ATEG Chapter 115.1

Sui Kingdom, Liuying City.

Deep in the night, the quiet was broken only by the watchman’s hollow clacking of his bamboo clapper, sounding at measured intervals through the streets and alleys. Liuying City was not a large city, but it had a very long history. Legend had it that before the city was built, this place was merely a small village. In that village lived a family of six siblings, and the youngest sister had a head of jet-black, lustrous long hair — as strong and supple as a stream, as smooth and soft as silk satin. One day, the earth beneath the village suddenly cracked open. The rich, fertile soil of the fields, the wheat seedlings, the chickens, ducks, geese, and dogs people kept, the houses and furniture, and the people who could not flee in time — all fell into the fissure and vanished. The crack was bottomless, and it kept expanding. The six siblings stepped forward, each pushing the earth inward from opposite sides of the crack toward the middle, and the fissure stopped growing — but the moment they let go, it would begin to widen again.

The eldest sister devised a plan: they would sew the earth shut, so they would not have to keep pushing it forever. They gathered the sturdiest vines and hunted animals for their toughest sinew, but after sewing the crack closed and releasing their hold, the vines and sinew snapped under the tension. The youngest sister then cut off her own hair. They used her hair as thread to seal the crack in the earth, and this time, once it was sewn shut, the earth cracked no more. The youngest sister’s hair gradually fused with the earth itself, becoming a black road.

Liuying City took its name from this legend, and there is even a Liuying Shrine within the city.

Chai Huo walked with a lantern in one hand and a bamboo clapper in the other, holding a short stick, rapping the clapper every few paces. He had originally lived in another city, where his family ran a small martial arts school — a modest but comfortable livelihood. He had practiced martial arts in the school since childhood, and while he was no master, he was considerably stronger than the average person and considerably more agile on his feet. Then one day, enemies suddenly came crashing down upon his family. His entire household was killed. His parents fought to the death to get him out alive. Not knowing who the enemy was, and having no power to take revenge, he fled to Liuying City. Not daring to use his real name, he took the alias Chai Huo. He had fled with nothing, and out of necessity, he settled at the charity mortuary outside the city, sharing the work of a lame old man who had been managing it alone in exchange for just enough food to survive. When the old man later died of illness, the work fell entirely to Chai Huo.

The job of night watchman had not originally been his. A friend he had slowly come to know in the city had fallen ill these past two days and asked him to fill in. The watchman’s work was at night; the charity mortuary’s work was during the day — no one came to that place after dark. He rested at his friend’s home in the city at night, going out to make his rounds each time the hour came, then leaving through the city gates when dawn broke and heading back to the mortuary. There was little to do there during the day, and he could catch up on sleep. Enduring this for a few days meant earning a bit extra in his friend’s gratitude — enough to buy himself winter clothes.

Chai Huo walked the main street, clapping his bamboo clapper as he went, then opened his throat to call out after each round of knocking. The paper lantern shed a ring of warm yellow light, illuminating the hazy, dim night. He did not know whether Liuying City’s legend was true or false, but the road he walked was genuinely black. The stone slabs laid across it were the usual grey-blue color, but the soil showing through the cracks between them was black. The stretch of this road that extended beyond the city had no stone slabs, and was therefore even more distinct — a black line extending into the distance, ending abruptly about two li away. The soil on either side was an ordinary dark brown, making this black road stand out all the more starkly.

Turning onto the next stretch of street, Chai Huo clapped his bamboo clapper twice out of habit, opened his mouth to call out, and suddenly felt the earth and mountains heave. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, his mind going blank for two seconds before a realization struck him, and cold sweat broke out like a flood.

The earth — the earth was moving!

He cried out in alarm, but his throat was clenched as tight as fabric stretched taut on a drum frame; the breath refused to come out — only two broken sounds escaped: “Huh — huh—” Chai Huo pushed himself up from the ground and was about to cry out again when he sensed something was wrong.

Why was it so quiet?

No people or animals had been startled awake. There were no sounds of cracking earth or falling trees. Not even a single roof tile had fallen. There was only the rustling of the night wind through leaves and the long dying cries of autumn insects. Chai Huo stood on the ground yet still felt it swaying beneath him, swaying so that his legs felt as though they had gone soft. He picked up his lantern and stumbled to the large iron water vat propped on bricks by the roadside, peering into it — the water’s surface was perfectly still, without so much as a ripple.

Had there been no earthquake? Then why did he still feel unsteady on his feet? Chai Huo stood there in a daze for a long moment, then reached into the vat and scooped up a handful of water, splashing it onto his face. The cold jolted him like a shock. He looked around — still felt the ground moving, in waves, one after another, as though something were rushing past beneath the earth. Yet apart from his own sensations, everything was normal.

The deep autumn night wind swept past. The bitterly cold water droplets slid down his skin like blades, soaking into his collar, worming their way inside his clothes. Chai Huo shivered. He wiped his face and flicked the water from his hand onto the ground. His eyes held equal parts fear and fierceness. He picked up the fallen bamboo clapper and lantern, knocked twice, and — in the steady thud of the clapper — clenched his chattering teeth and forced out a hoarse shout through the gaps:

“The air is dry and things are parched — mind your fires and candles!”

****

The rooster crowed at daybreak. The sky was still dark, but the morning star had already cast the earth’s first breath of yang warmth from the east.

The city guards yawned and shivered, their sleeves wrapped around the ice-cold iron windlass as they turned it, and the heavy city gates slowly swung open. The sky brightened to a grey-blue.

Chai Huo was the first person out of the city. He was still carrying that paper lantern, hurrying with quick steps toward the charity mortuary outside the walls. The bamboo clapper had already been returned to his friend. The dry clothes he had changed into still left him hunching against the cold, curling his neck and arms in on himself like a shrimp. He wanted to tuck his hands into his sleeves as well, but these clothes were a little small for him; though he had made himself look as pitiable and ridiculous as possible, his wrists still stuck out. These were his friend’s clothes. The night watchman had to make several rounds of knocking throughout the night, and after Chai Huo felt the earth moving, he had kept going until he finished all his rounds before returning to his friend’s home to rest — where his friend had noticed his clothes were wet and insisted on changing them for him.

“You’ve still got another round to make in an hour, haven’t you? Wearing wet clothes like that won’t just freeze you to death!” His friend had looked at him staggering on his feet and reached up to feel his forehead with alarm. “You haven’t got a fever, have you?”

He did not have a fever. He simply felt that the ground kept swaying, and consequently could not seem to walk straight himself.

Fortunately, the sensation gradually weakened as time passed — now it only swayed intermittently — and he slowly adapted, eventually managing to walk steadily again. Otherwise, walking around looking like he was drunk would have been a problem.

Chai Huo had no idea what was wrong with him. Everything else seemed normal, which could only mean the problem lay with himself. Had he been poisoned? But what kind of poison only made a person stagger without causing any other discomfort? He then thought of his enemies — yet he knew absolutely nothing about why his family had been attacked. All he remembered was that on that day, he had been sleeping at noon when his mother woke him abruptly. Screams erupted from the front courtyard. His mother, in a frantic panic, pressed three talismans onto his back and both legs, scooped a handful of soil from a flower pot and smeared it on his face, then shoved him out through the small servants’ gate and cried with a voice stripped raw:

“Run!”

He had never heard his mother’s voice like that. He ran with everything he had — ran faster than he had ever run in his life, fleet as the wind, even scaling the city wall directly and fleeing the city over it. As he crossed the wall, he felt a heavy shove from behind that nearly sent him sprawling. After that he just kept running and running, until he could no longer run so fast, and only then did he stop. He was still wearing the inner clothes he had napped in. A burning sensation on his legs made him look down — two of the talismans had caught fire, and they quickly crumbled to ash and scattered. He reached around to his back and found the third talisman, which bore symbols written in cinnabar that he could not read, along with the impression of a large seal. The cinnabar color on both had faded to a very pale hue, and there was a black, charred scar through the middle of each talisman like a slash from a blade. Only then did he dimly recall that sensation of being shoved hard when he crossed over the city wall.

He did not dare return directly. He first made inquiries for news. Before long, word spread that his entire family had been killed. It was said that even the birds kept in cages along the corridor of their home had been slaughtered. It was said that the youngest child of the family had escaped with his life. It was said this child was currently living at the Magistrate’s residence, weeping blood every day and beseeching the Magistrate to investigate the killers.

At that, Chai Huo was completely done with any thought of going back. He was that youngest child of the family. He was right here — so who was the one in the Magistrate’s residence?

Chai Huo ran at full speed toward the charity mortuary. He still felt unsteady beneath his feet, but it was considerably less severe than that swaying earlier. If his enemies had found him, why would they do something like this? Judging by the ruthless methods they had used to kill his entire family, wouldn’t it have been simpler to just kill him directly? Or was there something they wanted to find, which was why they kept him alive? But wouldn’t it be more logical to simply capture him? And he had absolutely no idea what his family could have possessed that would be worth someone coveting so desperately… Chai Huo’s mind was a chaotic tangle. He gripped the lantern tightly in his hand and ran straight into the charity mortuary.

The charity mortuary was a frightening place. Not far away was a stretch of mass graves, where ghost-fires often drifted about. When the thin coffins inside the mortuary were nearly full, he was responsible for burying the ones that had been there the longest in the mass graves, and lighting a few sticks of incense while he was at it. A place like this was heavy with yin energy and prone to strange and eerie occurrences, so people avoided it like the plague. But Chai Huo felt it was actually not so bad — there were measures laid down by immortals within the charity mortuary, and someone came periodically to inspect them. In the beginning he had been afraid too; when the old man was still alive, the two of them slept together, and the old man told him there was nothing to fear from the dead. He had kept watch over this mortuary for half his life, and the dead had never once harmed him. It was when he was young that his leg had been crippled — and it had been done by a living person.

Chai Huo understood the old man was trying to comfort him, but he still felt afraid. Because of his martial arts training, he was considerably taller and broader than others his age, looking like a grown adult, but the old man seemed to see through his years and regarded him as a frightened, helpless child.

Later, the old man passed away — without illness or mishap. One evening he lay down to sleep, and the next morning he simply did not wake up. Chai Huo only discovered the old man had already gone cold when he woke in the morning. He had slept a full night beside the old man’s corpse. He had expected to be afraid, but instead he only felt sad. Chai Huo laid out the old man’s body and saw to his funeral rites. After that, when he stayed alone in the charity mortuary, he was never again as frightened as he had been before.

Two white paper lanterns hung before the mortuary gate, swaying gently in the wind, yet the light within them burned steady and sure, casting warmth outward. Chai Huo took out his key and unlocked the large brass padlock on the gate. He stepped inside, closed the door, and called out softly, “Sir? Sir?”

After the old man’s passing, he had been the only person in the charity mortuary — but some time ago, a most unusual guest had arrived here.

A figure appeared silently within the room. Chai Huo tensed involuntarily, then slowly relaxed. He had encountered Sir in the mass graves not long ago. It had just rained, and in one spot the soil had not been packed down firmly, leaving the ground hollow beneath the surface — held up only by the grip of wild grass roots and looking perfectly normal from above. Chai Huo had not noticed the problem and stepped right onto it. Had Sir not seized hold of him, he would very nearly have plunged into the rotting water and filth below.

There was never anyone about the mass graves in ordinary times, and he had seen no one nearby — yet Sir had appeared at his side seemingly out of nowhere and pulled him to safety.

Sir had not concealed his identity, and stated plainly that he was not among the living. Chai Huo had been afraid for a time, then reasoned it out for himself. Fear solved nothing. He had nothing left to lose. Since Sir had shown goodwill toward him, he had to seize this chance. If he could not become a cultivator, if he could not acquire extraordinary power, then he would never have the ability to discover who his enemies truly were, or why they had come — let alone any chance of revenge.

Sir refused to tell him his name, asking only to be called “Sir.” The yin-green and ghostly-blue ghost-fires in the mass graves grew fewer and fewer — likely because of Sir’s presence — and the mortuary itself was no longer as cold and dark as it had been. Sir had also relit the lamps here; the newly lit flames were warm and bright, unwavering in the wind. The paper lantern Chai Huo carried out at night had been lit by Sir, and carrying this lantern, he felt no dread even when walking through the mass graves. Last night, if he had been carrying any other lantern, that stumble might well have snuffed the flame.

“What’s the matter? You look like your soul is still in shock,” Yang Cang said, looking at Chai Huo, whose thoughts were clearly weighing heavily on him.

He had arrived in Sui territory some time ago and had been moving about extensively without settling anywhere. Yang Cang had come to Sui territory during his lifetime, but returning now, he found that Sui territory had changed enormously. His master, Bie Chuyuan, might also be somewhere in Sui Kingdom. Fearing that Bie Chuyuan would detect him, Yang Cang could only proceed with great caution, first familiarizing himself with the current state of Sui territory. This place was his temporary foothold.

Chai Huo took a deep breath and told him all about how he had been feeling the earth move.

Yang Cang first examined him carefully. Chai Huo appeared to be in good condition; there were no signs on him that anyone had placed any kind of working on his body. Just then, Chai Huo felt the earth move again and his body began to sway.

Yang Cang smiled. “Don’t be afraid. The problem is not with you.”

Chai Huo was still tense. He steadied himself against the wall and looked to him for help. “Sir?”

“There is indeed an earth tremor, but this is a perception that only cultivators who have achieved the ability to send their divine soul out of the body can detect. You have been in contact with yin energy here for too long, and your divine soul is not quite stable within your body. It is because of your divine soul’s heightened sensitivity that you have been perceiving the tremor. Follow the method I taught you, and in a few days it will pass,” Yang Cang said.

Chai Huo relaxed somewhat at these words, then said earnestly, “Sir, you have already taught me the Lamp-Lighting Method. Why won’t you take me as your disciple?”

Yang Cang shook his head. “Wait until the day you truly find the gateway. Then we will speak of it.”

Chai Huo was somewhat disappointed. Sir had passed down the Lamp-Lighting Method to him, but he had never been able to light that one inner lamp. Sir had said this was because his hatred was too heavy — it had clouded his heart and suppressed his kindness — and so he was unable to ignite the heart-flame.

Yet he could not let go of that hatred. His entire family was dead. If he put down hatred as deep and heavy as this, how could he face his parents and elder siblings who had cherished him? What kind of person would he even be?

Lighting the heart-flame required a single pure spark of compassion from within the heart. He had tried exactly that — he worked hard to help others, he rescued injured animals, he walked with care even in ordinary circumstances, watching where he stepped so as not to crush small insects… Yet after all these attempts, he still had never managed to light the inner lamp.

This made Chai Huo grow increasingly anxious. What if he was never able to light the heart-lamp? Did that mean he would forever remain an ordinary person — unable to avenge his family, unable even to learn who his enemies were? When the day of his old age finally came, would he still be waiting to die, carrying this regret and despair?

He wanted to learn some other method of cultivation. He knew there were other cultivation methods in this world — like those three talismans his mother had pressed onto him in those final moments. Perhaps if he learned some other method, he would be able to succeed? But Sir would only teach him the Lamp-Lighting Method. If Sir were willing to take him as a disciple, he might teach him other methods as well — but because he could not master the Lamp-Lighting Method, Sir would not accept him as a disciple. Sir clearly knew his situation and knew he could not master the Lamp-Lighting Method — was this simply the excuse Sir was using because he did not want to take him in? Was there something he had not done well enough?

“Do not overthink it.” Yang Cang saw through Chai Huo’s thoughts at a glance and said, “If I take you as a disciple, you will enter my lineage, inheriting its old matters and its vows. You are not ready for that yet.”

The old matters of Mingdeng Sect were not light ones. The Sect had been born from the destruction of Xuanqing Sect, and though it was not recorded anywhere, among those who first founded Mingdeng Sect, there may well have been survivors of Xuanqing Sect. As the world turns like ocean tides, Xuanqing Sect later shed its skin and changed its face, and those founding predecessors vanished without trace, leaving only Mingdeng Sect to drift and carry on its inheritance to the present day.

Chai Huo pulled his wandering thoughts back with some effort, chose not to dwell further on the matter, and turning to what had occupied him before, asked uneasily, “Sir, why is the earth moving? Will it — will it lead to anything bad?”

“You need not worry. This is a good thing,” Yang Cang said.

Chai Huo still had questions, but since Yang Cang showed no intention of elaborating, he had no choice but to set aside his curiosity for now. He looked quietly at the expression on Yang Cang’s face as he gazed into the distance — it really must be a good thing, he supposed.

Yang Cang only allowed himself a brief moment of feeling before drawing his gaze back. Several days ago, he had also heard that sound — the earth’s spine resonating. The Great Spine of the Earth had been set anew, establishing a pillar-vein that connected heaven and earth. The earth’s veins in all four directions received its benefit, the effect spreading outward from its center: earth-veins on the verge of death stirring back to life, blocked earth-veins flowing freely once more, severed earth-veins rejoining and continuing.