Song Huaiyan did not return to Liangbuyi. Instead, he settled Song Aiguo inside the dark chamber’s mysterious coffin, pulled out a yellow talisman, and stuck it right on his forehead.
He chuckled, seeming quite satisfied with his placement.
Next, he dug out a bottle of medicinal pills from the room and handed them to Shen Yu, instructing him to take them and sit in meditation to regulate his breath.
“There are still Qingming dumplings on the stove. If you’re hungry, eat some first while I go back to make dinner.”
He nagged incessantly, acting just like an overly anxious mother about to go on a long journey.
“Help me keep an eye on him. Although the Bureau of All Affairs has various restrictive formations set up, Qingming Festival is a special day. There’s no telling if other wandering ghosts might show up, so if anything happens, call m—” He suddenly remembered that Shen Yu didn’t have a phone. “I’ll hurry back as soon as possible.”
Perhaps I really should just buy him one. Relying entirely on a pair of legs for communication is terribly inconvenient.
Just as Song Huaiyan turned to leave, he heard Shen Yu ask, “Where are you going?”
“To the temple to pay respects to the Bodhisattva and pray for peace for both of you. Otherwise, having ten hearts wouldn’t be enough to worry about you two all day long.” Song Huaiyan made a Buddhist hand gesture, his expression half-joking and half-serious.
He had originally worried that Shen Yu would want to tag along, but this time Shen Yu said nothing at all. Instead, that silence left him feeling a bit disappointed.
As for leaving Shen Yu alone at the Bureau of All Affairs, he wasn’t worried. The restrictive formations here were numerous and entirely different from the sorcery of Yunzhou. Moreover, Shen Yu wasn’t skilled in talismans and arrays, so he shouldn’t be able to break them easily.
After stepping outside, Song Huaiyan packed a few Qingming dumplings from the incense table. Heading first east and then all the way north, he genuinely arrived in front of an old, dilapidated temple.
The temple nestled at the foot of the mountain, hidden amid lush greenery. Its scale was small, appearing rather run-down. The large characters “Miaoguang Temple” on the lintel had their paint peeled off, bearing the full marks of weathered time. Looking cold and desolate, it clearly wasn’t a place of thriving incense; even in broad daylight, the heavy doors remained tightly shut, exuding a sense of bleakness.
Song Huaiyan pushed open the temple doors and walked straight inside. After a few turns, he reached the meditation room.
In the courtyard, several pear trees stood tall and straight, their crowns of white blossoms battered all over the ground by the fine drizzle.
The door to the meditation room was open, and facing the entrance hung a piece of calligraphy bearing the two characters “Emptiness” (Bukong). The brushwork was unconstrained, extraordinarily dashing and elegant.
A monk in white robes sat cross-legged with his back to the door, as though he had forgotten everything in the mortal world amidst his meditation. Song Huaiyan was in no rush to disturb him; he simply leaned quietly against the pear tree.
About ten minutes later, a thoroughly exasperated “Damn it” drifted from inside the room. Song Huaiyan’s lips curved up slightly as he immediately stood up and walked inside with an expression of schadenfreude.
“Amitabha.” The white-robed monk slowly rose from his straw cushion, turned around, pressed the five fingers of his right hand together in front of his chest, and made a Buddhist bow. “What brings the benefactor here?”
Draped in pristine white monastic robes, his appearance was even more striking. With a smile touching his lips and the outer corners of his eyes slightly upturned, he possessed a pair of somewhat enchanting, seductive fox-like eyes that contrasted rather sharply with his ethereal temperament.
“I’m here to celebrate the holiday with you.” Song Huaiyan pointed to the plastic bag in his hand. “Kong Kong, have you eaten?”
“Your humble monk has been awaiting you for a long time.” The monk immediately put on a warm, amiable smile, reaching out to take the Qingming dumplings handed over by Song Huaiyan. He gently nudged the Buddhist scriptures and incense burner on the altar to the side, placed the takeout box right on top, and executed the movements with elegant familiarity.
Song Huaiyan stopped at the threshold of the meditation room, leaning against the door frame as he glanced down at the phone screen hidden beneath the monk’s robes. The screen was still lingering on a gray defeat screen from the end of a game.
“Well? Did Grandmaster Bukong run into a team of total dead weight again and lose the match?”
“Failing to deliver all living beings from suffering is this humble monk’s failing.” The monk pinched a dumpling with a helpless shake of his head before looking back at Song Huaiyan. “Benefactor, you haven’t logged on in ages. I’m afraid you’ve long forgotten our sworn brotherhood in the valley.”
Song Huaiyan gave a light cough. “Busy making a living, and raising a kid isn’t easy. Ashamed, truly ashamed.”
With graceful composure, the monk finished two dumplings, wiped his hands clean with a handkerchief, and gestured for the person by the door to sit, his tone carrying the casual ease of old acquaintances. “Sit. Or just how much longer do you plan to force yourself to hold on?”
Song Huaiyan smiled, sitting down on the opposite meditation cushion with practiced familiarity.
“Kong Kong truly cares about me.”
“If you weren’t driven to desperation, I’m afraid you wouldn’t come to find me in person.” The monk’s fox-like eyes gazed at him with a deep, quiet look. “I’ve known you for so long, and this is only the second time you’ve pulled out a Soul-Casting Nail.”
“Circumstances forced my hand…” Song Huaiyan smiled with a tug at the corner of his mouth, his expression looking somewhat exhausted.
He extended his left hand. Resting upon his palm was startlingly a long needle, completely crystal-clear and glowing with a dark red light.
The monk picked up the long needle, and Song Huaiyan obediently turned his back, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his entire spine.
His back was slender and upright with well-proportioned lines, entirely free of scars.
Holding the needle against his chest, the monk chanted a Buddhist mantra, causing the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist to emit a dark red glow. In that very instant, a flash of red light illuminated the room, and the long needle in his hand accurately drove straight into the Soul Sea acupuncture point on Song Huaiyan’s back.
The formidable force caused the upper half of Song Huaiyan’s body to lurch violently forward, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
He propped himself halfway up on the ground with his palm, gasping heavily. His entire body was racked with tremors, and cold sweat streamed down his forehead as he endured an immense wave of agony.
Twirling his prayer beads, the monk quietly waited.
After about a quarter of an hour, Song Huaiyan finally seemed to recover somewhat, raising a hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his lips.
“Grandmaster Bukong’s acupuncture technique is top-notch. Next time… I’ll still request your services…” He gave a teasing thumbs-up amidst his banter, then groped around to put his clothes back on.
Only after Song Huaiyan’s breathing steadied did the monk slowly speak. “This time… was it because of that little kid?”
Song Huaiyan remained silent, which the monk took as tacit confirmation.
“The damage that Soul-Casting Nails inflict on the body and soul is irreversible. You won’t survive three times.” The monk stopped twirling his prayer beads. “If there’s a next time, this humble monk will gladly offer free cremation services.”
“You wouldn’t go that far, Master, would you? Didn’t I just pull out one?” Song Huaiyan rubbed his chin. “I reckon I can still take at least three more.”
The monk cast him the kind of look one reserves for an utterly delusional man before finally remarking, “As long as you’re happy.”
“Kong Kong.” Song Huaiyan abruptly changed the subject. “I have another matter I want to ask you about this time.”
The monk made a welcoming gesture, waiting for him to continue.
“Can a living person cross through the rifts of time and space?”
Twirling his prayer beads, the monk replied serenely, “If you’ve seen one, then they can.”
Song Huaiyan looked at him, his gaze growing heavy. “You knew all along?”
The monk offered a noncommittal response.
Song Huaiyan asked again, “Do you know… who he is?”
The monk brought his palms together. “This humble monk is a Buddhist monk, not a fortune-teller.”
Thinking it over, Song Huaiyan spoke truthfully, “He is my junior brother from another world.”
“His current condition isn’t very good. I don’t know if his soul was injured during the time-travel or if his cultivation has gone awry, but he is suffering from both amnesia and fits of madness.” He explained further, “I tried entering his sea of consciousness, but his mental defenses are currently too strong. I could only use a sliver of spiritual awareness to make a preliminary probe; whenever his condition flares up, his sea of consciousness becomes a chaotic mess of excruciating pain…”
Half-drooping his eyelids, the monk concealed the unreadable emotions in his gaze.
Then he softly murmured, “This humble monk is not a physician and cannot cure illnesses.”
Song Huaiyan: “…What use are you then?”
The monk spread his hands. “Safe journey, I won’t see you out.”
Deflated, Song Huaiyan put his smiling face back on. “Master, show mercy and save me once more.”
It was already two hours later by the time they returned to the Bureau of All Affairs. The gloomy twilight of the rainy day enveloped the area in a chilling cold.
For once, Song Huaiyan took the front entrance. The moment he unlocked the door, he spotted Shen Yu standing under the veranda.
“Junior brother… why are you standing out here?” Holding an umbrella, he walked slowly closer, forcing a smile onto his slightly pale face. “That kid hasn’t woken up yet, has he?”
Without answering, Shen Yu simply stated, “Your complexion is terrible.”
“Ah, isn’t it all because I’m worried sick over this household? Hungry? I’ll go make dinner.” Turning his head to avoid being seen through, Song Huaiyan headed straight for the kitchen. “Since junior brother cares about me so much, how about you wash the dishes today?”
Although the kitchen at the Bureau of All Affairs had been fired up these past few days, they usually returned to Liangbuyi for dinner, meaning ingredients were sparse. Song Huaiyan simply cooked two bowls of noodles. They finished eating in silence, and Shen Yu genuinely went to wash the dishes without uttering a single word.
Normally, Song Huaiyan treated him like a pampered young immortal, but today he said nothing, heading straight down to the dark chamber to check on Song Aiguo’s condition.
Song Aiguo lay inside the mysterious coffin with the yellow talisman still stuck to his forehead. Dreaming of something unknown, his entire face was scrunched up into a ferocious expression, adding an extra layer of horror-movie ambiance.
Song Huaiyan probed his sea of consciousness, his brows furrowing tightly. He then slashed open his own wrist and fed his blood directly into the boy’s mouth.
Tearing off the yellow talisman, he stood up, intending to leave, only to find that Shen Yu was already standing inside the dark chamber.
“You’re always like this?” Shen Yu looked at him, his eyes carrying unreadable emotions.
Processing the question—realizing Shen Yu was referring to the blood-feeding—Song Huaiyan explained, “Aiguo’s situation is a bit special. He suffered too much erosion from nightmares today, and his soul is unstable. My blood can help him recover.”
“What kind of person is he?” Shen Yu took a few steps closer, pressing for answers.
“He’s… my younger brother…” Song Huaiyan smiled. “Though we aren’t related by blood, I raised him. I’m practically half a father to him.”
“However, don’t tell him about this for now. I’ll explain it to him slowly later.” Song Huaiyan was referring to the matter of feeding his blood. As he stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to steady himself by gripping the edge of the coffin.
“Song… Huaiyan.” For the very first time, Shen Yu called him by his full name. “Are you like this with everyone?”
Still battling dizziness, the sounds around him felt muffled, as if separated by a layer of water. Frowning instinctively, he muttered vaguely, “He’s my younger brother… I have to… raise him for the rest of my life…”
What suddenly flashed through his mind, however, was: I once lost a younger brother…
“…Just how much blood do you have to spare? Treating yourself like a walking pharmacy for others?” Shen Yu’s chilly voice drifted vaguely into his ears. “Is your blood really that worthless?”
Those words felt like a cold, sharp thorn piercing his heart, causing Song Huaiyan to halt his breathing for several beats.
“Yan’er, never act recklessly and get hurt in the future. Your blood is a thousand-gold medicine nourished by precious herbs.”
“You are my disciple; watching you bleed yourself like this to treat illnesses breaks master’s heart as well.”
“Yan’er, you said master’s grace toward you is as heavy as a mountain. Surely you can spare this bit of blood, right?
The agony of his body and soul fusing back together brought by the Soul-Casting Nails had not yet dissipated, and the chaotic intertwining of memories from multiple lifetimes in his mind only made his head split with pain.
Clinging to the edge of the coffin, he forcefully suppressed the surging blood in his throat, closed his eyes, and muttered in a low drone, “Ha, my blood is exceptionally valuable… Did Changfeng not tell you?”
“What did you say?”
His words reached his ears with a slight delay. Before he could react, his throat was gripped by an immense force.
“I—” Opening his mouth, his mind was too muddled to think straight. Driven by a surge of defiance, the words blurted out, “I said… am I some kind of terribly cheap person? Ha… hahaha…”
“Song Yan!” Unable to understand what he was talking about, Shen Yu gripped his throat, his five fingers tightening out of emotional turmoil. “…You really are Song Yan! You are him—”
“No… I’m not him.” Grabbing the hand that was choking his neck, Song Huaiyan forced out the words with difficulty. “Song Yan died long ago… I’m nothing more than a lonely wandering ghost…”
The wound on his wrist opened up once more from the exertion, smearing blood onto Shen Yu’s arm. For a split second, Shen Yu was distracted, his grip slackening slightly. Seizing the opening, Song Huaiyan slammed a palm against his chest, broke free from the restraint, and leveraged the recoil to stumble back several steps until his spine crashed heavily against the stone wall.
“Cough, cough… cough, cough, cough…” Clutching his throat, he coughed violently, his voice raspy and low. “Shen Yu… are you going to kill me… one more time?”
Shen Yu’s gaze trembled. The hand that had just pinned Song Huaiyan’s neck dropped to his side, his fingers curling into themselves involuntarily. He stared at the person before him with a complex expression he couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Why…” Raising his head, Song Huaiyan’s reddened eyes were brimming with self-mockery and sorrow. “Why…”
Why do you hate me so much…
The chaotic memories rolled in like a tidal wave, sending waves of piercing pain through his brain—pain so sharp that his consciousness blurred. Pressing his left hand hard against his head, the red string on his right ring finger suddenly materialized at that exact moment.
Looking down, Shen Yu saw the other end of that red string appear around the ring finger of his own left hand.
“Song Yan…” Before he could finish, he saw Song Huaiyan move his arm, dragging the red string toward his chest. The immense pulling force yanked Shen Yu forward.
Reflexively raising his right hand to grab the red string on his left, Shen Yu discovered that the thread seemed to possess a life of its own; it rapidly wrapped around his hands, binding both of them together in a flash. The red thread then continued to slither across his body, tightening like a dumpling wrapping as it cocooned him from head to toe.
Just as the red string pulled him right toward Song Huaiyan’s chest, Song Huaiyan grabbed his shoulders, spun them both around, and pinned him flat against the stone wall.
“You!” Furious, Shen Yu was left speechless, unable to even voice a question.
Pressing his hands against Shen Yu’s shoulders, Song Huaiyan held him firmly pinned in place.
“Why? Shen Yu…” His gaze had grown somewhat hazy, his voice teetering on the edge of a sob. “Why do you hate me so much…”
Seemingly stunned by this sudden behavior and dialogue, Shen Yu parted his lips, his soft-toned lips trembling slightly.
Song Huaiyan began to chuckle softly a sound half- (crying) and half- (laughing). Abruptly stopping, he fixed his gaze unwaveringly on Shen Yu.
“Is it because…”
His voice hitched, and then, leaning forward, he pressed his lips straight against Shen Yu’s.
For a split second, Shen Yu’s mind went completely blank. He simply stood there in a daze, letting the warm contact press against his lips until the sensual warmth finally allowed his reason to return. As his complexion shifted from pale to flushed, a surge of emotion welled up inside him, and he bit right back down onto those lips.
Pantingly stepping back, Song Huaiyan gazed dazedly at Shen Yu with a stunned expression.
“Ha, figures…” Wiping the blood from his lips, he let out a bitter laugh. “Now… you have a reason to hate me all over again…”
Stumbling on his feet as his vision turned pitch black, he seemed to hear Shen Yu calling his name over and over, though the voice sounded distant and ethereal, wispy like smoke.