Chapter 19

An Ping was awakened by someone tapping him.

It was recess, and the classroom was bustling with noise. "Class monitor, you've really been sleeping a lot lately, dozing off for several periods at a stretch. If I hadn’t covered for you so well, the homeroom teacher would have already called you in for a talk." His deskmate handed him a stack of papers. "These are the assignments given this afternoon for all subjects, due tomorrow."

“Thank you, thank you.” An Ping rubbed his eyes, slowly adjusting to the surrounding noise. By now, he was quite used to dreaming, but suddenly waking up after a century of change still left him feeling somewhat disoriented.

However, according to Muge Sheng, his situation was actually quite good. After waking from a deep sleep, things and people had changed; some never fully recovered for a long time.

“Hey, by the way, that guy is here.” His deskmate poked him with an arm and nodded behind him, “He only came around four in the afternoon, now he’s gone out to fetch water.”

An Ping knew exactly who he meant and yawned, “Muge Sheng has a full name, why do you keep calling him ‘that guy’?”

Lately, Mu Gesheng had been showing up to class quite frequently, running to school every few days. When he came, he didn’t do much—just slept soundly in the last row, occasionally chatting with the girls, collecting a few love letters, and waiting for school to end so he could mooch off An Ping’s meals.

“That guy’s the school bully,” the deskmate said matter-of-factly. “If you, the class monitor, can make him your underling, then sure, I don’t see anything strange about it. But I’m just an ordinary underachiever—I don’t understand the joys of you rich second-generation kids.”

An Ping had already given up trying to explain but still insisted, “He’s not my underling.”

“Not your underling but treats you to meals every day?”

Anping: You need to switch the subject and object in this sentence.

He’s been hanging out with Mu Gesheng lately, causing quite a stir at school. High schoolers don’t have much free time, so a bit of gossip can be stretched from start to finish, embellished, and turned inside out. Anping was already too lazy to care about what kind of deity he had become in everyone’s eyes. Even the homeroom teacher had mentioned it to him a few times, basically saying that a repeat-grade school bully is as rare as a flowering iron tree, and maybe this time there’s hope for him to graduate successfully. They wanted Anping to help tutor him when he had time, to get rid of this menace from the school sooner and send off this great god.

Anping was speechless. Mu Gesheng was even older than the students at City No. 1 High School. Rather than tutoring this “centenarian” on homework, he’d rather go to a nursing home and talk to the elderly about the national exam.

At least with the elderly, you wouldn’t get asked if a hanging ghost is a mammal while doing biology.

A thermos cup was suddenly placed on the table. An Ping looked up and said, "Speak of the devil."

"What are you thinking about?" Mu Gesheng asked with a smile. "Free for dinner tonight?"

The person sitting next to him let out a strange cry and wildly winked at An Ping.

Anping was momentarily speechless but still nodded, "Alright, what do you want to eat? The usual at the cafeteria?"

"Not the cafeteria today," Mu Gesheng said. "In the dead of winter, nothing beats hot pot."

Winter days are short, and by the time school let out, darkness had already fallen. Mu Gesheng and Anping walked out of the school one after the other, leading the way all the way to West City Street.

West City Street is an old street. Despite the cold, many snack stalls were still open for business—fried noodles, roasted sweet potatoes, wontons, pancake stands. Strings of lanterns hung brightly all along the street, filling the air with the rich aroma of frying, steaming, and stir-frying.

Mu Gesheng pinched a fragrant ash bottle, eating and sprinkling as he went, strolling from one end to the other, visiting every stall big and small. In Anping, it was nothing but paying money and carrying things—spicy chicken, iron plate tofu, candied hawthorn—both hands were full to the brim. In the end, he couldn’t help but wonder what he had actually come for. “Hey, Banxian’er, weren’t we supposed to have hotpot?”

“No rush, we’ll go later.” Mu Gesheng, with a skewer dangling from his mouth, looked back and smiled at him: “A chicken in the left hand, a duck in the right.”

Anping had a bad feeling about what was coming next, and sure enough, Mu Gesheng tapped his forehead with two fingers. “And a big fat baby in the middle.”

He chuckled to himself, humming some ancient tune from who knows when, singing and arranging Anping’s movements as he went, amusing himself thoroughly all the way through.

Anping held back the urge to roll his eyes, suddenly finding the tune somewhat familiar—probably something he had heard at Guanshan Yue.

As the dream deepened, Anping learned more and more about Mu Gesheng. That young master from the Ginkgo Study had grown up rough in the military camp, full of twisted logic. Later, he polished himself with poetry, books, rites, and music, able to quote classics and retort sharply enough to send people reeling miles away. A century passed in the blink of an eye. Now, Mu Gesheng carried the bearing of an old cadre, but at his core, he was still a stubborn old rogue—not at all the rigid, unyielding type. Instead, he was increasingly willful, a scoundrel with a sense of reason.

His stinginess remained unchanged over the century. Apart from a few coins tossed to fortune tellers, Anping had never seen him open his wallet. He freeloaded day in and day out, the undisputed king of taking without giving.

Occasionally, Anping couldn’t help but ask what happened afterward, but Mu Gesheng, like a storyteller selling suspense, just smiled and sipped his tea, telling him to keep dreaming. Sometimes, he’d bring him a few calming tea bags, which worked wonders—Anping would sleep through classes as if in hibernation. Yet, when he woke briefly, he couldn’t help but glance out the window.

And wait for the sound of the judge’s wooden block to fall,

Dawn breaks in the east,

Where are the old friends of those years now?

Mu Gesheng finally finished his feast and walked deeper into the old street, stopping in front of a hotpot restaurant. "Here we are."

The hotpot restaurant had two floors in total, with a grand facade and decor steeped in antique charm. Red lanterns hung in front of the intricately carved doors, bearing four large characters — Ye Shui Zhu Hua.

Anping knew this place well. Ye Shui Zhu Hua was the most famous hotpot restaurant in the old city, a century-old establishment with tables hard to come by. Usually, you had to book weeks in advance just to get a seat. "Banxian’er, this place requires reservations ahead of time. We might not even get in..."

Mu Gesheng casually patted his shoulder. "No worries, just follow me."

With that, he leisurely went upstairs. Ye Shui Zhu Hua forbade bringing in outside food or drinks, yet Anping, hands full of odds and ends, was surprisingly not stopped by anyone.

The two of them walked into a private room. Anping looked at the Ruyi-patterned floral window in front of him; the entire street scene outside was laid out before his eyes—this was the best private room at Yeshui Zhuhua. The last time his father had a business meeting here, one meal cost as much as his living expenses for a whole month.

Anping immediately said, "Banxian, please have a seat first. I need to go home for a moment."

Muge Sheng pulled out a chair. "What’s the matter?"

"I didn’t know you wanted to eat this. I don’t have enough money on my phone; I need to go back and get a card."

“No need at all.” Mu Gesheng laughed as he heard this, beckoning someone to bring a pot of iced Dongding Oolong. Pouring the tea, he said, “Don’t be so formal. I’m hosting this table—just treat this place like a cafeteria.”

An Ping almost dropped what he was holding. Plucking feathers from an iron chicken and making an iron tree bloom—Mu Gesheng was actually offering to treat. It was either a last meal or a trap. “No need, no need, you really don’t have to treat me to a meal…”

“What’s there to be polite about? You’re the junior; it’s only right to eat the elder’s meal.” Mu Gesheng held his tea boldly, pushing the menu aside and calling the waiter, “One mandarin duck hotpot, and one ‘一本菜’.”

An Ping didn’t understand. “‘一本菜’?”

“Just the dishes on the menu, from start to finish, every single one.”

An Ping almost dropped to his knees.

Seeing An Ping about to rush out to find a waiter, Mu Gesheng reached out and pulled him back, calmly saying, “Don’t rush. It’s not just the two of us eating today. Someone else will be coming later, so you won’t be the one getting overcharged.”

An Ping was taken aback. “Who else?”

Mu Gesheng pointed outside the window.

At the end of the long street, an electric tricycle came into view from afar. The driver wore a red armband, and a horn hung from the front of the vehicle, playing "Happy Birthday" as background music. The crowd parted on both sides, and the tricycle drove all the way to the Zhu Hua building by the Ye Shui River. Only then did An Ping clearly see what was piled in the trailer—a heap as tall as a small mountain, ranging from scrap materials to drainage pipes, and even shared bicycles.

“Whoa, another big load,” Mu Gesheng laughed as he watched. “Diligently collecting junk, either a city inspector or a beggar.”

An Ping was still pondering what Mu Gesheng was really up to when the private room door suddenly swung open, letting in a blast of cold air. He couldn’t help but sneeze, and only then did he see who had come in—the person seemed about his age, dressed in thin black clothes, a row of white buttons fastened all the way up to the throat. His shoulder bones were sharp and lean, and his eyes shone with a startling brightness, carrying the unique chill of youth, like the biting cold of early spring.

The cold wind from outside swept through the door. He found a spot farthest from Mu Gesheng, sat down without even glancing at the two of them, and lowered his head to start playing a game.

“Let me introduce you,” Mu Gesheng said as if completely unaware, sipping his tea. “This is Wubi You, a city management officer from Chengxi Street. He’s probably a bit younger than you, Anping’er.”

With a sharp “crack,” Anping saw the other person smash his phone screen; the half-finished game character, Xiao Qiao, was brutally destroyed.

“At the same time, he’s also the boss of Yeshui Zhuhua,” Mu Gesheng added with a smile. “And he’s my daughter’s father.”

Anping spat out a mouthful of tea.

He almost shouted out loud, What the hell? Daughter?

“Don’t you dare call me your daughter!” The boy exploded instantly, standing up and about to flip the table. “The dog is your daughter!”

“You kid, why are you insulting yourself?” Mu Gesheng shook his head as he listened. “I told you dropping out early never leads to anything good. Without nine years of compulsory education, your brain just doesn’t work right—by the way, do you still have your kindergarten graduation certificate?”

Anping didn’t have time to retort to Muge Sheng; his mind was still reeling from the word "daughter." Just now, Muge Sheng had said the young man’s name was Wubi You, and he couldn’t help but exclaim in shock, “Is he from the Wu family?”

Wubi You shot a sharp glance sideways, and Muge Sheng said, “Yes.”

“You married Wu Zixu?”

This time, it was Muge Sheng who was taken aback, coughing violently. He reached out to block Wubi You, who was about to rush forward and punch him, throwing him behind his back. Between coughs, he patted the table and laughed, “Anping, you really have quite the imagination... The third brother doesn’t have that kind of ability.”

Anping: "So you have one?"

"Absolutely not." Mu Gesheng waved his hands repeatedly, "I'm the godfather, the daughter is the biological child of the third brother."

"Where did you find this fool?" Wubi You sneered, "What, after living all these years, you're finally ready to die? Starting to look for an apprentice?"

"Your old man died long ago; the underworld doesn't take apprentices." Mu Gesheng tapped Wubi You's head with a chopstick and said kindly, "It's just a coincidence. He's older than you, so hurry up and call him brother."

Wubi was about to snap back with a curse, but Anping quickly smoothed things over: "No need, no need. It's our first meeting, any form of address is fine. I'm Anping."

"I know you. Your dad often comes here to eat," Wubi sized Anping up and down, a sly glint in his eyes. "Why are you ditching your rich second-generation life to hang out with this old geezer? Is he scamming you?"

Anping was momentarily at a loss for words, unsure where to begin. "…That's a long story."

The atmosphere grew a bit tense. Muge Sheng continued to sip his tea leisurely, showing no sign of explanation or intervention. Just as Anping suspected the man was merely here for the spectacle, the private room door opened, and the hotpot and dishes finally began to arrive.

Mu Gesheng scooped a bowl of soup before speaking: “Don’t just stand there foolishly. Young man, don’t talk about hard-to-digest topics while eating, or else, missy, you’ll never grow taller.”

Wu Biyou’s temples bulged with veins. “Shut up!”

“You’re an adult, yet you still bristle like a wildcat at the slightest provocation.”

Mu Gesheng’s words were like a killing blade. Just as he leisurely taunted Wu Biyou, An Ping took the opportunity to study the other man. Judging by his features alone, Wu Biyou did indeed resemble Wu Zixu—both had refined, delicate facial features, and with a folding fan in hand, he could pass for a graceful, jade-like youth. Yet their auras were worlds apart: Wu Zixu was gentle and calm like water, while Wu Biyou was like water spiced with chili—boiling over with fiery intensity.

It's like the twin-flavored hotpot on the table—one side clear broth, the other spicy red oil, completely different. But since the godfather is Mu Gesheng, such a genetic mutation isn't surprising; it's a blessing he's still alive.

"Alright, enough of this father-daughter emotional exchange. Let's get down to business," Mu Gesheng cut off the conversation and asked, "What time is it?"

An Ping was momentarily stunned, then glanced at her watch. "It's half past ten. Why?"

Mu Gesheng picked up a teacup, swirled it around, and set it aside. "An Ping'er, do you know the story behind the 'twin-flavored hotpot'?"

“I bet you don’t know.” Wubi You picked up the phone with a cracked screen and started another game. “That old bastard is a master of cheating and deceiving; until death is at his door, he never utters a single truthful word.”

An Ping looked genuinely puzzled.

“The yuan yang pot is also called the ‘yin-yang pot.’ The living eat the red broth, the dead eat the white broth; the pot is divided, yin and yang separated.” Mu Gesheng began setting a set of bowls and chopsticks. “If you eat the yuan yang pot the right way, you can dine with the dead, a meeting of yin and yang.”

“That old bastard didn’t tell you, did he?” Wubi You said, “What you’re eating today is the yin-yang pot.”

The chopsticks in An Ping’s hand fell to the ground with a “snap.”

Even though An Ping had seen and experienced a lot recently, suddenly having someone appear out of nowhere beside him was still startling. He looked at the person who had appeared on his left without him noticing, “Y-You are?”

“Let me introduce you. This is Cui Ziyu, one of the Four Great Judges of Fengdu, the Chief Judge of the Yin Law Department.” Mu Gesheng pushed the tableware forward, “Judge Cui, please have some tea.”

“I dare not trouble you.” The newcomer wore a blue silk robe and a black official hat, his complexion pale and grim. He spoke softly, “I have come this time to verify a matter concerning the Three Paths.” Then he looked at An Ping, “Is this the young master who mistakenly wandered into it?”

Cui Ziyu had a pale face and blue lips, a ghostly appearance that made it impossible to guess his age. His voice was sharp and high-pitched, strained as if squeezed through a narrow throat, with a lingering tone that made it unclear whether he sounded like a eunuch singing opera or a vengeful spirit crying out. Either way, it had one thing in common—it made people want to pee.

An Ping was momentarily stunned but quickly caught on. He looked at Mu Gesheng and whispered, "Is this guy a hanged ghost? Or was he castrated while alive?"

Mu Gesheng lightly but firmly knocked him, "Why are you spouting such blunt truths?"

"Fengdu is here because of what happened last time in the Three Paths." Wubi, who was playing a game, kicked their chairs twice. "Hurry up and finish this. I still have to balance the books tonight."

Cui Ziyu took out a scroll and unrolled it. "An’s seventy-sixth generation descendant, single name Ping, just eighteen years old, parents both alive..." He then recited An Ping’s eighteen-generation genealogy and seventeen years of life history in full, finally asking, "Is there any mistake in the above?"

An Ping shook his head, surprised as he looked at the scroll in Cui Ziyu’s hand. "Is this the Book of Life and Death?"

"Just a copy." Cui Ziyu wiggled his index finger, his nail long and dark blue. Then he pulled out a sheet of yellow paper and handed it to An Ping. "Please take a look, Young Master An. Does what’s written here differ from your experiences?"

An Ping stared at the page full of strange symbols. "…I don’t understand this."

“This is written in secret script; I apologize for my boldness,” Cui Ziyu said as he took the paper. “Then I shall read it aloud for you,” he added, beginning to recite the opening passage. Anping immediately realized this was the record of their experiences in the Three Paths.

The yellow paper wasn’t very large, yet it took over an hour to finish reading. Cui Ziyu chanted with a rhythmic cadence, sighing thrice after each stanza, while Anping nearly wet himself from the ordeal.

Mu Gesheng had already dipped into more than half of the dishes on the table. Cui Ziyu set down the yellow paper and looked at Anping. “Do the events described above differ in any way from your own experience, Young Master An?”

Anping pondered for a moment, then shook his head. “No, they do not.”

Cui Ziyu broke off a fingernail and transformed it into a black brush, the tip shimmering with a vermilion hue. "Then please sign and seal it."

Just as An Ping raised the brush, Wubi You, who had been staring down at his game, spoke up: "That yellow paper was torn from the Book of Life and Death. Once you sign and seal it, if you deceive, the one who suffers is the living—your lifespan will be shortened. You reckless fool, think carefully."

An Ping was taken aback, not expecting Wubi You to say such things. He glanced over at him and said, "Your Cai Wenji is about to die."

"Damn it! Like I need you to tell me that?!"

Anping smiled and signed his name on the yellow paper, stamping it with his seal. "Is this all right now?"

"Thank you, Young Master An." Cui Ziyu folded the yellow paper away, then stood and bowed deeply to Muge Sheng and Wubi You. "You two have been burdened quite a bit lately. On behalf of my humble office, I send the regards of Lord Yan."

"Judge Cui, it's rare for you to come to the living world; are you in such a hurry to leave?" Muge Sheng tapped the pot with his chopsticks. "I've saved some white broth for you—aged stock from Yeshui Zhuhua. Won't you give it a try?"

"I couldn't possibly refuse." Cui Ziyu bowed deeply. "But I still have many official documents pressing on my desk, so I truly have no leisure. Please forgive me."

“No problem, no problem.” Mu Gesheng said as he poured a plate of pork aorta into the white broth. “Then we’ll eat, and you take care on your way.”

“If you have time to come to Fengdu, the Yinlu Division will welcome you with open arms.” Cui Ziyu sang a slow bow, his figure dissolving into the mist.

An Ping watched Cui Ziyu disappear and asked, “So what exactly is going on here?”

“Something appearing between the three paths in the mortal world is no small matter. Those freeloaders in Fengdu got pretty scared and hurriedly scrambled to find the cause.” Mu Gesheng said, “I’m involved myself—I recently went to Fengdu to record a case.”

"This old bastard is a master of lies. Fengdu is afraid of being tricked by him, so they took his story and came to you for verification," Wubi You said as he controlled Cai Wenji to unleash a powerful move. "You better pray he’s not playing any tricks, or tomorrow you’ll be sipping soup at the Naihe Bridge."

"Are you the current generation of the Underworld’s enforcers?" Anping asked Wubi You. "Is Meng Po’s soup tasty?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Wubi You looked at him in disbelief. "Or should I just kill you so you can try it yourself?"

Muge Sheng laughed out loud, "Meng Po’s soup can taste like anything—add milk, sugar, or chicken essence, anything goes."

Anping: "Is that for real?"

"He's talking nonsense." Wubi You snorted coldly.

"Practice is the sole criterion for testing truth." Muge Sheng said leisurely, "I've died before, have you, girl?"

"I won't die before you do." Wubi You sneered, "I'm waiting to scatter your ashes down the drain to feed the fish."

“Daughter, you mustn’t let the guests hear you say that. Raising fish in the sewer—anyone who doesn’t know might think Ye Shui Zhuhua is using gutter oil.”

The conversation between the two was so bizarre that Anping couldn’t help but say, “You two…”

“A loving father and filial daughter,” Muge Sheng said.

Upon hearing this, Wubi suddenly threw his phone into the pot and sneered coldly at Anping while pointing at Muge Sheng, “Do you know what this man has done?!”

"Do you know how many people he has harmed?!"