorated, responding loudly, “Good!” He cracked the whip, urging the ox cart to continue forward.
In the last light of dusk, the shadows on the road grew longer and longer. The woods below seemed to stir again. Li Chi opened his qin case. His fingers brushed across it and qin music arose, dispersing into the surroundings. The restless woods instantly quieted again.
The sallow-faced little girl sighed in relief, opening her eyes to quietly observe Li Chi.
Protected by the qin music, the ox cart rushed on and finally, just as the shadows from the woods climbed to the front of the cart, reached a resting place. It was a small temple by the roadside with four large characters written above: “Wanying Gong Temple.”
They would have to lodge here tonight. The old man and Da Luo were fine, but the little girl’s face paled again.
Wanying Gong Temple didn’t worship orthodox deities but homeless wandering ghosts—this was a yin temple. They couldn’t reach the city gate today. Though lodging in a yin temple wasn’t ideal, it was better than staying outside. Ghosts were just dead people—their natures weren’t much different from people’s. Some were good, some bad. But these homeless wandering ghosts, having received this temple where they could accept offerings due to the living’s goodwill, still held some kindness toward the living.