Chen Zongping frowned sharply. At once, the ghost messengers drooped their heads, not daring to move.
“Your head’s on backwards.”
“Oh, oh.”
Chen Zongping cast a glance over the mountains and rivers of the mortal world, then stepped forward at an unhurried pace. His iron armour clanked with each step, carrying the weight of military authority. He clasped his fists solemnly towards Xue Cuo.
“Many thanks, Eldest Shixiong, for saving my life all those years ago.”
Xue Cuo let out a laugh, folding his arms as he blinked. “It wasn’t me who saved you. It was your shijie, Ah Zhu.”
“Shijie…” The eight-foot-tall man’s eyes instantly reddened. “I haven’t seen her in over ten years. Is she… is she doing well?”
Xue Cuo smiled faintly. “Very well. She’s in the Sixteen Cities of Fangzhou, gathering incense offerings for the Goddess. When Qianyun Marsh is completed, I’ll send paper cranes to summon Ah Zhu.”
A trace of melancholy flickered through Chen Zongping’s eyes. He and his senior sister were separated by yin and yang, their mortal ties long since severed. Besides, in her eyes he had always been nothing more than a callow youth.
“Eldest shixiong. When that day comes, could you summon me as well? I want to… thank shijie in person.”
Xue Cuo had not intended to pry, but thinking of all the hardship Ah Zhu had endured over the years, he asked instead, “Don’t tell me you don’t care for Ah Zhu?”
Chen Zongping’s handsome face drained to a pale grey. He looked at Xue Cuo as though wounded. “Eldest Shixiong, how could that be? It’s only that I’ve been dead for many years…”
Xue Cuo frowned slightly. “Though forming a bond between yin and yang defies the natural order, if one’s cultivation on the ghost path reaches a certain level. If she cannot enter the underworld, can you not step into the living world?”
Chen Zongping’s eyes lit up at once. He clasped his fists deeply, his armour ringing out. “Thank you, Eldest Shixiong!”
Xue Cuo thought to himself that even if Ah Zhu’s heart were made of stone, that foolish boy would surely soften it. Besides, the feeling had always been mutual. Only Ah Zhu, thinking herself plain and unlovely, had never dared draw close.
He was about to head towards the Nine-Bend Yellow River Goddess’s temple to offer incense when he noticed Chen Zongping hesitating.
“Is there something else?”
Chen Zongping scratched his head. “Eldest Shixiong… they…”
He stepped aside, revealing behind him a cluster of eager heads, all jostling forward, practically shaking their master’s arm for fear of being overlooked.
“Eldest Shixiong, my name’s Lu Yesheng!”
“Eldest Shixiong, I’m Pei Yuanqi!”
“Eldest Shixiong, I… eh? Why has Eldest Shixiong left?”
“Boss, what’s going on?”
Chen Zongping had spent so long in the underworld that ghosts casually tossing their heads about no longer fazed him. The villagers of Xiantian Village even liked to leave their heads at home to gossip while their bodies worked outdoors.
After seeing enough of it, one grew numb.
There were even young women in the city who delighted in peeking at the training of the tall, fearsome ghost officers.
So Chen Zongping failed to react at first. His face darkened as he barked orders instead. “Eldest Shixiong is burdened with countless affairs and acts with deep purpose. Quickly, raise the Bridge of Rebirth and guide the spirits onward.”
The ghost messengers accepted the command and scattered across the ancient tombs, shaking summoning bells and brandishing mourning staffs. They sang and danced, laughed and cursed, unrestrained by taboo. Vicious spirits were cut down in a single stroke; wandering souls were led away with dirges.
Souls, souls, dead upon the desert sands,
Buried beside jade bones and broken gods.
Alas, the civilised world has perished—
I write this lament, my tears in grief.
Oh, Nine Songs rise, yet the souls will not return,
Called in vain, left only with silent sorrow.
Called in vain… long sighs remain…
The desolate, uncanny funeral chant drifted away with the river.
The nine great tombs trembled as countless spirits, fine as threads, crossed the stone bridge upon the water, bound for another realm of darkness.
The sky remained blood-red, as though drawing a final crimson curtain over the suffering endured by the people of Qingzhou for ten thousand years.
“Xue Cuo.”
The goddess’s voice reached him as he alighted upon a small hill crowned by a ruinously dilapidated earthen shrine.
He stepped closer. Before the shrine lay three objects: a dust-choked oil lamp, a cracked and broken jade ruyi, and a small ceramic bowl.
“You may take one of the three,” the Nine-Bend Yellow River Goddess said softly from within the shrine, her voice gentle and warm, like that of a long-familiar elder.
Xue Cuo’s eyes lit up. Anything offered by the goddess as a token of thanks was certain to be extraordinary.
He squatted down, peering from left to right until his eyes ached, yet could discern nothing special.
“Eh?” He suddenly sucked in a breath.
Upon the small ceramic bowl was a faint, ancient, imposing dragon pattern. It slowly writhed. Yet its body appeared pinned in place, the struggling dragon radiating pain.
“Xue Cuo, have you chosen?”
“N–no, not yet. Let me look a little longer.”
Xue Cuo racked his brains, even trying to ingratiate himself before the goddess’s shrine to coax out the origins of the objects. But not only did he fail, he nearly earned himself a smack.
This had to be his own Goddess anticipating his shamelessness and warning the Yellow River Goddess in advance!
Xue Cuo rubbed his nose awkwardly and pointed at the small bowl. “Shibo… I’ll take this one.”
“Very well.” The goddess smiled softly. The jade ruyi and the oil lamp vanished, leaving only the ceramic bowl behind.
Xue Cuo thanked the Yellow River Goddess and picked it up to examine it carefully. The nail embedded in it seemed quite real, yet its origin was impossible to discern. He sighed and stubbornly refused to leave.
“Shibo, what is this thing? Where did it come from? You can’t give it to me if I don’t even know how to use it.”
The goddess paused briefly. “This bowl was fashioned by a sage.”
Xue Cuo had been about to tap the nail to hear the sound. At those words, he flailed, nearly toppling flat onto his face.
“A—a—a sage?!”
The Yellow River Goddess hummed in confirmation, then added calmly, “Its previous owner was Ao Rui, the Primordial Ancestral Dragon.”
Xue Cuo fell silent.
After a long while… four or five ke, at least, he finally recovered. Without a word, he blew the dust from the bowl and wiped it clean, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself.
The Yellow River Goddess: “……”
She coughed lightly, twice. “That bowl was once counted among the Ten Great Spiritual Treasures. However, during the divine wars, it was injured by another god’s artefact. Its power was damaged. Eight or nine parts out of ten were lost.”
Xue Cuo’s heart immediately ached. He lifted the bowl and examined it from every angle, disbelief written plainly across his face.
“It can’t be repaired?”
The Yellow River Goddess let out a soft sigh. How many artefacts had she possessed in those days, all shattered to pieces. Of the three that remained, each was extraordinary. Yet Xue Cuo had chosen the most severely damaged of them all. Guilt stirred faintly within her.
“Why don’t you choose another—”
Pop—
Without warning, Xue Cuo pulled the nail straight out of the bowl.
The coiled dragon blinked, then stretched itself luxuriantly, soaring freely across the surface of the ceramic vessel.
The goddess’s gaze slowly froze. She let out a distinctly undignified hiss.
The Dao rhyme, spiritual resonance, vital aura, and field of presence bound within that bowl were anything but ordinary. Tug at a single thread and the whole balance should have collapsed; a careless touch ought to have meant shattered treasure and certain death. Yet in this moment, every hidden peril fell silent, docile as an everyday household bowl.
For countless years, the Yellow River Goddess had exhausted every method and deployed innumerable Daoist techniques. Yet it had never once occurred to her that someone might simply pull the thing out.
Xue Cuo lifted the nail to examine it. A strange sensation prickled at him, and at once he grew wary, summoning solar flame to incinerate it on the spot.
Bright-eyed, he asked, “Shibo, is it… fixed now?”
The goddess replied slowly, “Fixed… fixed, I suppose.”
Her voice sounded a little odd, but Xue Cuo didn’t dwell on it. He felt light all over, buoyant with relief. He had been worrying over the defence of Qianyun Marsh… only for a pillow to be delivered just as sleep threatened to take him. Delighted beyond measure, he beamed, eyes curving with joy.
“Shibo, I still have pressing matters to attend to, so I won’t linger. I’ll come and visit again another day.”
The goddess assented in silence. Just as he was about to depart, she suddenly called out to him.
“A great calamity approaches the mortal world. The immortal path will soon reopen. The revival of the Divine Dao is Heaven’s will. But whether Heaven intends it to flourish, or to perish, neither Great Loch nor I can say.”
“You may be the sole disciple of the Great Loch, yet you are also the first disciple of my Xianghuo Divine Dao.”
“My believers, my inheritors, are likewise your shidis and shimeis.”
“Xue Cuo, ten thousand years ago, we did not watch over one another. Each of us sought only our own survival, clawing at a single thread of life against the Dao. We all erred by one step, and thus the myriad gods fell silent, perishing into the Great Void.”
“Now the Divine Dao returns to the human world. This is both a calamity of birth and a calamity of death.”
“The Great Loch has said that the burdens of this age cannot all be placed upon you alone. She urges me to pass on the mantle early, to restore the Xianghuo Divine Dao.”
“This, I accept willingly.”
“But I hope you will bear the responsibility of chief disciple of the Divine Dao. Eradicate evil, uphold the weak, and restore the Xianghuo Divine Dao. Do not allow the Great Dao of this world to dwindle into a single, lonely, cold road.”
The wind stirred the young man’s robes.
He stood with hands clasped behind his back, utterly calm. At some point unknown, the smiling, mischievous youth had acquired a depth both steady and dependable.
He smiled faintly. “Yes.”
The Yellow River Goddess nodded gently. Extending a finger, she sent forth a thread of light, smiling as she said, “May your path be smooth.”
Xue Cuo bowed deeply towards the great river, offering a full and solemn salute.
After he departed, the long river surged forth, completely swallowing the nine ancient tombs as colossal waves rose sky-high.
The blood-red sky suddenly filled with rolling thunderclouds. Gale winds howled. A fissure tore open in the heavens, and immortals bearing celestial artefacts peered down from above.
In the next instant, the Yellow River transformed into two colossal hands, lunging towards the fissure in the sky. With a single slap, the immortals were crushed to death; their artefacts were seized and whisked away, vanishing into the river at lightning speed, leaving the remaining immortals staring in stunned disbelief.
Clutching the divine artefact, the Yellow River Goddess could not resist sinking into the depths of the netherworld.
Xue Cuo’s unexpected act had given her inspiration that very day. With a single move, she shocked both Heaven and Earth.
High above, the Great Golden Crow witnessed everything. It separated a thread of consciousness, descending into the unseen, and found the Golden Pond Lotus. The three-legged crow beat its wings once, then silently settled upon a withered tree beside the golden pool.
“Did you teach him?” the Golden Crow asked.
The lotus swayed faintly. After a long pause, a distant, cool female voice replied, “No.”
The Golden Crow said, “The Yellow River claims she learned it from your disciple.”
The Golden Pond Lotus: “……”
This time, the denial never came. The Golden Crow waited for a long while, but the goddess had evidently finished speaking for the day. If he wanted an answer, he would have to wait for the next.
He pecked at his feathers and took to the sky once more. A righteous high god for over ten thousand years, he could not help but feel a twinge of regret. Had he greeted that boy earlier…no, no. The Yellow River dwelt in the mortal realm, while he remained in the heavens. For that lad to form a bond with him… how difficult it would be.
The Golden Crow gave a soft cry, eyes blazing like fire.
Slowly, he flew towards the sun, merging into the kneeling divine form below. Bearing the solar disc upon his back, he continued his silent flight across the heavens.
