Hongjun’s brows were tightly knit as Li Jinglong resumed his explanation. “The first time Mara was born was after the legendary Battle of Zhuolu, and the second was more than a thousand years later, during the Battle of Muye. The order of nature is eternal; it is not upheld by benevolent rulers, nor will it perish on account of violent kings. The third reincarnation of Mara came when the Chu and Han forces fought for dominion over these lands. Think about it. What do all these occurrences have in common?”
“They’re all wars that claimed many lives,” Hongjun answered.
Li Jinglong nodded. “When the resentment of the dead does not dissipate, it lingers in the mortal world. More and more of it gradually accumulates over time.”
“But so many things have happened over the past thousand years,” Hongjun said after a moment of thought. “Never mind the wars of the ancient past—weren’t there plenty of casualties during the war between the Han and the Hu four hundred years ago?”
Li Jinglong was surprised Hongjun knew this piece of the Divine Land’s history. After pondering the idea, he said, “So you think the demonic energies absorbed by Xie Yu and An Lushan are remnants from that time?”
Hongjun nodded, and Li Jinglong sighed. “It’s true—the malign energies in the mortal world increase with each successive thousand-year cycle. Duke Di wrote this in his records as well.”
The first cycle had occurred in near-mythic antiquity, when Mara was born amid the Battle of Zhuolu. The second cycle covered the period when the three ancient dynasties were founded; it began when King Wu of Zhou led his troops against King Zhou of Shang’s army of four hundred thousand men in the Battle of Muye before achieving immortality. There were many more deaths during this battle than there’d been during the Battle of Zhuolu—about which few historical records remained—but it still was by no means the bloodiest period of the Divine Land’s history.
During the third cycle, seven states waged war against one another, causing millions upon millions of deaths. Bai Qi massacred four hundred thousand Zhao soldiers who’d already surrendered, prompting the allied forces of the other six nations—an army of five hundred thousand—to storm Hangu Pass. The bloodbath reached its peak when the Qin state ultimately conquered the others and unified the nation. Finally the lands settled into peace after the Qin emperor established new regulations governing transportation and a standardized writing system. Many had hoped this calmer era would mean an end to the millennia-spanning catastrophe—but the tyranny imposed by the Qin dynasty’s founding emperor caused malign energies to spike once more, summoning the third reincarnation of Mara.
Li Jinglong hadn’t managed to find any description of Mara’s previous descents into the mortal world—though not for lack of trying. There were simply not enough sources from those days. But he was certain of one thing: After Mara’s reincarnation, Acalanatha would appear to eliminate the heavenly demon, and the malign energies would return to the heavenly and earthly meridians. Di Renjie wouldn’t have founded the Department of Exorcism otherwise.
“Know thine enemy, and thou shalt go undefeated,” Hongjun recited. “Sometimes I catch myself thinking that even I don’t know—what exactly am I?”
This was a topic Li Jinglong rarely discussed with him; he didn’t want Hongjun to worry over these things. Yet the closer they’d become, the more he’d begun to understand: This young man with his pretty face often appeared oblivious, but he actually had a lot on his mind. He was deeply cognizant of his origins and the demon seed within him. But because Li Jinglong didn’t usually bring it up, he didn’t mention it either.
Evading Hongjun’s question was futile, so Li Jinglong opted to be direct: “To be honest, I’ve wondered the same thing. But this question has nothing to do with who you are. You’re you—you’re Hongjun, my wife.”
Hongjun laughed. Before he could comment on this statement, Li Jinglong went on, “But as for what Mara is—I often discuss that with the other guys. You’re right: ‘Know thine enemy, and thou shalt go undefeated.’ This is what our ancestors taught us. So, to defeat this enemy, we must first understand it.”
Hongjun hummed in agreement. “The demon seed—the original manifestation of it—was in my father’s body. Was it my father who transformed into Mara all those times before? If he did, how did Acalanatha k…kill him?”
“First, there’s the matter of the six artifacts of Acalanatha—the Sword of Wisdom, the Demon-Quelling Staff, the Yao-Binding Cord, the Golden Sun Wheel, the Umbral Bow, and the Thunderbolt Arrows. We don’t know where the other five artifacts are, but if your father turned into Mara, the demon inside him could only have been eliminated by someone wielding all six artifacts.”
“What if it was me?” Hongjun abruptly asked. “What if I—”
“No!” Li Jinglong shot him down immediately. “Why would you say something like that?”
The moment Hongjun opened his mouth, Li Jinglong knew what he was trying to say: He would absorb all the demonic energy Xie Yu had acquired via his three divided souls, turning himself into a demon Li Jinglong could eliminate.
“Fine.” Hongjun scratched his head. “I guess it might just make things worse. You don’t have all the artifacts, and we’ll be in more trouble if I end up losing myself again.”
“That’s not the problem,” Li Jinglong bit out, angry now. “What will I do if you die? What I care about most is you, not anything else!”
This, Hongjun didn’t expect. He said weakly, “Okay.”
It seemed Lu Xu had kept his secrets well—this was Li Jinglong’s first time hearing about this notion of Hongjun’s. Li Jinglong seemed torn between anger and shock as he repeatedly confirmed that Hongjun had truly cast the idea aside.
“Okay,” Hongjun repeated. “Okay, I promise.”
“It’s not okay!” Li Jinglong snapped. “You didn’t take a single word I said to heart.”
As Hongjun studied Li Jinglong, he felt his stomach twist. He wasn’t that attached to living, to be honest—likely because he’d grown up under the care of Chong Ming, who was largely indifferent toward matters of life and death. Qing Xiong wasn’t fixated on such things either. As the saying went, “the mushroom of the morning knows not what transpires between the beginning and end of the month, and the summer cicada knows nothing of spring or autumn.”8 The lives of both human and yao were infinitesimally insignificant compared to the vastness of heaven and earth, no more than a drop of water in the boundless sea. And so Hongjun, too, had been nonchalant about life and death since childhood. Of course he was happy to be alive, but he wouldn’t feel much regret even if he were to die the next day. This was especially true after coming to love Li Jinglong—it made him feel like his life had not gone to waste.
But he had one worry, which was that Li Jinglong would live out his remaining years in sorrow if he died.
This was something he didn’t dare bring up; Li Jinglong would surely admonish him to no end. Seeing Li Jinglong so furious at the mere suggestion, he could only nod again and again.
“Swear to me,” Li Jinglong said at last. “Swear you’ll live a long, happy life with Gege.”
Warmth welling in his chest, Hongjun nodded. “I swear. We’ll live together.”
“Swear on my life. If you ever do such a stupid, reckless thing, I’ll die.”
“I can’t do that,” Hongjun said at once.
“If you really plan to sacrifice yourself, I won’t kill you. I won’t resist at all when you kill me, which will make you feel worse. After I die, no one will be able to stop you; you’ll become the demon king. You can raze the Divine Land to the ground for all I care.”
“How could you do that?!”
“Why not? I have to protect my own heart, don’t I?”
Hongjun was at a loss for how to refute this statement, and he was unable to persuade Li Jinglong, whose sharp mind had already hit on his greatest weakness. Hongjun had suggested sacrificing himself to destroy their enemy because he wanted to save everyone—including Li Jinglong—but Li Jinglong’s declaration gave him no choice but to abandon the idea.
Their conversation was interrupted by a call from outside: “We request an audience with the king!”
They turned to see two men striding in, both scrawny in their own bizarre way. The man on the left had a lean, reptilian face that tapered to a sharp point—the same sand snake yao A-Tai had captured back at Yumen Pass. The man on the right appeared around forty, with a hunched back and an unkempt beard obscuring the bottom of his monkey-like face. He sketched a bow. “Greetings, Your Majesty.”
As Li Jinglong motioned for them to enter, Hongjun thought, Since when did you become a king?
Li Jinglong turned to Hongjun to explain. “Lao-Wu is a monkey yao. He was a slave of the macaque that was causing trouble here. After Yongsi killed the murderer, Lao-Wu was set free. He’s now making a living selling fruit in Luoyang.”
The two yaoguai prostrated themselves before Hongjun—only then did he realize the person they were addressing as Your Majesty was himself. “Please rise,” he said hastily. “I’m not a king!”
Li Jinglong gave him an inscrutable look. Confused, Hongjun nodded. “Young Master Qiu gave both of you some tasks,” Li Jinglong said, turning back to their guests. “How are they coming along?”
“His Majesty Qing Xiong told us to keep close watch, too, sir,” the sand snake said. “A couple of days ago, two powerful yaoguai—subordinates of the heavenly demon—arrived in Luoyang.”
“Qing Xiong?” Hongjun echoed in surprise. “When was he here?”