“Hey hey, did you hear? Things have been quite unsettled at the Imperial Astrology Bureau lately!”
“Oh? What happened?”
“It seems like some big shot came from somewhere, called Qiyueban or something. He claims to be a direct disciple of the founding patriarch. Even the National Master Zhuge Daren had to show respect and call him Master.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
“Of course there’s a connection!” The person lowered his voice:
“I heard that Master has a particularly strange and terrifying temper. As soon as he entered the bureau, he dealt with quite a few people. Just yesterday alone, over a dozen young disciples were kicked out and sent to the back mountain as menial laborers!”
“Ah… so scary?”
A group of young boys huddled together whispering, talking while using brooms to sweep the fallen leaves on the ground.
This time, it was the golden autumn season.
Fu Sang remembered that in the last flashback, his viewing angle wasn’t very high; the host of that memory was still a young child. But this time, his line of sight was much higher, suggesting that the child from the war-torn times had grown into a young teen.
He passed the gossiping young disciples and went straight to the woodshed, picking out a small shovel from a pile of old tools. After testing its weight a couple of times, he held it in his hand.
When the young boy lowered his head, Fu Sang followed his gaze downward and saw layer upon layer of fresh and old scars on his hands.
“Who is he…”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before. He seems to be heading to the back mountain…could he also have been sent by Master Qiyueban to do menial labor?”
“He’s still bleeding from his arm. How pitiful…”
The voices of the young disciples fell far behind.
As they said, the boy went all the way to the back mountain, found a spot halfway up, and drove the shovel into the ground.
After a few digs, maybe finding the shovel not to his liking, he simply threw the tool aside and used his bare hands to scrape at the hard mountain soil.
Sharp stone shards hidden beneath the earth cut the boy’s hands. The wounds were deep, instantly staining his jade-white fingertips red.
The boy didn’t care, as if he couldn’t feel the pain, and kept digging hard at the earth and stone, soon hollowing out a small pit at his feet.
“Hey, you’re here?”
Another voice came from afar, carrying a faint fragrance of lilies that seemed out of place in the mountain forest.
The boy didn’t look up, only continuing with what he was doing.
Soon, a crimson hem of clothing appeared in his field of vision.
“You’re injured,” the person said.
“Do I need you to remind me?”
The boy’s voice carried a coldness that kept people at arm’s length.
“It must hurt a lot.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“What are you digging for? Can I help you?”
“Scram.”
Every word was sharp, every sentence a refusal, but the person didn’t go away as the boy had wished.
After a moment of silence, he let out a chuckle instead, “Why so fierce, kid?”
“?” The young boy finally looked up at this busybody with nothing better to do.
In the mountain forest, the young man in a crimson form-fitting outfit stood out, his long hair tied in a high ponytail and cascading over his shoulders. He had handsome features and eyes like bright stars, a faint smile at the corners of his lips:
“The National Master sent me here to find you. My name is Qi Changying. What’s yours?”
“…”
The boy quickly lowered his head again. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his tone sullen and his words tumbling out fast, uttering two characters:
“Su Li.”
Qi Changying thought for a moment, then asked, “Which two characters?”
The memory was too brief, condensing and then scattering quickly, so Fu Sang didn’t hear Su Li’s answer.
But somehow, he felt he already had the answer in his heart.
Su Li, Su Li.
The Su of hui su (to go back).
The Li of li bie (to part).
…
Fu Sang’s eyes snapped open.
The winter night wind blew against his wet hair and clothes, making him shiver.
Seeing him awake, Huo Wei quickly rushed over. “Holy crap… what happened to you? You scared me to death, you know…”
“I’m fine…”
Fu Sang raised a hand to grab his cold, wet hair, but as he lifted his hand, he saw the blood-stained bone coin in his palm.
“What exactly is at the bottom of the lake? I thought some water monster was pulling at your feet down there.”
Huo Wei couldn’t swim, and even if she could, she wouldn’t have recklessly followed Fu Sang in…she was a warm living person who hated the cold.
She had been waiting on the shore the whole time. When she saw Fu Sang suddenly surface and then look like he was about to die, using the Ghost Blood Whip to cling to rocks and haul himself ashore, she was absolutely terrified. She was scared that he had stirred up some ghost king or megalodon-type creature down there that she couldn’t handle.
“There’s a seal.”
“What kind of seal?”
“I don’t know. It’s already been broken. This was pressed inside.”
Huo Wei looked at the bone coin in his hand and found it a bit strange:
“If it was a sealed item, how did it end up in Wei Luyuan’s hands? Wei Luyuan is just an ordinary college student,there’s no way she has the ability to break a formation and retrieve objects.”
“Exactly, so someone else broke the seal. It might not be a coincidence that it ended up in her hands.” Fu Sang nodded.
“Oh… you suspect it’s related to the dream she had and the man in that dream?”
“Mm. Do you think anyone can just have a dream and accurately dream up the exact method for the forbidden blood-sacrifice soul-resurrection technique that I had to coax and trick out of a direct bloodline descendant?”
Whether it was because of the cold or some other reason, Fu Sang had a bad headache. He rubbed his temples:
“…Let’s head back first.”
Jumping into a lake for a swim in the middle of the night in the dead of winter was still too much of a test on his physique. Back home, Fu Sang changed out of his wet clothes and took a hot shower, but even afterward, he still didn’t feel quite right, like he was coming down with a cold.
He sniffled, wrapped an extra blanket around himself, and sat down in the corner of the sofa.
A ghost stealthily crept over again, nestling close to him and quietly sniffing at his scent.
Fu Sang ignored him at first, but after a moment, as if remembering something, he suddenly turned his head and silently stared into Qi Changying’s eyes.
Qi Changying hadn’t expected him to turn around without warning. Caught off guard, he instinctively widened his eyes slightly but didn’t dare move, waiting for Fu Sang’s next instruction.
Fu Sang didn’t speak. He simply looked into Qi Changying’s gray eyes, noticing that the blood-red pupils had dilated slightly under his gaze.
Fu Sang raised his hand, cupping Qi Changying’s chin and tilting his face up slightly, trying to reconcile the Crimson Evil before him with the image of that spirited young general in his memories.
Between seventeen or eighteen and twenty-two, there wouldn’t be much change in appearance, which was normal.
What was truly remarkable was that he had gone from human to ghost, endured a thousand years of torment, and yet his temperament was still no different from a thousand years ago.
Qi Changying’s character hadn’t been pushed to extremes by torture; rather, fate’s grinding had made him even more gentle and kind.
“How much of the past do you remember?”
After carefully examining Qi Changying’s features, Fu Sang let go of his hand and asked him.
“Not much.” Qi Changying was honest. He paused, and seeing that Fu Sang had nothing more to say, took the initiative to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Fu Sang imitated Qi Changying’s earlier move, leaning close to him and sniffing at his neck.
There wasn’t that approachable floral fragrance from his memory, only the uniquely bloody and dangerous scent that belonged to a Crimson Evil.
After all, he wasn’t human anymore, so that made sense.
Fu Sang released him and turned his face away, asking:
“Do you remember someone called ‘Su Li’?”
“Su Li?”
Upon hearing this name, Qi Changying seemed taken aback.
He murmured, repeating:
“Su Li…”
“Never mind if you can’t remember.” Fu Sang raised an eyebrow slightly, not particularly wanting to keep hearing someone repeat that name.
“It does feel very familiar,” Qi Changying frowned slightly, as if suddenly caught in some memory he couldn’t quite see or retrieve:
“But…”
Fu Sang, however, didn’t plan to wait for his answer.
He suddenly stood up, silently cutting off Qi Changying’s words.
Qi Changying blinked, his gaze following him.
“Where are you going?”
“To sleep.”
If he didn’t sleep soon, it would be dawn.
Fu Sang went upstairs wrapped in his blanket, threw back the covers, and collapsed onto the bed without moving.
Qi Changying obediently followed as usual, sitting by his bed. After a long silence, as if wanting to say something, he opened his mouth but ultimately couldn’t make a sound.
He watched Fu Sang’s back as he lay facing away from him. After a long while, he quietly stood up, tiptoed to the other side of the bed, and sat back down.
Fu Sang’s face was half-buried in the covers, his eyes already closed, his shoulders rising and falling gently with steady breaths.
Qi Changying looked at his sleeping face and gently raised his hand, as if wanting to trace his fingertips over the shallow, overlapping scars on the exposed forearm.
But in the end, he didn’t touch him.
He lowered his hand.
Finally, he only let out a silent sigh:
“…It must hurt a lot.”
…
Between the winter swim, the wind, and staying up late, when Fu Sang woke up the next day, he had successfully fallen ill.
He used a thermometer gun on himself.
37.9, a low fever.
After glancing at the number, Fu Sang tossed the thermometer aside, found some cold medicine and washed it down with ice water, then slowly got dressed.
It looked like he was going out.
Qi Changying followed beside him, hesitating again and again, but finally couldn’t hold back:
“Fu Sang, you’re sick.”
“Do I need you to remind me?”
“When you’re sick, you should rest.”
“I won’t die.”
His voice was still hoarse.
Fu Sang pulled the thickest, largest coat from his wardrobe and wrapped it around himself. He opened the door to leave, but then, as if thinking of something, he stepped back, turned his head, and glanced at Qi Changying, who had followed behind him and was also planning to go out.
Qi Changying froze, not knowing why he had suddenly stopped, and looked at Fu Sang’s eyes with some bewilderment.
Then he heard Fu Sang say:
“Don’t follow me.”
With that, Fu Sang pulled the Snake Bone Nail from his waist and tossed it onto the shoe cabinet by the entrance, then left on his own.
Just before closing the door, he swept a glance back inside.
Qi Changying was still standing there, watching him without moving or showing any expression on his face. He just saw him off as he closed the door, his gray-white eyes gradually disappearing behind it.
With a “bang,” the lock clicked shut, and Fu Sang stood there for an extra two seconds.
Then he zipped his coat up to the top, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked away.
Huo Wei was already waiting downstairs at his place. She had sent the G-Wagon for cleaning and temporarily switched to a black Cayenne, which looked out of place parked beneath this rundown residential building.
Before getting in, Fu Sang felt around in his pocket, found a mask and put it on, then opened the door and climbed in.
“Where are you going? Why did you make me come pick you up this early in the morning?”
Huo Wei glanced at him and started the engine.
“Back to Xuanshan Mountain.”
“?”
Hearing his voice, Huo Wei gave him a strange look:
“Good child, did you swallow a rubber duck or something? How did your voice get so raspy?”
“I’m sick.” The rubber duck continued its efforts.
“Serves you right! Jumping into a lake in minus-three-degree weather…who else would get sick if not you! You really deserve it!” Huo Wei gave him a thumbs up, then remembered:
“Hey, what about your little general? How come I don’t see him?”
“Would I bring a Crimson Evil back to the Zhuge family? Are you crazy or am I crazy?”
Fu Sang reclined his seat, buried half his face in his collar, and closed his eyes to catch up on sleep.
“Wake me when we get there.”
“You really do treat me like your ride-hailing driver?! Sit up and talk to me!!”
“Ahem ahem…” Fu Sang put on a theatrical cough:
“Can’t chat, the duck’s too weak.”
Huo Wei rolled her eyes and sincerely prayed, “May illness soon triumph over Zhuge Fu Sang!”
Fu Sang closed his eyes peacefully:
“…The best blessing I’ve heard all year. Thank you.”
“?”
The Xuanshan mountain range lay on the outskirts of the capital. Starting from the shabby residential compound where Fu Sang lived, it took about two hours total…the journey started on the highway, continued along winding, bumpy mountain roads, and finally ended at the main gate of the Zhuge family estate.
The Zhuge family’s large estate had a history of six or seven hundred years, renovated and expanded generation after generation, yet still retaining its original architectural style, just like some mysterious sect hidden deep in the mountains from a wuxia or xianxia tale.
They had come to the main family mansion, hidden at the very heart of Xuanshan Mountain.
The main gatehouse was built from a single massive block of Taishan stone, with doors nearly five meters tall made of ebony, already quite aged, their surface giving off a simple, restrained luster. Above the door hung a large purple bronze plaque with four characters carved in: “Wo Yun Guan Tian” (Reclining in the Clouds, Observing the Heavens), the strokes inlaid with solid gold.
The guardians flanking the gate weren’t the usual stone lions, but some unnamed divine beast carved from white marble, with a lion’s head, ox horns, dragon body, and crane feathers, surrounded by ethereal mist.
Fu Sang walked up with his hands in his pockets. Too lazy to reach out, he just kicked the gate a couple of times.
Soon, the gate was slowly pulled open from the inside by about half a person’s width. A middle-aged man peeked out, showing only half his face, sizing him up:
“Who are you?”
“An outsider, Fu Sang.”
“What business do you have?”
“Visiting family.”
“Visiting whom?” The man stared at Fu Sang suspiciously.
It was strange enough that a young punk would suddenly show up at the main gate claiming to visit family.
“My nephew.”
Fu Sang seemed oblivious to the skepticism in his tone and calmly dropped a name without changing expression:
“Zhuge Buhuo. Call him out and tell him his little uncle is here to see him.”
