Chapter Text
The moon was a big round plate balanced just above the treetops, glistening like mutton fat on polished porcelain. Inlaid were wreaths of golden leaves and silver fruits as heavy as a necklace of mercury jewels. This evening would be perfect—if not for the glaring intruder in their midst.
Binghe cast a resentful look at the old man warming his bare feet by the fire. His toes flexed with remarkable flexibility given the distinct calluses that choked each digit. It was a wonder he didn’t die from the stench given that his heel was held parallel to his chin. Binghe’s nose was spared from complaint owing solely to his upwind position, but his heart nonetheless scolded, “stinky.”
He marched close to the fireside and threw down the bundle of firewood from his arms, before turning on his heels. His refuge came at the seat at the furthest point of the triangle formed by the three people present. Before long, his eyes followed their usual pattern of landing on Shen-daozhang.
Shen Yuan was fiddling with the rope he had given to Binghe to use as a protection ward. Its braided body was dyed black. A celadon bell and talisman alternated every handspan. The sounds of their breathing above the crackling flames were abnormally crisp. He could hear the rhythm of his own heartbeat and the rustle of Shen Yuan’s sleeves as he worked. When he finished, Binghe saw that he had replaced some of the crumpled talismans. Shen Yuan then wordlessly passed it to Binghe.
“Parlor tricks,” the old fogey scoffed.
Binghe ignored him.
While securing the wards around their campsite, he flipped the celadon bell nearest to his hand. As expected, there really wasn't a clapper inside. No natural reason could have caused any of the sounds those bells had uttered.
On this calm night, there was only the quiet lullaby of bone ocarinas. Binghe turned his head upwards to look at the bird skulls tucked among the golden leaves.
“There aren’t any ghosts here,” Binghe said.
The two of them frequently discussed topics related to Taoist exorcism during their travels and moreso, in the evening. Binghe wasn’t willing to disturb this habit. A bit more selfishly, he wanted to find a topic that only the two of them could engage in.
“The vitality of this place is strong. Ghosts will instinctively avoid it. When the moon rises and yin energy overwhelms the place, they will show themselves.”
A thought came to mind. “Daozhang, I had this rope with me when I was collecting the corpses at the riverbank. It didn’t make a sound then either.”
This time the voice that responded wasn’t Shen-daozhang’s mild tone, but that of an older man which boasted the consistency of a dishrag stuffed inside a leaking pipe. This was Binghe’s official position.
“Must be broken,” he said in a sing-song fashion.
“It isn’t broken,” Binghe shot back.
The man sniff-checked his dried socks before slipping them back on. The big toe on his left foot poked right through a worn out hole, but this didn’t seem to surprise him at all. He snorted, “If it isn’t broken, then it isn’t broken. What are you getting agitated for? You should know how unreliable these things are. A body without a soul is possible. A body with multiple souls is also possible. I’ve even seen a body with only half a soul.”
Satisfied with the crisp and toasty state of his toes, that old fogey sighed and crossed his legs. He idly picked at the blister on his big toe which was conveniently accessible, then clicked his tongue at Shen Yuan. “What sect teaches you these things instead of proper skills? You don’t even know this.”
“This junior is an untalented disciple of the Hengyang Mountain Sect. If I am lacking, it is due to my own incompetence, not the deficiencies in my Masters’ teachings.”
“Hengyang Sect? Never heard of it. Must be a small sect without much reputation.”
Binghe’s cheeks flushed red. Insulting him was enough, but criticizing Shen-daozhang was crossing a line. He kicked a pile of leaves into the fire, causing it to flare in the man’s direction.
“Careful!” The old fogey scowled as he leaned out of the way.
The temperature had fallen rapidly at night and the scent of frost in the air finally recalled the winter outside this valley. Shen Yuan opened his eyes at this commotion and added a few twigs to the fire. The flames crackled back to life.
This old-thing-on-death’s-door was prejudiced against the talismans they used to start a fire and to warm the tea, though evidently not enough to sit further away. “That ward of yours can only keep evil things out. It can’t expel the dirty things already inside. It’s better to rely on real skills.”
Shen Yuan held his sleeves above the open flame, then tucked his hands into the warmed fabric. He said simply, “This unremarkable junior doesn't have the talent for cultivation and can only learn these small tricks.”
“Is that so?” The old cretin craned his neck and hummed. “You didn’t have the good fortune of coming across a good teacher in the past. Meeting is considered fate. Why don’t you join my Huanhua Palace and I’ll teach you a thing or two?”
A crack of lightning sounded in Binghe’s skull.
Fate? Huanhua Palace? The old fogey was trying to recruit! Shuang Hu Town didn’t have much it was famous for, but it did sit on a trade thoroughfare. The number of fraudsters that traversed the two lakes was not negligible. While those who lived in the town had gotten used to it over the years, foreigners were less fortunate. Among the scholars making a pilgrimage inland for the provincial exam, there would always be a couple who would turn back shame-faced to beg for food, board, or a job after being scammed out of their travel funds.
Binghe was a provincial fool whose main talent lay in his ability to take a beating, but he could at least pick out a ripe cabbage from a rotting one…His Shen-daozhang wasn’t a cabbage, of course. And even if he were a cabbage, Shen-daozhang would be the nicest, roundest, prettiest cabbage with the freshest of leaves. Like the ones used in clear broth cabbage soup. There was no need to add superfluous distractions; the pure fragrance of the cabbage was perfect. This was his opinion as a kitchen servant, and also a person with eyes. In any case, the point was that Binghe wasn’t about to let a thief poke around right under his nose.
So, what was it this time? An ominous aura surrounding him that could only be dispersed by the mystical vase of his ancestors? A secret manual of peerless martial arts he would only part with on account of their fortuitous meeting? This lie was for fooling a three-year old…
“Then I will have to thank the Elder.”
…child.
As soon as Binghe heard Shen Yuan’s words, he felt a sinking sensation that his family’s precious cabbage was about to disappear.
“Aiyo, don’t stand on ceremony. What Elder? That sounds so alienating. Call me the Gexing Immortal Master.” This shameless thing reported this title without so much as a muscle twitch. “What do you want to learn? Swordplay? Inner Qi? Don’t keep wasting your time on arrays or talismans. The sword and saber are proper paths. My Huanhua Palace is the most famous for sword and saber cultivation. If Huanhua Saber is ranked second in the world, no one else will claim to be ranked first!”
As this decrepit old thing spoke, he unscrupulously scooted closer and closer to Shen Yuan. Binghe was unable to watch this any longer. The two of them stared blankly at the youth who had inserted his body directly between them.
Binghe explained, “The fire is warmer here.”
The decrepit rag coughed and tried to remember where he’d left off. “Learn saber cultivation. If you learn well, you can fight even if you’ve lost all your limbs. Our sect has a special skill called Dragon’s Roar. You can even sever your enemies’ spiritual veins and cause their five humors and six organs to explode with nothing but your shout. Isn’t it overbearing?”
Binghe couldn’t comment on whether it was overbearing or not. What he did know was that he couldn’t imagine Shen-daozhang exploding an enemy’s intestines with his guttural howls.
“Gexing Immortal Master’s martial arts are profound.” Shen Yuan had to lean forward to speak around the obstruction formed by Binghe’s head.
“It’s natural you’re impressed.”
That old cretin stroked his gray puff of a beard seriously. A sinister thought entered Binghe’s mind seeing the smoking wisps tease the sparks.
“Actually, this junior has an arrogant request…”
Shen Yuan glanced at Binghe, who was poking the fire with a serious expression.
“What request, what request? Let’s hear it!”
Out of nowhere, Shen Yuan pulled at Binghe and positioned him more solidly between them. It was so sudden that Binghe was still holding a burning twig. “This junior’s constitution is subpar and feels ashamed for inadequately teaching this child. Binghe is good-natured and unusually clever. He deserves a better instructor just as you’re looking for a deserving student.”
The twig fell from his hands, sending up a shower of sparks.
Instead of celebrating the arrival of a cheaply acquired student, he grew incensed. “What weak constitution? You obviously don’t respect me. That’s why you don’t want to learn from me! Don't try to shove this wet sop at me as an excuse. Do you know how many people would beg for me to give them a pointer? The line would go from the imperial capital to the Yellow River!”
“Gexing Immortal Master misunderstands this junior. Regretfully, I have the will but not the means.” Shen Yuan lowered his eyes slightly. His lashes fanned across his cheek, disguising his emotions. At the same time he held out his wrist for examination. “Wood dulls metal, metal drains fire, fire evaporates water, water destabilizes earth, and earth rots wood. Five elements situated in an extreme yin body will never flourish.”
The Gexing Immortal Master’s curiosity overcame his suspicion. He pressed his fingers to Shen Yuan’s wrist, before pursing his lips to say, “Therefore…you cannot cultivate at all?”
“Naturally I can cultivate.” Shen Yuan lifted his eyes and suddenly smiled. “Cultivate the ghost path.”
The man choked and Binghe discovered another unique talent of Shen Yuan’s—his ability to end a conversation. The blustering confusion on that old fogey’s face made this trait of Shen-daozhang’s, which was endearing by association, particularly likable.
Unaffected, Shen Yuan tapped his fan against his palm as he listed them off, “Or demonic cultivation, calamity cultivation, blood cultivation, or gu cultivation. But I am particularly well suited to the hungry ghost path.”
In any case, none of these methods were considered righteous, as they all defied the Heavenly Dao. Cultivating the righteous path was to practice inaction, accept fate at birth, and grow in harmony with the world. For those without innate advantages, they could only turn to demonic cultivation—taking what did not belong to them and stealing the fates of others. This was an act of rebellion. The calamity sent by heaven at the time of ascension would never spare one such cultivator. But Shen Yuan had not pursued this path. The truth was that Shen-daozhang was intolerant to this type of thing and willing to forfeit his chance at immortality, rather than take a single step into demonic ways.
“With all five elements in my body, I don’t have to worry about rejecting deathly energy. A pure yin constitution is the perfect vessel to house a multitude of ghostly souls until one devours the rest.”
The old man snorted, “Is that something to brag about? Why don’t you pursue the ghost path?”
Shen Yuan took a sip of his tea and said emotionlessly, “I have high living standards.”
"..."
Their surroundings fell into silence. The open sky and bare earth that surrounded them felt so awkward that they joined hands to summon a stray breeze. The wind that swept up the fallen leaves gave forth a dry, wilting rattle.
Binghe understood that this was Shen-daozhang joking, but he truly wouldn’t blame a stranger for not knowing. Shen-daozhang was someone who could laugh even if no one was there to witness it. Most people would smile when telling a joke. When Shen Yuan did so, the corners of his mouth didn’t even twitch. That was because they joked to entertain others, whereas his teasing was only to amuse himself.
Who knew how much of his earlier deference was genuine, and how much was for his own delight? Had Shen-daozhang ever done the same to Binghe? Binghe observed Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan curiously stared back.
The answer seemed to be yes.
At this moment, Binghe’s thoughts abruptly stilled. If Shen Yuan did not cultivate, then wouldn’t that mean he was actually as old as he looked? Back then, at the Qiu Manor, the spider yao’s words were genuine. Binghe slowly studied the person who looked only twenty or so.
“Binghe?”
From his shell-like fingertips to the silken ends of his hair, Shen Yuan exuded an aura of purity. He was like an immortal entering the secular realm for the first time—or the thousand gold of a treasured boudoir. He was also like those elegant scholars with poetry in their lips and hearts full of broad ideals. As for Binghe? Where would he be? He could be his servant, or his attendant, or his bookboy. Wherever his Shen-daozhang went, Binghe would follow behind—close enough to soothe himself in his presence without stepping on his shadow. This was good too, he concluded. Binghe could now comfortably insult this Gexing Immortal Master without accidentally including his family’s Shen-daozhang in the midst.
“Binghe, what do you say?”
Binghe drew back his attention. He glanced between Shen Yuan and the Gexing Immortal Master, then vowed solemnly, “I don’t want to learn to make people explode by shouting.”
The Gexing Immortal Master was taken aback. “What do you mean by that? My Huanhua’s cultivation isn’t good enough for a sodden rascal like you?”
“It’s not elegant at all.”
This provocation made him immediately forget his former attitude towards this unqualified student. “What’s the point of looking elegant? So pretentious, looking like a frail scholar. It’s better for a man to learn to straighten your shoulders and throw out your stomach. Come over here! I’ll show you the power of our Dragon’s Roar.”
If Binghe really did that, he’d end up like a chicken! What was the difference between this Dragon’s Roar and a rooster crowing? Besides volume, fundamentally nothing! When he stood close to Shen-daozhang, wouldn’t they look even more incompatible?
“My heart is already set. I won’t learn.”
“Don’t want to learn? Don’t want to learn, huh? You want to end up like your Daozhang who can only throw around talismans? Or like that useless Shidi of mine, playing all day with strange arrays and summoning rituals, never amounting to anything proper?”
“What’s so bad about that? Daozhang is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen!”
“Can beauty be used to chop like a blade? Come! I’ll prove how wrong you are. Look here, put your hands on your stomach, suck in a deep breath, then throw out your shoulders. Ha-ha-ha!” With a mighty roar, a bellowing laugh echoed throughout the clearing. Leaves were blown clear off their boughs and boughs were snapped clear off their trunks. His dragon’s cry seemed to shake the moon itself. It was an impressive display of internal cultivation.
Fully satisfied with his own strength, the Gexing Immortal Master turned back expecting applause, only to say, “...Hm? Why aren’t you watching?”
…
While Binghe was dodging the Gexing Immortal Master, Shen Yuan was warming his teacup over the flames. He tested the temperature, then patted away the stray soot from his sleeves. Although he was already quite close to the fire, he moved himself even closer and found himself in a constant battle to keep his clothes clean.
“You cannot force people to learn. It’s uncivilized!”
“Not wanting to learn is uncivilized!” The Gexing Immortal Master made a sudden grab for Binghe and managed to catch a corner of his collar.
Binghe twisted underneath his attacker’s wrist and backed away so that only air remained in the Gexing Immortal Master’s grasp. When Binghe turned towards Shen-daozhang, he found the other already watching him.
“Daozhang, he’s your Binghe.” Binghe pointed his finger and the person on the end slapped it away.
As if imitating Binghe, the Gexing Immortal Master said, “Daozhang, this rascal is disrespecting his elders.”
It wasn’t until afterwards that this immortal master realized how incongruous and unreasonable it was to complain to his junior. By then it was already too late to take back his words.
Shen Yuan frowned. “Binghe, if my sect had a technique called Frog Leaping that looked and sounded as the name implied, would you learn?”
Rather than respond immediately, Binghe bit his lip as he stared at Shen Yuan's pursed lips.
“If it’s Daozhang teaching then Binghe will learn,” he admitted.
“Then is there any difference between me teaching you or you learning at my suggestion? A technique’s value is in its usefulness. Don’t underestimate a skill by its name or appearance alone. In the end it all belongs to you.” Once he was finished speaking, Shen Yuan subtly rubbed and plugged his ears.
The Gexing Immortal Master slapped Binghe’s back and Binghe was forced to straighten his shoulders. Then he slapped his waist and Binghe was forced to throw out his stomach. He completed his transformation into a chicken.
Those slaps had obviously fallen a little more solidly than needed. Binghe resentfully watched as that old rooster took up the very same pose from his peripheral vision. The codger drew in enough breath to leave the rest of them lightheaded. Somewhere in his dantian, this spiritual energy was being converted into his own to use. The moonlight was glossy and wet—a river of mercury twisting at their knees. The trees shivered in anticipation. Finally, the roar shuddered forth like a watersnake behind a broken dam, twisting and clawing its way out of the man’s belly.
Then terror itself.
At first it was a broken wail, then a chorus of screams. Some were the whistling deathbed gasps of oversweet incense in the throat and others were wrath given body and horror taken form. The silver pool of moonlight beneath them was adulterated with cinnabar, vermillion, and scarlet. The earth itself was bleeding.
Binghe's heart shook. Had he underestimated this cheap teacher of his? He glanced in the Gexing Immortal Master’s direction, but only saw the horror reflected in his eyes. All of his color appeared to have been extracted from his cheeks where it then stained the earth around them. The man stared fixedly ahead as if suspended in time. As though he too had not expected this outcome. At the end of his line of sight was a hollowed tree with splintered branches and a hole at its center. Binghe first noticed the mysterious beauty of its fractured body and the way it appeared to be embracing the moon. So arresting was this sight that he did not immediately notice that as he was watching, the woods were watching back. Because just a little bit farther than that were a dozen, no, two dozen pairs of eyes. More. Like mirrors shining in the darkness. They held the strange power to transfix. They were unmoving and he was immovable.
With sights unchanging, they advanced. These eyes grew from sockets and those sockets grew from faces. Those faces were attached to heads attached to bodies, but it was the menacing metal held within those hands that he noticed next.
Binghe saw himself and his expression frozen in shock in those blades, but when three dozen bodies stepped out of the shadows of the woods, the light reflected in them was blinding. He could only gaze upon the shadows on the leaves to see them advancing. For a moment, there was the illusion of the world inverted once more, though he did not know if they were right side up or upside down. Nor did he know if the earth was flipped once, then again, would they return to normalcy? Or would they find themselves in another world entirely. And in this new world, they were perched on the polished porcelain plate of the moon. The reflection of the branches caged them within shadowy tendrils. Dark figures enclosed around them like teeth on the maw of a great beast. Centimeter by centimeter, the mouth closed.
“Halt.”
Movement came to a stop.
The word itself wasn’t loud nor harsh. There wasn’t much emotion imbued in it either. But it carried authority.
"How uncommon."
Binghe lifted his eyes and saw not the many faces and sharp blades approaching, but Shen Yuan’s tall and calm back.
“We don’t receive many visitors here.”
Past Shen Yuan’s shoulders and the wall of knives was a petite form. The figure came not from the crowd of people, but from the left of it.
“They aren’t used to welcoming outsiders.”
The words she used appeared to separate herself from her company.
“These trees are sacred to us.” She smiled mildly. “Strangers do not understand our customs. This is not their fault. We must teach these guests our ways.”
Those weapons, which were only farming implements, were put away and Binghe was able to see without obstruction.
She was dressed in plain, yet neat robes. Her black hair was pulled back into a Sanliutou style held up with a red cord. There was not much remarkable about her appearance other than that she was young. Perhaps the same age as Binghe himself. Despite this, she gave him a strange sense of familiarity.
“Look, your fire has gone out.”
The fire was out and only the lingering trails of smoke implied it had once existed.
“Our village is celebrating a folk festival and you’re just in time.”
The familiarity he felt made him instinctively trust her.
She called out to the crowd. “A-Sui, your mother recently passed and the room is now empty. Why don’t they stay with you?”
The person called A-Sui acquiesced with a nod.
The night melted away, lifting remnants of scarlet rust and then returning the world to immutable gold. It was a new morning. The birds were absent from the earth and the sky, but they left their melody among the treetops. A pleasant mountain village beckoned them, and in went a little yellow duck, a white swan, and a blackbird.
How pleasant. The bells were ringing again.