The wine was clear and mellow, its hue pale as amber. In the emerald jade cups it trembled lightly.
Before a single sip passed one’s lips, one was already half-drunk.
Yin Feixue, who had collected countless fine wines and never hesitated to drink a single one, was uncharacteristically careful now. He poured shallow measures, cup by cup.
He lowered his gaze to Xue Cuo. The youth had an arm about Ren Shu, joy shining in his eyes. He lifted his cup, unwilling to drink, and instead attempted to swindle the peacock. He didn’t even flinch when the irritated peacock pecked his head.
His whole face was bright with mirth. He looked so happy, touched with a faint, tender sadness. It was as though he had much to say but, in the end, simply raised the jade cup with hearty flourish and bumped it against his own chest. “Shidi, Xiao Yun, Ren Shu, Xi Tao. And you, Yin Feixue. Come. Drink.”
With this cup, twelve years were washed clean.
All that had passed was struck off, never again to be spoken of.
From this day on, he had brothers, friends, family. He was free to roam the human world, never alone again.
A ripple stirred in Gu Ruhui’s heart. He paused for a few breaths, as if imprinting the entire mountaintop in his memory, then lifted the cup and drank it down in one go.
Hands pressed together, Xi Tao watched as Xue Cuo hooked an arm around him, pleading, “Xi Tao-gege, if you can’t drink, I’ll drink for you!”
Xi Tao smiled faintly and downed the wine in front of him. He gently wiped the residue from his lips, then coolly pushed Xue Cuo’s face aside. “Off with you.”
“Hmph.”
Kong Yun, elegant and unhurried, toyed idly with his cup. Before he could utter a word, Xue Cuo came scampering over. Startled, he gulped down the wine in one swallow, cheeks flush with the burn, coughing as he glared. “How dare you come begging for wine!”
Ren Shu covered his eyes, the divine sigils upon his face both beautiful and uncanny. He drank in silence. Yin Feixue downed his cup without a word.
The taste of plums lingered on their tongues. Of the three of them, some stood, some sat while looking out toward Qianyun City.
After divine judgement, the floodwaters surged back. The city had dissolved into a fleeting mirage, now nothing but a vast marsh.
Ordinary folk stood no chance against catastrophe.
They did not realise the land had been forsaken by immortals and cultivators alike.
Women, children, the elderly, the weak. They were as small as ants on a mountain ridge. After the flood came cold, hunger, and disease. They could not escape. Every step was another calamity.
It was unavoidable. Life’s eight sufferings and nine tribulations. It was natural, and expected. Otherwise why would mortals admire immortality?
Cultivators raised in the sects were used to such sights. Or perhaps they were the very originators of this herding of lambs.
The young disciples, however, had the heart but lacked the strength. Some were lost. Some grieved.
They could not see a path ahead, did not know what was right, what the Heavenly Dao demanded, dared not found a sect or shoulder the burden of justice.
But the youths of today were not the youths of yesterday.
They were powerful now, resourceful. Some were swordsmen unmatched in a generation; some were city lords with roots as deep as trees; some unmatched in body and movement; some wielded a demon-slaying staff that could sweep across the land.
Compared to the truly mighty, they were far lacking. But compared to their peers, compared to teachers who dared not step forward, they were sharper, fiercer.
“I intend to build a kingdom of gods here on earth,” Xue Cuo said.
No one laughed. Not a single voice of doubt.
All fell silent for a heartbeat, each seeming to ponder how such a thing might be achieved.
But Xue Cuo had not been asking for approval. He had simply spoken from the heart. With a flick of his fingers, a talisman sparked to life. The breeze lifted his dark hair, curling the ends. His deep black eyes shone like stars. Joy at possessing the strength to attempt this, success or failure be damned.
The golden light in Yin Feixue’s gaze deepened. He was almost drunk… but perhaps from the wind. Not the single cup of wine. It exhilarated him; it thrilled him.
The fighting of demons was harsher than that of humans. The demon clans of the cultivation world looked down upon the monsters of the mortal realm. But what of it?
His enemies, he had slain. Tiandu City, he had built.
The so-called ancient bloodlines of dragon-born beasts, he had killed more of them than he could count, proving bloodline was nothing but a lump of dung.
Ancients, archaic divine beasts… descendants who used their ancestors’ names to bully little demons were nothing but wretches.
He had torn them all apart, turned them into straw for the wheat fields, fertiliser for the rice paddies.
He liked bold people and bold deeds. He liked drinking when the moon rose to the treetops, liked the bright blue kites trembling on the peach branches in spring.
All he ever wanted was to be satisfied.
So when Xue Cuo pointed at the refugees and said, “I want them to have food to eat, and songs to sing,” something in him sang.
Why not? Why couldn’t they?
Do it. What is there that cannot be done?
Be laughed at? By whom?
When he first built Tiandu City, all he had said was, “I want the little demons of the world to eat meat by the mouthful and drink wine by the bowl.”
Yin Feixue laughed. Tall as a mountain and beautiful as a blade, clad in black armour and white fur, he looked splendid in the wind. He slung an arm around Xue Cuo’s shoulders. “This king will help you.”
“What gods’ kingdoms or Buddhist realms. I dislike them all. But if you mean to build one, then I’ll help. There should never be only one path under heaven.”
Xue Cuo looked at him in astonishment.
Yin Feixue couldn’t help pinching Xue Cuo’s cheek. “The revival of the old gods isn’t entirely a bad thing. Doesn’t the Xianghuo Divine Dao still have you?”
At some point Gu Ruhui had come forward, sword in hand. That sword cultivators were wooden blocks didn’t surprise him; it was merely that he was the calmest among them, and seemed the most dependable. He said to Xue Cuo, “Little shixiong, I won’t be leaving this time. You’re establishing a kingdom of gods in the Qianyun Marsh. I intend to start my own Dao arena here too.”
Xi Tao’s eyes, wild and wicked, were nevertheless gentle. “I once made a great vow: to protect thirty-three thousand three hundred lives, in exchange for Xiaoyou and the fellow priests of Wendao Palace to be reborn again.”
Lifting his demon-subduing staff, he gazed towards the places where water fiends roamed rampant, murderous intent spilling forth. “So I must travel the Four Seas, without pause. But before that, I’ll slay every major demon in this region.”
Kong Yun’s feathers bristled. “Xi Tao, what’s that supposed to mean?”
Xi Tao glanced at him, faintly impatient, yet still giving him a sliver of courtesy. “Amitabha. Then I’ll kill until no harmful spirits remain in the waters.”
Ren Shu had already activated the Heavenly Punishment Array, his divine power diminishing tenfold, barely clinging to life in the body he had seized.
But the Ren clan, cultivators of the flesh, were best at one thing: building temples and saving people.
He hardly hesitated, or rather, a faint unease and worry stirred in him, But he crushed it ruthlessly down.
“I’ll build a temple. But… what kind of temple should it be?”
Xue Cuo did not reply at once. His heart trembled. He first looked to Yin Feixue, who shook his head, signalling there was no need to speak.
Xue Cuo took a deep breath and turned to the swordsman. “Xiao Gu-gege.”
He hadn’t called Gu Ruhui that since a long-ago quarrel; Gu Ruhui found it unexpectedly refreshing. He lifted a hand and placed it on Xue Cuo’s shoulder. “You and I are xiong di, and friends besides. Don’t fret. Just do it.”
Xue Cuo gave a shy smile and scratched his head. “Ah, what a fine day. If only we could drink until dawn.”
Kong Yun replied, “Then drink.”
He arched a brow. Though he’d choked on his last cup, he still put on a brave front, his tone cold yet unconsciously indulgent. “Drink as much as you like. Do you think I wouldn’t accompany you?”
Xue Cuo: “Don’t you try to trick me into drinking.”
Kong Yun bristled. “You!”
After delivering this final blow to Kong Xiao-Yun, Xue Cuo straightened and addressed the others: “If that’s the case, then tonight it is. But before that, we’ve a bit of preparing to do!”
Everyone fell silent.
…
The sun was dying; dusk dimmed. Night crept slowly up the hillside, and a hush of darkness settled over the land.
The night wind was cold.
It murmured through leaves, wept faintly along the marsh’s edge.
On the mountain, clusters of bonfires glowed. The scent of cooked millet drifted, made from the wood Fu Long had pushed ashore earlier that day, and from the grain the monks had brought.
He had said, “Once you’ve eaten your fill, make a farewell meal.”
A child said, “My father is dead.”
The monk asked, “And your mother?”
The child stared at him. Tears slid down silently, yet in his dazed innocence he said, “My mother is dead too.”
The monk lowered his gaze. A family nearby overheard and called the child over. “Come live with us from now on.”
The child asked, “Will you make a farewell meal for my parents?”
The family nodded and said they would. The child let them lead him away without a fuss.
When night fully fell, the dishes were brought out, set upon the narrow table, arranged with bowls folded from leaves and chopsticks made from slender twigs. There were pairs upon pairs, for the living, and for the spirits of the dead.
The living, following instruction, silently and devoutly recited a single Dao title in their hearts:
“The Naturally Wondrous, Merciful and Stern, Dao-Responding Goddess of the Great Loch.”
Countless voices, countless wishes, rose into the night and became innumerable golden motes invisible to mortal eyes, drifting into the unseen.
Within the god-realm of black sky and white earth—
Paper money fluttered like unending snowfall.
Red-haired ghosts and green-haired ghosts sprawled over the edge of the Golden Lotus Pool, shouting, bawling, wailing: “The pool! The pool’s rising! So much wish-power—wuuuu—so much wish-power—Your Ladyship— wuuuuuuuuu!”
The filth and ruin within the god-realm flowed down into the depthless pit, order returning. Newly formed earth and towering buildings rose from the ground. The violent tremors roused the spirits of the realm.
Chief constable Chen Zongping strode forward, soul-cleaving blade at his hip, mourning-rod in hand, walking with the swagger of a wolf, the stride of a tiger… imposing, upright, incorruptible.
Behind him marched a full line of black-robed underworld envoys, blades and rods in hand, solemn-faced. These were fresh cultivators who had died ten or so years ago, now the steadiest enforcers of this ghostly city.
Chen Zongping stood by a dried-up lakebed, waiting quietly. Suddenly the sound of rushing water echoed, and the barren riverbed began filling with black water.
“Constable Chen, who are we waiting for?”
Chen Zongping: “Silence. Listen.”
Countless whispers. Crying, gratitude, sorrow, longing.
Words uttered softly, wishes murmured low. They were so close to the ear, yet as though from another world.
On the other side—
Xue Cuo scattered a handful of talismans, his gaze bright as lightning. “Nearly there. Ao Mu!”
In the darkness a deep dragon-cry resounded.
The sound boomed like thunder, sending chills up everyone’s spine. Heads lifted to see, from the pitch-black marsh, a golden dragon burst forth.
“A dragon!”
“A golden dragon!”
The golden dragon soared straight upwards. Xue Cuo stood upon Ao Mu’s dragon-head, dressed in snow-white divine robes, silver gleaming at his waist. In the dragon’s radiance he seemed airy as an immortal, distant as a god.
Countless prayers surged into his ears. The divine vision held them all in awe.
This time he did not use his sparrow-feather brush, but the bald red-ink brush instead. He gathered his spirit, focused his will, and shouted:
“Paper!”
A pure, transcendental sword-light streaked across the sky. It sliced down a piece of cloud, shaping it into a scroll-like sheet, sending it floating before Xue Cuo.
The vermilion talisman brush danced like a dragon.
The great marsh began to churn into a vast whirlpool. Thunder rumbled in the heavens. Something terrifying seemed about to manifest. Amid the roar of water, the talisman, packed with divine power, took form.
“Great King!”
Xue Cuo released the talisman. Out of nowhere, a white divine tiger appeared in the heavens.
Its body was marked with silver stripes; its eyes shone with divine light; its fur was pure as fresh snow; its golden pupils burned like molten gold. Calm and composed, it let out a single roar and leapt into the talisman.
Golden plum blossoms stamped themselves across the sky.
With each claw-fall, a massive wave rose. Again and again, until a tiny golden spark broke through the blackened water and shot into the sky.
Those awestruck below suddenly glimpsed… just for a heartbeat… their departed loved ones, seated beside them at the farewell table, gently waving before riding the wind upwards.
“Don’t go!”
A cry rang out, raw and piercing. But how could a shadow be held back?
So they prayed unceasingly, reciting that Dao title again and again, hoping their voices would turn to wind and carry their loved ones somewhere free of disaster and pain.
May you find joy; may you find peace.
May you never feel bone-piercing cold, nor hunger.
May you have clothing to wear, a home to shelter you.
May you never again descend to the mortal realm.
The vast tide of wish-power gathered into a river of stars visible even to mortal eyes. In a daze, the crowd looked up to see countless golden sparks rising. And within that resplendent nebula, a golden dragon lifted its head slightly. He caught the white-robed youth falling towards it.
His sleeves fluttered like petals, like a lotus blooming in mid-air amidst the stream of golden lights.
The whirlpool on the water’s surface slowly faded. Somewhere in the depths, a faint sound seemed to echo.
A rustic stone bridge appeared. It was half real, half illusion, and spanned heaven and earth, linking to the underworld, guiding the golden sparks towards the god-realm.
The Bridge of Rebirth.
Xue Cuo landed upon the dragon’s head and stepped down before the temple.
Ren Shu and Xuan Zhao were waiting for him there. Xue Cuo said nothing. He spared not a glance for the simple, even shabby, little temple. He simply placed the incense burner before the closed-eyed Goddess statue and lit the incense, just as people had done ten thousand years ago.
