Dark clouds pressed down gloomily over the Great Chanchan Temple. At the peak of the pagoda, two figures were locked in an embrace and kiss.
The six arms of the celestial demoness Bao Zhu wound around Wei Xun like steel cables from top to bottom, but he refused to breathe, clenching his teeth in resistance. After she forcibly kissed him for a while, feeling wetness on his face, she withdrew her tongue tip, licked his cold lips, and asked softly:
“Are you crying? Because the first time wasn’t as wonderful as you fantasized?”
“Where is she?”
Trapped in this topsy-turvy, bewildering situation, Wei Xun’s mind was in chaos. He clearly had no memory of falling asleep – how could such indescribable hallucinations appear? Was this a nightmare, a demonic obstacle? Where exactly was the real Bao Zhu? What had happened to her? Was she also encountering such incredible, eerie circumstances? Trapped somewhere, struggling desperately but unable to escape?
“I am her, she is me.”
The celestial demoness Bao Zhu’s voice was low, soft, and tender. She murmured, “I am your truest desire suppressed in the depths of your soul. Haven’t you always hoped Bao Zhu would actively touch you? That’s why I descended in such a form. Now, you need only abandon resistance and enjoy yourself – I will treat you gently. After all, this is only a dream. Whether it’s a sweet dream or nightmare depends on your own choice.” As she spoke, the soft arms wrapped around him explored like serpents inside his cyan shirt.
He shuddered all over and said to the inner demon: “This is improper.”
“This is improper.” He clenched his fists and repeated to himself once more.
Though feeling extremely tired and confused, Wei Xun still resolved to resist. Using all his strength, veins bulging, he broke free from the celestial demoness’s six arms one by one, tearing away and pushing off the body tightly entangled with his.
The six-armed celestial demoness smiled brilliantly, retreating a step from the pagoda’s peak, her bare feet stepping into empty air, about to fall from the great height.
Since she had a face, figure, and voice completely identical to Bao Zhu’s, Wei Xun was alarmed and instinctively reached out to catch her, but his palm passed straight through the celestial maiden’s body as if she were merely an image formed from condensed smoke.
“Even at this point, you still can’t rest easy.”
She floated up in the air, cheerfully doing a somersault and hanging upside down in midair, then used her frontmost arms to cup Wei Xun’s face. “Then let me tell you a secret…”
She drew close and whispered in his ear: “I’m with Gui’er.”
Having spoken, the six-armed celestial being immediately dispersed like smoke, vanishing without a trace.
With Gui’er? Wu Gui’er?
Remembering Wu Guancheng’s tragic end and the Nine Aspects paintings he had created last, an ominous premonition shrouded his heart. Wei Xun immediately retreated from the pagoda’s peak, but stumbled and nearly fell.
What was wrong? Why were his hands and feet numb and disobedient… Wei Xun felt alarmed and uneasy. Could he be so unlucky as to suddenly fall ill? The time interval was too short, too short! Was this a sign of terminal illness approaching death? He couldn’t collapse here.
“Bao Zhu…”
He supported himself against the wall and stumbled forward, though he actually had no clear destination. Bluish-purple veins quietly crept up the backs of his hands, and like his body, his thoughts gradually became chaotic and uncontrolled.
Where was she? Exactly which corner of Chanchan Temple was she hidden in? And where was Wu Gui’er?
The ancient temple’s endless mural corridors seemed to stretch on forever. Wei Xun vaguely saw what appeared to be a burly, armored warrior standing ahead. He immediately became alert, struggling to stand steady and flexing his finger joints to prepare for battle.
The warrior walked toward him at an unhurried pace, holding not a bow and arrow or long spear, but a ceremonial flag. Another warrior followed closely behind. Then another.
Wei Xun discovered that these warriors were all the Vajra guardians, strongmen, and protector deities from the murals. They stepped down from the walls one by one, taking heavy, solemn steps, gradually gathering into a ceremonial procession with fluttering banners. White flags with black borders – symbols of funeral rites.
The warriors’ expressions were grave, as if they couldn’t see him, passing by this way. Wei Xun noticed they wore the armor of Chang’an’s Imperial Guards.
Whose funeral was this, to have Imperial Guards leading the way?
The Imperial Guards carrying mourning banners proceeded endlessly forward. Next, from the murals on the other side of the wall stepped down a pair of celestial maidens in trailing silk skirts. Each held a phoenix-patterned bronze mirror – these were the ceremonial items leading funeral processions, followed by a pair of celestial beings carrying eternal palace lanterns.
They wore the colors of palace maids. Pair after pair stepped down from the walls, taking silent steps, walking beside the Imperial Guard formation, holding in their hands pure vases, golden basins, combs, and other precious women’s daily items. The maids’ faces were full of sorrow as they passed by Wei Xun.
He saw someone’s tray of plain brocade held a crystal-clear jade cicada – the rice offering to press the deceased’s mouth.
Whose funeral was this, with so many burial objects and such a high-level ceremony?
Young pallbearers singing mournful dirges passed before his eyes, but made no sound.
Celestial maidens scattering fresh flowers passed before his eyes, delicate petals flying up to the sky, but when they fell to the ground they had turned into paper money.
Banners and canopies blocked out the sky, dragon and phoenix flags moved without wind. This soul-escorting procession seemed endless yet soundless, slowly proceeding through the long corridor.
Whose funeral was it exactly? The scale could stretch for dozens of li without end?
Wei Xun’s heart filled with uneasy mist as he aimlessly followed the funeral procession forward, as if walking toward fate’s terminus. When he accidentally touched Imperial Guards or maids in the procession, they would turn to smoke and scatter, then condense into form again a few feet away.
After walking for an unknown time, ahead was the tomb entrance of a great burial site. Finally, he saw the protagonist of this extremely grand funeral – a coffin of imperial nanmu wood with golden threads, placed in the center of the underground palace. The coffin lid was covered with soul-suppressing prayer flags, and a nearby bo mountain incenser sent up surging clouds, emitting the strange fragrance used to mask corpse stench.
Wei Xun walked over in a trance and lifted the prayer flag painted with talismanic symbols. He had opened this coffin before, bringing out an extremely important person from inside. But where was she now?
He didn’t want to speculate this way, but the surrounding scene forced him to make this speculation. Wei Xun pulled out the coffin nails one by one.
“You refused the sweet dream and chose the nightmare.” The celestial demoness’s whisper sounded again in his ear.
The coffin lid slowly opened, and inside lay quietly a richly dressed young girl with an ugly demon mask covering her face.
Could she still be saved? Like last time?
“Bao Zhu…” he murmured softly, making a final resistance, but still no one responded.
His heart beat so violently it seemed ready to leap from his chest. Wei Xun extended a trembling hand and lifted the demon mask – beneath it, Bao Zhu’s face was bluish-purple, her eyes slightly open, her originally crystal-clear pupils now murky and dim, covered with a layer of white mist.
The coffin lid fell to the ground, revealing the deceased’s entire body. The Fish Intestine sword was deeply inserted in her lower abdomen, buried to the hilt with only the rhinoceros horn handle remaining. Her expression was empty and despairing, as if she had died from harm by someone she most trusted.
Gently stroking her cheek, Wei Xun desperately hoped this terrifying hallucination would immediately disperse like mist, but the cold skin texture beneath his hand felt very real.
“Bao Zhu…”
Once again lifting her from the coffin, this time the stiff body was no longer warm and soft as before, nor would it emit that unique subtle fragrance. He had touched countless corpses and wouldn’t harbor illusions that resurrection was possible at this stage.
Ghost shadows flickered around them. The funeral Imperial Guards and maids watched all this expressionlessly.
Everything had returned to the starting point – simply the timeline where he hadn’t managed to save her. Holding this corpse of one who shouldn’t have died, Wei Xun leaned back against the coffin and slowly collapsed, his thoughts completely stagnant.
“You’re the same as Chen Shigu – an Asura that people avoid, a filthy, foul evil spirit who only brings misfortune to those around you.” The inner demon’s voice sounded again.
“I just really wanted to stay with her…”
Looking down at this face drained of light, tears fell drop by drop onto her bluish-purple skin. For some reason they were mixed with blood, a pale red color.
“Isn’t this destined? You learned killing techniques, not life-saving arts. Someday you’ll be unable to control yourself and harm Bao Zhu.”
“I never thought of harming her…”
“Really? Look whose weapon killed me?” As if possessed by the inner demon, the cold, stiff corpse suddenly spoke.
Wei Xun was startled and roared angrily: “Get out of her body!”
“This way of dying is interesting – the Fish Intestine sword… Is this how you fantasize about harming her? Using the ‘weapon’ at your waist to stab hard into her body? How suggestive…”
Driven to the limit, Wei Xun nearly fell into madness, roaring: “Get out!!!”
“See, didn’t you just strike out?”
As the voice fell, in his daze he discovered his hands were already gripping Bao Zhu’s neck, tightening more and more.
“This is destined.” The corpse spoke its final words and returned to silence.
Was this destined fate? Or the destined instinct to harm her? Wei Xun released his grip and pressed his right palm directly against the bo mountain incenser burning fragrance beside the coffin. The searing pain of burning flesh instantly pierced his entire body. Could he feel pain even in dreams? He deliberately stayed motionless, letting this intense sensory impact his brain.
Only when he smelled the scent of cooked, rotting flesh did he strike the incenser away with one palm, scattering the fragrance and colorful ash inside across the ground. Was that enough? Punishment to stop him from continuing to harm her?
Wei Xun held Bao Zhu’s corpse, falling into stagnation.
Time flowed with each breath, returning once again to past days – corpse stench, hunger, desperately seeking antidotes for a hopeless terminal illness…
After an unknown time, having seemingly reviewed his brief first half of life, all the clamor in his mind quieted down. He raised his head and found the shadowy figures surrounding them had disappeared. Should he place her back in the coffin for proper burial?
Wei Xun supported the corpse’s slightly drooping head, but discovered the person in his arms was not Bao Zhu.
This unfamiliar female corpse had been dead for over ten days. Her face was bluish-purple and swollen, her body emaciated, her features unrecognizable. Only from her thick black hair could her young age be judged. Her darkened lips were half-open, as if she had been calling to someone before death.
A trace of cool night breeze swept by, bringing flow to his stagnant thoughts.
The demon mask, soul-suppressing flags, and Fish Intestine sword had all vanished. Wei Xun slowly looked around – this wasn’t the underground palace of a royal mausoleum, but a meditation hall in the ancient temple where vigil was held. That coffin wasn’t golden thread nanmu either, but ordinary cypress wood that even wealthy merchants could afford.
Had it disappeared? The dream was over, the hallucination had left him, leaving only the burn on his hand bringing fierce throbbing pain, stimulating him to gradually calm down from his frenzied delirium.
The incenser was extinguished, clouds and mist cleared, and faint moonlight refracted from the corridor into the meditation hall. Wei Xun saw an extremely weak reflection in the corpse’s mouth, seemingly a rice offering to press the mouth. He extended a finger to extract it and found this object was neither gold nor jade, but a piece of sugar frost, transparent as icicles and mixed with dried osmanthus flowers like gold leaf fragments.
It was osmanthus sugar frost – a female corpse with sugar frost as her mouth pressing.
Recalling what the inner demon had said: “I’m with Gui’er,” Wei Xun seemed to realize something. Was this her hint?
Holding the unfamiliar corpse, Wei Xun stood up. On Ullambana night, it was time to make the dead speak.