Chapter 38

The time rewinds to nearly a hundred years ago.

That day, when the city fell, Chai Shuxin grabbed Mu Gesheng at a critical moment, but having never been a soldier, he was far less familiar with the battlefield than his opponent. Mu Gesheng countered with a grip, pulling him into his embrace.

In an instant, rubble rained down from above, striking them both. Pain surged through him, and he immediately lost consciousness.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Chai Shuxin was roused by the rain.

The air was thick with the stench of blood. He lay face down in the mud, every bone in his body seemingly out of place. He briefly checked his own pulse; the main injury was from the high fall impact, but it was survivable.

What about Mu Gesheng?

Chai Suxin tried to stand up but found himself pinned under a pile of rubble, his body weighed down like a thousand pounds. He had to find a way to climb out. Chai Suxin struggled desperately, stones tumbling down, when suddenly a hand brushed past his ear.

In that instant, the sound of rain ceased.

Only then did Chai Suxin realize that most of the blood scent surrounding him was not his own.

There was a person lying on his back.

Mu Gesheng pulled him during the fall, shielding him from most of the impact of the falling debris.

Chai Suxin didn’t know how he managed to crawl out from under the rubble; the moment he came to his senses, he had already cleared a whole patch of the wreckage.

Blood—blood everywhere. The sand and stones were covered with congealed clots, washed down by the rain, and at the center of the bloodstains lay a person, limbs twisted, barely recognizable as a whole.

Under normal circumstances, no one could have imagined the spirited look of this broken body as it passed by, but that face unmistakably told him—this person was Mu Gesheng.

Chai Suxin’s hand was trembling.

He bit his teeth tightly, but still shook too much to hold Mu Gesheng’s wrist. Blood blurred his vision, and finally, he tore open the other’s bloodstained uniform and leaned over the battered, indistinct flesh riddled with wounds.

He couldn’t hear a heartbeat.

The rain poured down in torrents, yet all he heard was a deafening silence.

When Wu Nie arrived, only a pool of blood remained on the spot. She dipped a finger into the rain-mixed blood and tasted it. "Damn it, this is Tian Suan Xiao'er’s blood."

The taste of the blood was off. She forced down the unease in her heart. The blood was mixed with the scent of Chai Shuxin, still carrying a faint trace of life. At least one of the two was still alive—but where could they have gone?

Behind Wu Nie followed two spirits—forcefully seized on the path to reincarnation. The ghosts carried a stretcher bearing Wu Zixu and Song Wentong, both gravely injured and unconscious, needing urgent treatment. And now, the only person who could save them was Chai Shuxin.

But where exactly did they go? Wu Nie forcibly suppressed the unease in her heart—Ling Shuzi couldn’t be dead, could he?

Yet another possibility was undoubtedly more terrifying: if she had lived long, nothing could escape the gaze of eyes that had seen through nine hundred years—if the one who died was Mu Gesheng, the consequences would be even more unimaginable.

There was no time to delay any longer. Wu Nie, drenched by the rain, quickly considered where the others might have gone—Mu Mansion? Chai Mansion? Wu Residence? Guan Shanyue? Ye Shui Zhuhua?

None of these were right. The enemy troops had already entered the city; rashly rushing in would be suicide. Besides, the city had almost entirely been evacuated, so entering wouldn’t replenish supplies, not even medicinal herbs.

Then where could they go?

They can't enter the city—could it be the suburban military camp?

No, that's not right. The military camp is undoubtedly a key target for capture; going back would be like walking into a trap.

So there’s only one possibility left.

"Damn it," Wu Nie cursed, "Such heavy rain, such a long road, just don't die on the way."

She was drenched by the rain, hurriedly wiped her face, tiptoed, and dashed off, two lingering souls trailing swiftly behind.

She should have known long ago that the only place Chai Shu and Xin Er would go was—

Baishui Temple,

Ginkgo Study.

Just as Wu Nie had predicted, the mountain path was stained with blood. The further she walked, the more uneasy she became—this amount of blood was far beyond what one person could have lost; clearly, a fierce battle had taken place nearby.

When she finally reached the entrance of Baishui Temple, Wu Nie kicked the door open, her pupils suddenly constricting.

Bodies lay strewn everywhere, amidst broken walls and ruins.

Blood was everywhere, a sea of red flooding the sky. Outside the meditation hall, by the well, and on the cobblestone path lay the bodies of monks—some struck down with a single blow, others dismembered and torn apart. One monk hung beneath the eaves, his body pierced by several blades, eyes wide open in death.

The ancient bell, passed down for centuries, lay shattered on the ground, half of its rim broken off. Rainwater washed it down the steps, and several dark, grim objects tumbled out—it was the skinned heads of men.

The torrential rain poured down like a deluge, mingling with the blood to form winding streams that spread in all directions.

This was hell without end—nothing more, nothing less.

Even the ghosts carrying the stretcher were so frightened that blue smoke puffed out of them. They were newly deceased spirits, having died confusedly in the chaos of war, and had never witnessed such a tragedy before.

Wu Nie stood outside the door. She was the Grand Duke of Fengdu, long accustomed to life and death, yet she remained rooted in place for a long time, staring at the scene inside the temple.

I really have stayed in Fengdu too long, she thought vaguely.

Souls came and went, and she had almost forgotten what a corpse looked like.

When a person dies, their body turns cold.

Colder than rainwater.

At least Fengdu still has the River of Forgetfulness, the Blue Lotus Lantern, and the ghostly carnival—since when did the mortal world become more like the underworld than Fengdu itself?

Wu Nie felt an indescribable weariness, a chill burning deep within his heart.

She was truly old.

Wu Nie walked into the Ginkgo Study and found Chai Shuxin in the incense hall. The room was covered in blood, but it wasn’t Mu Gesheng’s— a mangled skeleton sat on the meditation cushion, hands clasped together.

Sitting in the lotus position was the posture of passing away peacefully.

In front of the corpse, eight characters were written in blood—

To die a worthy death, like leaves falling back to their roots.

Wu Nie recognized the handwriting—it came from the abbot of Baishui Temple.

She also recognized this manner of death: flayed alive, skin peeled off.

After an unknown stretch of time, the bundle of firewood spoke, its voice hoarse: "A person well-versed in cultivation, who sits upright in peace at life's end, is said to achieve 'sitting meditation' death."

"Never abandon your homeland, face death with composure." Wu Nie was silent for a moment, then said, "With merit fulfilled, one may enter the cycle of heavenly reincarnation."

"...Very well." Chai Suxin nodded slowly, "Then please take a look, which cycle has he entered?"

He had just been standing with his back to the incense hall door, the room awash in a chaotic red glow, yet Wu Nie hadn’t noticed that he was still holding someone in his arms—none other than Mu Gesheng.

Though the face was still recognizable, it was less a corpse that Chai Suxin held than a trembling mass of blood and flesh.

Chai Suxin didn’t even ask if this person could be saved; he directly asked where Mu Gesheng had gone in the cycle of reincarnation.

Wu Nie gritted his teeth and steeled himself, saying, “You are a Ling Shuzi; you should understand the rules of the Zhuzis. After the Death Calculator dies, their soul scatters and does not enter reincarnation.”

“I know.” Chai Suxin’s voice sounded as if it was being vomited up from his very blood, “...but to me, he is more than just the Death Calculator.”

The voice was quickly swallowed by the pouring rain.

Wu Nie listened with her heart pounding; the two severely injured behind her were still waiting for rescue. The urgent task was to stabilize the other party—“How about this, I’ll take you to Fengdu now. Maybe fate will intervene, pfft, the soul of the Mu family boy hasn’t completely dissipated yet, you might still catch one last meeting…”

But before she could finish, Chai Suxin interrupted her: “Master.”

“I’m here, I’m listening.”

“When he returned from Fengdu, he told us that during the seven days he was unconscious, he had a dream—paper money falling like snow, and he heard the sound of funeral songs.”

Wu Nie was momentarily stunned.

“The sacrificial songs of the Seven Sons’ families originate from ancient times, among which the two oldest are ‘Siming’ and ‘Lihun.’ Lihun is passed down through the Yin-Yang family and can soothe the spirits of the dead, while Siming is inherited by the Medicine family and can prolong the life soul. This cycle of life and death is thus controlled by the Seven Sons’ families, who govern all matters of yin and yang.”

Wu Nie, of course, knew all this—and much more. The ‘Lihun’ is the sacrificial song sung by the successive Wuchangzi after becoming the drum-beater, leading the Yin soldiers; it is also one of the Yin-Yang family’s greatest trump cards.

Later, the general’s Nuo dance music also borrowed melodies from it.

The Yin-Yang sect controls death, while the Medicine sect controls life. The Medicine sect's ability to revive the dead from flesh and bones stems not only from unparalleled medical skills but also from the "Siming" technique, which can forcibly summon back lost souls and bring the dead back to life.

Soul, return.

Wu Nie said in disbelief, "Back then, the boy from the Mu family encountered the Yin soldiers on the Yin-Yang ladder, barely escaping death. In the end, it was you who arrived and saved him..."

"At that time, he was actually beyond saving," Chai Suxin said hoarsely. "I used 'Siming'."

“He heard it in his dreams; it was actually my singing.”

“You’re crazy!” Wu Nie exclaimed in horror. “The Yao family hasn’t used Siming for a hundred generations! Even the Yin-Yang family’s sacrificial songs are only dared to be played by the drum keepers! This is defying the heavens!”

“Defying the heavens?” Chai Suxin shook his head, his hair disheveled. “Everything we’ve done has long since abandoned the mandate of heaven.”

“You’re insane.” Wu Nie shook his head repeatedly, disbelief in his voice. “Siming can only be used once at most. Since you once used it to heal the Mu family boy, there’s no way you can use it a second time.”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Chai Suxin said. “Although Siming is a secret technique, its principle is actually very simple—just exchanging life for life.”

“Last time, I was greedy and only traded half of my lifespan for him.”

“Looking back now, it’s fortunate that I still have the other half left.”

It’s nothing more than exchanging life for life.

Chai Suxin put down the corpse of Mu Gesheng and knelt before Wu Nie. "I have a request to make," he said.

Wu Nie no longer knew what to say. If she had thought she understood Chai Suxin before, the recent conversation had completely overturned all her impressions. This seemingly steady junior harbored an imperceptible calmness intertwined with madness. Perhaps Mu Gesheng was like a seed buried deep for years, and with his death, all the suppressed endurance buried in his marrow erupted to the surface.

Maybe there was no real difference between the two in the room—one with a body riddled with wounds, the other with a heart bleeding profusely.

With things having come to this, she withdrew her earlier intention to persuade him. "Take care of those two outside the door for me. Whatever you ask for, I will grant you."

She could probably guess what Chai Suxin was asking for. "Although my cultivation is depleted, and I don't know how much longer I have to live, in my lifetime, I will always protect him."

Chai Suxin knelt on the ground, shaking his head. "What I ask of you is not this matter."

"The 'Siming' is a secret technique. Besides exchanging life for life, it also consumes the user's cultivation during the summoning process. I am not a cultivator, only one of the disciples, with a small amount of innate cultivation merit, which was already exhausted last time."

Chai Suxin bowed deeply, speaking softly, "I dare to ask you for a bit of cultivation support."

Wu Nie was momentarily stunned.

Both of them were well aware of how much cultivation she had left.

Speaking up to ask for help at this moment, they both understood what it implied.

Outside, the rain poured down like a torrent; one stood while the other knelt, facing each other in silence.

After an unknown amount of time, Wu Nie sighed and stepped out of the incense hall, washing the blood off her hands in the rain.

She looked up at the sky filled with rain for a moment and said softly, "First, bring those two severely injured outside back to our home."

"As for what you asked for—"

"I will grant it."