Chapter 28

Guan Shan Yue.

A few days ago, an earthquake struck, collapsing half of the Guan Shan Yue building. Fortunately, the ground floor remained mostly intact. After several days of continuous repairs, they barely managed to erect a scaffold, restoring some of its former appearance. A wind chime hung from the eaves, with a few jade pieces shattered on the string, clattering loudly in the wind.

Wu Zixu sat backstage, holding a cup of herbal tea.

In the past few days, the world had turned upside down, and the people in the city were struggling to survive. Now, there were hardly any who came to listen to the storytelling performances. Although Fengdu was busy with many affairs, he still maintained his usual habit—whenever he had time, he would come and sit for a while, and if there were guests in the audience, he would sing a piece.

The courtesans who had places to go had all gone their separate ways, leaving behind those with nowhere to turn. They stayed and followed Aunt Zhao to distribute porridge. Backstage, only a young entertainer remained. That day, she had sung The Romance of the Western Chamber with them. The girl held her pipa and looked at Wu Zixu timidly, asking, “Mr. Wu, will you come again tomorrow?”

Wu Zixu smiled at her, “If you still play the pipa, then I will come.”

“But lately, there have been fewer and fewer guests…”

"Wanting to entrust my thoughts to the jade zither. Few truly understand; when the strings break, who will listen?" Wu Zixu spoke softly, "It’s not about how many listen, but those who come now are sincere. Because of this, we must not be negligent."

"Those who come aren’t just kindred spirits, but also cowardly souls lost in drunken dreams." The backstage door was suddenly kicked open, and Song Wentong strode in. "How dare you show your face in my house?"

Qing Guan was startled and was half-pushed out by Song Wentong. "Tell everyone outside, no matter what noises they hear later, no one is allowed in."

Wu Zixu set down his teacup. "Haven’t you been busy pretending to be the Fourth Brother lately? It just so happens that Uncle Wu Nie brought someone back today..."

Before the words had even fallen, Song Wentong threw a punch straight at Wu Zixu’s face, blood instantly streaming down.

“If you stay in Fengdu, I will act as if none of this ever happened,” Song Wentong grabbed Wu Zixu by the collar. “Why are you even here?”

“If I stay in Fengdu, then you must consider that I no longer exist in this world. That is something I absolutely cannot accept.” Wu Zixu wiped the blood from his face. “As someone from the Ginkgo Study, I cannot just stand by and do nothing.”

“Are you fucking serious saying that?!” Song Wentong shouted at him. “You come here now playing the merciful bodhisattva, but where were you when Wu Nie was setting up the formation? Why didn’t you stop it? You knew full well that when the Yin soldiers enter the Yin-Yang Staircase, they would inevitably break into the living world. Didn’t you just send the Fourth Brother to his death?!”

“At that time, I was at the West Gate of the city,” Wu Zixu said. “The Grand Duke was the one I went to for help; Fengdu is impregnable.”

Song Wentong burst out cursing, unleashing a fierce beating on Wu Zixu, showing no mercy, almost tearing apart the entire backstage. Yet Wu Zixu did not fight back, silently enduring every punch and kick.

In the end, not a single table or chair in the room remained intact. Song Wentong threw the battered Wu Zixu to the ground and rasped, “Get lost. Don’t let me see you again. I’m in charge of Old Fourth now. From this day forward, we go our separate ways.”

“In a few days, the Yin soldiers will surely break through the seal,” Wu Zixu struggled to stand. “When that happens, what will you do?”

Song Wentong said coldly, "Then you'd better pray we don't die, or else we'll meet in Fengdu, and the Ten Kings of Hell will all come to pay tribute to my blade."

"Second brother, if you really want to fight the Ten Kings, not many can stop you," Wu Zixu sighed, "But do you know that when the ghost soldiers riot, even the Kings of Hell are powerless? If only you and Fourth brother hold the line, you will surely be defeated..."

Song Wentong kicked him back to where he stood, looked down at him, and said coldly, "What good guy are you trying to play now?"

“I know you resent me, resent me for begging the master to open the formation.” Wu Zixu turned his head aside, “But I have no other choice.”

“What do you mean you have no choice?!”

“It means I’m powerless, even if I give my life, I can’t find a perfect solution.” Wu Zixu said softly, “I stayed awake for three days and nights thinking it through, but I was at a loss. I could only do this.”

“Members of the Wu family, after death, can reside in Fengdu and also have the duty to protect it. If the city falls into chaos, the Yin-Yang masters will be the first to bear the brunt. Behind me stands the entire family, with generations of plans and schemes in Fengdu; it cannot be destroyed because of this.”

“So that’s it, you made your choice between the Yin-Yang sect and the Fourth Brother.” Song Wentong sneered coldly, “If that’s the case, one does the deed and the other bears the consequences. You’re not in Fengdu to be a dutiful son, so what’s with this hypocritical act now?”

“I have no choice! But I can’t just watch you all march to your deaths!” Wu Zixu suddenly stood up. “Second Brother, you alone support the Mo family, unburdened and carefree, naturally living without restraint! But how many things in this world are beyond our control? You’ve tasted that bitterness too! When the previous Mozi passed away, did you willingly stay behind with Mother?! The bonds of kinship, the weight of family—you chose to accept that inheritance just the same!”

Song Wentong stared at him, his tone grim: “Say that again?”

At this point, every word was laced with blood. They were, after all, the closest and most familiar to each other, and knew exactly how to kill with words and wound the heart.

Wu Zixu looked at Song Wentong and said slowly, "If it had been you that day, forced to choose between your mother and the Fourth Brother, the difference between you and me would be negligible."

A deafening explosion erupted in the room. Song Wentong drew his blade and swung it at Wu Zixu without mercy—a killing strike. Wu Zixu held nothing back either. The two exchanged blows, the Guwang Yan Gun blocking the blood-licking blade, their hands trembling. Amid the grating sound of metal scraping against metal, Song Wentong spat out each word, "Don’t you dare compare me to you!"

"Yes, if we speak of courage without fear, I am no match for you," Wu Zixu said. "Because you carry no heavy burden, you can always charge forward recklessly! Among the Seven Schools of Thought, the Mohists act on impulse, but the Yin-Yang School bridges two worlds, and its head must bear double the responsibility—not just for the living, but for the dead as well!"

For the first time, Wu Zixu lost his gentle, jade-like composure and shouted at Song Wentong with abandon: "You lost your mother as a child, but who hasn’t suffered the ruin of their family?! The previous generation of Mozi at least raised you until you were five; my mother died giving birth to me! You wield the blood-licking blade with reckless abandon and fearlessness in the face of death, but do you know what’s inside the Guwang Yan Gun? It’s the ashes of the Unchangable Sons from generations past!"

The Wu family practices the art of yin and yang, passing down strange and mysterious traditions. Each generation’s Wuchangzi is chosen before birth. Due to the excessive ghostly energy in the womb, the mother is doomed to die suddenly during childbirth, consumed by the ghostly aura. This has been the case for generations, including Wu Zixu’s mother.

The inheritance of the Wuchangzi comes at the cost of the previous generation’s life. The Guwang smoking pipe can summon the underworld messengers and command myriad ghosts, relying on no ordinary power. The first pouch of tobacco Wu Zixu filled in the pipe was his father’s ashes.

The fate of every Wuchangzi has been the same— the Wu family is doomed never to have three generations living together. They bring misfortune to their fathers, mothers, and wives. Born as Wuchangzi, they are destined to live devoted lives, only to find no peace in death, diligently guarding a family doomed to ruin.

The jade-faced young man, the laughing Wuchangzi, appears to be a promising and clever youth, but the recklessness and ignorance of every Wu family member have long been tempered by the harsh lessons of death.

"To live is to be a member of the Wu family; to die is to become a ghost in Fengdu. This is the destined fate of the Yin-Yang clan. You blame me for not fulfilling the wishes of the Fourth Brother, but I carry the legacy of generations of Yin-Yang masters—this is the price paid by countless generations of the Wu family, broken and destroyed!" Wu Zixu looked at Song Wentong, his voice hoarse and strained: "Song Wentong may blame Wu Zixu, but Mozi cannot blame Wuchangzi—you have no right to!"

For the first time, Song Wentong saw this reckless side of Wu Zixu and seemed stunned, not knowing how to respond.

The voice shattered amidst the chaos on the floor, leaving the room in complete silence.

The temporary smoking pipe fell to the ground with a "snap," Wu Zixu's voice choked: "Second Brother, do you know?"

“Every time I saw you and Fourth Brother messing around in the study back then, I really wanted to climb that ginkgo tree by the window with you.”

“Sometimes I wonder, is the position of a scholar really worth it?”

“But I have sacrificed too much and have lost the right to turn back.”

After an unknown amount of time, Song Wentong picked up the makeshift tobacco pipe, “Being a filial son at home in life, and a servant in Fengdu after death—truly a real man, so stifled yet standing tall and proud.”

"I'm not here to reason with you; in verbal disputes, I've never been able to outtalk you or Fourth Brother."

He handed the cigarette holder back to Wu Zixu. "Here, take it."

"We've fought before."

Meanwhile, at the Chai residence.

"Mu Gesheng!" Chai Suxin hurriedly called out, "Mu Gesheng! Stop right there!"

The two of them rushed out of the Chai residence. Mu Gesheng was walking fast, and Chai Suxin barely caught up, grabbing his hand and feeling his pulse, "Did you take the medicine given to you by the Grand Duke?"

Mu Gesheng pulled his hand back, crossing his arms, "You recognized me?"

"The Grand Duke's medicine can only ease the immediate crisis; this medicine causes internal damage, like drinking poison to quench thirst..."

“I know it in my heart.”

The two exchanged glances. Chai Suxin was momentarily at a loss for words, and after a long pause, he finally said, "...I didn’t mean to hide it."

“Don’t say that.” Mu Gesheng waved his hands repeatedly. “You’re the head of the Yao family, with great authority. How could I dare accuse you of deceit?”

Chai Suxin was naturally taciturn, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He took a half step back and apologized, bowing deeply as he spoke, “You are the Tian Suanzi; if the disciples are guilty, they must be punished.”

Mu Gesheng looked at the person in front of him, stiffening his neck but unable to say a word. After a moment, he cursed, "Damn it, how come it feels like I'm the one bullying you?"

He kicked the person in front of him, "Come on, buy me a drink."

"Your current condition isn’t suitable for drinking..."

"Are you done or not?"

The two of them casually found a tavern that was still open, ordered a few jars of wine, and squatted at the doorstep, drinking heavily to drown their sorrows. Mu Gesheng was naturally a good drinker, and when he drank, it was as if he had no regard for his life. Before long, the jars were nearly empty. His eyes reddened as he propped up his head and asked Chai Suxin, "Did you bring money?"

"I did."

"Is it a lot?"

"Quite a bit."

"I’m going to drink this entire tavern dry. Do you have enough money?"

"Excessive drinking is bad for your health."

"Why do you keep saying that? Just tell me if it’s enough or not."

"...It’s enough."

Mu Gesheng reached out to him, "Hand it over to me."

He caught the money pouch and tossed it onto the counter. "Shopkeeper, I’m taking over your store! In these chaotic times, you’d better take the money and run!" Saying that, he started moving the wine out of the shop. "A year of great disaster!"

Chai Shuxin quickly grabbed the man and apologized to the stunned shop owner, "Sorry, he’s drunk." Then he pulled out a few silver coins and handed them over. "I’ll buy all the wine you have here."

The shop owner was quick to catch on, immediately taking the money, hanging the door curtain, and stepping outside. He bowed to the arriving customers, "Sorry, the shop is closed."

"I'm not drunk." Mu Gesheng sat cross-legged on the counter. "When I was abroad drinking vodka, I could drink straight from the bottle. A few jars of yellow wine are nothing." Saying that, he picked up a wine jar and tossed it into Chai Shuxin's arms. "Truth comes out after drinking. Come on, drink!"

He flushed from the alcohol, but his mind remained clear as he watched Chai Shuxin break the seal and drink. "In the dead of winter, when was the last time we drank together?"

"Before you went abroad, at the dockside tavern," Chai Shuxin replied. "You and Mozi drank a lot; Wuchangzi was so drunk he couldn’t stand."

"You left in such a hurry that day," Mu Gesheng exhaled a breath of wine-scented air. "I just remembered—my father seemed to be in the city that day as well."

“That was the first time I met Commander Mu.” Chai Suxin took a sip of wine. “When we met, he stood by the window for a long time.”

Mu Gesheng smiled at the words. “Old man.”

“I only met Commander Mu once; after that, our communication was mostly through telegrams and letters. The Yao family provided medicinal resources, and Commander Mu also facilitated many conveniences for the military. Waterway shipping, checkpoints across regions—the support of the army was crucial,” Chai Suxin said. “Commander Mu is wholeheartedly devoted to the country. Though I only met him once, his integrity and bearing were truly admirable.”

“Choosing to cooperate with the military was a decision I made after careful consideration, and the elders in the family discussed it as well,” Chai Suxin paused. “It wasn’t an impulsive move... Don’t believe any rumors to the contrary.”

“I don’t know much about my father’s affairs. Although the old man’s memory isn’t great, he will tell me what I need to know sooner or later,” Mu Gesheng sighed. “But no matter what, I should thank you.”

“There’s no need for thanks between us.”

“That’s true.” Mu Gesheng smiled and picked up the wine jar. “Then I’ll drink a toast to you.”

The jars clinked, and Mu Gesheng seemed to recall something. “No wonder. When I was studying abroad, moving from place to place, the first letter I received in every new city was always from you. Back then, I thought you all had a system: you talked about serious matters, the third brother sent money, and the second brother cursed.”

“Mozi and Wuchangzi got the address from the master,” Chai Suxin said. “The master is a genius strategist; he always knows where you are.”

“He’s too lazy to calculate that,” Mu Gesheng sneered. “It’s me who reports my itinerary every day like clockwork. Sometimes the master, rarely remembering me, adds a few scattered instructions in Lao Er’s letters—bits and pieces, half-hearted. But recently, with everything that’s happened, I’ve felt that the master seemed to have foreseen all we’ve been through.”

Chai Suxin looked up at this, “Why do you say that?”

“That year, when I was in Moscow, the master reminded in Lao Er’s letter, ‘The heavier the wind and snow, remember to add clothes to keep warm,’” Mu Gesheng said softly. “The next letter brought the news of the master’s passing.”

“The day I received the letter, I was wearing a thick coat and walked along the riverbank for a long time. That coat was specially tailored for me before; it wasn’t cold at all, yet somehow it felt as if I were freezing through and through.”

Chai Shuxin was silent for a moment. “Did the gentleman leave you anything?”

“Yes.” Mu Gesheng nodded. “But this is not an insurmountable crisis; I always feel it’s not yet time.” He then gave a bitter smile. “That said, in this battle, I don’t have much chance of winning.”

“Sorry to trouble you at home.” Mu Gesheng looked at Chai Shuxin. “I don’t count this divination; it’s truly a rebellion against the Seven Houses. Maybe you believe in fate, but I don’t want to accept it.”

“You don’t need to worry so much.” Chai Suxin shook his head, “I trust you.”

“To me, you and destiny are no different.”

Mu Gesheng was momentarily stunned, then he laughed: “Good, that will do.”

The sky had darkened, lanterns were lit outside the tavern, casting fragments of gold and deep red. Mu Gesheng looked out the window, “If it snows a bit more, it will be just like a winter night by the Neva River.”

He spoke as he opened a new jar of wine, leaning by the window, "Let me sing you a song."

Mu Gesheng sang a Russian song, deep and winding, the melody slowly hummed out by him, soft and gentle, like snowflakes falling quietly by the riverbank.

Окрасился месяц багрянцем

(The moon stained a bloody red)

Where the waves roared and the wind howled

(The waves roar before the cliff)

Let's go for a ride, beautiful

(I have waited for you a long time, my beloved beauty)

I've been waiting for you for a long time...

(Let's go to the sea and gaze at the stars...)

Chai Shu Xin slowly sipped his wine. He could only catch scattered syllables, yet it felt as if he was touching a moment from years ago—there was a faint light, and the long shadows on the snow, rivers stretching thousands of miles in the distance. Between them lay mountains, seas, and lands even farther than those rivers. And tonight, what night is this, that the two meet again in a single song.

They drank until late. Mu Gesheng wanted to find Song Wentong, so he staggered over to Guanshan Yue. Unexpectedly, just as he reached the door, Aunt Zhao came rushing out, exclaiming repeatedly, "My ancestor, you're finally here! If you were any later, this music hall would have been torn apart by them!"

Mu Gesheng, who was originally a bit drunk, was instantly awakened by the earth-shattering commotion in the mountain moonlight. "Auntie, don’t panic first. What happened?"

"Little Tong and Mr. Wu started fighting as soon as night fell. Half the building has been smashed to pieces!" Aunt Zhao anxiously waved her handkerchief. "When they fight, who can stop them? You’d better go and try to persuade them!"

"Second and third brothers fighting?" Mu Gesheng was first startled, then laughed. "The sun has risen from the west. I haven’t seen the third brother throw a punch in so many years."

Chai Shuxin: "Indeed, it’s rare."

“Oh dear, you two better stop echoing each other here and quickly come up with a solution!” Aunt Zhao anxiously went to pinch Mu Gesheng’s ear. “You ungrateful little brat, this is all the family fortune I have left!”

Mu Gesheng quickly dodged away. “Don’t worry, Aunt Zhao, the second son is dutiful to you.” Saying that, he and Chai Shuxin walked into the building. Suddenly, a chaotic clatter came from upstairs. Mu Gesheng shook his head repeatedly. “Those two rarely come to blows, but whenever they do, I’m the one who ends up suffering.”

Hearing this, Chai Shuxin took off his gloves. “Want me to step in and stop them?”

“No, if you get involved, they’ll gang up on you too.” Mu Gesheng sighed. “Here’s the plan: when you see which room they’re fighting in, seize the moment to throw me in there. Just say I’m drunk and causing a ruckus, stirring up trouble. That way, this whole mess will blow over.” His words and actions were smooth and practiced, clearly showing his expertise.

Chai Shuxin nodded slightly, "Alright."

The private room door was flung open with a bang, and someone was thrown inside. Song Wentong and Wu Zixu were fiercely competing with each other, but when they saw Mu Gesheng, they both froze. "Fourth Brother?" "Ling Shuzi?"

Mu Gesheng flopped onto the floor and began to throw a tantrum, wildly screeching out of tune, "Beloved concubines, please stop—"

Chai Shuxin stood to the side, expressionless, and said, "He's drunk."

“I’m going to find Aunt Zhao to make some hangover soup.” Song asked Tong and took off running, only realizing at the door, “Wait, let him lie down first! We’re not done fighting yet!” Before he could finish, he was pinned by a silver needle from Chai Shuxin. “What are you doing?!”

“Mediating.” Chai Shuxin held the needle and looked at Wu Zixu. “Are you still going to fight?”

“Not anymore.” Seeing this, Wu Zixu sighed and set aside his makeshift cigarette holder. “I can’t hold on either.”

“As expected, Third Brother is the reasonable one.” Mu Gesheng rolled himself up and looked around. “Are you two demolishing the place here?”

“You’ve got the nerve to say that to me? Who do you think I’m doing this for?” Song Wentong snapped back, frowning fiercely, “You ungrateful traitor!”

“Second brother, calm down, calm down. Getting angry will only harm yourself, and who benefits from that?” Muge Sheng picked up a relatively intact stool and sat down. Looking at the three in the room, he suddenly smiled, “Except for that one time at the Qijia council meeting, it’s been years since the four of us gathered like this.”

Chai Shuxin remained taciturn, Wu Zixu was too exhausted to speak, and Song Wentong wore a sour expression, half-heartedly responding. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Alright, in the past I was the one performing, looks like today I have to do a solo.” Muge Sheng grabbed an undamaged snack box, pulled out a flaky pastry, popped it into his mouth, and said between bites, “A lot has happened recently. I was unconscious for days, so there wasn’t time to discuss things. I’ve thought a lot about it. None of us here are outsiders, so let’s lay everything out on the table.”

Mu Gesheng told a lot, from the day he broke into the Yin-Yang Staircase and encountered the shadow soldiers, including what he saw and heard in his dreams, to the conversation with Wu Nie on the boat after waking up, even the standoff among the people in the Chai household, and his firm refusal to cast the divination—he left nothing out, only omitting the part about the Yao family and Commander Mu.

After finishing, Mu Gesheng chewed on a crisp biscuit, thinking to himself: I really don’t often get to speak so many truths in one breath.

He glanced again at Chai Suxin, noticing the other’s unchanged expression, as if he had long expected that part to be left out.

Mu Gesheng curled his lips. This person is getting more and more uninteresting, nothing like back then, when he was quick to catch on.

“That’s something you’re capable of.” Song Wen Tong was pinned down, unable to move, yet still maintaining the posture of leaving, sneering coldly: “Since you’ve decided not to cast the divination, I’m afraid most of the seven families will withdraw. How do you plan to defend the city? Have you thought it through?”

Mu Gesheng shrugged, speaking like a bandit: “Isn’t that why we have you all?”

“Do you really think you’re here to rob us? Trying to get something for nothing?”

“You lost the fight to me, don’t try to deny it,” Mu Gesheng said. “At worst, after this is over, I’ll cook for you.”

“Don’t cook.” Wu Zixu immediately said, “Otherwise, even if we win, we might end up like a rabbit hunted down after the hunt.”

“Alright.” Mu Gesheng counted on his fingers, “Penglai and the Zhu family will probably leave, the Mo family counts as one, and as for the Yao family.” He looked at Chai Shuxin, “Are you able to keep things balanced?”

Chai Shuxin’s expression was calm. “I have my own way.”

“Then adding the Yao family makes three, plus Tiansuanzi, that’s three families.” Mu Gesheng’s posture seemed like he was trying to rope people onto a pirate ship, casually glancing at Wu Zixu, “Number Three, are you in or not?”

Wu Zixu was silent for a moment, then said, "Fourth Brother, have you made up your mind?"

Song Wentong immediately snapped, "Haven't you had enough beatings yet?"

"Don't shout recklessly; you haven't escaped my fists either." Wu Zixu rarely shot back at Song Wentong, then turned to Mu Gesheng. "If you cast this divination, the situation might improve a lot."

"Deciding the fate of a city by a single divination? I don't have such lofty arrogance." Mu Gesheng smiled. "In this battle, the odds are three to seven; the chances of winning are slim. I will post notices throughout the city—whether to stay or leave, everyone can decide for themselves."

“If it were only the ghost soldiers, that would be one thing. But if the frontline retreats and the enemy invades, the chances of victory will be even slimmer.” Wu Zixu sighed, “I’m not trying to persuade you, I just hope you’ll think this through carefully. The people of the Seven Clans are ultimately not the same kind as ordinary beings.”

“I understand what you mean, Third Brother.” Mu Gesheng raised his hand to stop Song Wentong, who was about to lose his temper. “Matters of the Yin-Yang sect, I’ve often heard Master mention them before. You’ve borne more responsibility than us since childhood. Both emotionally and logically, you have every right to say these things.”

“But I’m different.” He smiled as he spoke. “An unworthy descendant, a wayward disciple of the sect—perhaps I don’t deserve to be counted among ordinary beings, but at least I can be an outlier among the Seven Clans.”

“To the Seven Clans, you can never be an outlier,” Wu Zixu immediately said. “You are the Tiansuanci, recognized as their master by the forty-nine mountain ghost coins. You bear the mandate of heaven…”

“So what?”

“If you refuse to acknowledge these things, then you are hurting people,” Wu Zixu said, looking at Mu Gesheng. “We have all inherited the teachings of the various schools since childhood, and from a young age, we understood that among the seven families, the Heavenly Calculator is revered above all. If you dismiss it with a single word, then all our efforts over the years would be nothing but a joke.”

“That’s what you deserve,” Song Wentong sneered. “You deserve to be called Wu Zixu—‘Zixu’ meaning ‘nonexistent’—you’ve always been a joke!”

“Shut up.” Mu Gesheng slapped Song Wentong. “The third brother’s name was given by the master.” Then he looked at Chai Suxin. “Can you make him a temporary mute?”

Chai Suxin pricked the roaring Song Wentong with a needle, Mu Gesheng sighed and looked at Wu Zixu. "Third brother, I understand what you mean. I also understand your difficulties from everything that happened before. The second brother may have gone mad, but we have no grounds to blame you for anything."

"As for casting the divination, it is not that I cannot do it, but that I choose not to."

Mu Gesheng said softly, "I know that the Seven Families of the Sons are unlike ordinary people; since ancient times, they have endured through successive dynasties without faltering. But just consider this a request: don’t treat me like some heavenly diviner, and don’t put me on a pedestal."

"Master’s head is full of white hair, and there’s a reason for that—high places are always covered in frost and snow."

"That's too cold."

"Besides, you are all in the mortal world."

Wu Zixu was silent for a long time. "Have you really thought it through?"

"Yes." Mu Gesheng smiled. "Back in the Ginkgo Study, I was the least ambitious of all. I have no grand aspirations, just a mortal body, an ordinary person. I don't wish to contend with the heavens, nor do I want to be some unparalleled hero."

“The sky is above, and I look up to it, but if the sky were to fall, I would still stand tall.”

“...Enough, enough.” Wu Zixu shook his head repeatedly, “It’s rare to hear you speak like a human, how could I not come to back you up.”

“Whether the Yin-Yang masters will help, I can’t be sure, though Wuchangzi might not intervene.” He looked at Mu Gesheng, “But Wu Zixu, it’s a duty that cannot be shirked.”

“Then we’re grasshoppers on the same rope.” Mu Gesheng patted his shoulder, “Good brothers.”

The four of them talked late into the night before finally going their separate ways.

Mu Gesheng returned to the military camp and first tackled the backlog of official business, working nonstop until just before dawn. Having just recovered from serious injuries and after a full day of running around, the medicine Wu Nie gave him couldn’t last long. As the effects wore off, overwhelming fatigue swept over him. Unable to hold on any longer, Mu Gesheng collapsed face-first onto the desk and fell into a deep sleep.

He mentioned to the other three the drummer he had seen in his dream, but no clear answers were given. He vaguely felt that the sound of the drum was somehow connected to the ghost soldiers, though Wu Zixu didn’t know the details.

“It could be a prophetic dream,” the other finally told him. “By accepting the forty-nine Mountain Ghost coins, you have become a Tian Suanzi, able to foresee future events in your dreams.”

This time, the sound he dreamed of was not the clapper.

There was the rapid sound of galloping hooves approaching, accompanied by the rumbling roar of cannons, shouts, and screams all at once. The air was thick with a suffocating stench of blood. Some were running wildly, some fell, some were howling; gunfire echoed endlessly, flesh and bone torn apart. Blood-red birds fell from the sky, thunder exploded, and flames blazed everywhere.

As far as the eye could see, everything was crimson.

“Officer... Officer Mu... wake up!”

Mu Gesheng was awakened by a shake.

He was sleeping very deeply, and the orderly had to put in a lot of effort to rouse him. Wiping sweat from his brow, he said, "You're finally awake. I thought you had passed out!"

"Is it morning?" Mu Gesheng sat up groggily, his head still heavy. He wiped the drool off the documents. "It's not even five o'clock yet. What’s so urgent?"

The orderly handed him a folder. "An urgent telegram from the front line."

Mu Gesheng’s eyelid twitched as he took the folder and opened it, only to see black words on white paper, just a few sparse lines.

The front line has fallen; the entire army is to retreat immediately.

From then on, every city and every piece of land became a strategic pass.

As long as there is a breath left, every inch of soil must be fiercely defended—

Author's note:

"The Moon is a Bloody Red Ball" — Russian Folk Song