For six consecutive days, the ceremonial cannons had sent roughly sixty thousand message papers across the stream.

The other side remained silent, dead quiet.

Yan Tuo felt this wasn’t right: sixty thousand papers – with such dense coverage, surely they should have received something?

Although everyone had prepared themselves for the possibility of returning empty-handed, when such signs appeared, they couldn’t help but feel dejected. As spirits sank, various strange speculations emerged one after another.

Que Cha: “Could there be wind directions down there too? Like maybe it’s blowing northwest now, and all the message papers are being swept to the northwest corner, but the people’s settlement is in the southeast?”

Going in opposite directions, that’s why they weren’t receiving anything.

Nie Jiuluo: “Do the people down there hibernate?”

All asleep, probably in cocoon-like earth hollows, so no one noticed even as the message papers swirled like snowflakes.

Yu Rong’s hypothesis was more bloody: “Could they have started fighting, the kind where everyone perishes together?”

…

The speculation was lively, but no one knew the truth, nor did anyone have the reckless courage to risk finding out.

Once you entered the Black and White Stream, humans became owl ghosts. The stream was an even more terrifying boundary than the Chu-Han divide.

On the sixth night, perhaps from drinking too much water before bed, Yan Tuo got up to relieve himself.

His flashlight had rolled somewhere unknown, and afraid of disturbing Nie Jiuluo by fumbling around, he simply went out in the dark. After all, they’d grown accustomed to the darkness these days and were familiar with the terrain – even without light, they could manage to feel their way around without being completely helpless.

After finishing his business, as he turned out from behind the high wall, Yan Tuo habitually glanced toward the stream’s edge.

In the ink-thick darkness floated several points of white luminescence.

He didn’t react immediately at first, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him. The next second, he suddenly understood – blood rushed to his head, his heart pounding wildly as he shouted: “Who’s there!”

This shout was half to steel himself, half to alert Nie Jiuluo and the others.

Quickly, a bright light flooded the area as Yu Rong, wrapped in her old cotton jacket, burst out of the tent holding a camp light.

Nie Jiuluo and Que Cha didn’t appear – this was planned: one must keep reserves when taking action. If things turned unfavorable, these two could serve as surprise reinforcements.

The camp light was much stronger than a flashlight, instantly bathing the hundred-meter radius in solemn cold white.

Yan Tuo saw two people standing on the other side of the stream – judging by their figures, an adult holding a child’s hand.

The child – that must be Yan Xin without a doubt.

Unable to contain his excitement, he practically sprinted to the water’s edge, then suddenly stopped short.

The adult wasn’t Pei Ke.

Although mentally prepared, Yan Tuo still lost his voice in shock: “Xing Shen?”

It was Xing Shen, Xing Shen, and Yan Xin.

Xing Shen still wore his original clothes. His eyes had changed, though perhaps due to his recent transformation, they weren’t particularly white but rather had a semi-transparent depth to them.

His hair had grown longer, though it was at that most awkward length – neither neat nor flowing.

Yu Rong had come over too, her reaction as surprised as Yan Tuo’s: “Xing Shen?”

Xing Shen didn’t answer immediately. He stood statue-like on the opposite side for quite a while before finally raising his hand, holding several message papers: “You sent these?”

Yan Tuo nodded.

Sixty thousand papers – they had sent over sixty thousand notes and finally stirred some response.

He looked around: “Just you two? Pei Ke… didn’t come?”

Nie Jiuluo would be disappointed not to see Pei Ke.

Xing Shen remained silent. He stepped back twice, gesturing toward the river surface: the arrow ropes left earlier were still there, swaying gently in mid-air – by the looks of it, not too rotten to use.

He darted onto an arrow rope, rushing across toward their side. Though his movement couldn’t be called particularly agile, any observer could see that compared to before, both his agility and strength had improved by several levels.

Yan Xin jumped onto another rope, arriving first despite starting later, landing before Xing Shen.

She gave Yan Tuo and Yu Rong a cold glance, then turned to watch Xing Shen. Only when he came over did she grab hold of his clothes’ hem.

Xing Shen said: “Just us. Aunt Pei won’t come up anymore. She came up several times in succession before and her body couldn’t take it – she fell ill. For people like us, coming up is like being exposed to radiation – it’s harmful to the body, so we have to limit it.”

Yan Tuo roughly understood: that for White-Eyed Ghosts, they had to accept their destiny of living underground permanently. “Going up” was like slow suicide – though not so dramatic that one crossing would cause instant death, it was definitely something to be done sparingly rather than frequently.

He felt worried: “Then Xin Xin…”

If he remembered correctly, this was Xin Xin’s second time coming up too.

Xing Shen said: “To keep it brief, it should be fine. You wanted to see her, right? Aunt Pei said she promised you, and she keeps her word.”

At this point, he looked behind Yan Tuo.

Yan Tuo’s heart jumped, thinking Nie Jiuluo had come out of the tent and been discovered.

She hadn’t – Xing Shen was just gazing somewhat melancholically behind him, as if looking to the end of the Qing soil, murmuring: “It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like.”

Yan Tuo had no patience for Xing Shen’s sentiments. He crouched down to look at Yan Xin’s eyes, his voice trembling with excitement: “Xin Xin, do you remember me?”

Yan Xin vaguely asked him: “Look… at what?”

After speaking, she faced him directly, then shortly turned sideways, showing him her left side, and after a while, switched to her right.

Yan Tuo was stunned at first but quickly understood.

Yan Xin was literally just letting him “look” – you wanted to “look at me,” right? So look all you want, front, back, left, right.

Yan Tuo didn’t give up: “You don’t remember me at all? Do you remember Mama? What about the little ducks?”

Yan Xin frowned impatiently, simultaneously tugging at Xing Shen’s clothes, exactly like a child tired of adults’ socializing, repeatedly urging them to end it quickly.

Yan Tuo stood up as if his soul had been drained.

Over these years, he had imagined reuniting with Yan Xin countless times, sometimes moving himself to tears.

It turned out those emotions, that happiness, that joy of recovering what was lost – they were all just imagination.

Yu Rong couldn’t hold back: “Xing Shen, what about our people, where are the others?”

Xing Shen said: “It’s not that quick. Some are in transformation, some have become owl ghosts and are still queuing – there are only four Nu Wa statues. Transforming one person takes at least a year or more. I’m considered exceptionally quick to adapt.”

That’s right – Yu Rong suddenly remembered the so-called Nu Wa statues were clay soil. After one use, they needed time to recuperate. It hadn’t even been a year yet – to transform everyone would take at least four or five years.

She was shocked by Xing Shen’s matter-of-fact tone: “You’ve… adapted well down there?”

In her mind, once you entered the Black and White Stream, there was no turning back – you had to completely sever ties with your past and enter such a dark, bloody, primitive environment. If it were her, she’d go mad.

Xing Shen glanced at her: “Very well. It feels like living a second life. After all these years, I’ve finally found the place most suitable for me.”

Yu Rong and Yan Tuo looked at each other, momentarily at a loss for words.

Feels like living a second life.

This phrase could apply to many people. Lin Ling had said it herself, Nie Jiuluo had truly been reborn, Que Cha had taken a completely different path from before, and Xu Annie… probably counted too.

But Xing Shen…

Xing Shen seemed to see their confusion: “Isn’t it true? What was I up above? A blind man who thought he had skills, but no one needed them or valued them. I was only useful when walking the Qing soil.”

“Now, following Aunt Pei below, I can do many things, important things. It’s chaotic down there, you know?”

Yu Rong was startled: “Wasn’t it said the Head-Wrapped Army controlled everything down there?”

Xing Shen spoke coolly: “Hardly control. It’s very chaotic below. The Head-Wrapped Army itself has split into several factions. Some ground owls are controlled, but many roam free, like a…”

He paused here, seemingly considering his words: “Anyway, there’s no law, no rules. The strong eat the weak – whoever has power calls the shots.”

Yan Tuo asked: “So Pei Ke isn’t yet prominent enough and is eager to build her power?”

Xing Shen said: “In that environment, you’d do the same. Why be led around by a bunch of useless old fossils?”

A self-satisfied expression appeared on his face: “Let the capable rule.”

This attitude matched Pei Ke’s exactly. Yan Tuo said: “Seems you and Pei Ke share very similar views.”

Xing Shen smiled: “Very similar, and I’ve given her many practical suggestions. I think Aunt Pei’s vision isn’t far-reaching enough. There’s so much that could be done down there.”

Yan Tuo felt his lips go dry: “What do you want to do?”

Xing Shen glanced at Yan Tuo, who surprisingly detected a trace of pity in his expression: “Whatever I want to do, Yan Tuo, by that time, you – all of you – will already be gone.”

He smiled again: “Down there is a world of its own, with people and resources, just different from above. Why is it that the world above could enter the age of technology in two thousand years, while down below, after the same amount of time, has regressed into a savage world where the strong prey on the weak? Why can’t it be transformed into a paradise no less than the human world?”

It was because those old fossils lacked such vision, such perspective – but he had it. They were fresh blood injected into the system, with broader and deeper knowledge, eager and passionate, waiting to accomplish great things.

Moreover, he had time, and a long, long lifespan, unlike Yan Tuo and Yu Rong, who would age and fade in mere decades.

He had finally found a vast domain, a great world almost tailor-made for him.

Yu Rong was speechless. All these days, she had been worried about their companions who were taken into the Black and White Stream, anxious to see them for peace of mind. She never expected to find one who seemed brainwashed like a pyramid scheme victim.

She couldn’t understand it at all. The human world was beautiful and worthwhile, with cats, dogs, tigers, and leopards. She wouldn’t want to go underground for even a second, and if forced down, would never treasure such a wretched place.

Yan Tuo didn’t want to continue this topic: “How is… Lin Xiru?”

Xing Shen took a moment to respond: “Her? Remember Grasshopper?”

Yes, Yan Tuo’s heart trembled: “What does this have to do with Grasshopper?”

Xing Shen spoke casually: “Nothing much, just thinking that mother and son look quite alike. She’s no different from Grasshopper now – decrepit, can’t even play with Xin Xin anymore, just counting days until death.”

He asked Yan Tuo: “Any message you want me to take to her? While she can still breathe, I can help pass along any words.”

Yan Tuo remained silent for a while, then slowly shook his head.

Just then, Yan Xin suddenly called out: “Brother.”

Brother?

Yan Tuo’s mind jolted, heat rushing to his eyes as his lips trembled, looking up in disbelief.

It wasn’t for him. Yan Xin was looking up at Xing Shen, tugging at his clothes: “Go, down.”

She was urging Xing Shen.

Yan Tuo’s voice shook: “She calls you brother?”

Xing Shen looked at Yan Xin, then at Yan Tuo: “I don’t know why either. When she saw me, she just naturally called me that.”

He continued: “You wanted to see Xin Xin, and now you have. Nothing else, right?”

Staying here too long wasn’t comfortable for him either.

Yan Tuo shook his head, but halfway through, suddenly remembered something: “Could I have a lock of Xin Xin’s hair?”

Probably guessing it was for remembrance, Xing Shen bent down and gestured to Yan Xin. Though somewhat unwilling, she didn’t strongly object. She pulled a strand of hair, bit it off with her teeth, and handed it to Xing Shen.

Xing Shen passed the hair to Yan Tuo.

The small lock of hair felt light and coarse in his hand. Yan Tuo held it, overwhelmed with emotions, and after a while said: “Then please take good care of Xin Xin down there.”

Xing Shen said: “She has more seniority than me – I’m not qualified to care for her. But don’t worry, we’re all companions, we’ll look out for each other.”

He turned to leave, then suddenly stopped and looked back at Yan Tuo: “Don’t you feel our conversation is missing something?”

Yan Tuo didn’t understand: “Missing what?”

Xing Shen seemed about to speak but changed the subject: “Never mind. In the future, if you’re unhappy with life up here, or tired of it and want to live longer, you can come down. Just cross the Black and White Stream and keep going down…”

Yu Rong interrupted: “No need, thanks.”

Xing Shen said: “Don’t be so definitive. What if? Life is unpredictable, isn’t it?”

With these words, he leaped onto the arrow rope.

Don’t you feel our conversation is missing something?

Missing A Luo – no one had mentioned A Luo throughout.

He felt indignant for Nie Jiuluo. Just a few months, and not a trace of grief remained on Yan Tuo’s face.

Yan Tuo watched as Xing Shen and Yan Xin’s figures crossed the arrow rope, passed beyond the light’s edge, and vanished into the vast darkness.

Turning around, he saw Nie Jiuluo and Que Cha emerging from behind the nearest earthen mound they hadn’t stayed quietly in their tents either.

Yu Rong snorted, asking Que Cha: “Did you hear what Xing Shen said?”

Que Cha nodded: “He has quite… ideas.”

Calling it “ambition” seemed to look down on Xing Shen, while “aspirations” seemed to demean the word itself. After careful consideration, Que Cha settled on “ideas.”

Yu Rong spat: “I don’t believe it. Capable people can succeed anywhere. All these years up here and he didn’t accomplish anything, but going down there will transform him? Anyone can talk big about their plans. I’m going to sleep.”

She picked up the camp light and strode toward the tent.

But Nie Jiuluo came forward, taking Yan Tuo’s hand.

Yan Tuo still clutched Yan Xin’s lock of hair.

The light had dimmed; he couldn’t see Nie Jiuluo’s face clearly, only her eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Yan Tuo said: “You came for nothing – couldn’t see your mother.”

Nie Jiuluo smiled, saying softly: “It’s alright, perhaps the fate between mother and daughter was meant to be light.”

Born when fate began, killed when fate ended.

It was best that she could think of it that way. Yan Tuo fingered the lock of hair, somewhat dazed: “Just now, Xin Xin called Xing Shen brother.”

Pei Ke had said Xin Xin only remembered enemies and had forgotten her family long ago.

He didn’t think so. Xin Xin still remembered – remembered her mother, remembered her brother – just that others had replaced them, been substituted in.

Nie Jiuluo said gently: “Think of it positively. Xin Xin originally had a mother and a brother. Now, she still has both, and they’re both people she likes. That’s good.”

Seven days later, Yan Tuo took Nie Jiuluo to see Lin Xiru.

His birth mother, the real Lin Xiru, lived permanently in the nursing home.

Yan Tuo placed Yan Xin’s lock of hair in his mother’s hand, while Nie Jiuluo put the carnations she’d brought into the glass vase by the bed.

At that moment, the setting sun filled the hospital room with warm golden light, the bedside carnations like a pink cloud – the scene resembled the lingering ending of a story.

Yan Tuo wished his mother would wake up just then.

Three days later, Lin Xiru passed away peacefully in her sleep.