Chapter 33

Anping suddenly snapped back to reality.

The century-old memories in his dream were vivid, almost merging with the scene before him. He watched Ubiyou dancing in the rain, and if it weren’t for Muge Sheng singing beside him, he would have almost believed this man was the Jade-Faced Impermanence from years ago.

Tonight’s rain was as fierce as it had been back then. Anping clearly sensed an indescribable disturbance in the air. The drum Ubiyou danced to was set at the end of the long street. Though the surroundings had changed, Anping could tell this was the very street where the ghost soldiers had once rioted.

Mu Gesheng said that after eradicating the shadow soldiers back then, some lingering resentments remained. The mountain spirits spent money to reseal them, but a hundred years later, with time having passed, the seal loosened. No one could say for sure what might appear in the Yin-Yang Staircase. Moreover, this was a bustling district; if anything went wrong, the consequences would be unimaginable.

However, it seemed Mu Gesheng had made arrangements in advance—the long street was silent, utterly deserted.

Wubi’s figure spun swiftly, his dance like a sword slicing through enemy ranks. Though he was just a youth, a heroic sword intent hovered around him, soaring in the air. The torrential rain hammered on the drumhead, sounding like thousands of troops charging to his aid.

The rain’s roar was deafening, and the pipa’s melody quickened steadily.

The young man twisted and spun, almost becoming a blur, yet Anping, listening to the pipa, faintly sensed that he was starting to stray from the melody. After all, Anping had witnessed the legendary Qincheng dance in person and could discern the difference. Although Muge Sheng played only one pipa, his presence was no less commanding than Song Wentong’s back then. But Wubi, being younger, was still somewhat inferior in this general’s Nuo dance.

Moreover, the general’s Nuo dance from a hundred years ago was not completed by Wu Zixu alone; at that time, there was also Wu Nie.

Anping recognized the drum beneath Wubi’s feet, transformed from Wu Nie’s flower ball, containing the cultivation of a Tai Sui of nearly five hundred years.

His dream abruptly ended at the moment the city fell. He knew nothing of the fate of those old acquaintances from that time. Wu Nie had exhausted his cultivation, but he still remembered the girl-like face in the rain—that was the first time Wu Nie had removed the makeup from his face, revealing a lotus-like visage, eyes beautiful yet aged.

Anping was somewhat lost in thought. In the current Ghost Festival performances, he wondered if anyone still bowed and played the ball game in the Twelve Heavy Cases.

The string suddenly grew sharp, abruptly soaring to its highest pitch before bursting forth. The drummer, Wubi, stumbled a step and immediately fell to the ground, water splashing everywhere.

Muge Sheng raised his hand and swept across the strings, all of them snapping simultaneously.

He put down the pipa, stood up, and opened an umbrella. "The dancing was good, but unfortunately, it still lacked the right timing."

Handing the umbrella to An Ping, he said, "Help my daughter into the temple. There's red sugar water heating on the stove."

An Ping hurriedly took the umbrella and ran over to support Wubi You, but was pushed aside by someone. The young man gritted his teeth and stood up, "I can still jump!"

"Stop making a fuss," Mu Gesheng said calmly. "You're still so young. Go back to bed and sleep."

Before the words had even fallen, a violent tremor came from underground, shaking all the buildings on the street as if something was about to break through the earth. An Ping had seen this scene before; it was the same momentum as when the ghost soldiers burst out of the Yin-Yang stairs back then. Seeing this, Wubi You's face changed drastically. He cursed fiercely, grabbed An Ping, and said, "Damn it, come with me."

Anping was dragged all the way back to the City God Temple by him. Wubi locked the door and glanced at him, "Aren't you afraid?"

Anping thought to himself, not at all—I’ve seen far more spectacular things, but I’m afraid if I say it out loud, it might scare you.

The City God Temple seemed like a barrier; the tremors underground had ceased, the lanterns hanging from the eaves had somehow lit up again, and the surroundings were quiet and peaceful, even the rain falling felt gentle and soundless.

But Wubi appeared restless, pacing in place for a moment before stomping his foot, unlocking the door again, and opening the temple door just a crack.

The thunderstorm surged in instantly.

The two of them peered through the crack in the door, and inside and outside were completely different worlds. Mu Gesheng stood on the street, wind and rain raging overhead.

The fierce wind tore off the surrounding rooftops, the ground cracked open, countless fissures snaking like serpents, as if something was stirring violently underground. The cracks spread from the opposite side of the long street to Mu Gesheng’s feet, but seemed to meet resistance. With a loud roar, the ground suddenly collapsed.

Yet Mu Gesheng remained standing in place, unmoving like a mountain.

He stood as the dividing line, splitting the long street into two halves—one nearly reduced to ruins, the other perfectly intact. A chilling force was being forcibly restrained by him, the two sides constantly clashing, while a vague, massive roar echoed from deep underground. A faint green glow flickered in the rain—it was the Mountain Ghost Flower Coin in Mu Gesheng’s hand.

Anping watched in alarm. "Can he hold on?"

"He has to, even if he can’t." Wubi’s hoarse voice came from above his head, as if squeezed through clenched teeth. "Right now, the entire street’s barrier depends on him. If he falters, the resentment will overwhelm the City God Temple, and the whole city will be doomed."

"Then what was the point of the general’s Nuo dance you just performed?"

“That bastard directly suppressed half of the lingering grudges in the Yin-Yang Staircase, which is why the uprising appeared so late!” Wubi shouted, making Anping’s ears ring. “But it’s not over yet. The remaining resentment has been provoked, and the counterattack to come will be even more terrifying... Wait.” He furrowed his brows and grabbed Anping by the hair. “How do you know about General Nuo Dance? That old bastard even told you this?”

Anping rolled his eyes at the rough tug. “Y-you, y-you, let go of me first…”

The two struggled and pulled at each other when suddenly a thunderclap exploded in the distance. The city god temple’s main gate burst open with a crash, and both were thrown to the ground. Anping scrambled up, “What’s going on... What was that?!”

Behind him, Wubi kicked out, sending him back down again. “Damn it, finally caught up.”

Thick clouds crowded the sky, pierced by the long, lingering cry of a crane that cut through the night. In an instant, even the torrential rain ceased, and a shaft of light broke through the dark clouds. Anping squinted, straining to see—something was descending from the sky within the light: a dust whisk.

Wubi shook the rain from his head, as if finally exhaling a sigh of relief. "With those two here, we can sleep tonight."

Anping staggered to his feet, gazing at the figure emerging in the distant light. "Who is that?"

"The current Changshengzi, the leader of Penglai."

“Lin Juansheng.”

An Ping wanted to look again, but Wubi You closed the door without a word and brought out a large pot of brown sugar water from the side room. The two sat under the eaves, each holding a tea jar.

The rain pattered softly. An Ping wanted to ask about Lin Juansheng, but the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them back.

Wubi You gulped down the tea jar in one go, the corridor echoing with the sound of his drinking. An Ping secretly observed him, feeling that the boy before him was an incredible contradiction—clearly ready to curse Mu Gesheng when he saw him, yet sometimes surprisingly obedient to his words.

Wu Zixu’s bloodline, raised by Mu Gesheng and having also inherited the Yeshui Zhuhua from Song Wentong—Wu Biyou had, in turn, inherited a bit from all three. His temperament closely resembled Song Wentong’s, sharp-edged yet lacking some of the latter’s carefree grace. Thus, his sharpness became a prickly thorn, his irritability masking the awkward, rigid solitude of a boy lost and unsure.

It seemed he never had peers around him. Anping thought. Wu Biyou appeared not to attend school.

The hardships Mu Gesheng and the others once faced together, the boy now had to confront alone.

In the end, it was impossible to find a second Ginkgo Study.

If he called him "little brother," he wondered if he might get beaten to death. It seemed like there was something soporific in the brown sugar water; a heavy drowsiness washed over him, and An Ping, half-awake, thought: after all, he’s still young.

Youth is youth, after all.

When An Ping woke again, it was already early the next morning. After the heavy rain, the sky had cleared. He pushed open the window and took a deep breath. Several flowerpots sat in the courtyard, filling the air with a faint scent of greenery.

He recalled what Mu Gesheng had said yesterday: once the rain passes and the sky clears, all will be well.

“Are you awake?” Someone interrupted Anping’s thoughts. He saw a person standing not far away—it was Lin Juansheng.

The former top disciple of the Tiansuan Sect, now the leader of Penglai.

Muge Sheng had said that Penglai sought immortality and enlightenment, and all disciples were semi-immortals, cultivators bearing the appearance of longevity. Lin Juansheng, as a child of longevity, had not changed in appearance over the years; he was still the young man who once played chess by the water.

Only now, the young man wore cotton pants and a down jacket, holding the same enamel mug as Muge Sheng’s, white with red characters—“Serve the People.”

Are immortals nowadays really this down-to-earth?

Anping was still distracted when Lin Juansheng came over and handed him an enamel cup. "Tofu pudding, do you prefer it sweet or savory?"

Anping didn’t quite register it and instinctively replied, "Savory."

Lin Juansheng smiled, tapped the lid with his fingers, then opened it again to reveal steaming hot savory tofu pudding sprinkled with chopped celery and sesame seeds.

Anping took the spoon in a daze and tasted it. The fresh aroma filled his mouth, and he thought to himself that being a deity must be incredibly convenient.

“I’ve heard your name from my junior brother,” Lin Juansheng said softly from outside the window. “There’s a bond between you two, and recently, undercurrents have been stirring. You must have endured much hardship.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Anping said, a piece of tofu pudding stuck in his throat. He coughed while waving his hand. “I’m just a burden holding everyone back. Daoist, please forgive my shortcomings.”

Lin Juansheng smiled and handed him a pack of tissues. “No rush, take your time eating.”

Anping had only seen Lin Juansheng once in a dream and couldn’t quite figure out the temperament of this long-lived son. Not daring to find an excuse to slip away, he had no choice but to clutch the enamel basin, nervously chatting with him. Fortunately, the young man bore a certain casualness reminiscent of Mu Gesheng, yet was even more refreshing, like a breeze in spring.

“This ginkgo tree was transplanted from the study back then; it’s even older than I am,” Lin Juansheng said, pointing to the ginkgo tree in the center of the courtyard. “My junior brother has never been able to keep anything alive, except this tree, which he has taken good care of.”

The other spoke at length about trivial matters, and Anping gradually relaxed. The basin of tofu pudding was soon emptied. “The first time I saw a half-immortal, this tree was still golden yellow,” he said, recalling the time he delivered homework to Mu Gesheng. “The yellow ox at the gate even swindled my ticket money.” Looking back on those moments now, he found them somewhat laughable.

Sure enough, Lin Juansheng laughed, “The gatekeeper you mentioned is probably the City God here.”

“City God?”

“The City God is a spirit deity who protects the city and blesses its people—you can think of it as a local government office of the underworld set up in the human realm. The City God oversees all affairs within the city, dispelling disasters and misfortunes, and bestowing blessings and wealth.” Lin Juansheng explained patiently, “If you’re interested, you can check out Liaozhai or Taiping Guangji; they contain many stories about the City God. Among all the ghosts and monsters, the City God is considered quite approachable, guarding the peace of the region.”

An Ping recalled the shabby statue in the ancestral hall, so destitute it made his teeth ache. “If it’s the City God, why is it working as a gatekeeper?”

“Occupying someone else’s nest.” Lin Juansheng smiled with a hint of helplessness. “Junior brother is a Tian Suanzi; no one can reason with him.”

Anping: Just as expected.

“But Chengxi Street is the sealed ground of the Yin-Yang Staircase, and it makes sense for my junior brother to guard this place,” Lin Juansheng shifted his tone. “In recent years, the incense offerings have dwindled. If it were anywhere else, the City God might have already faded away. The City God here has somewhat borrowed the fortune of the Heavenly Calculator, which is why it has lasted until now. So, my junior brother can just skip paying the rent.”

As the two were talking, the main gate of the City God Temple suddenly swung open. A yellow ox with red sleeves walked in. “Changshengzi,” he greeted Lin Juansheng with a bow, then turned to Anping and waved the plastic bag in his hand. “We meet again, young master. Have you had breakfast?”

Anping caught the aroma of jianbing guozi from afar and thought to himself how these gods and spirits were surprisingly down-to-earth. “Did you put chili in it?”

“It's ready.” Huang Niu said, “And I added some sausage.”

Before the words had even fallen, another person walked in from outside. This time it was Wubi You, holding a helmet, dressed in a delivery uniform, tossing a paper bag to An Ping. “Pay up.”

Inside the bag were custard buns and osmanthus porridge, with a delivery receipt stuck on it. An Ping was baffled: “I didn’t order any takeout?”

“I did.” Wubi You slid open his phone screen, pressing the payment code right in front of An Ping. “Part-time job, help me boost my orders.”

Anping squatted in the courtyard, having eaten a huge amount until he was stuffed, then followed Lin Juansheng to practice Tai Chi to aid digestion. Halfway through, he suddenly remembered he hadn’t seen Muge Sheng today. “Changshengzi, where’s the half-immortal?”

“My junior brother is upstairs, still not awake.” Lin Juansheng helped him correct his posture. “His constitution is special. He exhausted too much energy last night, so he’ll probably be asleep for a while.”

Anping recalled Muge Sheng saying he was already dead, and with a complicated expression, glanced toward the second-floor wing room, his mind racing with wild thoughts. He wondered if there was a coffin inside.

Luckily, it was winter; otherwise, it might have rotted by now.

Due to maintenance in the teaching building, City No.1 High School started winter break early. An Ping spent most of his time living in the City God Temple, sometimes learning chess from Lin Juansheng, and occasionally playing online games with Wubi You. One day, he went to Yeshu Zhu Hua to mooch a meal and happened to arrive during a rush, getting roped into staying behind to help run the shop.

The An family had been in business for generations. Having grown up immersed in this environment, An Ping naturally helped Wubi You sort out the accounts from the past few weeks. From then on, he began his life as free labor, shuttling daily between Yeshu Zhu Hua and the City God Temple, dreaming of the calculator’s hypnotic “reset” and “reset” sounds.

Later, An Ping discovered that Yeshu Zhu Hua was actually open all night, but after midnight, it no longer served living customers. The shop housed an elevator invisible by day, which after twelve at night would descend from the negative eighteenth floor straight to the lobby. The patrons were all the demons and spirits from Fengdu.

At first, some ghosts mistook An Ping for food and nearly tossed him into the pot to stew. But as he became a familiar face in the shop, he learned to greet and see off customers without batting an eye, clutching a handful of change in the form of underworld banknotes.

Many of the staff at Yeshui Zhuhua were hired from Fengdu, and some were from the Yin-Yang sect. An Ping had a pleasant personality and quickly blended in with everyone. One day, during a casual chat, someone suddenly mentioned that business had been much busier than usual lately.

“Indeed, it’s booming,” An Ping said with deep feeling. He was almost busy every day without a moment to rest, but he also found it a bit strange. “Could it be that business is usually not good?”

“It’s good, but recently it’s been unusual,” a waiter from Fengdu chimed in. “You don’t know, Yeshui Zhuhua entertains only the big shots from Fengdu. Ordinary little ghosts can’t easily come to the living world. Usually, having a dozen tables in the late night hours is already impressive. When have you ever seen such a vast and overwhelming scene?”

An Ping recalled that a few days ago he had indeed seen Cui Ziyu. The host had arranged several large tables, and being entertained by the Four Great Judges was certainly no ordinary ghostly errand runner.

Someone whispered, "Wasn't there some incident a while ago... Fengdu has been swamped with work."

"Could it be the year-end evaluation?" Anping joked, "Do the ghost officials also have to account for their performance and year-end bonuses?"

Everyone chuckled and explained Fengdu's rules and regulations to Anping. Times have changed, and even the underworld is keeping up with the times. Anping listened with curiosity, and the topic smoothly shifted.

Anping knew that, after all, he was a living person with an unclear background, so he had to be cautious. But he vaguely guessed that what everyone was discussing was probably related to the recent disturbance on the Yin-Yang Ladder.

But Mu Gesheng was still asleep and unaware, which was not something he could worry about.

Soon it was the first month of the lunar year. The An family’s parents were busy with business abroad and couldn’t come back, so An Ping simply decided to stay at the City God Temple for the New Year. The year-end was a rare lively time for the City God Temple. A temple fair was held on Chengxi Street, with bright red lanterns hanging all along the street, decorations everywhere. The yellow ox deity happily counted incense money every day, beaming with joy, and even the statues seemed noticeably more prosperous.

Lately, the City God Temple had been crowded, and the front courtyard was filled with smoke and mist every day. An Ping and the others moved to the back courtyard to live. Early in the morning, the temple fair opened, and the whole day was bustling with activity. There were dragon and lion dances, theatrical performances, and street acrobatics. The entire street was lined with various stalls—vendors blowing sugar figurines, selling sugar paintings, and some nearby setting up fortune-telling booths. An Ping watched and laughed, while Mu Gesheng was still buried in deep sleep, unaware if this counted as competitors coming to steal their livelihood.

On New Year’s Eve, it snowed. An Ping was awakened early by the deafening sound of drums and gongs. Yawning, he went out for a stroll. There were many snack stalls at the temple fair, and buying something casual could easily serve as breakfast.

He bought a few pieces of brown sugar glutinous rice cakes, made a cup of lotus seed soup in an enamel mug, and, bleary-eyed, walked back, drowsily pushing open the back gate.

Then, unexpectedly, he was startled.

In the yard stood a young man, dressed in a black coat, standing in the snow, holding a paper window decoration, his expression calm and quiet.

Anping took a long moment to come to his senses, then noticed that spring couplets had already been pasted on the door. The man was probably not a thief, and he looked somewhat familiar. Still half-asleep and not fully alert, he tried to recall who this person was, when suddenly a gust of wind blew, carrying a faint, sweet fragrance through the air.

Only then did An Ping notice that the red plum blossoms in the courtyard had bloomed.

Their eyes met, and An Ping shivered, suddenly fully awake, then realized who the other person was.

Just as he stammered, unsure of what to say, a window on the second-floor wing suddenly opened, and laughter drifted down.

There, Mu Gesheng propped his chin on the windowsill, looking just as drowsy as someone who had just woken up. "Well, I'll be damned, the scent woke me up even though I'm dead."

Then he looked at An Ping and teased, "An Ping, do you know when the plum blossoms bloom?"

An Ping was completely shocked, unable to react at all, "Huh?"

Mu Gesheng leaned on the railing with a smile, his lazy tone echoing throughout the courtyard.

"The plum blossoms bloom in the twelfth lunar month, during the coldest days of winter." —

Author's note:

Starting from February 1st, updates will resume once a day. Thank you all.