The long, slender Mountain-River Awl sprang from Shen Wei’s palm first, growing until it once again looked as it had atop the great snowy mountain, jutting up like a great precipice. Upon reaching its full size, it took its position in the Black Tortoise position. It made a tremendous noise as it settled, and in response, an equally large sundial appeared, rotated, and then landed in the White Tiger position. The Merit Brush, carved from the Great Divine Tree, shot up into the sky and came to rest in the position of the Azure Dragon. Last to appear was the Soul-Guarding Lamp, lacking its wick and giving no light. Shen Wei pointed, and it landed in the position of the Vermilion Bird.
“Wait,” Zhao Yunlan said. “Isn’t the Soul-Guarding Lamp in the Yanluo Courts?”
“Earlier, I stayed behind and took it with me,” replied Shen Wei. “The one in the Yanluo Courts is an illusion.” He ducked his head slightly, as if feeling a trace of shame for his sneakiness. “Extreme times call for extreme measures. My apologies.”
Zhao Yunlan eyed him without a word.
Shen Wei drew one of Zhao Yunlan’s hands close. “This will hurt a bit,” he murmured. “Please bear with it.”
Something pricked Zhao Yunlan’s fingertip. A bead of blood formed, then flew straight into the Soul-Guarding Lamp, where it became a slender thread. And then Shen Wei took off the pendant he’d worn around his neck for so long, the one that he never removed for any reason. He opened it and carefully poured some of its precious contents out. A minuscule flame flew from his fingertip, landing precisely on the tip of the delicate wick formed of blood. A firefly-faint glow began to shine within the Lamp.
Shen Wei leaned down and sucked Zhao Yunlan’s bleeding finger into his mouth.
“Wait, that’s it?” Zhao Yunlan asked, dumbfounded. “Didn’t that Yanluo King say he needed a whole vial of blood from my heart?”
“The ten fingers are linked to the heart,” said Shen Wei. “The Soul-Guarding Lamp has lacked its wick for millennia. The Netherworld wanted something that would guarantee peace—something to keep the Lamp burning for thousands of generations. I, however, have only half a day to reseal the Four Pillars. A single drop from the tip of your finger is replacement enough.”
Then Shen Wei addressed the crowd. “All those years ago, Kunlun-jun, the Mountain God of the Great Wild, sealed the Four Pillars. I was heir to the thirty-six mountains and rivers, but I was born in filth. I am unable to establish any connection with the Four Hallowed Artifacts, so I hope you will all lend me a hand. You’ll have my deepest gratitude.”
Having said that, he resumed his true appearance. He stood before them clad in the Soul-Executing Emissary’s midnight robes, the full length of his hair spilling down around him. His innate demonic aura was unmistakable, as was his air of gentlemanly righteousness; a man at war with himself yet possessed of an elegance beyond compare.
No one could reject him.
Wang Zheng and Sangzan exchanged a glance, and together, they walked beneath the Mountain-River Awl. Daqing, holding his golden bell in his mouth, turned and prowled to the Ancient Merit Brush. Lao-Li, who had tied a string of tiny golden fried fish to the huge bone he carried, followed Daqing. Lin Jing got out a string of 108 Buddhist beads and stood beneath the Reincarnation Dial.
Shennong’s mortar was about to take a step when Zhao Yunlan called out and stopped him. “Hey, um, you.”
The mortar, wearing Zhao Yunlan’s father’s body, turned back. “Who?”
After a beat of silence, Zhao Yunlan said, “You’ve taken enough advantage of me. Do you think you’re actually my father? Just come here for a sec so I can talk to you.”
The mortar followed as Zhao Yunlan moved off to one side. “Please go ahead, Kunlun-jun.”
With his back to the pagoda tree, Zhao Yunlan glanced at the ground. All seemed completely peaceful beneath the tree, not at all as though something impossibly vast was being held down. He was out of cigarettes, so he reached into his dad’s pocket and claimed the packet he found there.
He lit up, then briefly stood in silence, wreathed in smoke. After a moment, he said, “Actually, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“I am at Kunlun-jun’s disposal,” Shennong’s mortar said quietly.
“No, I mean it,” said Zhao Yunlan. “I’m my parents’ only son. By all rights, I should take care of them in their old age and see them off. I never imagined I’d run out of time, but here we are. White-haired elders shouldn’t have to see their black-haired children off. Think of a solution for me.”
More moments passed before the mortar said, “I… I confess I don’t understand what Kunlun-jun means to say.”
Zhao Yunlan snorted. “Don’t play dumb. I think you know exactly what I’m getting at.”
Shennong’s mortar took a long look at him. “So in the end, is the Soul-Executing Emissary only able to uphold his vow because you’ve agreed to accompany him into death?”
Casually blowing a smoke ring, Zhao Yunlan asked, “Do you think I’m selling my body?”
“My apologies. I misspoke.” The mortar lowered his head. Finally, almost in a sigh, he said, “I understand.”
Zhao Yunlan’s eyes bored into his until the mortar continued, “Should Kunlun-jun no longer be in this world, I will leave your father’s body and live on as ‘Zhao Yunlan’ for you. Please be at ease, Mountain God.”
“Live well. Live like ‘Zhao Yunlan.’” Zhao Yunlan gave his father’s shoulder a disrespectful pat. “Enjoy the things you should enjoy, and whatever you need to do, do it well. Thank you.” He stubbed out his half-finished cigarette and brushed past.
The mortar walked toward Lin Jing and the Reincarnation Dial, while Zhao Yunlan went to stand alone below the Soul-Guarding Lamp.
Zhao Yunlan laid a gentle hand on the Soul-Guarding Lamp. Uneven inscriptions were etched onto its surface, identical to those on the back of the Soul-Guarding Order. A strange feeling stirred within him, like the lamp really was connected to his flesh and blood. The flame seemed to miraculously flicker in time with his heart, as though two people were standing there: the person he’d been thousands of years ago and the person he was now, thousands of years later.
The passage of time had transformed everything.
Turning, Shen Wei looked at the old man from the general store who stood guard over the divide between yin and yang. The wrinkled old man led the whole crowd of night-shift ghosts from 4 Bright Avenue, forming a circle around the ritual. Then he raised his head and bowed to Shen Wei, just as people had in the ancient past. “I am old and have no other use,” he said. “I will help guard you, Great Immortal.”
Shen Wei nodded. Raising a finger, he wrote in the air, stroke by stroke, an ancient text from the time of gods and demons. The text itself seemed to hold power, flowing in the air like rippling water. Then Shen Wei brought his fingers together and struck the words forcefully with his palm. The strokes all dissipated at once, flying toward the four positions, where they landed on each person’s brow.
At once, everyone could hear the spell, which had been passed down from the beginnings of the Great Wild. The weight of it was incomparable; the urge to bow down and worship spontaneously ignited in each and every heart.
Finally, Shen Wei glanced to the south and met Zhao Yunlan’s gaze. A faint smile suddenly graced his lips, like a springtime flower bursting into bloom.