Chapter 18
THE PALM OF ZHAO YUNLAN’S HAND was a bloody mess. Eventually, unable to stay silent any longer, the Magistrate cleared his throat. “Ah… Guardian, you…”
Zhao Yunlan twitched as though the Magistrate’s voice had startled him awake. When he glanced over, the corners of his eyes angled upward. There was an unutterable, inauspicious redness there. His pupils held the terrifying darkness of the abyss, and his thick lashes cast a bottomless shadow over his eyes.
For a moment, the Guardian seemed like a complete stranger to the Magistrate, whose skin broke out in goosebumps under his gaze.
“I need to ask a favor, Lord Magistrate,” Zhao Yunlan said quietly. “Would you please take me to see the real Reincarnation Cycle in the Netherworld?”
It was best for the doer to undo his own handiwork. It was Shennong who had sealed Kunlun-jun’s primordial spirit before becoming the Reincarnation Cycle. If Zhao Yunlan wanted to awaken Kunlun’s spirit, going there was probably his best bet.
When the Magistrate didn’t reply, Zhao Yunlan asked, “What, I can’t go?”
Quickly, the Magistrate stammered, “I… This humble one expected the Guardian to inquire about the Soul-Guarding Lamp…”
“The Soul-Guarding Lamp?” Zhao Yunlan raised his left eyebrow so minutely that it might’ve been only a slight twitch. The fingers of his left hand were pressed unconsciously against his wounded right palm; blood stained his fingertips crimson. Alarmed and frightened, the Magistrate watched him, but Zhao Yunlan simply lowered his gaze and said, “Please lead the way.”
“Director Zhao!” A woman’s voice rang out behind him. Without turning, Zhao Yunlan recognized that it was Zhu Hong speaking.
“Mnnh.” Zhao Yunlan showed no sign of anger or other emotion. He might’ve even completely forgotten that her presence meant she was disobeying a direct order. “If you see Chu Shuzhi and Daqing, tell them to keep looking for Lin Jing,” he told her. “There’s something I need to do. I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going? I’ll go with you!”
Zhao Yunlan leveled an expressionless look at her. “No need. Having you along would just hold me back. You should train for a few more years first, little snake.”
Steam was practically coming out of Zhu Hong’s ears. “‘Little snake’? I’m a little snake?! What are you, then? In my tribe, someone your age would still be nibbling their eggshells, you mortal brat!”
The corners of Zhao Yunlan’s lips quirked into a cold smile as he left.
He didn’t look back.
Lin Jing, meanwhile, was meditating—or at least he was doing his best to. After his senses had begun working properly, he’d realized someone had kidnapped him. He had no idea where he was, but he could tell he was leaning against a huge rock. Beside the rock was a giant towering tree, so tall that its crown couldn’t be seen from the ground. Torrents of water seemed to be cascading all around him, but some sort of invisible dome surrounded him and protected him from drowning…at least for now.
He was also surrounded by youchu. The creatures pressed around him on every side, salivating. Just looking at them made Lin Jing quiver. All he could think to do was close his eyes and chant scriptures, but he’d barely uttered two lines when he realized that Buddhist scriptures only seemed to aggravate his neighbors. A ruckus broke out among the youchu, who began to roar and showed no sign of stopping.
With a gulp, Lin Jing forced a sad attempt at a smile. “U-um, I only just got here. I didn’t know we had a rule against reciting scriptures. K-kindly forgive me. I’ll correct my ways at once.”
The youchu nearest to Lin Jing greedily came even closer. It raised its nose and sniffed hungrily at his scent of fresh flesh and blood.
Lin Jing was about to cry. “I haven’t bathed in three days! Comrade, be mindful of your manners!”
The youchu’s mouth gaped open, preparing to bite—only for a more humanlike youchu to suddenly grab the back of that one’s neck, reacting to the gall of it daring to claim food for itself. This higher-ranked youchu twisted its fingers, separating the inferior youchu’s head from its body. The head hung there, dangling like a grotesquely shaped wind chime.
The one that had casually killed its own kin tore an ear from the corpse and gobbled it up without even a splash of soy sauce or vinegar. Then it generously threw the corpse a short distance away. The corpse was immediately swarmed by youchu, which descended on it as if it were a holiday feast. Less than half a minute later, barely even a scrap remained of the dead youchu’s skin or bones.
Gawking, Lin Jing murmured, “My Buddha is merciful. Please reflect on your table manners, benefactors.”
His “benefactors” howled at him in unison, undoubtedly interested in practicing their table manners on him.
Lin Jing wiped cold sweat from his forehead. “Please, by all means, do as you wish.”
Just then, a sharp whistling sounded in the distance. All the youchu—the gui—instantly fell silent. Fear twisted their expressions. They fled like fog blown away by the wind—and indeed, Lin Jing felt a strong wind blow past him.
In the next moment, someone was hurled down from above and pinned in place on the trunk of the strange adjacent tree. Four pitch-black manacles immediately sprouted from the tree and locked themselves around the person’s limbs.
A second look showed Lin Jing that the person had a meter-long icicle buried in his heart, which meant he was as good as dead. Lin Jing was about to look away, unable to bear the sight, when the person’s eyes opened…and suddenly Lin Jing recognized him.
Shocked, Lin Jing cried out in a ragged voice. “Shen-laoshi!”
Even with his forehead dripping with cold sweat and constant tremors running through his body, Shen Wei was courteous. He gave Lin Jing a slight nod.
Lin Jing rushed to the edge of the invisible dome. “What’s happening? Shen-laoshi, why are you here? Who hurt you?”
Shen Wei’s lips trembled, but he was unable to speak. Far off, someone hmphed. A black shadow flashed in front of Lin Jing’s eyes, and Ghost Face landed like a giant bat.
Ghost Face stood before Shen Wei, gleefully drinking in the sight of him. And then, slowly, he took off his mask.
Lin Jing gasped. “W-why are there two Shen-laoshi?!”
But upon closer inspection, the now-unmasked “Shen-laoshi’s” skin was slightly paler—abnormally pale, in fact. It was a white that bordered on blue, as though he had been soaked in formaldehyde. The skin tone was cold, somehow carrying resentment and yin energy. It made his face, which should have been so handsome, seem like a piece of skin draped over a skull.