Chapter 30

After leaving the cultivator encampment, Mu Xue’s crew headed down the Divine Path.
The deeper they traveled, the more the world blurred, sand stretched all the way to the horizon, and it was impossible to tell day from night.
The toppled statues by the roadside grew fewer and fewer, while colossal phantoms drifted across the sky: blank, pale faces and insubstantial, ghostly bodies.
The ancient gods had left fragments of their consciousness on this earth; for thousands of years, those fragments wandered the Divine Path, now slowly forming these phantom shapes.
Now and then, a few righteous or demonic cultivators hurried down the road, scarcely pausing for anyone.
The ones who’d made it past the Sea of Desire to reach this place weren’t here just to “try out the lifestyle” like the newcomers on the outskirts. Most were elite disciples from big families or sects, each with some special skill. They didn’t risk the inner sanctum for a measly spirit herb or ore, instead, they all had clear, personal goals.
So everyone kept to themselves, eyes open and nerves tight, not eager to make small talk.
Right now, Mu Xue was digging a clay stove into the hillside, getting ready to whip up a new supper over an open fire.
She was stacking lumps of dirt in her hands, feeling oddly unsettled.
Mu Xue, whose primordial spirit was already refined, could sense it even if Miao Hong’er and Fu Yun, still just at the Foundation Establishment stage, hadn’t noticed, there was a familiar aura, lingering in the distance, trailing them all the way here.
Mu Xue knew that spiritual signature all too well, so well she didn’t have to check twice to know exactly who it was.
Why was Xiao Shan following them? Was he just craving that baked earth-pot stew?
Just imagining herself feasting happily with her senior brother and sister while Xiao Shan had to watch pitifully from afar made Mu Xue, never one to deny her favorite disciple, feel strangely guilty.
If only she could find a way to “accidentally” spot him and send a few baked potatoes his way. That would be perfect.
“Wow, Xiao Xue, since when do you know how to make earth-pot stew?” Miao Hong’er returned with some ingredients, eyes lighting up at the sight of Mu Xue’s handiwork. Rolling up her sleeves, she joined in. “This dish is all the rage back up in the northwest, but you hardly ever see it here. Didn’t know you were such a prodigy, here, let me throw something extra into the mix.”
Miao Hong’er produced a duck from only-God-knows-where. After a swift bloodletting and plucking, she worked her nimble hands along every inch of the duck’s body, and with some deft, mysterious motion, cleanly slid the full skeleton out through a tiny notch on its neck.
With the bones gone, the duck’s skin and meat remained perfectly intact, a hollow pouch. Hong’er stuffed it with goodies, chestnuts, wild mushrooms, mountain bamboo shoots, stitched it shut, loaded it with all kinds of spices, then wrapped the duck in a lotus leaf, sealed it with wet clay, and set it beside Mu Xue’s potatoes, ready for them to stew in the embers together.
The whole process was so smooth, Mu Xue was left speechless.
Most people came into the Dongyue Temple checkpoint packing survival tools, potions, or bartering goods. Hong’er? Her bag was probably stuffed to bursting with snacks, spices, and dried goods.
When Xiao Shan was little, Mu Xue loved making treats to fatten the kid up. But next to Master Chef Miao Hong’er, she had to admit defeat.
“Well, if it isn’t earth-pot stew! Haven’t tasted this in years. My old lady used to cook this after a long day in the fields.” An aged voice drifted over.
He started the sentence from some distance away, but by the final word he’d already arrived by their side.
Mu Xue looked up to see an old man squatting on a clod nearby, hair and beard all white, face lean, figure short; he wore dusty gray homespun cloth and had an erhu and a satchel strapped to his back. He looked every bit the typical village farmer.
Of course, there were no ordinary people strolling about in the deep of the God Path.
Miao Hong’er and Fu Yun immediately stood, subtly positioning themselves between Mu Xue and the newcomer.
“No need to be so tense, little ones. I just smelled something irresistible and wondered if you’d spare me a bite.” The old man squatted atop the dirt mound. “Don’t worry, I won’t mooch. You’re headed for Road of the Dead, aren’t you? I’ll trade you road offerings for a share.”
He produced a small stack of yellow joss paper, round with a square hole in the center, stamped with golden swastikas.
Legend has it the ancient god of Dongyue presides over birth and death, summoning human spirits to him. Since all souls are meant to return to Dongyue, the Road of the Dead inside the holy realm is where spirits gather and transcend, off limits to the living.
If the living wish to pass through, sacrifices are a must, every step of the way.
Fu Yun and the others had researched all this ahead of time, they’d come prepared.
But the joss paper this old man offered was special, imbued with a faint shimmer of Buddhist golden merit, as if blessed by a high monk themselves, absolutely priceless on the ghost roads.
Fu Yun instantly realized he was no ordinary fellow, and accepting the paper, said, “You’re too kind, senior. It’s just a meal, when it’s ready, you’ll have the first helping.”
The old man’s countless wrinkles folded deeper as he grinned. “Good, then I’ll hold you to that. My surname’s Zhong, just call me Uncle Zhong.”
Uncle Zhong unfastened his erhu, tuning it in his lap as he drawled, “Seems I’m not the only one lured in by this smell. Friend, there’s no need to hide, why not come join us?”
Everyone turned to follow Uncle Zhong’s gaze. In the shadows between the trees, a cloaked figure slowly emerged.
“Cen, Daoist Cen?” Fu Yun saluted. “What luck, Brother Cen! What brings you here?”
Cen Qianshan was stumped by the question. His gaze drifted, just for a moment, in Mu Xue’s direction. Even he didn’t really know why he’d followed along behind them this whole way.
“Don’t tell me you’re also headed for the Road of the Dead?” Thankfully, Fu Yun gave him a graceful out.
Cen Qianshan finally nodded, silent as ever.
Fu Yun’s feelings about this demonic cultivator were complicated. Cen Qianshan always kept everyone guessing. Back at the Sea of Desire, he’d fought monsters, crossed the sea alone, bathed in blood and glory, fierce and wild, an unstoppable force. Now, he barely spoke at all.
But whatever else could be said, Cen Qianshan had once saved Fu Yun’s life. Good etiquette since childhood kept Fu Yun courteous, inviting him to join them for dinner.
The reclusive man hesitated for a long moment, then, surprisingly, came over and sat quietly beside the campfire.
This sudden twist made Mu Xue’s wish come true, and she couldn’t have been happier.
Bubbling with excitement, she got clumsy with her hands.
When Mu Xue went to break apart the dirt clod tower, instead of sinking gracefully into the hearth as planned, several super-heated chunks broke off and shot toward her.
She barely had time to dodge before an arm, bandaged hand and all, flashed in front of her, moving so fast it left afterimages, and caught every flying clod one by one.
The chunks, now glowing hot from the fire, didn’t seem to faze Cen Qianshan at all. He looked at Mu Xue calmly as he tossed them back into the stove and reached to take the stick she’d been using to knock the tower apart.
“Let me handle it.”
He moved quickly, faster and with more skill than Mu Xue, knocking the red-hot clay bricks into the earthen stove in a matter of moments. He swiftly covered the oven’s mouth and hearth with sand, trapping in the heat so the food inside would roast through and through.
While they waited for dinner, Mu Xue grabbed a jar of burn ointment and plopped down beside Cen Qianshan. “Thanks for before. You burned yourself, didn’t you?”
She naturally reached for Cen Qianshan’s right hand, the one that had taken the hit. The bandage wrapping his palm had been singed by the coals and now unraveled, tumbling down to reveal the skin underneath.
Where on earth did he get all these scars?
Mu Xue’s brows knit with concern.
As soon as she touched his palm, Cen Qianshan instinctively tried to pull away, but her small, round hand closed gently around his fingers.
“Stop squirming. I’m putting ointment on you,” declared the bossy little six-year-old holding his hand.
From Cen Qianshan’s vantage, all he could see were the two glossy buns atop her head.
A touch of coolness met his burnt skin, her tiny fingertip dipped in salve, gliding circles over his palm. It tickled, just a little,
She carefully spread a layer of ointment across his hand, then blew softly to soothe the sting. A stream of cool air washed away the burn, carrying him back into a memory.
He’d just become his Master’s disciple, climbing the shelves to fetch a small jar of dragon’s blood.
He’d always been dependable, never careless. But that one time, for reasons he still didn’t understand, the jar slipped through his fingers. He watched helplessly as that precious medicine tumbled through the air.
He dove for it, desperate, but his fingertips only grazed the bottle. It hit the ground with a sickening crack, the crimson liquid splattering all over his hand.
Dragon blood was fiercely corrosive. Where it splashed, his skin burned, smoke curling up, agony searing deep.
But even as his flesh stung, all he could think about was how much effort his Master had spent to buy that jar of dragon blood, how many supply runs it had taken, how many resources spent.
That tiny bit of dragon blood could have bought several children like him.
He threw himself to the ground, trying to scoop up whatever drops remained.
“What are you doing?!” thundered his Master from the doorway, fury shaking the room.
Cen Qianshan flinched. As a child, he’d made a similar mistake once, his foster father had stripped him and whipped him so badly he couldn’t get out of bed for three days.
Master strode over in two steps, lifted him bodily onto the workbench, and grabbed his hand, turning over his palm.
He braced himself for a beating, but instead, cold water washed away the blood. Master frowned just like Mu Xue, dabbing ointment, blowing gently over his wounds.
“How can you be so dumb? If the dragon blood’s gone, it’s gone. Don’t you dare risk your hand for it.”
He’d waited, stiff, for punishment, but none came. Finally, Cen Qianshan stammered, “A-Aren’t you… going to hit me?”
“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I?” Master rolled his eyes, then looked down to treat another scratch. “You deserve a thorough spanking. I’ll put it on your tab, don’t think I’ll forget.”
That tab grew longer every day, debts stacking up for years. He’d never get to pay any of them back.
Afterward, he would always bring home dragon blood and phoenix feathers from his hunts out in the wilds, just to offer them to Master.
He’d sidle up close, showing off every little scratch so Master would fuss over him, dab salve, blow gently, and let him bask in that rare, aching feeling of truly being cared about.
A cool breath lingered on his palm, pulling Cen Qianshan back to the now. He jerked his hand away before he even realized it.
The child’s pale fingers slipped free. Her warmth lingered on his skin, but strangely, he didn’t mind it at all.
He’d always hated being touched. The childhood trauma from his foster father left him anxious at any skin contact.
But aside from Master, this was the first person whose touch didn’t make his skin crawl.
Maybe it’s just because she’s still a kid, Cen Qianshan thought.
The roasted eight-treasure duck and potatoes were finally dug out of the clay oven.
The rich, boneless duck was impossibly juicy, stuffed with wild delicacies, shiitake, chestnut, bamboo shoots, and paired with hot, steaming potatoes, cracked open and eaten with puffs of cool breath under the slanting sunset. Everyone couldn’t stop raving about the meal.
Mu Xue, the youngest of the group, was busy serving up food for everyone.
“These kids cook as well as my late wife did back in the day!” grinned Uncle Zhong, the spectral old-timer who’d just scored a free meal.
“Uncle Zhong, was your wife really that amazing in the kitchen? Better than my senior sister?” Mu Xue sliced off another heap of tender potato and duck breast for him.
Uncle Zhong’s smile faded bittersweet beneath his white beard. “Back when my wife was alive, I never thought her cooking was anything special. I was all about chasing the Dao, cared little for love or family. Looking back, I can’t believe how foolish I was.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mu Xue said, suddenly chagrined at assuming his beloved wife was still alive when she wasn’t.
“No need for that. It’s been years now.” Uncle Zhong waved it off. “Back then, I’d be holed up cultivating all the time while my wife always fussed after me, eat this, try that. I thought she was just nagging, holding me back. Then, one day, she was suddenly gone. That’s when I felt how empty everything was. My cultivation stalled. Nothing felt right anymore. That’s why I took the risk to walk the Road of the Dead.”
Fu Yun suddenly understood. “So you came here because you want to, ?”
Uncle Zhong nodded. “Yes. I just want to see her once more, no matter what.”
Within the Road of the Dead lies a ghostly gate, step across, and you just might meet the ones you’ve lost, even if just for a fleeting moment.
Uncle Zhong picked up his erhu and drew out a soft, mournful note,
“The Road of the Dead ferries the dead to rest, but also the living hearts left behind.”
The music wept and told its tale, winding under the earth and up into the sky, its sorrow meant for those long gone.
He sighed. “My bad, I really shouldn’t have brought this up during dinner. You kids, daring to brave the Road of the Dead... are you all still pining for someone you can’t let go of?”
Fu Yun explained, “That’s not it. We’re headed for the Deathless Pool, actually. What about you, Brother Cen?”
He seized the chance to subtly sound out Cen Qianshan’s true purpose, hoping to keep things peaceful with this demonic cultivator who’d helped him out.
Cen Qianshan slowly broke a piece of food in his hand. “I’m going to the Deathless Pool too. But on the Road of the Dead... there’s someone I long to see. The most important person in my life.”
Uncle Zhong let out a long sigh. “Judging by your look, you came to see a departed lover, didn’t you?”
Cen Qianshan’s lashes lowered, and after a pause, he said softly, “Yes. She is the great love of my life, and she was also my Master, the one who taught me everything.”
Sitting by the hearth, Mu Xue instantly broke into a fit of violent coughing.