Chapter 137: Call at Once!

Zhiyin.

Shifu, why did you name me Zhiyin?

Si-di, you’re foolish. Of course, it’s because we have to hide you away.

What Si-di? Da-Shijie, please get it right—I’m second. Why do you have to hide me away?

As long as you’re not ranked first, it doesn’t matter what rank you are. Besides, do you think “Jiang Er” sounds any better than “Jiang Si”? As for why we have to hide you… ng, probably because Shifu thinks you’re way too good at stirring up trouble.

Waa, Da-Shijie, listen to you talking about other people—clearly, you’re the one who causes us the most trouble.

Xiaomai, you’re so biased, siding with Jiang Si like that.

Neither of you is any good—you argue all day long and make Shifu dizzy!

What do you mean dizzy… ah! Shifu really is dizzy!

The three of them had been tossing a crumpled ball of paper back and forth, but now none of them cared about writing anymore. They all tossed their brushes aside and rushed to the table, like a flock of hungry baby birds craning their necks, all shouting over each other: “Shifu! Shifu!”

“Oh my heavens, aaaa…” Jiang Xueqing lay sprawled across the seat, eyes shut in pain. “Stop calling me!”

Jiang Zhuo said, “Shifu, you have to get up and uphold justice.”

Jia Man shoved him aside. “Shifu, just go back to sleep. Whatever disaster or trouble is going on outside, I can handle it…”

Jiang Zhuo leaned back in against her hand, sticking his head forward again. “No, Shifu, you have to catch her right now! If Posuo Sect ends up in her hands in the future, I’m running away!”

In the middle of their shoving match, Tian Nanxing swayed from side to side, still with fresh ink smudged on her hands and face from writing earlier. She was barely taller than the table, and kept trying to mediate—one side then the other: “Da-Shijie, you’re the oldest, so give Si-Ge a little leeway. Si-Ge, don’t always make Da-Shijie mad. Why don’t we three just be good and listen, okay? Shifu, don’t you think I’m right?”

The three of them kept tossing words back and forth, none of them listening to the others, until finally they all crowded back beside the couch, shouting again: “Shifu! Shifu!”

Jiang Xueqing clutched her head. “Ah…”

Seeing her react, the three only got more excited: “Shifu! Shifu!”

“Ahhhh—!” Jiang Xueqing rolled over, not caring that her hair was now a tangled mess, turning over several times across the couch until she ended up by the window. “If Heaven intends to kill me, why use this method? If I’m going to be annoyed to death and driven mad by you lot, I might as well draw my sword and end it right now!”

She gripped her sword hilt with one hand, making a show of drawing it. All three children were horrified and covered their eyes at once.

Jiang Zhuo said, “Killing yourself is so spineless. Why don’t you take your sword and just wipe the three of us out first?”

Jia Man said, “Blood splatters on the couch are hard to clean. Then Shibo Yueming will get mad again.”

It was still Tian Nanxing who spoke sense: “Stop talking, you two—Shifu’s already gone!”

They lowered their hands, and sure enough, Shifu had already slipped out the window and vanished. The three of them clambered up onto the couch one after another, crowding around the window to peer outside.

Jiaman said, “Shifu’s gone, but… on that tree across the ridge, doesn’t it look like there’s someone sitting there?”

Her hair was like satin, bright and smooth, and because she liked money, Shifu had tied copper coins to the seven or eight little braids she wore. Because she loved running around, each braid ended with a little gold bell shaped like a firefish. Now that she was leaning out the window, all those coins and ornaments blocked her marital sibling’s view entirely.

Jiang Zhuo said, “Move, let me and little Shimei see.”

Jia Man said curiously, “Have we had any guests these past few days? I don’t recognise him. He’s really tall, and his hair’s all curly…”

Tian Nanxing asked, “What does ‘curly’ mean?”

Jiang Zhuo said, “Don’t copy her.”

“Eh?” Jiaman blinked, then went on, “He’s walking this way. What kind of divine art is that? It doesn’t look like a Lingxing technique. No, wait—no, wait—it’s fire!”

The quiet room suddenly grew hot. The paper balls they had tossed aside earlier began to burn on their own. Jiang Zhuo flinched and pressed a hand to the corner of his eye—those three red marks there burned as well. His heart thudded in chaos, as though a name were scorching him from within.

“I’ll give you the name…”

His martial siblings were both gone. In the crimson firelight, someone was holding Jiang Zhuo’s hand. Sometimes he was tall and towering, sometimes the same height as Jiang Zhuo, as though his size shifted at will—changing with nothing but a thought.

“It’s written in your palm.”

Jiang Zhuo opened his palm. A red thread coiled around his fingers, wound up his wrist, and stretched outward toward the window.

Zhiyin.

Zhiyin—

Chaotic, jumbled memories burst open before his eyes like a row of tightly closed sliding doors suddenly flung wide. They slid open with sharp swishes, revealing the figures standing behind them—each one turning their head in turn, each bearing the same face.

The Yongze Tyrant commands the realm, the Baiwei sovereign steeped in sin—see the Three Mountains enter the capital, the myriad sects united to kill him once. Bosuo Sect disciples descend the mountain for the first time—Xianyin lays the trap, Yongyuan dies in devotion—see the black mist and crows, fate unyielding, and kill him once more.

On Beilu Mountain’s peak, the spirit monkey presents its treasure—at midnight the drums beat, music resounds—lonely farewell at the desolate spring, two mountains collapse, Shifu drinks as the sea floods the sky, unflinching as the sword breaks—minor victory, scouting in the snow, ten thousand li of flying snow, yin and yang reversed!

Chaos! Chaos!

Jiang Zhuo’s head felt as if it would split apart. Those people surged through him like a flood bursting a dam—one after another passing through his body. He clutched one eye, his amber pupil blown wide, and inside it was himself—himself—and countless selves!

You… you… in this mortal world there is only pain, so much pain… where is my mother… Huimang digs out the heart… endless darkness… Jiùjiu… Jiùjiu… let me out!

Ask the Dao, question the heavens, manji seal presses the heart, twin leopards leaning close—don’t kiss me—souls pledged—one glance at Peidu and from then on fate, fate, fate—it’s you and me!

Ming Zhuo, Jiang Zhuo, Yongze, Zhiyin—Ming Zhuo, Jiang Zhuo, Yongze, Zhiyin—quickly call me—

Jiang Zhuo’s soul trembled, about to be wrenched from his body by some force. He couldn’t help crying out in pain, “Ah, ah—!”

In the rain mist, amid falling snow, that same figure was always holding his hand—sometimes facing him, sometimes with their back to him.

“I will give you my name.”

“I will follow you.”

That figure seemed to have a single mouth that could only speak in overlapping voices, always speaking in unison:

“But from now on—”

“Will you want to see me?”

He was black-haired, and he was silver-haired—beneath crashing waves, in the rumble of thunder—supporting Jiang Zhuo’s back, gripping Ming Zhuo’s wrist. It was long premeditated, and yet careless all the same.

“With such a bad temper”

“Will you drink all your wine with me from now on?”

The quiet room was nearly consumed by fire, but the window still remained. Jiang Zhuo stumbled, pushing away his pillow, clinging to the window frame—but outside, all was pitch-black except for a mocking, venomous face.

“Dear nephew—meeting again, are we?” Ming Han was still dressed as he had been at the time of the mass sacrifice. He leaned down slightly, seeming a thousand times taller than Jiang Zhuo, gazing at him like a puppet in his palm. A sly, secretive smile spread across his face. “You thought you could get away? Even if your body is reforged and your soul mended, you will never escape the palm of my hand.”

The sound of chains rang out. The curse-script of the Blood Shackle Spell crawled in along the window, gnawing at Jiang Zhuo like a swarm of insects. They covered the red thread on his hand and crept up his arm.

“Come to me,” Ming Han laughed. “All other mortal vessels are useless waste—but you, with a mind so unyielding, not fit to destroy, a life thread like wild grass—burn it, and it still grows back!”

“No…” Jiang Zhuo was dragged forward, one foot braced on the windowsill as he strained backwards, forcing out the words, “You’re dead already—how dare you come into my heart-sea!”

Ming Han said, “Precisely because I am dead, I fear nothing. Don’t you know? I am your heart demon.”

Jiang Zhuo said, “You are not.”

Ming Han’s face nearly pressed against the window, his gaze wild. “If I’m not, then who else could make you so afraid?”

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes met his, hearing all the voices merge into one. A wry smile tugged at his lips, as though pushed into it by that voice. “In this world, there’s no one I fear. Ming Han, I’ll say only two words—so listen well.”

His voice dropped, as though to shatter the chaotic memories, calling that person forth from past and present to stand before him.

Jiang Zhuo said, “Tai Qing!”

The flames in the quiet room vanished in an instant. Ming Han and the Blood Shackle Spell were gone. In the darkness, strands of silver hair flew forward, sweeping past Jiang Zhuo’s eyes—then, someone’s hand clasped his.

All evil receded, and light came from ahead.

Jiang Zhuo’s eyes flew open after being shut tight for so long, and he gasped for breath.

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