Chapter 289: When All Wishes Do Not Extinguish, the Malevolent Deity Does Not Die

"Name not on the tablet, life not on the cord."

"Children have surnames, life and death have doors."

"The Malevolent Deity borrows hands, it does not borrow bodies."

"Speak your name, sever the sacrifice beneath your feet."

A hand trembled slightly on the knife's spine.

The crying from the well rose again, first one child, then ten, then dozens, layering over one another until it seemed the whole well itself was wailing.

The coachman's wooden-faced mask laughed a shrill laugh.

"He has no name."

"He was sent into the well at birth."

"The villagers said, call him well-kid."

"The Malevolent Deity said, he is only a mouthful of life force."

"A person without a name, how can he leave the sacrifice?"

Lu Yuan pressed his fingers over the small hand.

"Did you hear them?"

Silence fell in the well.

"They say you have no name."

The small hand moved slowly, as if groping in the dark.

"What do you think?"

Still no answer.

Lu Yuan did not hurry him.

He sheathed the knife and laid the blade across the wagon board, leaning over to look into the well mouth.

There was no water in the well.

Only a layer of thick, impenetrable black mist.

In its depths, a child was curled against the well wall, wrapped in an oversized cotton jacket.

Strips of cloth were sewn onto the jacket, each strip bearing a different appellation.

Little ghost, well-kid, Xiaoman, dog-kid, Wangsheng.

One strip was soaked through with blood, leaving only half of the character "sheng" visible.

The child lifted his face.

He looked no older than five or six, but a black pinhole marked his brow, blood seeping out of it continuously.

"You do have a name."

Lu Yuan said.

"You've simply been called so many names by others that you no longer know which one is yours."

The child asked timidly,

"Then what's my name?"

"Tell me."

"I don't know."

"Then think of something no one else can decide for you."

"What thing?"

"What do you want to eat?"

The child froze.

All crying in the well stopped at once.

After a long while, he whispered,

"I want... roasted potatoes."

"What else?"

"I want to bask in the sun."

"What else?"

"I want a pair of shoes that fit."

"What else?"

The child looked down at his hands.

"I want my mother to hold me once."

Lu Yuan nodded.

"Those are your thoughts."

"The Malevolent Deity can borrow other people's prayers, but it cannot decide your first desire for you."

"Your name is hidden in the first thing you yourself want."

The child muttered,

"Potato..."

"Potato cannot be a name."

"Then... sun?"

"Possible."

The child shook his head.

"Too bright, I'm scared."

He thought for a long time, then suddenly looked up and said,

"My name is Xiaoman."

The three incense in the wagon simultaneously went out.

The wooden tablet inscribed with "Life Sacrifice" split with a thunderous crack.

A gaunt hand shot out of the black mist and clamped the child's throat.

"Who allowed you to claim a name!"

The coachman's wooden face twisted violently, the roots beneath the wagon pole all tightened, and the snow around them bulged up in every direction.

Lu Yuan raised his hand to form a talismanic seal, thumb pressing the middle finger, index and middle finger lined like a sword, pointing toward the well mouth.

"Name is self-claimed, soul is self-guarded."

"Today we do not worship the evil, we do not borrow the god."

"Xiaoman in the well, heed my command."

"Feet leave the sacrificial altar, hands leave the offering rope."

"Exit!"

As his finger came down, the gaunt hand in the black mist was struck aside.

Xiaoman's body shot out of the well and fell into Lu Yuan's arms.

The child was unnaturally light, cold all over as if freshly unearthed from frozen ground.

Lu Yuan pressed a yellow talisman to his back and then leaped down from the wagon pole.

At that moment, the small well in the wagon suddenly overturned.

A huge human face revealed itself at the bottom.

The face had no eyes, but the mouth stretched to the ears.

"One life character for one lamp."

"You saved him, the second lamp will then light."

A red spark spat from the Black-Faced one's mouth.

The spark flew through the snow, heading for Xiaoman Stockade.

Moments later, a bell sounded from the southeast mountain foot.

Dong.

The red light of the second altar flared.

Lu Yuan handed Xiaoman to Song Qinghe.

"Guard the back of his heart, don't let him sleep."

Song Qinghe nodded and formed an "An Soul Seal" with both hands, pressing index and middle finger together against Xiaoman's brow while softly chanting,

"Heaven clears, earth calms, souls return to their root hall."

"A pore between the brows, let no evil cause alarm."

"Left soul returns left, right soul returns right."

"Body remains in the human world, dreams do not enter the well."

"Settled!"

Xiaoman's body stopped trembling, but his eyes remained closed.

Asheng leaned against Song Qinghe's shoulder and spoke low,

"He wasn't trapped in the wagon."

"He was trapped beneath the second lamp."

Lu Yuan turned.

"Can you see the offering lines?"

Asheng raised his hand and pointed toward Xiaoman Stockade.

"There are three lines under the red light."

"One leads to the well, one to the wagon, and one to people."

"The one leading to people is the thickest."

"Someone in the village is guarding the lamp for the Malevolent Deity."

Wang Cheng'an frowned. "The villagers guard it willingly?"

"Not willingly," Asheng said, "each of them has a Red Cord tied to their wrist, the other end bound to their family's children."

Lu Yuan's gaze darkened.

The coachman's wooden face suddenly leaned back.

"You heard them."

"Walk further and you'll reach the whole stockade."

"The people there will not let you cut the lamp."

"If you touch the altar, they will all die together."

"Do you save one child, or do you save a whole stockade?"

Lu Yuan looked at the overturned small well in the wagon.

"You still haven't learned to speak whole truths."

"Which sentence is false?"

"The altar doesn't save them."

"It merely stakes their lives onto you."

Lu Yuan raised the broken knife and slashed at the axle.

The axle snapped, and the wagon tilted to one side.

Under the wagon, a dense clustering of black spirit tablets was revealed.

Each tablet bore a carved name.

Some were still clear, others rubbed half away.

Red cords wound among the tablets, converging into a bundle that all led toward Xiaoman Stockade.

"These are the real offering lines."

Lu Yuan said.

"The coachman's un-named mask merely guards the gate."

"The real lamp borrows the household names of the stockade people."

The wooden-faced mask roared angrily.

"You dare destroy their ancestral names!"

"Ancestral names are not your account."

Lu Yuan gripped his blade with both hands and struck hard down at the bundle beneath the wagon.

As the blade hit the cluster of tablets, an ancient voice from the wagon floor bellowed:

"Stop!"

At the end of the snowbank, an old man in a black sheepskin coat leaning on a wooden staff approached, followed by a dozen stockade residents.

All the villagers kept their heads down, Red Cords tied round their wrists.

The old man stopped ten steps from them.

"Outsiders, who let you touch our stockade's life-protecting tablets?"

Wang Cheng'an stepped forward.

"The tablets you offer aren't life-protecting, they're the bones of the Malevolent Deity."

"Nonsense."

The old man lifted his staff, showing the Red Cord on his wrist.

"This Red Cord is a life cord."

"One cord per family, as long as the lamp doesn't go out, the children won't fall ill."

"Who dares cut the lamp, who plots to kill the whole stockade!"

Among the crowd, a woman holding a child cried out to Lu Yuan,

"My child had a high fever not long ago, burned for three days and nights, it only broke after the altar lit!"

Another man said,

"My old man lay paralyzed on the kang for ten years, after the lamp was offered he could take two steps!"

"You are Daoist priests, outsiders, why meddle in our affairs?"

"If you can do something, cure my child's sickness first!"

Voices grew louder and louder.

With each sentence, the Red Cords on their wrists tightened a little more.

Some had their skin cut by the cord until it bled.

Lu Yuan did not argue.

He looked at the old man.

"When did you start offering the life-protecting tablets?"

"Passed down from the ancestors."

"Who were the ancestors?"

The old man's expression changed slightly.

"What has that to do with you?"

"If you say it protects life, you should know where it comes from."

"Rules left by elders naturally have elders' reasons."

Lu Yuan walked to the nearest tablet and tapped it with the knife's spine.

"Is the name on this tablet from people of your stockade?"

The old man did not answer.

The tablet bore two characters:

"Gu Chuan."

Wang Cheng'an glanced down.

"Isn't that a name from within the border?"

Lin Zhaoxuan added, "The script style is the old style from within, not native tablet writing."

Lu Yuan continued reading.

The second read "Liu Jing."

The third read "Chen Shouyi."

The fourth read "Song Zhicheng."

These names were not locals.

They had come through fleeing crowds from beyond the Great Wall and ended up carved under this offering wagon.

The old man gripped his staff tighter.

"They are life-protectors."

"They left their names before they died willingly."

"Who says?"

"They said so themselves."

"Then what did they leave?"

Lu Yuan pointed to the tablet backs.

On the back of each tablet the same sentence was carved:

"May I alone enter the earth, protect the lives of the whole stockade."

The crowd fell silent.

The old man's hand trembled on his staff.

"That was added by later people."

"Who added it?"

No one answered.

Lu Yuan looked at the Red Cords on the villagers' wrists.

"Whoever added those words stands among you."

The old man suddenly waved his staff.

"Attack!"

A dozen stockade residents lunged forward at once.

They held no knives, only offering incense and wooden tablets.

As the incense drew near, black smoke crawled from the burning tips, forming thin snakes that lunged at people's faces.

Xu Erxiao drew his sword to meet them.

"Senior brother, what about the villagers?"

"Only strike the offering implements, do not harm the people!"

Wang Cheng'an grabbed an abacus frame to block a black snake.

"Does this thing bite?"

"It bites thoughts."

Lu Yuan said.

"Don't let them touch the forehead!"

Lin Zhaoxuan whipped out an ink-line, the tip dipped in cinnabar, and wrapped three sticks of offering incense.

"Fire starts from incense, incense arises from wish."

"If a wish will not return to the altar, the incense will be cut!"

He pressed his thumb to his middle finger and formed the "Cut Incense Mantra."

All three offering incense went out at once.

The hold- ing incense villagers swayed, their eyes clearing.

"What was I... about to strike?"

"You were borrowed by the offering line," Lu Yuan said. "Step back, guard your wrists."

But the old man had already come to the wagon.

He pulled a copper bell from his pocket and smashed it, ringing it loudly.

The bell sound spread, and all the Red Cords on the villagers' wrists tightened simultaneously.

Several women collapsed to their knees.

Children in their arms began to wail.

"The lamp will go out!"

"My child will die!"

The old man barked,

"Whoever dares to step back will be the one to cut their family's line of life!"

Lu Yuan fixed his gaze on the copper bell.

There was no clapper inside.

Instead a black human tooth was stuffed within.

"The bell's sound is false."

Song Qinghe said.

"What truly rings is the bone on the cord."

"Right."

Lu Yuan raised his right hand, index and middle fingers together, thumb pressing the base of the ring finger, palm facing down.

"Bone on the body, bell in the heart."

"A bell without a clapper does not carry sound."

"People have ears, do not heed evil commands."

"Silence!"

His hand seal fell, and the copper bell shattered silently.

The black tooth fell to the ground and immediately formed the illusion of a seven- or eight-year-old child.

The child stood beside the old man, wearing a ragged cotton jacket, with no facial features.

The old man froze when he saw the child.

"A Shun..."

"Is this your son?" Lu Yuan asked.

The old man did not answer.

The illusion child raised a hand and pointed at the old man's chest.

There was the thickest Red Cord wrapped there.

The cord's end did not lead to any child; instead it plunged into the old man's own heart.

At last Lu Yuan understood.

"You are the head sacrificer for the altar."

"All the cords in their hands link to you."

"You staked your life to the Malevolent Deity, then passed the stockade's fear down."

The old man's face went ashen.

"I only wanted to protect the children."

"How did your son die?"

"Fever."

"How long ago?"

The old man's lips trembled.

"Twenty-seven years."

"Then why do you keep offering?"

"Because it said, as long as the lamp does not die, the children will not die."

"Have you seen it protect anyone?"

The old man stumbled.

Lu Yuan pointed at the crowd.

Those children more or less all showed sickness: pallid faces, persistent coughs, thin red threads coiled around some necks.

"It has not protected them."

"It only suppresses illnesses along the offering line, waiting to collect them all at once."

The old man's staff dropped into the snow.

"Impossible..."

"If you don't believe me, untie your Red Cord."

"After you untie it, if any family's child falls ill or elder pines, do not blame it on the lamp anymore."

"Do you dare let them live on their own?"

The old man looked up.

For the first time, genuine fear showed in his cloudy eyes.

From Xiaoman Stockade the second red lamp flared to full brilliance.

Women at the village well cried,

"Father, come light the lamp."

"Father, don't let the lamp go out."

"Father, I don't want to die."

The old man's body trembled. He suddenly picked up his staff and turned to walk into the stockade.

Lu Yuan did not stop him.

The old man had barely taken two steps when black characters surfaced beneath his feet:

"Continuer of offering, protect the whole village."

He paused.

"As long as I continue, the children can live."

"It wrote that."

Lu Yuan said.

"Not you."

The old man looked back at him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"First, tell me your son's name."

The old man opened his mouth but no sound came out.

The illusory child waited quietly in the snow.

After a long time, the old man fell to his knees.

"His name is... Zhao Xiaoman."

Asheng suddenly opened his eyes in Song Qinghe's arms.

"Xiaoman?"

"Not me."

The child from inside the well whispered.

"It's my father's name."

Lu Yuan looked at the faceless illusion.

"You heard it."

The illusion child's face slowly gained features.

A young boy appeared, his brows and eyes somewhat like the old man's.

He walked to the old man and reached out to touch his forehead,

"Father, I'm cold."

The old man burst into sobbing.

"Father will take you home."

"Home where?"

The old man froze.

The boy looked toward Xiaoman Stockade.

"There is no kang left for me at home."

"Then we won't go back to the kang."

Lu Yuan said,

"Lay him to earth."

The old man looked up.

"But if the lamp goes out, the whole stockade..."

"The lamp is not life."

"It is what gathered your fear."

Lu Yuan stepped forward and handed the broken life-nail to him.

"Take this to the well."

"Remove your son's name from the offering wagon."

"Then cut your own Red Cord with your hands."

"If you won't cut first, no one else will dare."

The old man took the nail; black gas scorched white smoke from his palm.

He bit his lip and did not let go.

"If they refuse?"

"Then let them see that after the lamp goes out, the sky still brightens."

The old man turned and walked into Xiaoman Stockade.

The villagers looked at each other, then someone followed.

First the woman with the child.

Then a man with a Red Cord at his waist.

One by one, a dozen people trailed after the old man.

The Red Cords straightened one by one, and black water flowed back along the cords toward the offering wagon.

Lu Yuan looked at the tablets under the wagon.

"Burn the offering wagon."

Zhou Heng asked, "What about these tablets?"

"Tablets cannot be burned."

Lu Yuan said.

"Burn the wood, names will scatter."

He took blank offering paper and laid it on the snow.

"Remove each tablet one by one, face up, and take them to the village ancestral tombs."

"If there is no tomb, bury them under a birch tree."

"Names return to earth, not to fire."

Lin Zhaoxuan and Wang Cheng'an immediately set to work.

Xu Erxiao stayed to guard Zhao Shun and Li Guilan.

Song Qinghe held Xiaoman and Asheng, standing by the wagon to watch the dim lamp.

Lu Yuan finally stepped to the coachman's wooden face.

The un-named mask was already covered in cracks, black water oozing from them.

"What is your name?"

The wooden-faced mask was silent.

"The life-protecting wagon is not your name."

"The offering altar is not your name."

"Speak."

The cracks on the wooden face split apart, revealing an ancient human face within.

The face was full of frostbite; the left eye had rotted away.

"I am Gu Chuan."

Lu Yuan glanced back at the tablets under the wagon.

The first tablet bore precisely that name.

"You didn't enter the offering willingly."

Gu Chuan smiled faintly.

"I fled from within the border, bringing seventeen people."

"That year the snow was heavy, there was no grain."

"The old men in the stockade said, if I left my name to the mountain god, the mountain god would let everyone cross."

"And the result?"

"I died, and they lived."

"Are they still alive afterward?"

Gu Chuan did not answer.

Lu Yuan already knew the answer.

Once offerings begin, the living must continue to fill in others.

"Why do you still drive the wagon for it?"

"Because they nailed my name to the wagon."

"Do you want to return to the earth?"

Gu Chuan's single eye looked to the tablet that bore his name.

"I do."

Lu Yuan raised his blade but did not cut the tablet.

"Then come down yourself."

"I cannot move."

"Do you have legs?"

The wagon pole slowly split, revealing two white bones wrapped by black roots.

"These are my legs."

Lu Yuan took an ink-line from his waist and looped it around the base of the white bones.

"Lin Zhaoxuan, lend a line."

Lin Zhaoxuan handed him the ink-line.

Lu Yuan wrapped the line around the tablet and formed a "Unbinding Seal" with his left hand:

"Wood has a name, bone has an owner."

"The dead enter the earth, not the caravan wheel."

"Old roads cut, new roads do not stand."

"Release!"

The ink line tightened abruptly.

Black roots snapped one by one.

Gu Chuan let out a low gasp, and the wooden tablet fell from the wagon pole.

The instant the tablet struck the ground, the second red lamp in Xiaoman Stockade abruptly went out.

All Red Cords loosened at once.

A cry rose from the village, then wails, shouts and children running.

But in the black night, a third altar suddenly flared brighter than the first two.

Its red light pointed toward the well of the old stockade.

Asheng wriggled free from Song Qinghe's arms and, kneeling, came to Lu Yuan's side.

"Not the third lamp."

Lu Yuan looked down at him.

"Then what is it?"

Asheng pointed at the red light.

"It is the root of the first lamp."

"It hid inside the wagon just now."

Lu Yuan looked at the wagon's tracks in the snow.

At their end, a string of wet footprints had appeared overnight.

The prints were very small, like a child.

They led all the way to the old well behind Xiaoman Stockade.

With every step a black flower bloomed underfoot.

Lu Yuan gripped his broken knife.

"Keep Zhao Shun and Li Guilan in the stockade for now."

"Zhou Heng, you guard the village entrance."

"Zhaoxuan, go check the ancestral graves and tablets."

"Cheng'an, watch those Red Cords. If any black line reappears on someone's hand, shout immediately."

"Erxiao, come with me."

Xu Erxiao nodded.

"What about Asheng?"

Lu Yuan looked at him.

Asheng pressed his lips together.

"I'll go too."

"You just regained the life character."

"So I know where it will crawl out."

Lu Yuan did not object.

Song Qinghe picked up the remaining lamp and followed.

"I'll go too."

"The lamp's flame is unstable."

"Precisely because it is unstable, you can see where it borrows fire."

Lu Yuan nodded.

Four of them followed the black footprints toward the old well on the hillside.

The snow fell harder and harder.

Beside the well stood an Earth God Temple half collapsed.

The temple gate had no door, but the altar held three new bowls.

Inside the bowls was not incense ash but black rice.

Each grain bore a tiny carved "sheng" character.

A man stood at the well. He wore an old-style Republican long robe and held a black oiled-paper umbrella, his back to the group.

The umbrella's surface was densely stitched with white threads forming a giant eye.

"Daoist Lu."

The man spoke slowly.

"You arrived sooner than I expected."

Lu Yuan stopped at the temple gate.

"Who are you?"

"Someone who conveys messages for the mountain people."

"The Malevolent Deity's messenger?"

"They call me Mister."

"What's your full name?"

The man turned.

He wore round-framed glasses, his face white as bloodless paper, mouth curved in a gentle smile.

"My surname is Meng."

Lu Yuan stared at him.

"Full name."

Mister Meng's smile faltered slightly.

"Names are only appellations."

"For the living it's a calling; for the Malevolent Deity it's a doorplate."

"If you won't speak, it means your name no longer entirely belongs to you."

Mister Meng closed his oiled-paper umbrella. The ribs clicked softly like countless nails scratching wood.

"Daoist Lu, you have already cut two lamps."

"The villagers will hate you."

"The old stockade people will fear you."

"When dawn comes, they will personally drive you out beyond the Great Wall."

"That's exactly what I want to see."

"See what?"

"See whether they're worshipping the Malevolent Deity, or worshipping their own fear."

Mister Meng smiled.

"You think cutting lamps will exorcise?"

"Lamps are only a surface."

He pointed to the old well.

"The real offerings are under the well."

Black water churned in the well.

An ancient voice came from below:

"Offer one person, protect one stockade."

"Offer one stockade, protect one mountain."

"Offer one mountain, guard beyond the Wall."

"As long as someone is willing to hand over their life, the mountain will not collapse."

Lu Yuan leaned over the well and looked down.

A stone stele stood at the bottom.

There were no characters for "name," "life," or "death."

Only four blood-red characters:

"When many wishes form a god."

Song Qinghe's face changed.

"This is not the Malevolent Deity itself."

"It is its oath stele."

Lu Yuan nodded.

"The true source of the offering lines is not in the mountain belly."

"It is here."

Asheng looked at the well and suddenly began to tremble violently.

"Brother Lu, something under the well is calling me."

"What is it calling you?"

Asheng looked up, blackness swimming in his eyes.

"It calls me... home."

Lu Yuan gripped his shoulder,

"You do not have a home in the well."

"Your home is not determined by it."

The blood characters on the stele suddenly brightened.

All the lamps in Xiaoman Stockade that had just gone out relit at the same instant.

A chorus of terrified cries rose from the village.

Mister Meng retreated under the temple eaves and whispered,

"Now you understand?"

"When human hearts move, lamps will light."

"The Malevolent Deity does not need to force them."

"They will beg it themselves."

Lu Yuan raised his broken knife and pointed at the oath stele.

"Then first cut their oath."

Mister Meng's smile vanished.

"You dare touch the Many-Wishes Stele?"

"I came to sever it."

He formed a seal, fingers curved, thumb pressing the palm.

From the well arose chanting of thousands:

"May the mountain god protect life."

"May the mountain god protect home."

"May the mountain god protect the road."

"May the mountain god protect the dead."

Black water surged up the well wall and in moments overflowed the mouth.

Countless faces floated within the water.

Some were stockade villagers, some refugees, some long-dead.

They all looked at Lu Yuan.

Each face asked,

"On what basis do you deny us the right to beg for life?"

Lu Yuan did not step back.

He pressed the broken knife into the well rim and formed the Daoist "Sever Wish Mantra" with both hands.

Left thumb pressing index, right thumb pressing middle, palms joined then spread outward.

He intoned the formula, one word at a time:

"Wishes are human wishes, not deity wishes."

"Prayers are human prayers, not deity petitions."

"Whoever uses fear as incense, life as a lamp, and another's death to buy their own life—"

"Today we ask the heart itself."

"Wishes can be changed, oaths can be retracted, names can be returned."

"Many wishes shall not become a god!"

"Sever!"

All faces in the well opened their mouths at once.

A surge of black water shot skyward.

A massive palm reached from the water to grab Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan drew his blade and met it.

The blade pierced into the well.

The words "When many wishes form a god" on the stele finally split apart down the middle.

The fractured blood characters turned into five streaks of black fire and flew off toward each home in Xiaoman Stockade.

Where each black fire fell, a family's Red Cord loosened on its own.

The village fell into stunned silence.

Then a child's cry came from one household.

Then another.

The crying stitched together, but it was the real crying of the living, not the Malevolent Deity's chant.

Mister Meng's face went leaden; he slammed his oiled-paper umbrella into the ground.

"You cannot sever all the many wishes."

"As long as one person still wants to beg it, the stele can rebuild!"

"Then let them know what they are truly begging for."

Lu Yuan reversed the blade into the well rim.

"Erxiao, Cheng'an, tell the villagers to bring all household lamps here."

"Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, guard the village entrance, let no one enter the mountain."

"Qinghe, guard Xiaoman and Asheng."

"Mister Meng is mine."

Mister Meng took a step back.

"You think you can detain me?"

"I don't need to detain you."

Lu Yuan looked at his feet.

Black roots had already coiled around Mister Meng's legs.

"You are also part of the offering line."

"If you want to leave, first ask the well if it consents."

Mister Meng looked down, fear for the first time plain on his face.

Roots had worked into his shoe soles and were climbing up his calves.

He formed a seal and chanted,

"Heaven's gate opens, earth's door closes, five ghosts guard the body, all evils retreat!"

The black roots did not recoil.

Lu Yuan said,

"You intone a protection mantra."

"But you have no body that belongs to you."

Mister Meng suddenly looked up.

Lu Yuan slashed and tore open his chest.

Beneath the robe there was no flesh, only layers of yellow paper stuck to bone.

Each sheet bore a person's name.

The names were of men and women, old and young; the topmost sheet read:

"Meng Changgeng."

Lu Yuan looked at that sheet.

"This is your true name."

Mister Meng clutched his chest.

"Don't tear it."

"If you tear it I'll die."

"You were already dead."

"You simply pasted your name onto others, borrowing their wishes to remain."

"Meng Changgeng" cried,

"I live to keep their lamps!"

"You live to watch lamps for the Malevolent Deity."

"I saved many people!"

"Then let those people speak for themselves."

Lu Yuan grabbed the topmost yellow sheet in his hand.

Meng Changgeng struggled, fingers forming a flurry of complex seals.

"Big Dipper guides fate, shadow soldiers borrow the road!"

Black water heaved in the well, and seven black armored specters crawled up, long spears in hand, old-style iron helmets on their heads, spear tips wound with red cloth.

Lu Yuan did not fight them.

He tore the yellow sheet from Meng Changgeng's chest and pressed it into his own palm.

"Human names return to humans, shadow soldiers hold no command."

"If any of you are sent by someone, speak that person's name."

The seven black figures stopped at once.

Lu Yuan held the yellow sheet up.

"Meng Changgeng, do you acknowledge this?"

Meng Changgeng's face began to melt.

"I do not!"

"Then no one claims you."

The seven black figures slowly turned and faced Meng Changgeng.

One raised its spear and plunged it into his chest.

Meng Changgeng let out a piercing, miserable scream.

His body peeled away like wind-blown paper, layer after layer.

The name "Meng Changgeng" on the paper did not disappear.

Lu Yuan folded it into a paper person and set it aside.

"First reclaim your own self."

"Then we'll talk about whose lamp you'll guard."

Meng Changgeng knelt on the ground, clutching his face.

Black sheets of yellow paper slid off him and fell into the well.

With each sheet that fell, a cry rose from the well bottom.

Lu Yuan looked at the already-cracked Many-Wishes Stele.

The fissure in the stele kept widening.

But from the depths of the crack, the Malevolent Deity's aura had not vanished.

Beneath the black water something huge seemed to be slowly rolling over.

Asheng grabbed Lu Yuan's sleeve.

"It hasn't been severed."

"I know."

"The oath stele is only its skin."

"Then what is under the well?"

Asheng looked up at Lu Yuan, voice as soft as snow on the well rim,

"It is its true belly."

"Everything offered goes inside."

"Names, wishes, the dead, the life-force of the living..."

"And wishes not yet fulfilled."

"They all grow in there."

Lu Yuan stared into the well.

A red umbilical cord rose from the black water and slowly wound itself around the cracked stele.

The other end of the cord led out toward the farther ridges beyond Xiaoman Stockade.

There, a fourth red light burned.

Farther and higher than the first three.

As if a temple stood on the spine of the mountains beyond the border.

Lu Yuan tightened his grip on the broken knife.

"The night is not over yet."

Xu Erxiao ran back from the village, face grave.

"Brother Lu, the villagers brought all their offering lamps."

"But one lamp lit by itself."

"Where?"

Xu Erxiao pointed at the well.

The lamp sat beside Meng Changgeng.

It was a bronze lamp; its oil was black, its flame bright red.

Lu Yuan stared at that lamp and suddenly smiled.

It was not joy.

It was the sight of the Malevolent Deity finally exposing its deepest offering line.

"It wants to take my wish to open a door for itself."

Song Qinghe asked,

"What shall we do?"

Lu Yuan made the "Sever Wish Mantra."

"Don't extinguish it yet."

"Leave it."

"If it wants to take me home, then let it reveal the road home."

Lu Yuan used the blade tip to pry open the lamp cover, exposing a red line coiled inside.

One end led to the ridge, the other wound around his wrist.

Lu Yuan let the red line wrap his arm and softly chanted,

"Wishes arise from the heart; the road shows at the lamp."

"The Malevolent Deity borrows roads, I borrow its trace."

"Now using my self as bait, the lamp as lure."

"Everyone, guard my three fires, protect my true name."

"Where the red line points, there lies the evil altar."

"Open the path!"

The bronze lamp's flame surged skyward.

At the same moment the fourth red light on the ridge answered.

A red line cut through wind and snow and straightened toward the further border.

There was no settlement there, only an old Daoist hall half-buried in blizzard.

The plaque over the gate once read "Taiqing Temple."

Now only the character "qing" remained; the other two had been blackened into the Malevolent Deity's eyes.

Lu Yuan sheathed his blade and looked at the others.

"By dawn, reach the old Daoist hall."

"There is the next altar."

"And the Malevolent Deity's second body left in the border."

From the bundle at his side a hand suddenly thrust out.

That hand grabbed the fractured Many-Wishes Stele.

The blood characters rose again.

"Many wishes do not extinguish."

"The Malevolent Deity does not die."

Lu Yuan looked back.

"Then let it die again."

He led the group into the wind and snow.

The bronze lamp bobbed at the front.

The red line threaded through the birch forest, across Xiaoman Stockade, over stretches of frozen waste, toward the old Daoist hall.

Behind them, black water slowly seeped from the well mouth.

Where the black water touched, new footprints appeared in the snow.

One string.

Two strings.

Three strings.

Finally, the whole mountain path filled with lamp-bearers' tracks.

They had no faces.

But they all walked in the direction Lu Yuan had gone.