Chapter 29

A monk in white robes drew a bucket of water by the well and climbed the long mountain path step by step.

At the end of the long staircase stood Baishui Temple, from which the sound of bells rang out in waves.

Baishui Temple is an ancient monastery, its bell tolling continuously for centuries. Although it is now the era of clocks, most of the townspeople still keep the custom of marking their daily routines by the bell’s chime—dawn and dusk, opening and closing of shops, the smoke rising from every household’s kitchen, and the shouts from the street vendors all accompanied by the long, lingering bell tolls.

Mu Gesheng sat by the waterside pavilion, the bell’s sound enveloping the entire study.

He drifted off for a moment, suddenly recalling a year when Guan Shanyue set a rule that shops would only open after six in the evening. But he and the second brother, eager to hear new melodies, mischievously tricked the young novice who rang the bell that day, causing the bell to be struck an hour early. The whole city was thrown into chaos, with people carrying their clocks everywhere to reset the time, creating a lively uproar.

Sometimes, the calm of life is indeed fragile and easily shattered. He looked at the chessboard before him and placed a piece down. It could be the toll of a bell, or the crack of a gunshot.

Two games of chess were played in the waterside pavilion. Mu Gesheng played alone against Hua Bucheng and Zhu Baizhi. They were playing rapid games, and in less than half an hour, the outcome was decided. Mu Gesheng won one and lost one, making it a draw overall.

His actions and words at the Yao family quickly spread throughout the seven families. Everyone knew that the current Tiansuanzi could not resist divination. A few days later, he received letters from the Penglai and Zhu families, specifying the time and place, and requesting a game.

Mu Gesheng understood this was a test and a warning. Hua Bucheng and Zhu Baizhi were by no means easy opponents, and the fifth brother was still young. From the start, he had no intention of provoking the Penglai and Zhu families; he only hoped these two families would stand aside and not interfere, as a great battle was imminent and he did not want any complications.

He poured all his energy into the two games, barely winning one. The black pieces struggled for a long time, finally carving out a path to survival.

"Not bad, your chess skills are on par with the master of the Ginkgo Studio." Hua Bucheng said lightly, "Penglai acknowledges you as the Heavenly Strategist, but without the divination signs, you will not be allowed to join the battle."

Zhu Bai stroked his long beard, "The Zhu family is the same."

"I had already anticipated this," Mu Gesheng nodded, "What I have done is truly rebellious. That Changshengzi and Elder Zhu did not stop me is already an act of leniency."

"You are the Heavenly Strategist; there is no need to address yourself as a junior," Hua Bucheng looked at the chessboard, "Your moves carry a killing intent. Even if we wanted to stop you, we simply couldn't."

"Changshengzi's chess skills surpass mine."

"Just luck. I can't win against your master every time either." Hua Bucheng stood up, flicking his duster. "This matter here is settled. The letter you brought for Lin Juansheng, I will deliver it to him."

Zhu Baizhi then said, "Xingxiuzi is safe and sound at the Zhu family. Perhaps he can come to the next gathering of the seven families."

"Both of you, take care." Mu Gesheng raised his hand, scattering the chess pieces. "We await the future in silence."

Beneath the courtyard roof, the pipa tinkled softly.

Aunt Zhao sat by the window, tuning the strings. She wore a plain white qipao, sunlight filtering through the lattice casting mottled shadows upon the silk. She was trying out a new piece; since her arrival at Guanshan Yue, each season’s new composition had been eagerly anticipated throughout the city, and her performances were always attended by a full house of guests. Yet she still kept the habit from her training days: before officially unveiling a new piece, she would change into a plain white qipao and play alone by the window.

When the piece ended, Aunt Zhao drew aside the beaded curtain. “Do you see that restaurant across the street? Most people in the city know I have this habit of trying out new pieces here. The owner there even set up a private room right opposite my window. At its peak, a single banquet there could buy a whole townhouse.”

She put down the pipa and tidied the strands of hair at her temples. "But that was all years ago."

Now, the restaurant across the street was nearly empty, on the verge of closing down. It wasn’t just this one; the entire city had fallen into desolation, with few pedestrians on the streets. A few days ago, the garrison announced a retreat from the front lines. This city was no longer safe. Many families were packing up and heading to distant lands. Reports of the city’s fall kept coming in day after day. In just a few days, this place would become a battlefield.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Song Wentong said as he sat nearby, wiping his blade. “It’s still not too late to leave now.”

“The bell tolls have been growing more frequent these past few days. I remember that’s the blessing bell from Baishui Temple,” Aunt Zhao said calmly. “A bunch of bald-headed monks outside the city haven’t left yet. Why should I go?”

“You are not completely empty, Aunt Zhao,” Song Wentong said earnestly. “There are still many melodies you haven’t finished playing.”

Aunt Zhao smiled at his words. “By your logic, there are countless tunes between four strings. I’m afraid I could never play them all in a lifetime.”

As she spoke, she leaned forward, casually plucking the strings, and softly said, “But sometimes, after playing one piece, you feel it’s enough. After years of practice, to have this one song—that’s sufficient.”

Song Wentong remained silent, quietly watching this graceful woman before him. A beauty in her twilight years, with snow gathering at the corners of her eyes, memories melting away like a thaw.

“I remember it was a winter many years ago, much like now, only far livelier, with bright red lanterns hanging all over the city. That day was the release of Guan Shanyue’s new composition, but I twisted my ankle on the icy steps and injured my hand. It all happened so suddenly that everyone was running around in a panic.”

“Just as I was about to grit my teeth and go on, my best sister brought someone along. The person borrowed my pipa, saying she wanted to give it a try. Guan Shanyue’s music hall was no place for trifling with melodies, so I asked how many years she had studied. She said she hadn’t learned at all, only knew one piece.”

“I thought it was ridiculous, so I asked her to play it for me right then and there.”

“We were right in front of this very window. She played a piece, accompanied by my best sister dancing—who was also the most beautiful courtesan in Guan Shanyue’s house.”

Aunt Zhao plucked a string, the tone crisp and clear. "You probably guessed it—the person was your mother."

Song Wentong thought for a moment and said, "I didn't know my mom could play the zither."

"She really couldn't, only knew one piece. I heard she secretly learned it from some much older friend. It was originally a family heirloom, a closely guarded secret, and the other party only taught her after losing a drinking bet," Aunt Zhao chuckled softly. "The day she finished playing that piece, I took her as a kindred spirit."

"Later, when the courtesan passed away, your mother disappeared for quite a while. When she returned, she was holding you in her arms."

“But she wasn’t cut out for taking care of children. It’s less like she brought you back and more like she hung you on a blade and carried you home. At the time, I saw you floating behind her and thought she was carrying a burden.”

“At that time, she and I made a deal: she would teach me that piece of music, and I would take care of you on her behalf along with the courtesan. I studied the piece for five years, and after mastering it, she disappeared.”

“She ran off with her lover,” Song Wen Tong muttered.

“Your mother entrusted me with your care, but you had your own ideas and went to study under the master of Ginkgo Studio. Sometimes we wouldn’t see you for a year or more,” Aunt Zhao sighed. “No wonder you turned out so wild. Originally a boy from a pampered background, but fierce as if you’d escaped from a slaughterhouse. I don’t even know what the master of Ginkgo Studio teaches you every day. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel sorry for your mother, but then I think you really are just like her.”

“Do I look a lot like my mom?”

“Your personalities are alike.” Aunt Zhao studied Song Wentong carefully. “But, little Tong, don’t say your aunt is talking nonsense—you’re good-looking because you inherited the charm of the courtesan from back in the day.”

“Oh, is that so?” Song Wentong didn’t react much. “No wonder I’ve never known who my father is.”

“Stop fooling around.” Aunt Zhao slapped Song Wentong’s hand. “Go to the music room and pick out a zither.”

"What do you want to play?"

"I'm not playing, I'm teaching you," Aunt Zhao said. "Just pick any tune you like."

"But I don't know how to play the piano, Auntie. When I was little, you said even my peeing was off-key."

Aunt Zhao choked back a laugh and shot him a glare. "I don't care about that. This is something your mother and I agreed on back then—you must learn this piece."

Song Wen Tong looked puzzled, "Then why didn’t you teach me earlier? You’ve been learning for five years, how long will it take me to learn?"

“According to your mother, I’m not really from her family, so it was originally impossible for me to play it. But I’m a national-level player, so I could learn it,” Aunt Zhao said. “If it were you, it would be a piece of cake. Your mother didn’t know how to play back then, yet she somehow mastered this piece.”

Song Wen Tong pondered, “Did my mom say anything else?”

“She said you are her son,” Aunt Zhao said. “This is inheritance.”

"Then I will definitely learn it." Song Wen Tong nodded, "What is the name of this piece?"

Aunt Zhao picked up the pipa, carefully strummed, the sound like silk tearing.

"Wu Yi."

Smoke curled and spiraled.

Wu Zixu sat in the center of the room. It was a circular inner chamber, surrounded on all sides by tables, upon which layers of spirit tablets were placed. Smoke gathered over the tablets, solidifying into individual human shapes.

Closest to Wu Zixu were ten elder men, dressed in ancient robes and tall hats, floating above the room. "We believe the best course is to retreat."

"Tiansuanzi rebelled first; without any divination signs, we bear no responsibility to obey."

"Outside, the shadow soldiers riot violently; we must not abandon Fengdu without authorization."

"This battle is undoubtedly a certain defeat."

"As a servant of Impermanence, one must lead by example..."

Wu Zixu folded his sleeves and sat down, slightly bowing his head, staring at the incense stick before him as if deep in thought.

The room filled with hushed whispers, gradually growing louder until it reached a roar, and finally all the phantoms spoke in unison: "We urge the family head to make a decision promptly."

Wu Zixu was silent for a moment, then said, "The Yin-Yang sect will not be involved in this matter of the mortal world."

The phantoms all breathed a sigh of relief, and one of them bowed, saying, "Then please, Wuchangzi, return to Fengdu. There was a great chaos at the West Gate of the city a few days ago, and many matters await your judgment."

"But," Wu Zixu’s tone shifted, "I will not be going back."

The phantoms were stunned. "What?"

“As the head of the Wu family, I have fulfilled all my duties regarding the matter at Chengxi Pass. As for the rest, the elders can decide.” Wu Zixu said, “I will stay here, with no set return date.”

“Are you going to help Tiansuanzi?”

“That cannot be.”

“As a Wuchangzi, this action is inappropriate.”

"Please, head of the family, think twice."

"Matters in Fengdu are still unsettled; please return swiftly."

As the voices of opposition gradually quieted, Wu Zixu spoke, calm and resolute: "The one helping him is Wu Zixu, not Wuchangzi."

"My decision is final; the elders need not oppose any further."

As he spoke, he bent down and blew out the incense before him. The phantom immediately began to dissipate. Someone, unwilling to give up, continued to persuade, "The head of the family is still young; don’t lose the big picture over small matters..."

Before the words had even fallen, the door to the inner chamber was suddenly flung open, and a basin of water was splashed inside with a loud splash. The embers were extinguished completely, and the phantom vanished without a trace.

The newcomer, clearly impatient, snapped, "All this nagging is unbearable. Everyone’s still young, yet they talk so much nonsense."

Wu Zixu, drenched from head to toe, said helplessly, "Only you, sir, could find fault with the elders for being too young."

The visitor was none other than Wu Nie. She rolled up the surrounding curtains, and the room instantly brightened. She glanced around and curled her lips, saying, “Our family hasn’t come to the mortal realm’s Wu residence in nearly a hundred years, and this room is still so old-fashioned—quite dull indeed.”

“The elders are conservative, and I’m the only one left at home, so I don’t pay much attention to these things,” Wu Zixu smiled. “Still, I must thank you, sir, for helping me. This is the first time I’ve done something so unorthodox; I’m a bit rusty.”

“No worries, practice makes perfect. The day you asked me to open the formation, I already suspected this day would come,” Wu Nie waved her hand, then grew serious. “But this isn’t a trivial matter. Have you thought through how to deal with the Yin soldiers?”

“Not yet,” Wu Zixu shook his head. “Outside the city, there’s Old Fourth’s army on the battlefield, but as for handling the Yin soldiers inside the city... I’m not very confident.” He looked at Wu Nie as he spoke. “But since you’ve come, sir, you must have a solution.”

Wu Nie raised an eyebrow. "Alright, kid, you’re already scheming against me."

"I wouldn’t dare, it was Fourth Brother who said that."

"Knew it was him. This kid will take anything, but never takes a loss," Wu Nie sneered. "Let’s go."

"Where is Master going?"

“Come with me to Fengdu. There are things I need to teach you—skills that won’t work in the living world. Otherwise, this battle will be lost before it even begins.”

“I just said I’m not going back to Fengdu,” Wu Zixu said, surprised. “There are plenty of yin-yang practitioners in Fengdu. If I return, I’m bound to be discovered.”

“What do you take me for? Can’t even handle a mere child?” Wu Nie rolled his eyes. “I know what you’re worried about, but right now, there’s one place in Fengdu that’s guaranteed to be quiet. I doubt there’s a single ghost there.”

Wu Zixu pondered for a moment, then suddenly something occurred to him. His eyes flickered with a new thought.

Wu Nie curled his lips into a smile. "Chengxi Pass, the Abyss of Hell."

"At this very moment, the ghost soldiers are all sealed within the Yin-Yang Staircase. The Abyss of Hell was thoroughly swept clean by ghost troops not long ago. It's spotless now, and even if there are any stragglers left, they’ll be perfect for you to practice on." Wu Nie appeared confident. "Let's go, it's foolproof."

Wu Zixu was stunned. "The Abyss of Hell is forbidden ground. Even you, sir... you can actually go in?"

"Chengxi Pass just went through a ghost soldier uprising, and the suppression was lax. Getting in isn’t difficult, it’s just that no one has the guts to try." Wu Nie shrugged. "Even in normal times, entering isn’t exactly easy, but it’s not entirely impossible either."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you always wanted to know what happened to your father?"

Wu Zixu trembled all over and suddenly looked up.

"Wuchangzi has always been an orphan, but the Yin-Yang practitioners are never afraid of death. Even if they die, they can live well in Fengdu," Wu Nie said calmly. "But Wuchangzi is an exception. Among the many families in Fengdu, yours is the only one without your parents."

"Your mother, you know, the Unchanging Child is born with a half-underworld body. During pregnancy, the excessive gathering of yin energy causes the mother's body to be gradually devoured by ghostly qi, until finally even the soul is completely consumed. To enter Fengdu, the prerequisite is that the physical body can perish, but the soul must remain in the world."

"As for your father, don’t say you don’t know. In fact, the fate of the Unchanging Children throughout the generations has been a mystery among the Seven Families of the Sons. Some speculate whether, like the Heavenly Calculators, their souls scatter and vanish rather than reincarnate, but that is not the case."

Wu Zixu listened intently, subconsciously repeating, "Not the case?"

"You come with me." Wu Nie pushed the door open and stepped out. "I will tell you where your father went."

The main hall was bustling with voices, the entire room in an uproar.

Unlike the quietness in the city, the Chai residence was filled with people. The main hall couldn’t even accommodate everyone, and seats had been arranged along the corridors. This was uncommon in the Yao family; although meetings were often held, they rarely involved so many participants. The Yao family had many branches, and except during festivals, not everyone was qualified to enter the residence.

Chai Shuxin sat in the hall, a small desk before him. He still had some matters to attend to, so he had brought the desk over. Despite the surrounding noise, his hand holding the pen was steady, clad in white silk gloves embroidered with a silver plum blossom.

He knew what the people around him were discussing. Everyone was waiting—waiting from silence to clamor, from calm to anxious desperation. They were all waiting for his decision.

He calmly finished writing the last character, put down the pen, and said, "No retreat."

The already boiling crowd instantly erupted; someone jumped up and shouted, "What did you say?"

Chai Suxin looked up and repeated, "My decision is to defend the city and not retreat."

Heavy coughing sounds arose, and someone stood up—it was an elder from the respected Yao family. The surrounding area quieted down slightly.

“Head of the family.” The elder spoke, “Today, with everyone gathered, this is a matter that will decide the future survival of the Yao family. Please think carefully before you act.”

“You argued for as long as you did, I thought for just as long.” Chai Suxin repeated his words, “I said, no retreat.”

“Years ago, you went against everyone’s advice and chose to pour the Yao family’s strength into supporting the army. In hindsight, that was not the best strategy.” The elder raised his voice, “Therefore, this time, please, Head of the family, do not act unilaterally again.”

“The war is far from over. It’s not yet time to judge whether it was the best strategy.” Chai Suxin glanced at him, “If you don’t trust me, so be it. Among the seven families, the Yao family values tradition the most, emphasizing seniority and rank. I know I’m young, and you have many reservations in your heart.”

This was a rather blunt statement, hard to believe it came from Chai Suxin’s mouth. He had always been cold in demeanor, but had consistently valued propriety and righteousness, giving the impression that the head of the Yao family possessed the bearing of a gentleman. Now, suddenly tearing off the mask, the old man was stunned for a long moment, feeling as if Chai Suxin had become a different person, his words sharp and cutting.

He merely sat there, yet his heart and liver were as cold as ice and snow, his white clothes untamed.

But now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. The old man glanced around and raised his voice: “If that is the case, the Yao family has always valued winning hearts and minds. For you to be so reckless…”

“Unworthy of the position of family head.” Chai Suxin seemed too lazy to listen to him further, cutting him off with the latter half of the sentence. Looking at the stunned crowd, he asked, “Is there anything else anyone wants to say?”

Some even wondered if Chai Shuxin had taken the wrong medicine, only to hear him say again, “When I succeeded as head of the family back then, I was young and inexperienced. Though I struggled to maintain order for several years, many here still harbored private grievances.”

“Now that the city is in turmoil, I choose not to back down.” Chai Shuxin said calmly, “I know most of you oppose me.”

“The Yao family can tolerate a first act of recklessness, but not a second act of folly.” The elder sneered, “If the head of the family wants to last, he’d better cut his losses in time.”

“Hm, the time has come.” Chai Shuxin stood up, took off his gloves, and threw them into the brazier.

The crowd was in an uproar; everyone knew what this action signified.

Chai Suxin's voice echoed throughout the main hall.

"From today onward, I officially step down as the head of the Yao family."

"I voluntarily remove myself from the Yao family registry."

Chai Rindong stepped out of the zigzag corridor and heard a surge of heated discussion coming from the main hall in the distance.

“From now on, who should take on the position of family head?!”

Though far away, she could still discern the excitement and wild joy barely restrained beneath the intense tone. She lowered her head and smiled softly. The Yao family was the most worldly branch among the seven families of the Zhi clan, their family much like any ordinary household—power struggles, scheming, no respect for age or rank... But it was nothing unusual. Though part of the seven families, they lacked long lifespans, strange bloodlines, mysterious legacies, or innate great power—only a mastery of medicine, with a few more skills than the average healer.

Naturally, they were also more attached to the mundane world.

The head of the Yao family was perhaps the most ordinary among the seven families, and also the hardest position to hold. She had witnessed the years of hard work her own younger brother had put in.

"According to family rules, the head must be succeeded by a direct bloodline of the Chai clan," Chai Suxin said coldly, glancing at the person before her. "You are from a branch family, unqualified."

Her words struck at the heart. The other party's face darkened with anger. "Since you have stepped down, the direct line of the Chai clan has been broken. Besides appointing someone of high virtue and esteem to act on our behalf, who else could there be?"

Before the words had even fallen, the main hall door was pushed open, and a figure stepped inside. "There is me."

Her words struck the ground with weight, startling everyone in the hall.

Chai Rindong wore a crow-blue qipao, a white magnolia hairpin tucked by her temple. Her eyes were like vast, misty waves, usually carrying a hint of softness and haze.

But now, the mist had cleared and the rain had ceased; she stood in the hall, unmoving like a steadfast mountain.

"Young Mistress?" the old man was taken aback, then burst into laughter. "The young mistress has been unwell for years. It was precisely because of your frailty that your younger brother inherited the head of the family. What is this all about now?"

"My health is not something Grandpa can decide with a single word," Chai Rendong smiled. "Where is the Medicine Officer?"

The Medicine Officer is a special position within the Medicine family; regardless of blood relation, only those with profound medical skills can hold the post. A man in black robes entered carrying a medicine box and bowed to Chai Rendong, saying, "Young Mistress."

Chai Rendong extended her hand. "Check."

"Yes." The Medicine Officer removed his gloves, took out a soft cloth, and placed it on Chai Rendong’s wrist to carefully feel her pulse. After a moment, he bowed and said, "Young Mistress, your health is no different from that of an ordinary person. The chronic illness has healed, and you are fit to assume the position of family head."

“Nonsense! Absolutely impossible!” the old man exclaimed angrily. “You all are in cahoots! Take him away!”

“Then if you, Grandfather, want to investigate personally, that’s not out of the question.” Chai Rendong raised a hand to stop him, speaking calmly, “I just fear your medical skills won’t measure up.”

“That’s impossible! Back then, your illness was examined personally by the imperial physician; recovery was out of the question!”

“A disease that’s absolutely incurable—hearing that from a member of the medical family is a joke.” Chai Rendong looked at him leisurely. “Or perhaps you know all too well what illness I had back then?”

“You!”

“I suddenly fell ill back then, the onset fierce and swift, and soon I was bedridden. If it weren’t for Father’s tireless efforts in preparing my medicine, I wouldn’t have lived to this day. But even with all his medical skill, it only kept me alive—I couldn’t live like a normal person. Since then, I’ve secluded myself within the Nine-Turn Corridor, not stepping out for years.” Chai Rindong suddenly smiled, her tone turning cold. “I suppose in Grandfather’s heart, I might as well have been dead?”

No one present could have imagined that Chai Rindong would recover. She had been gone for so long, living in deep seclusion for years, rarely seen even during festivals. Many had already forgotten that the Chai family even had a young lady.

And back then, Chai Rindong was famous for far more than just her looks.

A prodigy of unparalleled talent, renowned throughout the capital.

Chai Rindong looked at the people present, each with their own unique appearance and expression.

She recalled the night before, when Chai Shuxin knocked on her door and handed her a wooden box.

The moment she opened it, she understood—the box contained a pair of gloves.

The siblings faced each other under the lamp, and she spoke softly, "I have something to give you too." Saying that, she took out a pouch.

Chai Shuxin took it and opened it; inside was a sheet of rice paper, densely covered with writing. "What is this?"

Chai Rindong smiled, "The secret recipe for Yipin Hotpot."

Their blood was connected; many things needed no further words.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Chai Rendong put on her gloves, her sickly pallor gone. Today, she had tied up her long hair, highlighting her graceful and sharp jawline.

"Effective immediately, the Yao family is withdrawing." Chai Rendong looked at Chai Suxin, the siblings locking eyes.

"Spirit Master Chai Suxin voluntarily resigns and relinquishes the position of family head."

"Remaining behind, no retreat."

Chai Shuxin bowed deeply, "Thank you, Family Head Xie, for your kindness."

The moment his forehead touched the ground, Chai Shuxin suddenly recalled something his teacher had said to him many years ago.

At that time, the teacher asked him what he thought of Mu Gesheng.

He straightened up and looked up at the sunlight streaming toward him.

A heart pure as a newborn, the reckless courage of a fool, a coal in the snow, the sun in winter.

All such laughable yet precious things.

The bell tolled long and clear.

Mu Gesheng sat in the waterside pavilion for a long time, until the abbot came over and said, "Tiansuanzi, the day is already late."

“It’s time to go back.” Mu Gesheng stood up. “Let me listen to this last chime.”

He walked to the water’s edge, watching the ripples stirred by the bell’s toll. “When I first came to the study, the bell’s sound always kept me awake. Over time, I grew used to falling asleep to its ringing. A few years ago, when I studied abroad, waking in the middle of the night, I still couldn’t sleep—but it was because I couldn’t hear the bell. It felt like something was missing.”

“Life is unpredictable,” the abbot said. “Tiansuanzi is a man who clings to the past.”

“The old world is hard to let go, the shattered mountains hold the truest dreams.” Mu Gesheng coughed. Playing chess drained his energy, and to secure his victory, he had to exhaust every ounce of strength. He hurriedly took a medicine bottle from his chest and swallowed the pills. His wounds hadn’t fully healed; he should have been resting in bed, but with the great battle looming, everyone was racing against time—no one had the luxury to rest.

Mu Gesheng coughed as he spoke, "Master, won’t you take the monks away? With the battle imminent, this place may not be safe."

“Tiansuanzi, there is no need to worry.” The abbot clasped his hands together, chanting the Buddha’s name, “Leaves fall back to their roots.”

“If there is anything you need, Master, please feel free to find me. The military camp is just outside the city, very close to Baishui Temple.”

“All is well within the temple. We pray day and night, asking Tiansuanzi to take good care of your health.”

"Baishuisi Temple offers blessings for the entire city; I thank you on their behalf." Mu Gesheng smiled gently, "As for me, it doesn't matter."

He gazed into the distance, where the dusk stretched endlessly—mountains vast, waters wide, the ancient landscape unfolding.

“This wood is for kindling, burning wood for fuel—if there is no torch after this, then I shall be the only light.”

Six days later, the frontline fell, and the battlefield retreated once more.

At the same time, the shadow soldiers revolted, breaking through the seal.

Mu Gesheng led three thousand troops to face a life-or-death battle.

And in the city, only a few stood against the shadow soldiers—

Author's note:

The remnants of the mountain dream are the truest, the old realm lost and hard to reclaim—Peach Blossom Fan

If there is no torchlight thereafter, I shall be the only light—Lu Xun