“Hey.” Li Jinglong turned to Hongjun. “What are you thinking?”
Hongjun quickly straightened in his seat. “Nothing.”
Noticing everyone’s eyes on him, Hongjun thought, Am I really that easy to read? Why can everyone always tell what I’m thinking?
“You and I should…” Li Jinglong began hesitantly. “Never mind. In any case, we need to hit the road as soon as possible. A-Tai—”
They would soon be traveling to Luoyang together; Li Jinglong would have plenty of time to talk to Hongjun later. He rose and signaled for A-Tai to follow him.
With the Department of Exorcism temporarily suspended from duty, they had no choice but to stay in the tavern. Hongjun followed Lu Xu through the courtyard and into his room, where the carp yao was already busy packing his travel bag. Yang Guozhong had at least given Li Jinglong enough time to collect their belongings from the Department of Exorcism’s headquarters.
As Hongjun watched Zhao Zilong work, he was seized by a premonition. “I feel like the Department of Exorcism’s fate has nearly run its course.”
“Don’t say that!” Lu Xu turned pale.
“Hongjun, you’re overthinking again!” the carp yao admonished.
Hongjun glanced at Lu Xu. “Do you still have the ability to make me dream of the past?”
Lu Xu considered the question. “Have you changed your mind?”
Hongjun nodded seriously. After speaking with Yang Guozhong today, he couldn’t help dwelling on the events of his childhood. For some reason, he was struck by the feeling that everything was about to come to a head—that his fate would soon be revealed.
“Hongjun, don’t,” Lu Xu said.
But Hongjun merely lay down on his bed and turned to look at Lu Xu. “The divine kun possesses the ability to show people their future, but he’s never shown me mine.”
“The future is uncertain,” the carp yao interjected. “Master Xuanzang once told me that even if you know everything that will happen, it’s only one of many possible futures. And when you’re aware of one possibility, that knowledge might affect your actions in the present and alter that future.”
“But the past is always certain,” Hongjun countered.
“That’s not true,” Lu Xu broke in. “The past is also uncertain.”
Hongjun blinked, perplexed.
“Neither the past nor the future exists. All that exists is the present,” Lu Xu said.
This was something far beyond Hongjun’s understanding, but he remained stubborn. “Lu Xu, let me dream of my past one more time. Please—I need to know.”
With a sigh, Lu Xu stepped up beside Hongjun’s bed. Gazing down at him, he steepled his fingers; the long strands of his hair paled instantly to a snowy white as his whole body began to glow.
The carp yao yelped in alarm and slowly backed away. Hongjun stared in shock as Lu Xu’s body seemed to lose its solidity, turning translucent and bright as an immortal soul. A pair of stunted horns sprouted from his forehead; his severed antlers had yet to recover.
“I grant you a peaceful sleep undisturbed by nightmares.” Lu Xu’s voice was hoarse as he clasped Hongjun’s hand. He lay down beside him in a fluid motion and tightened his grip.
It was different from when he touched Hongjun’s forehead. This time, when Hongjun closed his eyes, a thousand rays of white light streaked past with a rush of wind, ferrying him down the tunnel of his memory.
“I’m here,” Lu Xu murmured next to his ear.
Countless black flames erupted within the passageway, licking hungrily toward them.
“What are those?!” Hongjun asked.
Lu Xu waved a hand; white light burst forth like shooting stars, scattering the black flames.
“The nightmares you recently absorbed,” Lu Xu said. “This passage is the barrier guarded by the heart lamp.”
Hongjun’s consciousness gradually settled. With another flash of white light, he and Lu Xu exited the passageway, emerging into a heavy rain.
This time, he hadn’t been transported into his childhood body. Rather, he found himself a pale soul floating in midair, like Lu Xu. His attire had changed as well: He wore a combat qun, as he did at Yaojin Palace, with seven peacock feathers fluttering behind him. Lu Xu was wreathed in white light beside him, the antlers atop his head flickering from time to time.
“No matter what happens, don’t let go of my hand,” Lu Xu warned.
Hongjun’s eyes widened as he caught sight of his father. Kong Xuan was using a spiritual technique to boil a basin of water beneath the eaves of an open-air corridor as loud sobs emanated from inside the house.
The front doors slid open, and Yang Guozhong strode into the residence.
The dreamscape began to shudder around them as Hongjun’s emotions surged. Lu Xu immediately said, “Hongjun! Stay calm—don’t lose yourself!”
“Dad—”
“Hongjun!” Lu Xu said sharply. Hongjun snapped back to the present, struggling for composure.
Things were different now that he was an observer rather than a participant in the dream. A single stray thought, and the dreamscape would shatter; he could only rely on Lu Xu for strength and do his best to quiet his mental state.
The dreamscape blurred, the seasons changing from winter to summer, then summer to winter again. As snow fell in pure white flakes, the scenery shifted to reveal Kong Xuan walking out of the general’s estate in Yumen District with a tiny Hongjun, just under a year old, strapped to his back. Despite his tight swaddling against the cold, his little nose and cheeks were bright red.
“I saw my uncle!” Hongjun exclaimed.
“Follow me,” Lu Xu said.
Tugging on Hongjun’s hand, Lu Xu flew after Kong Xuan as he spurred his horse across the vast snowfields. The scenery flickered again, and they arrived at the foot of a snowcapped mountain range. The night seemed to glow as the Milky Way wrapped the sky in a glittering belt of starlight. A white deer stepped lightly across the powdered luster of those stars, prancing into the distance.
“That’s you,” Hongjun said with a smile.
Lu Xu hummed in affirmation. But in the next instant, a roar shook heaven and earth as a black jiao twisted out of the darkness and sank its fangs into the white deer’s flank.
Kong Xuan jerked his head up, wheeling his horse around and galloping for a nearby village.
Heart in his throat, Hongjun gazed toward the horizon. Seconds later, Kong Xuan soared into the night sky to engage the black jiao. His father’s midnight-blue robes gleamed with streams of golden light as battle armor materialized to cover his body.
Hongjun’s eyes went huge; this was his first time seeing the true form of his father, the Peacock Wisdom King Mahamayuri.
“Without the demon seed of Mara, you no longer possess the power of the demonic and the divine,” the black jiao snarled as they clashed.
“And you have only a single immortal soul,” Kong Xuan responded in a ringing voice. “I’d say we’re about even.”
Howling in pain, the black jiao coiled higher into the sky. The white deer in its jaws let out a mournful cry and dispersed into flecks of light. One glowing tendril shot toward the village at the foot of the white-capped mountains. Kong Xuan turned to chase after the black jiao, only to pause as he heard a baby’s distressed wails.
Another flash of light. Hongjun and Lu Xu stood hand in hand in the middle of Lu Xu’s family home, where Kong Xuan was helping Lu Xu’s mother deliver and then wash her son. Little Hongjun balanced himself on unsteady feet as he clung to Kong Xuan’s shoulders and gazed down at the newborn Lu Xu.
Hongjun and Lu Xu watched in silence. After a time, Lu Xu flew out of the house, pulling Hongjun by the hand. They came to a stop above the Mogao Caves, where they saw Kong Xuan sitting with the ghost king atop the nine-storied pagoda with the child Hongjun once again strapped to his back.
“He loved you,” Lu Xu said suddenly.
Hongjun hummed in agreement. He felt horribly conflicted. Upon learning the truth of his past, he had hated his father, hated Chong Ming and Qing Xiong… But no matter the strength of his hatred in the moment, it had faded with the passage of time. Now, as he watched his father ride across the land with his infant son on his back, trying to find some way to make up for his mistakes, Hongjun was nearly drowned by a wave of sorrow.