Firelight flickered, shadows dancing at the boundary of light and dark.

The stone steps extended ever deeper, like a nightmare of infinite descent.

Fragments of human voices rose from the depths of the earth — indistinct, like the murmured whispering of countless small spirits.

Ding Weixiang stopped walking and gestured for the two behind him to look in the direction he indicated.

A hundred steps away on the staircase stood one shadow after another. Young men and women stood in a line on the steps, their faces pointed down, murmuring incessantly yet barely moving at all — like a row of burial figurines made of clay.

The spiral stairs converged at the bottom, disappearing into a pool of black water at the base of this funnel-shaped underground grotto.

The dark water appeared to be no more than a zhang’s span in width, yet its color gave the impression of unfathomable depth. Half-submerged in the center of the pool was a transparent crystal-stone coffin, and within it lay a dark mass — difficult to make out.

The old woman stood on the very last step, gazing silently at the coffin.

By the black water beside the coffin stood two people — Shen Linlin and Shen Yangyang, having changed into spotlessly white garments. One to the left, one to the right, they stepped forward and lifted a body from inside the coffin — something that looked like nothing more than a skeletal frame — and with a plain white silk cloth carefully wiped its skin and hair, their eyes not daring to lift for even a moment.

At first glance, she had taken the human form in the coffin for a corpse that had been soaking for a very long time. But after a moment, that ‘corpse’ began to move its eyes — and woke up.

“We welcome the return of the family head!”

The cry thundered upward from below, striking the top of the grotto, carrying with it the unflinching conviction of those doing the shouting — and something close to an ignorant, blind fervor.

Yes — this was Shen Shi’an’s original body.

The old woman shakily knelt, shuffled forward on her knees to the edge of the pool, and from her basket produced the jar of candies, offering it reverently before Shen Shi’an’s ‘true form.’

“We respectfully invite the family head to grant blood.”

Those protruding eyeballs, set in the gaunt skull, shifted and turned. Then the eyelids lifted, and looked at the old woman before them. After a long moment, a withered hand slowly rose, extending a food finger with a long, sharp nail, and drove it deep into the right arm.

The blood that had been expected did not gush forth. That desiccated frame seemed to have long since run dry of moisture, and after the old woman had waited for a long while, she received only a few drops of murky blood. Yet the joy on her face was undiminished. She carefully applied those few drops among the candies, not wanting to waste a single one.

Watching all of this, Xiao Nanhui felt her stomach heave. Though she had not swallowed that candy, the nausea was slow to leave.

Thank heaven — thank heaven she hadn’t eaten that candy.

“Since you’ve already come, why not draw nearer?”

An aged voice rose from inside the coffin, skittering across the rough stone walls, making one’s bones ache with cold.

“What the family head described was quite fascinating — but seeing it with one’s own eyes today surpasses all words.”

“Three days were promised, and yet the young master did not rest but followed us here. Has he already made a decision — and is he too eager to wait before making his trade with me?”

“The family head once said that the contents of the woven silk cannot be decoded by anyone who is not of that clan’s lineage. Since the family head intends to use this as a bargaining chip, can she prove that the Shen family is indeed the descendant of that legendary silk-weaving clan?”

A shift moved through the lines of Shen Shi’an’s aged and deteriorated face — it seemed to be a forced smile, or perhaps suppressed irritation.

After a moment, she gently closed her eyes and sank back into the crystal coffin. In the very next instant, the short and plump little child who had been lying beside the black pool gave a sudden full-body jerk, then opened her eyes and stood up.

“It’s true that the young body’s mind works with more clarity.” The childlike quality drained from that round, blunt face, replaced by a deadened, ancient composure. “If I cannot prove it, what will you do? A hundred years have passed — those you could negotiate with are not many.”

Was she confident they had no other choice?

Xiao Nanhui stared fixedly at that round face, as if she could see the decaying soul lurking beneath that flesh.

“This one has been a thousand-year monster for so long, it’s forgotten how to speak like a human. There’s no need to waste words on it.”

Shen Shi’an’s brow furrowed — and that face produced an expression of cold disdain.

“Who are you? Who are you to speak to me like that?”

Before she could respond, Su Wei had already spoken before her.

“What she thinks is what I think. What she asks is what I ask.” He added a beat later: “In this world, there does not yet exist a person to whom she must bow her head in order to speak.”

Said by anyone else, these words might have invited ridicule. Said by him, they carried an undeniable certainty.

Indeed — if he said they didn’t exist, they truly didn’t exist.

Xiao Nanhui couldn’t help but let the smile show on her face. And Shen Shi’an finally began to look at her with proper attention. That bone-chilling gaze coiled around her from head to toe before withdrawing.

“You didn’t eat the candy — that’s somewhat a pity.” She turned her gaze to Su Wei, smiling with a touch of cunning. “It seems I shouldn’t have asked you for those prayer beads — I should have asked you for a person.”

“Her price — you cannot afford.”

“Such fine words, ‘cannot afford.’ Yet in this world there is no such thing as a priceless object. Where there is demand, there is trade. Otherwise, you would not have risked coming here.”

Xiao Nanhui looked around at the Shen family members standing all around, and made her calculations.

“You knew we would come tonight?”

Shen Shi’an smiled, that young voice lending the laugh a somewhat shrill edge.

“Even knowing that I have designs on you both, and that this cave looks so dangerous and unpredictable — you came anyway. Because no one can refuse the lure of unknown power and the desire for eternal life.”

“Nothing in this world can live forever.”

Shen Shi’an did not contradict this.

“Perhaps. But for our lifetimes of merely a hundred years, ten thousand years already counts as eternal. And those who possess a lifespan of such eternity have since ancient times been venerated as gods. I once said that the bone-burning clan had their eyes veiled by that so-called divine, causing them to dwindle in number and linger on in a half-dead state. But I never told you the details. Today the moment has arrived — shall I tell it to you? How does that sound?”

“What price, family head?”

“In a moment you’ll know naturally.” Shen Shi’an smiled faintly, the smile resting only on the surface of flesh. “In ancient times there was a spirit, descending to where deep mountains and rivers reached their ends — without name or title, existing for a hundred years with no one to worship it. Finally one day, it was found by a stranded clan carried by floodwaters to that place, and at last it had its first worshippers.”

“At first, it promised the family members immortality and powerful physiques — transmitting its power to its worshippers by offering blood — enabling this clan to live by mastery of fire and grow rapidly in strength. By this means it enslaved the clan for nearly a hundred years. Each year it would select from among the newborns, keeping those whose bodies were closest to perfection as vessels, and destroying the appearance of those with flaws, using them as tools walking the mortal world on its behalf.”

That was Pu Huna.

An enormous puzzle piece thundered and turned and clicked into place, building within Xiao Nanhui’s mind an image almost beyond imagination.

Young children lost the faces that belonged to them. Not even the nearest flesh and blood standing before them could recognize them. They were gathered together and trained in the skills of killing and retrieving. Emotion was a burden to them. The only meaning of being alive was obedience.

As time passed, the children became killers. While they were enslaved, they were also seeking the next generation to take their place in enslavement. They would visit remote villages in the night, stealing away children no one would miss, sifting through them for those they deemed fit, performing a ritual to bind them in covenant with the divine, drawing them into this endless cycle of evil.

Wu Xiaoliu from back then was one who slipped through the net.

“Yet borrowed bodies are ultimately borrowed. No matter how carefully nurtured or how carefully selected, in the end mortal flesh cannot bear the weight of divine intent. As time went on, the bodies borrowed by the divine would gradually decay and rot from the loss of their souls. Slowly, people began to resist this form of serving the divine, but the connection of blood had accumulated generation upon generation — how could it be easily shed? Those with strong wills might struggle for a year or so. Those with weak wills would be completely reduced to puppets within half a month. The one who resisted longest among this clan managed to hold out for no more than three years.”

Recounting all of this, Shen Shi’an’s expression was detached. She plucked one of the hairpins from atop her head, tossed it casually in her hand, and used the pin’s point to idly scratch along the stone wall.

Metal scraping over rough stone produced a grating sound. And yet those young Shen family members stood silent in that very sound.

“In gaining power, one must also pay a price. The family, having suffered so much under the divine, finally understood this truth and took it as their guiding principle, and began engaging in trade — first in timber, then switching to pig iron, then from pig iron to coal. Nearly a hundred years ago, the Shen clan faced annihilation when the dynasty changed, and the divine’s power on this land began to wane. A few years later, the divine temple fell, and Buddhism flourished. A monk came from the south across the sea and banished the last deity on this land. The divine took away the clan’s final vessel and disappeared. Years later it still had no trace.”

The descendants of the bone-burning clan were the Shen family. The monk who came from the south was Wu Min. And the divine of unknown whereabouts was the force behind Pu Huna’s “that person.”

“Since you are not a descendant of the silk-weaving clan — how can you decode the prophecy within?”

Shen Shi’an seemed to enjoy this question very much and deliberately paused before slowly speaking.

“I have heard that all members of the Xiao family perished in the Yu’an Uprising, save for the Qinghuai Marquis Xiao Zhun. Then the one capable of unlocking the prophecy is naturally no longer in this world — and you have no one to turn to but me. After all, the dead have passed on, and one can only summon their souls to ask of them.”

Xiao Nanhui froze. She had not anticipated that the Xiao family would appear so suddenly in that unresolved puzzle of her heart. Fractured pieces gradually came together, and the final piece of the puzzle was nearly in place.

“That letter delivered to the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion through Bai Hezhi’s hands over ten years ago — was that your doing?”

Shen Shi’an thought for a moment and nodded.

“The letter did come from my hand, but I don’t know the Xiao family. That letter, strictly speaking, was addressed to someone who was hiding within the Xiao household.”

“Who?” Xiao Nanhui’s heart began to pound. She stepped involuntarily forward. “Don’t speak nonsense. I myself am from the Qinghuai Marquis Mansion — why have I never heard of this person you’re speaking of?”

“Since you are of the Xiao household, do you not know that Xiao Dai was not born of the old prince’s bloodline?” Shen Shi’an paused with feigned surprise, then nodded. “That’s right. Harboring the offspring of a treasonous rebel — that sort of thing, anyone would want to be careful about. Better to keep the secret sealed in one’s stomach until it goes with one to the grave.”

Xiao Nanhui’s wildly pounding heart faltered for a single instant.

She remained standing motionless, but within her, a tempest of waves had already been set crashing.

Dai Yi was not a member of the Xiao family? How could that be? They had looked so much alike, and had depended on each other through so many years—

And yet it was precisely this absurd circumstance that made her recall some of the small doubts and details of the past.

Such as why Dai Yi, in all the years after losing her mind, had sat in that side courtyard day and night weaving a sash without rest. Such as why she would, in moments of confusion, speak stories that seemed to come true. Such as why in the Yu’an Uprising she had protected that sash with her life while surviving, yet Xiao Zhun had known nothing of it and had carelessly locked it away with a blood-soaked garment among old stored items. Such as why she would see Dai Yi in that eerie dream—

Past events poured in all at once, leaving her stunned and bewildered.

Who exactly was Dai Yi? Had Xiao Zhun known any of this? Or — could this have been the true reason behind the Xiao family’s massacre?

Xiao Nanhui stared fixedly at Shen Shi’an. When she next spoke, her voice had already gone a little hoarse.

“Tell me clearly — who is the treasonous rebel?”

Shen Shi’an’s expression was unruffled.

He had long savored this sense of superiority — lording above all, commanding the whole situation. Giving selectively was, to him, the greatest pleasure.

“She was born of the surname Hu, the same as I, from the most ancient of the four northern clans. She was the last surviving heir of the silk-weaving generation, who twenty-three years ago had already deciphered the prophecy within the Heavenly Sash, yet still chose to conceal it until the final moment. I found her and made her an offer. But she ultimately chose to refuse — and you must already know the consequences of that refusal.”

Hu — that wasn’t—

Something flashed through her mind, and she set it aside for now, pressing for the answer she had not yet received.

“What offer?”

Shen Shi’an paused, and turned her gaze on her face.

“Naturally — the same offer you and I are discussing at this very moment.”

The same offer as now? Did she mean that sash?

Wait — that wasn’t right.

She and Su Wei had followed the trail to Huozhou precisely because the woven silk bore traces of coal smoke from Huozhou’s Heimu County, indicating the sash had once been in Huozhou, only to change hands and eventually end up in Chizhou under unknown circumstances.

From the map Wu Xing had given her, the Zou Mansion was the old Hu family residence. A household so large and established — to have vanished without a trace overnight, they must have made every preparation. But why — not earlier, not later — were they only exterminated in that particular year?

Perhaps there was one possibility: before the Hu family’s destruction, they had secretly returned to Huozhou to seek help from a former ally. But someone betrayed them, handing them over along with the yet-to-be-revealed prophecy to the ruling house of that time.

Perhaps the reason the Shen clan had managed its coal trade for so many years, maintaining a private army and controlling the waterways without ever bringing destruction upon themselves, lay precisely in this.

Shen Shi’an had been lying.

Had she already known the contents of the prophecy within the Heavenly Sash all along? Was the so-called “offer” nothing more than a scheme to evade the central issue?

Xiao Nanhui turned her head to look at the man beside her. He was looking at her at the same moment. Their gazes met — and against all expectation, both of them broke into smiles at the same time.

Ding Weixiang stood to one side, having thought at length about it without being able to figure out where that laughter had come from.

She looked at Shen Shi’an’s short, plump body with its air of good-natured simplicity, and spoke from the heart.

“You weren’t wrong — some people’s words truly cannot be trusted, not a single one.”

Su Wei nodded.

“Our paths are different — talking further is pointless. Let each follow their own inclination. What does the family head think?”

A flicker of something crossed Shen Shi’an’s expression, then another smile stacked up.

“That is not well said. From the moment you stepped in here, I knew you and I were fellow travelers. The gift for serving the divine is something buried deep in the blood. It only becomes diluted generation by generation, gradually fading — today even a few drops of divine blood are very difficult to obtain. Do not waste this gift.”

Xiao Nanhui stepped forward, placing herself before the man.

“Fine words — but in the end it’s nothing but being a slave and a servant. What gift is there in that?”

“What of being a slave — what of being a servant? Isn’t everyone in this life already enslaved by birth, age, sickness, and death?” Shen Shi’an’s expression began to shift, the voice dropping low and softening. “Stars return in the sky, and the year begins again. Mountains and rivers reverse — all in the span of a hundred years. Yet people are so small and fragile, and often cannot survive even a single short instant of this heaven and earth. But if you could span these hundred years and more of flourishing and decline — you would possess more wisdom than ordinary people, more wealth, more choices.”

Looking at that decaying body in the black water, Xiao Nanhui felt those words enter through her left ear and slide out through her right, leaving no impression.

The more enticingly the other party spoke, the colder her expression became.

She had no interest whatsoever in the method of eternal life.

Life was already such an unbearably heavy burden for her. That she could carry this enormous stone all the way to the end of her days was already exhausting every last ounce of her strength — and yet someone wanted her to go on like this forever?

A hundred years of experience — Shen Shi’an could not fail to read the expressions of the three. She immediately changed her approach.

“Between life and death, there are still connections. And the key to those connections is known only to those of the lineage that served the divine. Even after someone has died, if their soul has not yet dispersed — with the right incantations and secret arts, they can be summoned back. Don’t you want to see the people you’ve loved and lost? All these wishes can be granted, as long as you ally with me—”

Shen Shi’an spoke as she walked toward Xiao Nanhui, step by step closing the distance.

Her expression had changed — a note of grievance crept in, and paired with a face bearing a seven- or eight-tenths resemblance, it produced an unsettling illusion.

“Was it because of you that she died? Have you regretted it? You couldn’t save her then — and now you’re going to let her slip away a second time?”

What a poisonous trick.

Xiao Nanhui stepped back half a pace and lowered her head.

“You are not her. You are Shen Shi’an.”

Shen Shi’an’s shadow stretched slowly across the ground like the tendrils of a demon, gradually merging into her own shadow.

“I am Shen Shi’an — but I am also your dear friend. I can be your father or mother, your kin. As long as you’re willing, I can be anyone. I—”

Bang.

Xiao Nanhui brought the torch in her hand down on Shen Shi’an’s head with every ounce of strength she had.

“Lunatic.”

She shook her hand and tossed the torch, broken in two, to the side.

She had brought her full force behind that blow — all ten out of ten of her strength. Her palm was numb from the force of it. Enough to send the other party to sleep for three days and three nights straight.

“You might not understand my friend very well. In life she hated above all else to be called short. Even if she were to come back as a ghost and take over someone else’s body, she would absolutely not choose someone as short and pudgy as you.”

Yes — Bolao was not coming back. No one knew this more clearly than she did. The wrong person had been chosen.

A cold wind shrieked past, sending all the torches on the stone walls swaying and flickering.

Those young men and women who had been standing motionless with their heads bowed, murmuring to themselves — in that same instant they all turned their gazes upon the three uninvited intruders.

“I’ve decided what I want to trade — I’ll just take your bodies.” A deep, aged voice rose from the black-water coffin, low and utterly without inflection. “No one can refuse the Shen family’s business. The Hu family couldn’t — and neither can you.”

Lu Songping opened his eyes. Above him was the ancient, vaulted ceiling of the hall.

From the skylight, half a moon was visible — what appeared to be, faintly, another full moon.

He moved his hands and feet and found his four limbs tightly bound to a pillar of the temple. Not far away, seated on a tattered prayer cushion, were two people staring at him without blinking.

“May I ask where I am? Why am I bound?”

Yikong said nothing. Hao Bai, seated beside him, shook his head.

“Stop pretending. You’ve been found out. That fellow Lu Songping never uses the words ‘may I ask’ when he speaks. What’s more, I have a past grudge with him.”

The ‘Lu Songping’ before the pillar paused, then lowered his head and gave a low, slow laugh.

“Yikong, the dharma master — long time no see. Since when did you begin associating with the Qu family?”

Yikong gave no answer. The gold hammer in his hand fell, striking the ancient wooden fish three times.

“Pu Huna.”

‘Lu Songping’ tilted his head to one side, his expression playful.

“All beings contained, ten thousand forms manifest. I am very fond of the name your teacher gave me.”

Yikong’s expression was mild.

“It is only a name. You were born without a name — naturally you would be a little pleased.”

The ‘Lu Songping’s’ expression instantly turned dark, barely concealing the fury and resentment beneath.

“One question, one answer. If there are any other ideas—” Yikong paused here, picked up the demon-subduing pestle and set it before him, “—we’ll change the way we talk.”

“You are a man of the cloth — how can your words be so overbearing and your mind so malicious?!”

‘Lu Songping’ acted out an exaggerated fright and swayed twice, then swiftly changed expression, breaking into laughter.

That laughter was shrill and croaking — like a cold gust across the face. Every candle in the main hall was instantly extinguished.

“Do you really think a mere demon-subduing pestle can do anything to me? Demons and spirits — the lowest of the low. How dare you put them in the same category as me? I am divine. What I wish to do, I do!”

After a long moment, Yikong’s clear voice rose in the darkness.

“Whatever you may be — since you walk in this mortal world, you must abide by the laws of this mortal world. Moreover, judging by your current circumstances, it doesn’t seem like you can do whatever you wish.”

A rustling sound — Hao Bai getting up to look for a tinderbox.

Moonlight poured in from the skylight, illuminating the top of ‘Lu Songping’s’ head. He still held his head slightly downward, everything from his brow bone down submerged in shadow.

“You are very much like your teacher. But you are not him, after all. He never managed to fully banish me — what is the point of wasting time here?”

Yikong opened the scripture scroll, formed a seal with both hands, and held it before his chest.

“Even without your saying so, I know precisely why you’ve come. All these years, you’ve still been searching. But you’ll never find it. “

The young monk began to recite scripture quietly.

“Wu Min did indeed have some intelligence — understanding the principle of hiding in plain sight. But that is as far as it goes.” The ‘Lu Songping’ before the pillar finally raised his head. Two enormous, hollow pupils fixed on Yikong’s calm face. “Do not forget — he is fated to belong to me. And those prophecies will surely come to pass.”

After a moment, the firelight blazed back up.

Hao Bai held an oil lamp and stepped forward — only to find that Lu Songping had already closed his eyes, his body slumping sideways against the pillar.

“Is he—”

“It has already left.” Yikong lightly turned the pages of the scripture, and let out a long sigh. “But it will come back again.”