Song Huaiyan grabbed Song Aiguo’s shoulders and patted his face gently: “Xiao Ai, wake up!”
If the true obsession remained unfound, the ferryman would be trapped indefinitely inside the illusion created by the zoetrope. Now that the zoetrope had shattered, yet the ferryman’s thoughts remained unbroken, he was still trapped within the illusion he had woven for himself. If he wasn’t pulled out in time, he would suffer the backlash of dream-魇 (phantoms), sinking so deep into the illusion that his soul would fail to return, placing the ferryman’s life in mortal danger.
At this moment, Song Aiguo’s eyes remained tightly shut, his complexion devoid of blood, showing no signs of regaining consciousness. Decisively, Song Huaiyan removed the copper coin from his own wrist, bit his finger to smear a drop of blood upon it, and then pushed the copper coin directly into Song Aiguo’s mouth.
Forming hand seals with both hands, he tapped a finger lightly against the center of Song Aiguo’s spiritual platform (lingtai). Song Aiguo’s brow relaxed slightly as his entire body went limp and began falling forward. Catching him in his arms, Song Huaiyan noticed countless strands of black Qi spontaneously emerging from the surrounding white mist, wrapping around the scattered paper scraps to gather and swirl overhead.
Under normal circumstances, souls that failed to enter the cycle of reincarnation and drifted in the mortal world would dissipate after a long time. However, once an “obsession” (执) formed, it would generate (illusions), and the continuously breeding phantoms would transform the soul into a state of (calamity), causing it to forget everything except the obsession itself.
Song Aiguo’s earlier attempt to resolve the soul’s obsession had failed, causing those illusory dreams to shatter and transform into new phantoms, deepening the obsession of the master of the Samsara Realm. Given the current situation, Lin Ji must have turned into a “calamity” (厄) under the influence of the phantoms.
“Calamity” belonged to the category of great ferocity; in the human world it would attack the living, while inside the Samsara Realm it acted with even greater unconstraint, swallowing everything within.
The black Qi swirling overhead carrying the paper scraps lunged toward the two figures at the center like a tornado.
When Song Huaiyan raised his hand, the dark-toned oil-paper umbrella had already appeared in his grip. As he swung it, the profound umbrella expanded outward to block the flying paper scraps entirely. The scattered paper scraps gathered once more, forming a black-Qi-entwined paper dragon.
A roll of thunder rang out as lightning like a web blanketed down from the air, accompanied by the piercing, long-drawn howl of a sword’s resonance clashing against metal, churning the wind and clouds at the center of the Samsara Realm into even greater chaos.
It was Shen Yu.
The scattered phantoms had formed a natural barrier around the mental domain, making it impossible for him to enter, but he was not one to sit passively and wait for death. Seeing the black Qi spilling from the white mist multiplying by the moment, the Xuefu (Snow-Burying) Sword un-sheathed, hacking relentlessly straight into that unyielding mass of white fog.
This sword strike did not land on empty mist; instead, it struck something resembling a barrier as hard as iron, reinforced by lightning and thunder, proving impossible to shake.
Inside the mental domain, the paper dragon lunged downward once again toward Song Huaiyan. Depositing Song Aiguo safely to one side, Song Huaiyan wielded his umbrella like a sword, the profound umbrella surface glistening with concentric circles of golden runes. Leaping from the tips of his toes, his body soared into the air as he thrust the umbrella tip straight toward the ink-black eyes of the paper dragon.
Gathering all his spiritual power onto the profound umbrella, he intended to win the fight in a single stroke, but as he leaped mid-air, his momentum abruptly stalled, causing the profound umbrella in his hand to skew by an inch, piercing only into the paper dragon’s face.
Feeling the pain like a living creature, the paper dragon blew out thick gouts of black Qi from the hole pierced by the umbrella, twisting and rolling with escalating violence.
Having failed his single strike, Song Huaiyan was swept by the powerful罡风 (gale-force wind) and plunged downward. Catching himself by opening the profound umbrella to cushion his landing, he managed to steady his footing.
Entering the Samsara Realm had already consumed a massive amount of his spiritual power, and that last strike had practically emptied his reserves.
Lifting his head, Song Huaiyan heard the thunder and sword strikes growing increasingly fierce, suggesting Shen Yu was still battering the barrier from the outside.
True to form, junior brother remains the disobedient type, completely forgetting to control his spiritual power.
Resting heavily on the profound umbrella for support, Song Huaiyan took a ragged breath. Seeing the enraged paper dragon condensing even more black Qi as it thrashed, doubling its size, he made a decisive choice. Channeling spiritual power into his fingertips, he pressed them against three major acupuncture points on his body: his spiritual platform (lingtai), soul abyss (hunyuan), and soul gate (pomen). Then, tracing his fingers downward from the soul gate along his spine to the lower back soul sea (pohai), he concentrated his spiritual power there, driving it rapidly to breach the pohai point.
The next instant, an ice-blue radiance flashed, and something soared out from his soul sea.
Opening his eyes, a stream of golden light flickered across his pupils.
In a split second, the spiritual Qi surrounding Song Huaiyan surged violently, his appearance instantly transforming: his raven hair cascaded like a waterfall, and his profound-colored robes snapped fiercely in the wind.
The illusion at the center of the Samsara Realm shattered with a deafening crash, white paper scraps burned into ashes, and the black mist curled away alongside gray smoke and sparks, dispersing rapidly.
As the white fog cleared, Song Huaiyan walked slowly out while carrying the unconscious Song Aiguo.
Wielding the Xuefu Sword, Shen Yu could not help his eyes shifting as he gazed upon the black-robed figure with flowing white hair.
“Junior brother, within the Samsara Realm, do not act recklessly with your spiritual power,” Song Huaiyan spoke, his voice carrying a slight chill distinct from his usual gentle banter. “Are you lot going to be this disobedient one and all?”
“You…” Looking at him, Shen Yu seemed on the verge of speaking before pausing, asking only, “Was it extremely tricky this time?”
Nodding slightly, Song Huaiyan watched as the fog at the center of the Samsara Realm vanished, returning the surrounding scenery to that initial bustling street. Cries of hawkers echoed endlessly while pedestrians strolled back and forth, paying no heed to the little beggar huddled in the corner.
However, unlike before, the scenery shifted at a breakneck pace in a disordered, chaotic sequence devoid of any rules or method.
It resembled a malfunctioning television screen.
“Just now I forcefully shattered the mental domain; this section of the Samsara Realm belonging to Lin Ji will soon collapse. If we fail to discover Lin Ji’s true obsession before then, his soul will scatter into nothingness without a chance at reincarnation, and we too will be trapped inside the Samsara Realm.” Surveying the surrounding scenes, Song Huaiyan walked over to Shen Yu. “You and Xiao Ai’s souls are extremely fragile right now—stay behind me and don’t move around.”
Having expended massive spiritual power just moments prior, Shen Yu’s complexion looked visibly, painfully pale.
“If you care about him this much, why let him take such risks?” Knitting his brow, Shen Yu took Song Aiguo over from Song Huaiyan’s hands.
“This is Xiao Ai’s first time resolving an obsession, so misjudgments are inevitable. There’s actually enough margin for error inside the Samsara Realm to let him try a few more times.” Pausing briefly, Song Huaiyan added, “I just didn’t expect the kid to sink so deep, and furthermore… he lost the item I gave him.”
Evidently reluctant to dwell on the matter, he focused on the surroundings instead: “The dream he forged for Lin Ji didn’t fail due to a misplaced timeline; the direction itself was wrong.”
“Perhaps what Lin Ji wanted was never redemption, nor rebirth.”
The scenes within the Samsara Realm settled once more upon the moment right before Xu Yun’s death.
“Lin Ji abducted them, and I slaughtered this family. I confess… and submit to the law.”
The green-robed swordsman drew his blade across his own throat to commit suicide, and the Bright Moon Sword fell into the dust.
The water-glossed eyes gradually dimmed as he uttered his final words with his dying breath: “…If there is an afterlife… may you be free of worries, safe and joyful…”
“Junior brother, tell me what was his obsession?” Song Huaiyan did not turn back, merely posing the question.
Watching the figure standing before the corpse burst into roaring laughter, Shen Yu dropped his gaze downward onto the blood-stained little gourd.
“To endlessly repeat in memories what one cannot let go of—that is obsession,” he replied indifferently.
Sighing softly, a trace of bitter, self-deprecating humor tugged at the corners of Song Huaiyan’s mouth. “Free of worries, safe and joyful.”
“This is precisely what he could never let go of.”
Raising a hand, he conjured another paper-crafted zoetrope. As the lantern rotated, a new dream sequence arose within the Samsara Realm.
“He could forgive neither others, nor could he forgive himself.”
Following his death, Lin Ji’s soul had transmigrated into the body of a young soldier who died in battle in another world. Borrowing a corpse to resurrect himself, he survived the chaos of war. From then on, his remaining years unfolded just as that man wished—peaceful, safe, and joyful.
Yet could the thirty years of blood and wind from his past life genuinely pass like a fleeting dream?
Waking up in the dead of night, he frequently felt as though endless cold water were submerging the crown of his head, with thick blood drifting through the water as the green-robed swordsman’s corpse slowly sank before his eyes. A chilling, suffocating tightness gripped his throat every time he woke up bathed in cold sweat.
This belated life of peace and safety could not make up for the regrets of his previous life, nor was he worthy of possessing such a life.
He was steeped in heinous crimes and deserved a fate beyond redemption.
He was a usurper who had stolen someone else’s life.
For someone carrying memories of a past life, a joyful and smooth second half of life resembled a protracted slow-torture and torment rather than a blessing.
He was no longer Xu Yun, nor could he ever become Xu Lin.
“Free of worries, safe and joyful.”
To him, these words constituted a curse.
Seventy-eight years since his rebirth from the river, he had never known a single day of peace and joy.
Spinning at high speed, the zoetrope rushed Lin Ji’s life through the Samsara Realm in a blur. Following the tragic and sinful trajectory of his life, it carried straight on to the bitter end.
The green-robed swordsman slit his throat, while the one-eyed, notorious bandit chieftain perished beneath the converging blades of martial artists and government soldiers.
The young soldier failed to escape the artillery fire; he died right before the dawn alongside countless comrades, turning into bloody mud and shattered bones. No one knew their names, with only the silent river burying their immortal contributions. The peaceful life of his remaining years had merely been a phantom dream before his death.
No one was luckier than anyone else, granted a chance to mend their ways and start anew.
Some people missed the mark by a mere step and never laid eyes upon the dawn. Others plunged straight into the abyss and never found a day to climb back out.
Having committed evil deeds, one must bear the evil consequences; he would taste his own sins.
He required no belated redemption, nor any unearned pity.
The scenes projected by the zoetrope raced rapidly to their conclusion, while the entire Samsara Realm stood teetering on the verge of collapse.
Elderly, white-haired, and dressed in a Zhongshan suit, Xu Lin stood inside the crumbling Samsara Realm. As if time were rewinding, his figure gradually grew younger, transforming back into that youthful, inexperienced little soldier whose star-bright eyes shone with brilliance, marked by a dark red mole beneath the corner of his left eye.
Finally, the little soldier transformed once more into the brocade-robed young master.
Eventually, this final silhouette grew increasingly transparent, shattering into tiny points of starlight that dissipated into nothingness.
“If there ever comes a day when sins are fully redeemed, before entering reincarnation, he ought to forget his past life entirely.” Letting out a long sigh, Song Huaiyan watched his zoetrope shatter amid white light, dispersing into countless white butterflies that drifted away.
Upon leaving the Samsara Realm, Xu Lin’s soul was no longer to be found inside the Hall of Affairs. As per custom, Song Huaiyan inscribed Xu Lin’s name upon a yellow paper talisman, yet bit his finger to draw a peculiar talismanic script using his blood instead.
“My blood holds certain properties for them, making their crossing of the Yellow Springs smoother.” Song Huaiyan explained as he burned the talismanic script, then lit another stick of white incense.
“You didn’t burn incense previously,” Shen Yu remarked.
“Because he was not a soul of this world; without the guidance of the soul-guiding incense, he would never find the road to the Yellow Springs.” Gazing at the curling white smoke drifting straight toward the well opening in the inner courtyard of the Hall of Affairs, Song Huaiyan spoke softly. “Forging dreams to resolve obsessions for lost souls, and guiding them across the Yellow Springs this is the duty of the ferryman.”