Chapter 32

Uncle Zhong came to his senses and found himself riding in an ox cart. The sky was dazzlingly blue, sunshine pouring down, and golden fields of wheat waved on both sides of the road. The wooden wheels rumbled steadily. Up ahead, a big, yellow ox swished its tail, plodding along at an unhurried pace.
He turned and realized an elderly woman with graying hair, her head wrapped in a faded scarf, was sitting beside him. She was already watching him, a gentle smile on her lips.
"Wi…wife?" Tears stung Uncle Zhong’s eyes. "Where have you been all these years? I’ve missed you so much."
His wife of so many years said nothing. Lowering her eyes, she carefully peeled an orange, old hands fumbling a little as she picked away the white pith and then split it in half, handing one part to him in silence.
Uncle Zhong popped the wedge in his mouth, tears streaming down the lines and wrinkles of his face.
"It's been so long… Husband, how are the kids?"
"Those little brats are all fine. It’s just me who’s not so good. After you left, they all grew up and left home, and the house feels so empty now. No matter where I go, I can’t get used to it."
"Is the orange tree in our yard still bearing fruit?"
"It’s still full every year, branches loaded with red oranges. But there’s no one left to pick them. So many just rot away, wasted."
She sighed softly and pressed the rest of the orange into his hand. "Time for you to head back. This isn’t where you belong yet."
An impulsive feeling welled up in Uncle Zhong’s chest. He gripped her wrinkled hand tightly. "Wife, I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to cultivate anymore, either. I spent so little time with you before, let me stay here now and make it up to you, all right?"
The crow’s-feet at her eyes deepened with a kind smile. "I never thought you’d still think of me like this, after all these years apart. That’s eased some regrets I had when I was alive. But all those old stories, I've let them go. I'm just waiting now to rejoin the cycle of rebirth, to start anew. You have your own path to walk, grand ambitions in your heart. You can’t forsake all of that just for me."
She smiled and gently pushed him away. "Take care, my love. It’s time for us to part."
Her final smile lingered before his eyes, but everything else had already changed.
Uncle Zhong found himself standing inside the giant city gate. At the foot of the wall, the others, those young people, were already waiting for him.
The clear sky, endless fields, the slow-moving cart, and his wife's smiling face had all vanished like morning mist, slipping away with the breaking of the ghost gate’s dream.
He looked around in a daze and staggered a few steps before steadying himself.
Fu Yun quickly stepped forward, catching his teetering figure. “Uncle, are you alright?”
The elderly man, his hair a snowy white, crouched down and rubbed his forehead over and over. “When she was by my side, I never cherished her. Now, I regret it, bitterly, deeply, but it’s too late. She’s already moved on. This hurdle in my Dao heart... I suppose I’ll never cross it.”
He waved Fu Yun away.
“Sorry, give me a moment. Just... a little longer.”
Once you pass through the Gate, there’s no turning back. To move forward, you have to walk the Road of the Dead, where ghosts, spirits, and the lost all drift on together.
Beyond the city wall, a never-ending ancient city buzzed with spectral life. Pale lanterns lined the streets; shadowy spirits crowded the inns and taverns, while raucous ghosts howled in teahouses and gambling dens.
At a meat stall beside the road, a butcher sharpened his boning knife with a sinister glint. He stuck out his scarlet head and sniffed the air, jaws widening into a bloody grin. “Hmm? Smells like a living soul around here. Has someone live snuck in again?”
As Fu Yun passed by, he gripped his Silver Moon sword a bit tighter.
Fortunately, the butcher only peered a moment longer before shrugging and tucking his head back inside. He muttered, “Probably just my imagination. Too many living ones slipping through lately, my nose is all messed up.”
Miao Hong’er led Mu Xue by the hand, squeezing her little palm. “Scared?”
Mu Xue shook her head. “Senior sister, did you see who you wanted to see in there?”
Miao Hong’er had lingered in the Gate of the Dead for a while. When she finally stepped out, she covered her face and sat alone on the steps for a bit. But soon enough, her usual bright, carefree self returned.
Still, Mu Xue could sense that something inside her had quietly changed.
Miao Hong’er turned to gaze at the towering gate behind them.
Inside those gleaming doors, her little sister was just as adorable as ever.
The girl cupped her tear-streaked face with soft, tiny hands. “Don’t cry, sis. The last thing I want is to see you cry.”
Miao Hong’er pulled her sister into her arms, voice breaking. “Are you still hungry? Even now, are you still hungry?”
“Not anymore.” Her little sister flashed a gap-toothed smile. “Now I just hope you’re never hungry either. Live well out there, okay?”
“I did see her, I saw my little sister.” With a gentle, teary smile toward Mu Xue, Miao Hong’er went on, “I came here for Xiao Ye, but somehow, I ended up healing the oldest wound in my own heart.”
Right then, atop a dark, silent tower along the Road of the Dead, a man in a tall white hat lounged carelessly. His long hair spilled over his half-open robes, revealing his chest, brutally split open. He seemed not to mind, propping his chin on one hand, draped sideways at the tower’s peak. Four enormous, grotesque ghostly masks floated eerily nearby.
“How entertaining. Another living soul slipped through.”
“Well, I’m bored anyway. Might as well stir up some trouble, see if any of these new arrivals are worth my time.”
Hand in hand, Mu Xue and Miao Hong’er wandered down the Ghost Market Street. Ahead was Cen Qianshan and Senior Brother Fu Yun; behind them lingered Uncle Zhong, looking terribly lost in thought.
All of them unconsciously formed a cocoon around Mu Xue, as she curiously took in the wild, otherworldly streetscape.
At one shop, a man in prisoner’s clothes leaned on the counter, cradling his own head as he flirted shamelessly with the proprietress, a skeleton woman swathed in a bright dress, a delicate flower crown perched jauntily on her skull.
A scholarly-looking new ghost stumbled along, grabbing random passersby. “Excuse me, what place is this? How did I get here?”
“I swear I was just napping at home. Why did I wake up here?” He shook out his sleeves, holding his head. “My county exam is tomorrow! I have to go back. I have to! Years of late-night study for this one day, why is this happening to me?”
Mu Xue was quietly enjoying the scene, her eyes sparkling with curiosity,
When suddenly, a tiny boy dashed past, only to stop and turn, eyes wide with recognition and delight. “Xiao Xue? It’s you! You finally made it!”
In that instant, the world froze: Miao Hong’er gripping her hand, Senior Brother with his sword, Cen Qianshan’s blood-marked face, Uncle Zhong’s ever-present erhu, all the bustling, noisy spirits, everything and everyone seemed to pause and slide away, leaving only her and the not-quite-familiar boy.
The boy took her hand, weaving her through the frozen crowd, leading her forward as everything else faded away.
“Look, everyone! Guess who I brought with me?” the boy cheered, pushing open a door and pulling Mu Xue inside.
It was a modest little classroom, sunbeams filtering through the window lattice, lighting up a row of battered desks.
A few girls perched on the desks looked over and snickered at the sight of her before turning back to their whispered gossip. Some boys by the window lifted their heads, one or two offering a halfhearted wave in greeting before going back to their own distractions.
Suddenly Mu Xue remembered, this was Master’s classroom, and she was one of his disciples here. The boy beside her was Xiao Yan, a fellow apprentice she’d always gotten along with.
Strange... something so routine, yet she’d almost forgotten it.
She slipped into her seat, still feeling a little lost.
Every seat was filled, except the one right beside her. Something tickled the edge of her mind: there was someone who should be sitting there, someone incredibly important to her. But at this moment, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember who it was.
The senior sister handing out lunch banged the ladle on the teacher’s desk. “Quiet down! Anyone who wants to eat, keep it down.”
Meals here were always meager, two spoonfuls of noodles tangled with wilted greens, plus a bowl of broth with an unidentifiable murky color.
The senior sister giving out food glanced at Mu Xue, a flash of resentment in her eyes. She called out in a pinched, singsong voice, “Master said that since Xiao Xue was the first to craft a working puppet, her lunch today comes with an extra chicken leg and two braised eggs.”
Inside the classroom, countless jealous and resentful eyes shot toward Mu Xue from every corner, with no attempt to hide their feelings.
That plate piled high with mouthwatering meat and eggs, passed through so many hands before finally landing on Mu Xue’s table.
“Senior sister. Oh, c’mon, best senior sister, please let me have one?” Xiao Yan begged, swallowing hard, his gaze glued to the fragrant marinated egg. “Haven’t tasted meat in months.”
Before she could react, he’d already snatched up the dark, glossy egg and, looking thoroughly blissed out, popped it right into his mouth.
Mu Xue’s heart skipped a beat, dread prickling at the edges of her mind. She wanted to stop him, but for some reason, the words caught in her throat.
The boy eating, still savoring with his eyes closed, suddenly froze, his expression shifting.
Both hands flew to his throat, face gone utterly white, and he collapsed, seizing on the floor.
“Help... help me, senior sister…” He curled up tight, foaming at the mouth, red-eyed as he reached out desperately to Mu Xue. “I don’t want to die. I want to live, please…”
The classroom fell deathly silent. All those cold, indifferent eyes watched him writhe in agony, convulsing on the ground, until finally he went completely still.
No, this isn’t right, Mu Xue stumbled backward. This can’t be where I belong, it’s not supposed to be like this.
Somewhere in her memory was a place bright and relaxed, everyone laughing and sharing delicious food, where you could trust each other, sharing without a second thought.
“Mu Xue! What are you spacing out for? Go!” A sharp shout snapped Mu Xue awake.
Right in front of her loomed a massive beast, fresh blood dripping, with a long serpentine neck, a vaguely human face, and claws sharp and blood-red.
All around her, senior brothers and sisters hurled themselves at the wounded monster, heedless of their own lives.
“Wait, don’t-” Mu Xue grabbed the sleeve of the senior brother who’d just called her.
He shook her off without hesitation, eyes burning with greed. “Get out of my way! That’s a Nian Beast, its whole body’s worth a fortune!”
The very next moment, just as Mu Xue had feared, that senior brother fell like a puppet with its strings cut, dropping from midair to land beside her, a snapped neck twisted back, unblinking eyes staring up at the bloody sky.
The monster crashed to the ground, collapsing atop a pile of disciples’ corpses. The handful of survivors didn’t spare a glance for the dead, mobbing the carcass to loot whatever treasures remained.
Mu Xue stood there dumbly as the scene blurred and shifted. Suddenly she was back in a lavish courtyard, facing a giant, shadow-faced man. He held up a lamp he’d just crafted, the Mingdeng Mirage Platform, one thick arm around a bejewelled, fawning consort, roaring with laughter. “Good, good, that’s my star disciple!”
Mu Xue strained to see his face clearly, but all she could make out were warped, shifting features.
“Make me ten more right now, no, make it fifty! Hurry up, I need to send them out as gifts.” The man’s fat lips were constantly moving. “What? You’re sick? You can keel over for all I care, finish first. You think I raised you for nothing? Don’t forget who you owe!”
“No.” Mu Xue said flatly.
“What? You dare disobey your master’s orders?”
“No. You’re not my master, not anymore.” Mu Xue looked him in the eyes. “My master… he’s nothing like you.”
She remembered her real master, dressed in blue, sitting on the edge of her bed, checking her pulse and soothing her fever with gentle words: “Just rest, nothing else matters when you’re ill.”
Her senior brother shielding her, picking snow-lotus blossoms to bring her.
Her senior sister setting down a plate of treats. “Come on, Xiao Xue, open wide!”
Staring at the blurry-faced man before her, Mu Xue closed her eyes. She summoned a searing red fire-dragon that circled her once, the Li Dragon’s true flame, burning away this nightmare and all its lies. The world around her peeled away like paper set alight, flames widening the hole until the last scrap of illusion had turned to ash.
“Huh? Already someone broke through the nightmare world?” The man atop the tower sat upright in surprise. “And a tiny kid, at that?”
His cold, narrow eyes shimmered with pale gold light. From his perch, he looked down. “Well, look at that, not just a stray soul, but something caught between the worlds, slipping through a flaw in the heavens.”
…
Cen Qianshan opened his eyes, to find himself in the heart of a decadent, rowdy banquet.
Rainbow lanterns bobbed under the eaves; expensive puppet-servants glided between tables with platters, and divine music flowed from enchanted instruments, silvery sweet.
Cups clinked and laughter rang through the feast; guests and hosts reveled together, fine delicacies piled high. Beautiful concubines and pampered boys lingered nearby for the guests’ amusement.
“Well, Shopkeeper Liu, what do you think of my adopted son?” Cen Qianshan’s foster father slouched in pride of place, beaming as he pointed to him.
Cen Qianshan himself knelt on the floor, carefully holding a crystal goblet filled with red wine, afraid to even look up at the honored guest.
The noblewoman placed a cold hand under his chin and tipped his face up. “He’s a real beauty. Let him grow a bit more, I could make him a concubine for my son. Would be a fine match for both our families.”
Her fingers were icy and clammy, gliding over his skin like a cold serpent slithering past.
Cen Qianshan flinched away, but in his panic dropped the costly glass, shattering it on the carpet.
Red wine pooled among the broken shards at his knees.
The room fell silent, and he could feel his foster father’s fury radiating without needing to look up.
After the guests had gone, he was stripped and tied to the punishment bench in the courtyard. Every fostered son and daughter was forced to come watch.
Each lash sliced through the air and struck with a pain so sharp it felt like bone-shattering agony,
His bare skin stung in the cold night, shame and torment laid out for all those mocking eyes to see.
He blacked out, woke again to new humiliation, over and over, surrounded by sneering, laughing faces.
On the filthy ground was a puddle of snowmelt.
Cen Qianshan slumped on the bench, dazed, staring into the black water at his feet.
He saw his foster father’s face reflected in the dirty puddle. But in that twisted mirage, there was no anger, no hatred, just a secretive smile, eyes squinting in pleasure, licking his lips as he feasted on the sight of his suffering.
Cen Qianshan closed his eyes and, with a bloodied hand, drew a fatal X through the hazy word “father” in his heart.
“So it really was you. You’re the one who killed me.” A piercing shriek suddenly split the air.
The crowd of children watching had vanished. His foster father strode across the broken surface of the water, no one knew when, but a gaping hole had been bored through his left eye, all the way from the back of his head. His skin was ghastly pale, his face twisted and terrible, clearly, a man long dead.
With fingers like bleached bone, he grabbed Cen Qianshan by the hair, yanked him up from the torture bench, then flung him to the ground. He roared, “I was your foster father! You heartless demon, committing sins like this, don’t think you’ll ever know peace. You’re doomed to spend your life rotting in hell, spat on by millions.”
Cen Qianshan pushed himself up, mud and blood smeared across his bare skin, making him look filthy.
Yet he threw back his head and laughed. “A devil’s child can only become a devil. Even if I’m damned to hell, forever unclean, people like you, I’ll never let go.”
Those shouts and endless lashes faded into silence.
Cen Qianshan’s eyes flew open; the water pooled on the ground stilled at last, and reflected a flash of red.
A slender figure in red stood there, pale and graceful, twirling a supple ruler in her white hand, rapping it smartly against her other palm.
“So Xiao Shan lied to me. After doing something so wicked, how should Master punish you?”
Cen Qianshan’s heart gave a violent, uncontrollable jolt.