Chapter 278: Come Take Your True Name

This time, it called out clearly.

The voice from behind the stone wall no longer sounded old like before, nor sharp like the woman outside the gate. Instead, many voices overlapped together.

Male, female, old, young, layer upon layer pressing in, as if countless mouths hid within a mountain, finally squeezed together into a single name.

Lu Yuan did not reply.

He pushed the oil lamp forward. The flame was instantly pressed close to the wick by the black water, and a faint bluish-green hue appeared in the lamplight.

At that moment the seven earthen jars in the black water revealed themselves fully.

The jars were small, wrapped outside in blackened red cloth. Each jar had three yellow talismans pasted to it; the paper had long since molded but had not fallen off. The characters on the talismans were not personal names, but a series of titles:

"Eldest Son."

"Apothecary's Boy."

"Escapee."

"Filial Daughter."

"Nameless Guest."

"Old Gatekeeper."

The last jar was half-buried under the stone altar, only the rim visible.

Lu Yuan stared at those three characters, a chill sinking into his chest.

Old Gatekeeper.

Those three characters did not refer only to Iron Abacus alone, but to all the people who had ever served as gatekeepers for the Malevolent Deity. Iron Abacus was only the last among them. He was already dead, his body still trapped in the cellar; there was no way he could return. Yet his name as an Old Gatekeeper remained stored here, like an iron token fallen into a deep well, only now being fished back up.

Wang Cheng'an also saw that jar and lowered his voice.

"Brother Lu, is that Iron Abacus's?"

"Not his person."

Lu Yuan's voice was steady.

"It's his ledger."

"The abacus is already smashed, the accounts should have been scattered."

From behind the stone wall a light laugh suddenly rang out.

"You speak for the dead."

"He is gone, so the account should naturally be mine."

Lu Yuan raised his eyes toward the shadow draped in black cloth behind the wall.

"You counted wrong."

The shadow's shoulders twitched slightly.

"Wrong about what?"

"Iron Abacus's life belonged to himself."

"His debts were his own too."

"If you make him an old gatekeeper, that is your doing."

"Now that a man is dead and his accounts severed, no one has the right to accept them on his behalf."

"The accounts cannot be severed."

"Then let them collect themselves."

After saying that, Lu Yuan suddenly took the cracked abacus, turned, and handed it to Wang Cheng'an.

"Cheng'an, use it to strike the third jar."

Wang Cheng'an froze.

"The third?"

"Apothecary's boy."

"Why that one?"

Lu Yuan looked at the characters on the jar.

"They collect people by first taking the identities that are easiest to sway."

"An apothecary's boy knows herbs, a forest keeper knows the roads, the eldest son bears the household, a filial daughter bears the family."

"Those identities form ropes; the more like a single rope they are, the more they can bind a person."

"The third jar holds the element they most often use to draw in qi."

Wang Cheng'an did not ask further. Grabbing the abacus, he stepped to the edge of the black water. The black water crawled along the ground toward his shoe tips; as soon as it touched his shoe edge, the wooden frame of the abacus gave a light clack, as if someone knocked on the inside.

Wang Cheng'an gritted his teeth and began to swing the abacus.

"Bang!"

The abacus struck the third jar.

A fine crack split the jar.

Nothing surged out, only a pale yellow mist gently rising from the crack.

As the mist emerged, the small stools lining the stone corridor trembled in unison; the old objects upon them, as if struck by a sudden wind, began to shake violently.

The black shadow on the altar abruptly turned toward Wang Cheng'an.

"Stop."

Wang Cheng'an struck again.

"It still insists on calling."

On the second impact, the yellow talisman on the jar curled.

Weak cries leaked from the jar, as if many people hid inside the mist, repeatedly intoning the same identity.

"Apothecary's boy."

Wang Cheng'an's face went pale, but he did not stop.

Lu Yuan watched that pale yellow mist and suddenly spoke.

"Don't listen to them."

"They are not shouting for themselves."

"They are waiting for you to recognize them."

Wang Cheng'an ground his teeth until they clicked.

At the third strike the jar finally split in two.

The yellow mist dispersed. On the floor lay a small, desiccated herb; pressed within the herb's center was a thin white bone fragment.

Lu Yuan lifted the bone fragment with the tip of his blade and held it by the lamp. Under the light there was an extremely tiny line of characters carved on the bone:

"Medicine can save a person, a name can keep a person."

"They turn identities into favors," Song Qinghe murmured, "first letting someone feel useful, then making them unwilling to let go."

Lu Yuan nodded.

"Offerings are not pure coercion."

"It first gives a person a place, then exchanges that place for their life."

"Over time, people will guard it themselves."

He placed the bone fragment into the cinnabar. The flame licked it and the bone silently turned to ash.

At that moment the black shadow on the altar suddenly stepped forward. Though it had no feet, a heavy thud sounded as if something substantial had landed.

"You can't burn it all."

"Then we'll take them one by one."

Lu Yuan shifted his gaze to the remaining jars.

"Erxiao, the fourth."

"Zhou Heng, the fifth."

"Lin Zhaoxuan, keep the soul-reflecting mirror on the altar."

"Qinghe, do not let the lamp go out."

Xu Erxiao spun his brittle wooden club and smashed the jar. Inside rolled out a small copper button. The button bore the character "Escape." He glanced at it and tossed the button directly into the salt-line.

When the copper button met the salt it hissed and turned into a puff of black smoke. The shadow's shoulders sagged slightly.

"This is not how names should be used."

Lu Yuan said, "Then don't dress an identity up as if it were a name."

He nodded to Zhou Heng.

The fifth jar read "Filial Daughter."

When Zhou Heng approached, there was no sound from the jar. That silence made everything more unsettling.

He raised his abacus and stared at the jar a while, then said in a low voice, "Brother Lu, there's no reaction inside this one."

"It's not that nothing reacts," Lu Yuan said. "It's waiting for you to think for yourself."

Zhou Heng's mouth twitched; he lifted the abacus and struck.

The fifth jar shattered. There was no bone fragment inside, only a pale button wound with a black thread. When the black thread snapped, a cold gust blew from the depths of the corridor. The wind carried many indistinct human voices, like a group locked somewhere far away all exhaling at once.

Lu Yuan turned toward the black wall.

The shadow behind the wall no longer spoke. Its black cloth began to peel away in layers, revealing its true form.

It was not humanoid.

It resembled an upside-down tree.

Countless black tendrils hung down from above, each ending in a closed eye. The trunk was hollowed inward, forming a vast cavity. Inside the cavity there was no flesh, only a slow-pulsing gray-white thing, like a heart, like an eye-fetus not yet fully opened.

"Is that the main fetus?" Lin Zhaoxuan asked.

"Not yet the true body," Lu Yuan said. "It's the fetal nucleus it has raised."

"The true body is behind the nucleus."

He then looked toward the final jar buried under the altar.

"Pull it out."

Lin Zhaoxuan handed the soul-reflecting mirror to Song Qinghe, crouched by the altar, wedged the black wooden tablet into a stone crevice, and pried with force.

The altar did not budge.

Lu Yuan stepped over and pressed a smear of the black ash left by Iron Abacus onto the stone. The altar immediately emitted a fine, dense sound, like many nails scratching beneath the rock.

Lu Yuan whispered, "The old gatekeeper is dead."

"His ashes have come back looking for you."

"Do you still refuse to give way?"

The inverted black tree on the altar convulsed.

The final jar under the altar inched out by itself.

Lin Zhaoxuan seized the opportunity and dragged the jar free.

This jar was much smaller than the others. It had no identity tag, only a sheet of black paper with two characters written on it:

"True Eye."

Song Qinghe's expression changed slightly.

Lu Yuan looked at the jar with a grave face.

This was what they had been hunting for: the true eye fetal nucleus. The subterranean eye, the road-face in the mirror, the gray shadow at the mountain mouth, even the offering names and the old relics—all centered around it. Yet the thing inside the jar might not be the true nucleus. The Malevolent Deity was most skilled at masking its true body with substitutes.

"Open it?" Lin Zhaoxuan asked.

"You cannot open it directly," Lu Yuan said. "First see whom it recognizes."

He picked up a shard of pottery from the ground and, with the tip of his blade, lightly pried at the jar's lid.

The lid did not move. From inside the jar came a faint voice:

"Brother Lu."

Everyone heard it.

The voice was identical to Lu Yuan's.

Xu Erxiao's face went white.

"How can it imitate your voice?"

"It's testing my name," Lu Yuan said. "Not learned it completely yet."

"When the real me speaks, it will not come from a jar."

The voice in the jar continued, "Brother Lu, open the door."

"Brother Lu, step forward."

"Brother Lu, give me the lamp."

Each phrase grew more like him, eventually mimicking the cold hardness in his tone.

Song Qinghe instinctively shifted closer to Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan did not look at the jar; he looked toward the gray-white thing behind the altar.

"It doesn't want us to open the jar."

"Because the jar does not contain the nucleus."

"It's an echo it uses to trick us."

"Where is the real fetal nucleus?" Wang Cheng'an asked.

Lu Yuan raised his head.

The upside-down tree's tendrils were draped across the ceiling above the altar; eyes hung at the ends of most tendrils, closing one by one. But the thick central tendril had no eye on it. It extended down to the back of the altar and its end plunged into the mountain rock. There was a hairline crack in the rock wall, from which a faint gray light seeped.

"Behind it," Lu Yuan said. "The nucleus is in the rear wall of the main cave."

"This jar is a false eye it deliberately displayed."

The voice in the black jar immediately sharpened.

"No."

"You're wrong."

"The true eye is right here."

"Open the jar."

"Let it out."

Lu Yuan stared down at it.

"The more anxious you are, the more you prove my guess right."

The jar vibrated violently. The black paper's characters for "True Eye" seemed to be waterlogged and slowly ran downward. The traced ink flowed onto the jar's body and formed a thin mouth. The mouth opened and expelled a plume of black mist.

The soul-reflecting mirror in Lin Zhaoxuan's hand flashed. In the mirror the black mist did not rush toward them but darted straight toward the mountain wall behind the altar.

"It's returning!" Lin Zhaoxuan shouted.

Lu Yuan's gaze chilled. He snatched the black wooden tablet and slammed it onto the mist in midair. The black mist was pinned as if tacked, flapping backward like a nailed scrap. Lu Yuan pressed the "Return" wood piece against the black tablet and bellowed, "If you want to return, then return where you should!"

The "Return" wood piece blackened instantly.

The black mist recoiled sharply and was forcibly dragged back into the jar. The mouth on the jar gave a muffled sound and several fine cracks spidered out across the jar.

Lu Yuan did not give it another chance. He shoved the jar between the salt-line and the cinnabar.

"Seal the jar."

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao simultaneously dumped salt. Lin Zhaoxuan placed the soul-reflecting mirror over the jar's mouth. When the mirror was pressed down, the black jar quieted immediately.

"It can't get out for now," Lu Yuan said, "but it cannot remain sealed for long."

"The main cave's true body knows its false eye has been exposed and will switch to a genuine opening next."

He walked to the mountain wall, raised his blade, and gently ran the tip along that hairline crack. The instant the blade touched the rock, the entire corridor dimmed. The oil lamp flames shrank to the size of beans. The gray-white fetal nucleus behind the altar stopped pulsing. All sounds vanished.

In the dead silence a very low voice slowly came from the fissure in the stone wall:

"Are you looking for me?"

The voice was no longer a chorus of people blended together. It was singular, clear, almost calm—as if a real person spoke from the dark.

Lu Yuan did not answer.

The voice continued, "You burn names, cut roads, break accounts as you go. Do you think you are exorcising evil? Actually, you are cleaning away my old shells."

"What does that mean?" Wang Cheng'an could not help asking.

Lu Yuan put up a hand to silence him. But it was too late.

A slit opened in the stone wall, and an eye opened.

The eye had no white, only a film of grayish-white membrane. A fine crack split the membrane at its center, and through that crack was reflected not their figures but a valley far, far away. In the valley stood a huge black sacrificial altar. Countless wooden tablets ringed the altar, each hung with a strip of red cloth. From the ends of those cloth strips extended countless black threads, all converging on the center of the altar. Suspended above the altar hung an inverted stone bell. Under the bell sat a figure cross-legged, towering in stature and draped in an old black robe, its face concealed by a black wooden tablet. The tablet bore no characters—only a closed eye.

"That is..." Zhou Heng's voice trembled, "the main offering altar in the mountain?"

Lu Yuan stared at the scene and slowly said, "It is not the eye looking at the valley. The valley is borrowing the eye to look at us."

At the altar the robed figure slowly lifted its head. Across stone, mountain, mirror, and countless old names, Lu Yuan still felt a gaze fall upon him. This gaze was not as cold as the road-face earlier; instead it carried an oddly ancient familiarity, as if it had known Lu Yuan for a long time.

"You have finally come," the robed figure said.

"Have we met?" Lu Yuan asked.

"Not yet."

"But your name has long been here."

The robed figure raised a hand. The wooden tablets around the altar flipped over together. One by one they revealed the characters on their backs. One tablet directly faced Lu Yuan. Only two characters were written on it:

"Life Guide."

Lu Yuan saw those two characters and his pupils constricted sharply. It was not "Guide" nor "New Gatekeeper" but "Life Guide."

Wang Cheng'an whispered, "Brother Lu, what does that mean?"

Lu Yuan did not answer. Beneath the tablet that read "Life Guide" a smaller line had been carved:

"Born from the old eye, returned to the true mouth."

His fingers tightened, the knife handle making a faint scraping noise. The robed figure seemed pleased by his reaction.

"Did you think you came to cut me down?"

"Did you think the black ash, cinnabar, and soul-reflecting mirror in your hands were made to be used against me?"

"You are wrong."

"Those things were brought back by you."

Lu Yuan glanced at the black wooden tablet in his hand. The black dot on the tablet's broken edge pulsed faintly—like a tiny eye.

"Iron Abacus left it with me," Lu Yuan said.

"Iron Abacus only kept it for me," the robed figure replied. "He has died, and things naturally go where they should."

"You say he kept it for you?" Lu Yuan's voice chilled. "Then why did he leave clues?"

The robed man behind the wall fell silent. This time the silence lasted longer.

"The old gatekeeper wanted to escape the accounts."

"But he didn't succeed."

Lu Yuan's expression hardened.

Those words proved Iron Abacus had truly tried to resist, even leaving things behind in advance. But he had not succeeded; in the end he was still dragged down by the old accounts and died in that cellar.

Iron Abacus was dead. He did not overturn the ledger nor escape alive. Yet the things he left behind became the first wedge Lu Yuan's group used to pry at the main cave.

"You turned him into an account," Lu Yuan said. "And now you use his death as your justification to speak."

"You treacherous deity, you do not even spare the dead."

The robed figure raised its head slightly.

"Life and death are simply two methods of offering," it said. "Today I will let you see a third."

"What?"

"Supply severance."

Suddenly Lu Yuan seized the black jar held under the mirror and shoved it hard into the rock fissure. The jar struck the mountain wall and cracked further.

Lin Zhaoxuan flipped the soul-reflecting mirror and angled its face toward the stone. The valley in the mirror convulsed violently. The red cloth strips around the altar snapped one by one. The robed figure's posture tilted noticeably.

"You dare sever my supply lines?"

"You've dismantled people's lives for offerings—what am I afraid of?" Wang Cheng'an retorted.

Wang Cheng'an, Xu Erxiao, and Zhou Heng immediately dragged the remaining jars together.

Lu Yuan ordered, "Don't smash the jars yet."

"Tear off the talismans first."

"Take out the old items inside and burn the identity tags."

"Names can be dispersed; identities must not be left."

Everyone fumbled into action.

Wang Cheng'an ripped off the first yellow talisman. The instant the paper left the jar, a shrill screech came from inside; his hand trembled, almost dropping the talisman.

"Hold steady!" Lu Yuan shouted. "This is the last layer of scary skin."

"The more afraid you are, the more it can use your heart to establish a name."

Wang Cheng'an bit down and pressed the talisman into the cinnabar. The flame flared and the paper turned to ash.

Xu Erxiao and Zhou Heng tore their jars' talismans as well. The corridor filled with the crackle of burning paper. The old identity tags lost their luster one by one; the characters on them faded.

"Eldest Son" dimmed.

"Escapee" faded.

"Apothecary's Boy" grew faint.

"Filial Daughter" faded too.

In the valley behind the stone wall cracks began to appear around the altar. The robed figure raised both hands, as if to hold together the rupturing supply lines. But each severed supply line released a wisp of gray-white air from beside the altar, which drifted outward from the valley. It was not evil qi. It was the residual vitality energy trapped in the old names. Those people were finally no longer bound by identity tags.

"You cannot leave," the robed figure's voice grew urgent. "Stay."

"There is a place here."

"There are names."

"There are offerings."

"Outside no one remembers you."

Song Qinghe suddenly lifted her head.

"But someone will remember," she said. She raised the oil lamp; the light reflected off the stone wall. "Even if it is only a sigh, an old garment, or a single button."

"Anything is better than letting you make them offerings."

As the words fell, the final identity tag suddenly split in two by itself.

From the valley behind the stone wall came a heavy reverberation.

"Thud."

Something inside the inverted stone bell struck against it. The bell face cracked and revealed an abyssal blackness within.

The robed figure turned, seeming to block the bell. Lu Yuan glimpsed what flashed beneath it.

Not a person.

Not a fetus.

A huge eye bound by countless black threads. Its eyelids were tightly shut, already cracked at the edges.

"The true body is still inside the bell," Lu Yuan said.

Lin Zhaoxuan's expression changed. "So the robed man was only a guardian?"

"Not a guardian," Lu Yuan stared at the figure. "A layer of skin it put on."

"The true mouth is in the stone bell."

"It had us look at the altar to divert our attention."

The robed figure suddenly whirled. The black wooden tablet slid an inch from its face. Lu Yuan clearly saw that face.

No features—only names densely crawling like insects across it. Each name slowly sought its place. The very center spot was empty, seemingly reserved especially for Lu Yuan.

The robed figure raised a hand and pressed that blank spot. The slit in the stone wall's gray-white giant eye opened further.

An invisible suction pulled outward from the main cave. The oil lamp flames shot straight. Everyone's shadows lifted from beneath their feet and slid toward the crack in the stone wall.

"Guard your own shadows!" Lu Yuan shouted.

Wang Cheng'an hurried to stamp on his shadow. Xu Erxiao placed his wooden club across his feet. Zhou Heng hurled salt around his feet. But the suction was so strong even the flames seemed to be drawn away.

Lu Yuan did not retreat. He lodged his short blade into the crevice and held its hilt with both hands, using the blade to steady his body.

"Lin Zhaoxuan, give me the mirror!"

The soul-reflecting mirror flew into his hand. Lu Yuan caught it and angled the reflective face toward the ground near his feet. The mirror did not show his shadow; it showed a black thread running into the valley. At the end of that thread was the massive eye.

Suddenly Lu Yuan understood.

The Malevolent Deity was not trying to steal their shadows. It was using their shadows to fill out the outline of its true eye.

"Don't step on your shadows," Lu Yuan commanded. "Drag your shadows outward!"

"If it wants to use our shadows to open its eye, we'll pull the shadows onto its body."

Wang Cheng'an blinked. "How do we drag them?"

"Use the lamp."

Song Qinghe immediately understood. Holding the oil lamp, she retreated three paces down the corridor. The light angle shifted and everyone's shadows began to lengthen in the opposite direction.

Lu Yuan grabbed salt and quickly sketched a curved line on the ground, guiding every shadow toward the base of the stone wall.

"Cheng'an, sprinkle cinnabar along the line."

"Erxiao, lay the red cloth strip to press the line."

"Zhou Heng, wedge the abacus into the crevice."

"Lin Zhaoxuan, aim the mirror at the bell."

They moved in concert. The moment the salt line was complete, black water seeped from the rock fissure to try to sever it. Wang Cheng'an threw out cinnabar; the clash of red and white made the black water shrink back. Xu Erxiao pressed the red cloth to the end of the salt line; the "Return" wood piece in the red cloth flashed faintly. Zhou Heng jammed the cracked abacus into the crevice; its crossbeam lodged in the stone and the beads rolled erratically, making a chaotic clatter. Lin Zhaoxuan positioned the soul-reflecting mirror toward the bell. The mirror gave a clear view of the huge gray-white eye inside. This time the mirror showed not the distant valley but the interior of the giant eye. Names freed from identity tags crowded within, bound by black threads and slowly shoving toward the central empty spot.

"It's filling the main name!" Lin Zhaoxuan shouted. "It wants to use our shadows to write a new name!"

Lu Yuan looked down. Their shadows had gathered along the salt line, forming a long black band moving toward the stone wall crack. The empty spot faintly revealed the outline of two characters.

"Lu—"

Lu Yuan's gaze hardened.

"Not yet, not until it finishes writing."

He suddenly sliced his palm and smeared blood on the back of the soul-reflecting mirror. A thin red fissure split the mirror.

Lu Yuan then placed the mirror down at the end of the salt line, pressing down on the gathering shadow.

"Use the soul-reflecting mirror to reflect souls."

"Use the black wooden tablet to sever names."

"Use Iron Abacus's old ash to break accounts."

"Use the red cloth to bring them back."

"If you want to borrow my shadow to write a name, then let your root show itself!"

The red light rushed along the salt line into the stone. The inverted stone bell shuddered violently. The eyelid of the enormous eye inside was pressed by the red light and could not fully open. The robed figure on the altar emitted a deep, muffled roar. The names on its body began to flake away in chunks.

Each name that fell became a wisp of gray-white human-shaped mist. They had no faces and made no sound; in the valley beyond the stone wall they stood for a moment and then drifted outward.

"Don't go," the robed figure reached to grab them. It grasped at nothing but a hollow black wind.

Lu Yuan watched. He understood that the foundations of the feeding ground were being shaken. Yet the deity's true body had not fully manifested. The gray-white giant eye still struggled. It suddenly closed.

Immediately, all the red cloth, wooden tablets, jars, and black threads simultaneously drew inward. The valley image in the main cave vanished. The stone fissure snapped shut.

A chill sank into Lu Yuan's heart.

"It will seal the cave."

"What do we do?" Wang Cheng'an asked urgently.

"We can't let it seal," Lu Yuan said, drawing the short blade from the crevice. "Once sealed, the names we've just dispersed will be pulled back."

Then he looked toward the end of the corridor. Where there had been nothing before, a flight of descending stone steps now appeared. From their depths came a faint sound of water—not black water flowing, but the quiet noise of someone washing their hands.

"The main cave has another route," Lu Yuan said. "A path that goes underneath. If it seals the upper mouth, it means the true eye is not above."

"The real fetal nucleus is hidden below."

Lin Zhaoxuan put the mirror away. "What about the outer cave things?"

"Leave the salt line and the mirror," Lu Yuan said. "Let them guard the names that scattered."

"The five of us will go down."

"I'll come too," Song Qinghe said.

"You stay," Lu Yuan replied.

"Why?"

"There is no fire down there; the mirror won't hold for long," Lu Yuan said, looking at the lamp in her hand. "This lamp is our retreat."

"You stay here. Do not let it go out."

Song Qinghe did not argue and nodded.

Lu Yuan turned to Wang Cheng'an, Xu Erxiao, Zhou Heng, and Lin Zhaoxuan.

"The things below won't necessarily fight us immediately."

"Some will call out, some will pretend to be people, some will use old matters to trick you."

"Remember three rules."

"First, do not give your true name."

"Second, do not accept the speech of the dead."

"Third, do not touch anything someone actively offers."

Wang Cheng'an nodded. Xu Erxao tightened his wooden club. Zhou Heng glanced at the split abacus.

"Are we still carrying this thing?"

"Yes," Lu Yuan said. "It's the last key Iron Abacus left us."

They descended the stone steps. This set of steps was narrower than the outer ones, the rock walls damp as if the mountain's belly sweated cold. After dozens of steps the sounds from above disappeared entirely. They entered another layer within the mountain. There were no lamps and no breeze—only a shallow underground water channel running along the stone wall. The water surface was as black as oil.

Wang Cheng'an prodded the water with a stick. Immediately a face surfaced. The face looked at him and slowly said, "You have finally come back."

Wang Cheng'an snatched the stick back.

"It doesn't recognize you," Lu Yuan said. "It recognizes the word 'come back.' Anyone who hears it may be mistaken for an old person."

The face in the water turned to Xu Erxao.

"You also returned."

Xu Erxao snapped, "I never came here."

Lu Yuan flicked a grain of cinnabar into the water. Red ripples spread.

"Quit the idle talk," he said. "Lead the way."

The face paused, then suddenly smiled. "You seek the true eye."

"The true eye seeks you as well."

"What does it want with me?"

"Because you carry its first breath."

Lu Yuan's steps halted. Lin Zhaoxuan turned his head slightly.

"What does that mean?"

The face in the water did not reply. It sank slowly.

In the black water channel a minuscule gray-white glimmer rose and drifted forward along the stream. Lu Yuan fixed his gaze on the glimmer and finally followed it.

The underground channel curved thrice; ahead the echo of empty space grew. They passed through a low stone fissure and the space opened.

A circular stone cavern lay before them. At its center was a shallow well. The well's rim was built of black stone, the walls etched with dense eye-patterns. Nine stone pillars encircled the well, each wrapped with red cloth. Under the cloth, faint imprints of hands were visible. The water at the well's surface was perfectly still. Yet from the bottom came steady thumps.

"Thud."

With each thump the nine wrapped red cloths tightened.

Lin Zhaoxuan raised the soul-reflecting mirror. The well in the mirror had no water; its bottom was a gray-white membrane of flesh. At the membrane's center lay a fist-sized black object wrapped by nine red strings, each string tied to one of the nine stone pillars.

"Fetal nucleus," Lin Zhaoxuan whispered.

Lu Yuan did not answer. He noticed a crack on the black object: through it shimmered not black light but a faint thread of gold. That golden thread felt strangely similar to the residue of energy in the black ash in his palm.

"The first breath."

He understood the waterface's words. This fetal nucleus had not come from nothing. It had once taken a breath of life from someone—very likely from him, or from someone deeply connected to him.

A sigh echoed from the cavern's depths. "Do you still remember?"

The black fetal nucleus in the well slowly split a small seam. A tiny eye peeked out.

Lu Yuan remained motionless. Wang Cheng'an and the others dared not breathe. The cavern held only the heavy, rhythmic thumping from the well.

Lu Yuan suddenly pressed the black wooden tablet to the well rim. The black dot on the tablet flared. The fetal nucleus shuddered. The nine red strings tightened at once. The handprints on the nine stone pillars bulged outward as if something inside pushed them from within; fingers protruded from the stone.

Zhou Heng's face went ashen. "Brother Lu, it looks like there are people in the pillars."

"Not people," Lu Yuan said. "They are handprints left by it."

"Don't let the prints touch you."

The prints slowly rose from the pillars like layers of shadow, crawling down along the red cloth. Lu Yuan seized the abacus and smashed it against the first pillar.

"Shatter!"

The red cloth tore. The handprint withdrew.

"Wang Cheng'an, second pillar!"

"Erxao, third!"

"Zhou Heng, fourth!"

"Lin Zhaoxuan, keep the mirror on the well!"

They split up. Wang Cheng'an grabbed the abacus and struck the second pillar. Xu Erxao used his club to pry the cloth off the third pillar. Zhou Heng scattered salt and cinnabar over the fourth pillar. Each time a red line was severed the fetal nucleus trembled. But the remaining five red lines pulled taut together, as if to yank the nucleus from the well. The tiny eye in the nucleus widened.

"You cannot sever them," the nucleus's voice coaxed. "If you sever them, I will take from you."

"Take what?"

"The breath you owe me."

Lu Yuan stared at the well. Then he set down his blade and pressed his hand to his own chest.

"Brother Lu!"

"Don't move," Lu Yuan said calmly. "If it says it will borrow from my breath, then let it pull the accounts out."

He closed his eyes and held his breath. The cavern's ambient sounds receded. The black fetal nucleus in the well was drawn by his action; the black crack widened. A sliver of gray-white breath leaked from Lu Yuan's chest. The breath did not leave him; it formed a fine line that fell straight toward the well. The red cloths on the nine pillars flicked.

"Do you see?" the nucleus's voice softened. "That breath originally belonged to me."

Lu Yuan still kept his eyes closed. Just as the breath nearly touched the well water, he suddenly opened his eyes. They were calm, not panic-stricken.

"You guessed wrong again," he said.

He seized the drifting breath.

"This is not breath you lent me."

"This is the path I have walked these years."

"You cannot recognize it."

As his words fell, Lu Yuan jerked that gray-white breath back in the opposite direction. The whole cavern felt as if gripped by an invisible giant hand. The fetal nucleus in the well emitted a sharp shriek. The red strings wrapped around it snapped taut one by one. Lu Yuan scattered Iron Abacus's black ash into the well. The ash struck the water and immediately formed a ring of gray fire.

"Iron Abacus is dead."

"His old accounts end here today."

"My life does not belong to you."

"The names of the people in this mountain do not belong to you."

"Return what should be returned."

When he finished, the red cloths on the nine pillars simultaneously ignited with a faint red flame. The flames did not burn the pillars; they coiled down the red strings into the well. The tiny eye in the fetal nucleus snapped shut. For the first time the well's surface rippled.

One ripple.

Two ripples.

Three.

From the well ascended not black water but indistinct pale figures. Within them an old man, a child, a person with an herb basket on their back, someone leading livestock, a figure in an old padded jacket holding an abacus—the silhouette of Iron Abacus. This was not Iron Abacus come back to life, only a lingering echo of him. He was still dead. The apparition did not approach them but merely hovered above the well, looking down at the abacus in his phantom hands.

Lu Yuan gazed at the shadow and said in a low voice, "You left your final account here; pay it off yourself. The rest of the road is yours to walk."

The phantom did not answer. It merely lifted the abacus and nudged it gently toward the well. A single bead dropped.

"Clack."

The last red string around the fetal nucleus snapped.

The phantom dispersed.

All nine pillars' flames extinguished at once. The fetal nucleus sank back into the water.

Just as they thought the main mouth had been suppressed, a face surfaced in the well. It was the deepest road-face seen in the mirror. It looked at Lu Yuan and its mouth slowly split.

"You think severing supply lines severs me?"

Lu Yuan pointed his blade at the well water.

"At least sever the hands you stretched out first."

"The hands will regrow."

"Then we will chop off each hand clean."

"You will come to the main sacrificial altar."

"You will."

"You will see the true body."

"About to see it."

The face fell silent a moment, then smiled deeper.

"On the main altar there is a wooden tablet."

"The writing on that tablet is your true name."

Lu Yuan's expression darkened slightly.

"You think I will be afraid?"

"You will."

"Everyone fears being truly called."

"Once the name is fully called, the thing hiding will be exposed."

Lu Yuan tightened his grip on the knife.

"Then let it call."

"But what is called may not be you."

The face in the well suddenly contorted. A black shape shot out from the bottom of the well and lunged at Lu Yuan.

Wang Cheng'an, Xu Erxao, and Zhou Heng reacted simultaneously, hurling cinnabar, salt, and the broken abacus. The shadow froze midair under the triple onslaught and then exploded into a mass of black mist.

The mist did not disperse. It coalesced into nine thin threads that hurled toward and wrapped around the nine stone pillars.

"It's trying to reconnect the supply lines!" Lin Zhaoxuan shouted.

Lu Yuan stepped into the shallow water at the well's edge. The water only reached his instep, yet it was as cold as ice. He raised the soul-reflecting mirror, pointing it at the well bottom. In the mirror the fetal nucleus had shrunk to a pinpoint of black.

Lu Yuan lifted the "Return" wood piece and pressed it to the back of the mirror.

"Return to your cave."

Then he plunged the mirror into the well water. In an instant the entire cavern flooded with white light. The pinpoint of black reflected by the mirror expanded into its true form.

It was not a fetal nucleus.

It was half a face.

The other half of the face remained concealed deeper in the mountain, as though a vast body lay wrapped in the belly of the rock with only a corner exposed. Embedded in the forehead of that half-face was a black wooden tablet. Two characters were carved on it.

"Lu Yuan."

Wang Cheng'an exclaimed, "It has already carved your name!"

Lu Yuan looked at those characters without a trace of fear.

He suddenly understood: the Malevolent Deity had not only just recognized him; long ago, via some old route he never knew about, it had left his name. But a carved name does not equal possession. A name can be borrowed, written, hidden, and wrested back.

"It has written my name," Lu Yuan said. "But it cannot take my life."

He raised his short blade and pointed it at that black wooden tablet embedded in the well.

"Lin Zhaoxuan, lend the mirror."

"Cheng'an, cinnabar."

"Erxao, salt."

"Zhou Heng, the abacus."

"Together, we'll swap its tablet."

"Swap to what?" Xu Erxao asked.

Lu Yuan stared at the half-face and slowly said, "Dead account."

Lin Zhaoxuan steadied the mirror. Wang Cheng'an scattered cinnabar at the mirror's edge. Xu Erxao formed a salt line around the well rim. Zhou Heng pressed the split abacus against the stone edge. The four items fell into place simultaneously.

Lu Yuan slit his palm and smeared blood across the mirror. The black wooden tablet in the mirror inscribed with "Lu Yuan" began to loosen. The half-face in the well emitted a low, furious roar.

"You cannot change the name."

"I will not change it," Lu Yuan said, each word measured. "I am only telling you this."

"This account is dead."

The black wooden tablet peeled away from the half-face. Lu Yuan slammed his short blade down.

"Dead account!"

At the shout, black light in the mirror surged violently. The characters on the black tablet flaked off like wet mud peeling from its face. No new characters appeared; instead a deep crack ran through the tablet from front to back.

When the crack opened, the half-face drew back. The black mist, red strings, pale shadows, and the handprints on the pillars were dragged into the well. The water churned loudly. Then a heavy, resonant thud.

"Thud."

After that, utter silence.

Only the faint flicker of lamplight remained in the cavern. They stood by the well without speaking. Long after, Wang Cheng'an finally asked softly, "Was it suppressed?"

Lu Yuan lifted the soul-reflecting mirror. In the mirror the shallow well had become an ordinary black well. The red cloth on the nine pillars dangled down. Most of the tablet characters had disappeared. Yet at the well's deepest point a speck of gray-white light still glowed. It had not gone out—only sunk deeper.

"We suppressed one layer," Lu Yuan said. "The true eye fetal nucleus didn't shatter."

"It withdrew deeper into the mountain."

Zhou Heng swallowed. "Do we keep chasing?"

Lu Yuan looked to the rear of the cavern. A stone door had appeared there unnoticed. The frame bore fresh damp marks. From behind the door came gusts of wind bearing a heavy scent—not incense, but the odor of many offerings burning at once.

"Chase," Lu Yuan said.

Lin Zhaoxuan looked at the door. "The main altar is behind it?"

"Probably," Lu Yuan said, tucking the soul-reflecting mirror away, "and the true Malevolent Deity is behind it too."

"It said that on the main altar your true name is written."

"Perfect," Lu Yuan slid the short blade back into his waist.

From above on the stone steps Song Qinghe's voice called, "Brother Lu."

They turned. She still stood at the end of the stone corridor. Her oil lamp burned. "Those specters outside that scattered have left."

"But the identity tags in the corridor have all turned."

"They are all facing this direction now."

Lu Yuan looked at the nine pillars. The tags whose characters had faded had somehow, at some point, turned to face the rear stone door—their faces now pointing inward. It was as if every name they had freed now pointed the way for them.

Lu Yuan gripped the black wooden tablet and nodded to the others.

"Go."

"From the main cave to the main altar, there will no longer be anything borrowing names to block it."

"What you will meet next is itself."

They crossed the well and walked toward the unframed stone door. The wind behind the door grew louder. In the wind came the light clinking of wooden tablets—countless tablets hanging on an unseen altar. Each collision set a name ringing out of the darkness.

"Eldest Son."

"Forest Keeper."

"Old Gatekeeper."

"Nameless Guest."

Finally, all the voices fell silent.

Only one name remained in the dark.

"Lu Yuan."

Lu Yuan stopped at the doorway. He did not look back. He said only to those behind him, "Remember."

"What it calls will be the characters on the tablet."

"Not my people."

He planted his hand on the door's cold stone edge. Beneath it came the slow sound of a massive being shifting its weight. He flexed his fingers and shoved the stone door inward with a heave.

A rush of crimson light poured out from beyond the doorway.

At the center of the black mountain belly a sacrificial altar constructed from countless wooden tablets stood. At the highest point of the altar hung a massive black wooden tablet. Freshly carved, two characters appeared on its surface.

"Lu Yuan."

Beneath the tablet stood a man in a gray robe. He faced away from them, holding an unlit lamp. When the stone door opened he slowly turned.

No facial features—only a pale soul-reflecting mirror for a face. The mirror reflected Lu Yuan's own face.

The gray-robed figure lifted the mirror and faced Lu Yuan with it.

"You came."

Lu Yuan looked at his reflected self in the mirror. The face inside smiled. He did not.

The gray-robed man spoke softly, "Come take your true name."

Lu Yuan drew his blade.

"First, show your face."

From the deep black mountain, nine unlit lamps simultaneously flared to life. Wooden tablets all around the altar flipped over at once.