The candlelight flickered, casting shadows through the misty fog and the cloud-veiled moon. Xie Chengyun lay on the bed; his body had been carefully sewn back together and dressed once more in snowy-white robes. The Daoist priest shook his head, chanting incantations as he raised a sword made of copper coins.
Zhu Yunyin lay on the edge of the bed, holding Xie Chengyun in his arms, tenderly smoothing his long hair. His gaze was gentle, watching his beloved as if he were merely lost in a deep, peaceful sleep. The entire scene was eerie, yet suffused with a strange sense of warmth.
Suddenly, the priest spat out a large mouthful of fresh blood. He braced himself with his sword, kneeling halfway on the ground as he looked at Zhu Yunyin, who was draped in mourning black. Zhu Yunyin returned his gaze, but through the heavy layers of gauze curtains, his expression remained unreadable.
“How is it?”
“Benefactor, what is meant to be in life will eventually come; what is not meant to be, do not force.”
“I asked you how it is!”
The priest threw himself to his knees. “I cannot find the soul of Prime Minister Xie.”
Zhu Yunyin stood up abruptly, causing Xie Chengyun’s corpse to tumble onto the couch with a dull thud. Startled, Zhu Yunyin rushed to embrace him, soothing him in a soft, coaxing voice: “Ah Yun, I’m sorry. I hurt you when you fell, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Are you in pain?”
The room was filled with the sound of frantic footsteps as the young monarch continued to coddle his beloved. Gu Minzhong led the priest away, whispering, “While the Emperor is occupied with the Prime Minister, leave Shangliang at once.”
Under the bright moonlight, the priest staggered away, drinking wine as he went. “Return, oh return; let the soul return to its home. Go, oh go; let not the heroic spirit linger.”
He hadn’t failed to find Xie Chengyun’s soul he had seen the Soul-Locking Chain in Zhu Yunyin’s room. Poor Xie Chengyun, who had enjoyed such prestige in life, only to suffer such a fate after death. His fame had turned to dust, his body buried beneath three feet of sand.
The night was pitch black, the green leaves withered and yellow; when had autumn arrived so quietly?
Zhu Yunyin held Xie Chengyun, calling out to him in a daze: “Why won’t you come back? Why won’t you come back to look at me?”
The drizzle was hazy, the fallen flowers drifted like snow. The young Emperor of Shangliang had gone mad.
In the sixth year of Jian’an, the Xiaozhuang Emperor came of age. On the day of his crowning ceremony, he declared his intent to marry the late Prime Minister, Xie Chengyun, and crown him as Empress. The imperial court was in an uproar. Kang Wendao even beat his head against a pillar in an attempt to stop the Emperor, staining the court with blood.
The Marquis of Dingyuan had originally intended for the Emperor to return to the capital to handle Xie Chengyun’s funeral rites while he marched straight to the grasslands. He wanted to use Zhaluo’s head and the blood of the Hu people to offer a sacrifice to Xie Chengyun’s wandering soul. Who could have known that news of this marriage would reach him as soon as he arrived in Zhana County? The journey was long; if he waited to return to the capital, everything would be a foregone conclusion.
Riding on his horse, Zhou Biji’s fury roiled like a storm. The Xiaozhuang Emperor was indeed “thoughtful.” In the capital, everyone feared for their lives; students from the Liunong Academy marched in the streets, and the great Confucian scholars knelt for days in protest. Zhu Yunyin had several of them executed, and finally, no one dared to oppose him. He even ordered the Tiangong Workshop to work overtime to craft wedding attire—it was utter madness.
They were wed at dusk, accompanied by the deafening sound of gongs and drums. Zhu Yunyin knelt before the ancestral tablets, holding Xie Chengyun, vowing that from this day forward, they would grow old together and never be parted.
Outside, Han Cizhi shouted at the top of his lungs: “Zhu Yunyin, you beast! He is your Foster Father! He is already dead! You should let him rest in peace, not disturb him even in death!”
Fearing the Emperor might hear, Eunuch Li ordered men to gag Han Cizhi and drag him away.
Zhu Yunyin, however, simply smiled. He lifted Xie Chengyun’s red bridal veil and whispered into his ear: “Foster Father, did you hear? He called me a beast.”
He then pulled off the jade belt and pressed Xie Chengyun down before the ancestral tablets of the past emperors of Shangliang: “I am a beast, Ah Yun. I hate you—I hate you for leaving me alone in this world again.”
Xie Chengyun’s body was ice-cold, but Zhu Yunyin kissed his lips. Outside, there was utter silence, and the doors of the Fahua Hall were tightly shut.
“Ah Yun, I am an adult now. I am a grown man.”
“Shouldn’t you teach me how to truly become one?”
Zhu Yunyin bit Xie Chengyun’s neck. His Foster Father’s head tilted back with closed eyes, looking like a Jade Bodhisattva who had sacrificed himself for the world. If you sacrificed your life for all living beings, will you return to the mortal realm tonight, only to witness this absurdity?
“Ah Yun, Ah Yun, I will make you comfortable.”
His ragged breathing mingled with the scent of sandalwood; pale, bruised marks appeared on the cool, white skin. This was the wedding night of the Xiaozhuang Emperor.
I am a beast who has committed treason against heaven, yet I love you. You are my minister, my teacher, my Foster Father, my Empress—my only wife.
Everyone thought Zhu Yunyin was a useless fool. With him “mad” and the Marquis of Dingyuan far away in the north, they thought they could follow in Xie Chengyun’s footsteps and hold the Emperor hostage. Only when Zhu Yunyin truly took the throne did they realize how naive they had been. Zhu Yunyin’s methods were even more ruthless than Xie Chengyun’s.
All his supposed benevolence, kindness, and virtue were masks. He was a true tyrant, groomed by the legendary Xie Chengyun himself. He understood history, politics, and the manipulation of imperial power. None in the court dared to defy him.
Zhou Biji hacked off Zhaluo’s head and led the Zhou Family Army back to the capital in a rush. Without even shedding his armor, he marched straight into the Hall of Mental Cultivation. The moment he entered, he saw Xie Chengyun lying on the silk-draped couch. Zhou Biji pulled back the curtains. Using some unknown method, Zhu Yunyin had made Xie Chengyun look as if he were merely sleeping, unchanged from life.
He reached out to touch his face, but the quilt slipped, revealing Xie Chengyun’s body, covered in hickeys.
Absurd! Too absurd!
Zhou Biji dressed Xie Chengyun properly, picked him up, and prepared to walk out. Zhu Yunyin hurried over, standing before him with sword drawn. The Imperial Guards stood behind the young monarch. Zhu Yunyin, looking grim, spread his arms: “Give Ah Yun back to me.”
“Give him back to you? Who do you think you are?”
Zhu Yunyin’s black robes whipped in the wind; his expression was pained, yet he had no words to answer. Were they father and son? But what son marries his father? Were they husband and wife? But what couple in this world was like them?
Zhou Biji shouldered past Zhu Yunyin while carrying Xie Chengyun. “You are nothing. What right do you have to make me hand him over to you?”
Zhu Yunyin grabbed Zhou Biji’s arm: “I do not wish to make things difficult for you, Uncle, but do not make things difficult for me, either.”
Zhou Biji stared at Zhu Yunyin; the boy had the blood of the Zhou family and was his older sister’s only son. He was the child Xie Chengyun had raised, and the Emperor of Shangliang.
“If you truly love him, you should let him rest in peace. Do you have the heart to let him become a wandering ghost?”
Zhu Yunyin fell silent, his whole body trembling as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. Finally, he let Zhou Biji carry Xie Chengyun away.
The Prime Minister had passed away. He lay in the coffin of a loyal official, held at the Fahua Temple. Han Cizhi was right—this was the only coffin in all of Shangliang worthy of Xie Chengyun.
Zhou Biji pressed his forehead against Xie Chengyun’s: “Ah Yun, do not be afraid. I will never leave again. I have come to take you home.”
They invited the Great Monk Qingyun to perform the funeral rites. On the day of the burial, the crowds were endless. The funeral procession stretched for a hundred li. Zhu Yunyin also came to pay his final respects.
The young students of Liunong Academy, hot-blooded and angry at the absurd things Zhu Yunyin had done, hurled their cups at him, shouting: “You have no right to offer incense to the Master! You have no right to be here!”
Though the students were pulled back by Han Cizhi and Zhu Yunyin was drenched in the tea from the cups, he unexpectedly showed no anger. Instead, he knelt respectfully to offer incense and burn paper. He looked haggard, his eye sockets sunken, dressed in the mourning clothes of a grieving widow.
Dreams return to the oriole’s song; people age easily. A thin layer of earth; the love is so deep.
The rain fell intermittently, making the muddy road difficult to traverse. When night fell, Zhu Yunyin came alone to Xie Chengyun’s grave. The mourners from the daytime had long gone. Zhu Yunyin lay down, leaning against the tombstone to look at the stars.
The rain grew heavier, and his vision blurred. Where are tonight’s stars? Does Ah Yun become a star after he dies?
Zhu Yunyin hugged the tombstone, pointing into the void: “Look, Ah Yun. So many people came to see you off, but in the end, isn’t it still just me staying with you?”
“If I didn’t come to see you, wouldn’t your grave be covered in weeds before long?”
“How pitiful.”
Zhu Yunyin rested his head against the stone. “Ah Yun, I miss you.”
“I miss you so much.”
“Do you hate me that much? Why won’t you even visit me in my dreams?”
“Zhou Biji said he wanted to let you rest in peace, not let you become a wandering ghost. But I regret it.”
“With me by your side, how could my Ah Yun ever be a wandering ghost?”
“Now that you are so far away, I have to walk such a long, long road just to see you. If you could see me, you would surely feel heartache, wouldn’t you?”
His vision blurred, and he could no longer distinguish whether the liquid on his face was rain or tears.
“I regret it. I truly regret it.”
“I should have made you stay with me.”
Day and night, following one another; in life and death, no regrets. In life, share the same quilt; in death, share the same grave.
Zhu Yunyin knelt on the ground and began to dig into the earth with his hands. His ten fingers were covered in blood, yet he felt no pain. But as he dug, he felt it was too slow. He tossed the fruit offerings aside and picked up the plate to continue digging. When tired, he lay in the dirt pit to rest, just like when he was young, lying in his Foster Father’s arms.
Zhu Yunyin suddenly thought that dying like this wouldn’t be so bad. If I cover myself with this yellow soil, would that be like spending a lifetime together, then dying together? He would be Ah Yun’s offering; even if he turned into a mayfly, he would die at his Foster Father’s fingertips, just so he could see him one more time. He would always remember Ah Yun’s kindness, always dream of Suizhou—that night, though short, was worth more than a whole life.
In the desolate wilderness, the rain poured down. Zhu Yunyin suddenly opened his eyes and scrambled up again. He had to see Ah Yun one more time; he had to lie in Ah Yun’s coffin. No one could separate them—no one!
After digging all night, the sky began to brighten. Zhu Yunyin finally saw the corner of the coffin. He smiled, but just as he reached out to lift the lid, he noticed his filthy hands.
Foster Father loves white robes most of all; he loves cleanliness.
Zhu Yunyin hurriedly tidied himself, ran to a nearby tree, and washed his hands and face using the rainwater gathered on the leaves. Only then did he lift the wooden lid, wearing that foolish smile his Foster Father loved best.
But when he lifted it, only sorrow and rage remained.
Laughing at your inability to let go, when it was never meant to be, yet you forced it anyway.
A ruthless fate strikes down the obsessed lover. A dream of Huangliang who can clearly discern the causes and effects of this world?
You die and I live; the Yellow Springs are a vast distance away. Heaven has no pity; even in death, there is no rest.