Chapter 290: Those Who Come Leave Their Names, Those Who Go Leave Their Lives

The wind and snow fell harder and harder.

On the snowy ground, footsteps approached from all directions.

The footsteps of those carrying lamps did not press down on the snow, but on each person’s shadow.

With every step, everyone’s shadow lengthened backward by a segment.

Lin Zhaoxuan gave the ink-line a light snap against the ground, the line-tip returning a faint vibration.

Lu Yuan pointed ahead.

Deep in the snow, the old Daoist hall’s outline had finally emerged.

Half the temple wall had collapsed, black icicles grew along the broken edge.

Two old pines in front of the gate were dead, their bark wrapped with rings of red cloth strips.

On every strip was written the character for “wish.”

“It’s sending-soul cloth.”

“In some parts inside the border, mourning families tie white banners at crossroads.”

“The wind outside the border is fierce, white banners cannot hold, so they use red cloth instead.”

“But red cloth sends joy, not mourning.”

“The Malevolent Deity has turned joy and mourning upside down.”

“When people die, they hang red cloth; when people live, they tie mourning cords.”

Lu Yuan drew his broken blade and lightly tapped its tip on the snow.

“Qinghe, guard the lamp.”

“Zhaoxuan, seal the gate.”

“Zhou Heng, watch the rear.”

“Erxiao, Cheng’an, follow me into the pine grove.”

The packed snow beneath their feet suddenly collapsed.

A patch of black earth emerged from under the snow, like someone had hollowed out between the two trees’ roots and laid down a glossy black cloth.

Three human-shaped shadows floated on the black cloth.

One wore an old army coat, one carried a medicine case, and one hugged a child.

They had no bodies, only silhouettes.

The shadows repeatedly kowtowed toward the group.

“Save us.”

“Give one lamp.”

“Give one breath of warmth.”

“As long as one lamp, we can follow you into the hall.”

Xu Erxiao’s sword hand tightened slightly.

Lu Yuan raised his left hand and formed the “Stop Thought Seal.”

His thumb pressed the base of his little finger, index and middle fingers extended, ring finger tucked in, palm facing down.

“Human shadows return to earth, ghost shadows return to their road.”

“Ownerless shadows shall not borrow the living.”

“The hall gate is not open, all shadows halt.”

“Stop.”

The three shadows were simultaneously suppressed.

But the shadow holding the child suddenly raised the black figure in its arms.

The lump of darkness turned into the shape of a child with a shrill, mournful cry.

“He’s dying.”

“Aren’t you the best at saving people?”

The shadow crawled toward Lu Yuan, its body dragging a long black streak across the snow.

Lu Yuan used his blade tip to draw a small circle on the ground.

“A child without a name cannot enter the gate.”

“A soul without origin cannot claim kin.”

“Those who only plead to live are not children, but a mouthful of wish.”

He raised his blade and pierced the shadow’s chest with the tip.

“Break!”

The black shadow split into countless paper fragments.

Dense pleas were written on the pieces:

“I vow my life to exchange for my child’s.”

“I vow my ancestral name to protect my descendants.”

“I vow the bones of the dead to keep the living’s door.”

Lu Yuan turned the blade’s edge across the paper fragments.

“Wishes may be promised.”

“But someone else’s name cannot sign for you.”

“Nor can fear be written into ancestral precepts.”

He joined his hands in seal and murmured:

“Paper bears words, words have an owner.”

“If the owner does not acknowledge them, the words hold no weight.”

“Whoever uses the deceased as collateral, children as seals, living people’s fear as ink—”

“Today, return to ash.”

“Disperse!”

The black papers spontaneously burned in midair.

The flames had no heat, instead leaving down a layer of frost.

All three shadows screamed and shrank back into the tree roots.

The lamp-bearers in the snow suddenly halted.

They raised their lamps as one, shining toward the old Daoist hall.

The character “Qing” on the temple gate gleamed faintly.

Immediately, a single wooden fish beat came from inside the gate.

Dong.

It sounded only once.

Yet it made every heart in the group tremble at the same time.

The bronze lamp in Song Qinghe’s hands tilted toward the gate.

Lu Yuan instantly grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t let the lamp look at the gate.”

“There’s something inside recognizing lamps.”

The bronze lamp’s flame struggled outward as if tugged by an invisible hand.

Song Qinghe lifted her other hand and formed the “Protect Fire Seal.”

Index and middle fingers together, thumb pressing the ring finger, palm inward.

“Fire comes from my heart, not from perverse gates.”

“The lamp lights my front, not the ghost gate.”

“Fire has three parts, borrow one part but do not disperse.”

“Set!”

The lamp flame returned upright.

Lin Zhaoxuan had already reached the gate.

Although the gate was dilapidated, two fresh yellow talismans were pasted on the doorframe.

The left read “By the Supreme Dao’s Command.”

The right read “All Beings Protected.”

The cinnabar on the yellow talismans was not dry, obviously placed not long ago.

Lin Zhaoxuan did not tear them off directly.

He drew an ink-line from the tool, looped it around the door ring, and held the thread tip between his fingers.

“Talisman not in gate, qi first enters gate.”

“There are people inside the hall.”

Lu Yuan stepped closer and glanced at the yellow talismans.

“They are not Daoist talismans.”

“The writing style is similar.”

“But the brush intent is from a folk temple attendant, and the character for ‘command’ is written reversed.”

Lu Yuan pointed to the paper.

“They deliberately elongated this stroke to make the ‘command’ into a rope.”

“This talisman does not command the evil cult to disperse.”

“Instead it lets the command transmit along the rope.”

“To transfer to everyone who enters.”

Lu Yuan produced a copper coin, pinched it between his index and middle fingers, and pressed it to the talisman.

A layer of white frost quickly formed on the coin’s reverse.

“It wants to collect our footprints.”

“Once inside, every step you take gives it a portion of the road.”

He used the blade tip to lift a corner of the left talisman.

Beneath the paper, many fine ink dots were revealed.

The dots were arranged into rows of names.

There were villagers from Xiaoman Stockade, hunters who had gone missing days ago, even Gu Chuan, Meng An, and those trapped in the supply cart's spirits.

At the very bottom, in glaring ink, was written:

“Lu Yuan.”

Xu Erxiao’s face changed.

“Brother Lu, it’s already put your name down.”

Lu Yuan did not tear it off.

He tapped his chest lightly, then formed the “Refuse Name Seal” with his right hand.

Thumb pressing the middle finger, ring and little fingers curled inward, index and middle fingers upright, palm outward.

“Name resides on the person, not the paper.”

“If a paper bears a name without the person, it is unearned.”

“A command on the gate is not heaven-given.”

“Whoever borrows a name to open the gate today shall not pass.”

“Refuse!”

All the ink dots on the yellow talisman swelled outward at once.

One by one, black human names tore free from the paper like little insects and lunged toward the group.

Lu Yuan stepped forward half a pace, blade tip drawing an arc at the threshold.

“Return to original owner.”

“Dead return to earth, living return to their bodies.”

“Ownerless names shall not enter the gate.”

The arc shone white.

The black names slammed into the light and revealed their true forms.

Some were wood chips, some were bloodstained rags, a short lock of hair, or clumps of incense ash pressed into paper bundles.

Zhou Heng saw a paper bundle with his own name and reached out to grab it, but Lu Yuan barked:

“Don’t touch!”

The paper bundle changed midair into Zhou Heng’s face.

That face spoke with an inside-the-border accent, shouting:

“Zhou Heng, have you forgotten your family back home?”

“Your sister is still waiting.”

“Your mother is not dead.”

“If you step inside, you will see them.”

These voices were not loud, but each lodged in the softest places of the heart.

Lu Yuan did not forcefully suppress everyone’s reaction.

He knew the harder he pressed, the more likely the talisman’s paper would slip in through the seams.

“Did you hear what it said?”

No one answered.

“What it says may not be all lies.”

Lu Yuan looked at the two yellow talismans.

“But truth or falsehood does not determine the command.”

“You may think of home, you may be afraid, you may regret.”

“But these thoughts cannot take a step for you through this gate.”

He lifted his blade.

“Recognize the thoughts, then let them go.”

Zhou Heng closed his eyes.

“I want to go back inside the border.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said, “I fear we cannot hold people.”

Song Qinghe said softly, “I fear if the lamp dies, nothing can be saved.”

When each person spoke, the paper bundles in front of them dimmed slightly.

Lu Yuan brought his broken blade down.

The two yellow talismans split in the middle.

The black qi on the doorframe writhed like a severed snake and sank into the snow.

Lin Zhaoxuan took the chance to stretch his ink-line across the threshold and formed the “Lock Gate Seal.”

“The gate has four sides, a house four corners.”

“Left, Azure Dragon; right, White Tiger.”

“Above, Vermilion Bird; below, Black Tortoise.”

“This gate only permits the living to enter straight on, not for evil shadows to slip through seams.”

“Lock!”

The ink-line tightened; the gate emitted a dull thud.

The old temple doors swung inward slowly.

There was no courtyard inside.

Only a flight of stone steps covered in pristine snow leading straight to the rear hall.

Twelve wooden stakes stood on both sides of the steps.

Each stake hung a small bronze lamp.

Under the lamps there were no spirit tablets, only pairs of shoes.

Cloth shoes, padded shoes, straw sandals, and the leather boots common inside the border.

Every pair was muddied but lacked their owners’ footprints.

“This is a lamp formation that collects footprints,” Lu Yuan said.

“Whoever walks up the stairs leaves their footprints in the shoes.”

Lu Yuan turned to the lamp-bearers behind them.

They had already stood just outside the hall, but did not come in.

Beneath each faceless figure’s feet was a pair of white shoes.

Those shoes moved forward on their own, leaving black footprints in the snow.

Lu Yuan understood.

These lamp-bearers were not hunting them.

They were waiting for them to walk the road inside.

“Burn the shoes?” Zhou Heng asked.

“No.”

Lu Yuan picked up a handful of fresh snow and scattered it across the steps.

Where the snow fell under the first lamp, a small footprint immediately appeared.

It was tiny, like Xiaoman’s foot.

But its direction did not face the rear hall; it faced out the gate.

“These shoes already contain footprints.”

“Whose?”

Asheng’s face went pale.

“Mine.”

He pointed to the third wooden stake.

A small padded shoe bore a strip of black cloth sewn on, with the character “Life” stitched into it.

Xiaoman glanced at that shoe and trembled slightly.

“It wants you to put it on.”

“What happens if I put it on?”

“It will take your road.”

Lu Yuan walked to the third stake.

Under the shoe lay a red paper, pressed flat with a commonly used folk “soul-guiding phrase”:

“Step the Yellow Springs’ road, soul return to the Mountain Spirit’s gate.”

Lu Yuan pricked the red paper up with his blade, careful not to touch the shoe.

“The guiding phrase has been altered.”

“Originally it guides the deceased home; the last line should read ‘soul returns to its original family gate.’”

“It changed ‘original family’ to ‘Mountain Spirit’s gate.’”

Song Qinghe said, “If you return the shoes to their original family, the pull breaks?”

“First find the original family.”

Asheng lowered his head and sensed.

After a moment, he pointed to the rear hall.

“There’s a room in the back.”

“There’s an earthen kang bed.”

“On the kang is half a roasted potato.”

Lu Yuan looked toward the deep interior of the old hall.

“That is the false home it built for you.”

Asheng’s voice trembled.

“But I remember that place.”

“Remembering does not make it real.”

“I can smell the potato.”

“The Malevolent Deity is best at making doors with something real.”

Lu Yuan took out a match but did not strike it, pinching it between his fingers.

“Let’s go.”

They climbed the steps.

At the first step, the first lamp lit.

A pair of cloth shoes hung under it; a man’s voice came from inside one shoe:

“I walked a hundred li.”

At the second step, the second lamp lit.

“I walked a thousand li.”

At the third step, the third lamp lit.

“I walked here and could not return.”

Voices came from within the shoes in various local accents.

Lin Zhaoxuan handed the ink-line to Zhou Heng, then stepped into the lamp formation’s center to observe the lamp shadows.

“Each lamp shines on a pair of shoes.”

“The shoe shadows link into a single road.”

Lu Yuan asked, “Where does the road lead?”

Lin Zhaoxuan looked up, his face changing.

“It connects to every household in Xiaoman Stockade.”

“Each shoe corresponds to a home.”

“This is connecting the villagers’ exit routes to the hall.”

Wang Cheng’an said, “No wonder when the lamps light, the red cords in the village move.”

“People cannot walk into the mountain, but their roads can be taken.”

Lu Yuan looked to the rear hall.

“Keep going.”

They passed six lamps, each lamp recounting how far someone had walked.

At the seventh lamp, the pair of shoes under it suddenly moved.

One muddy, water-soaked black shoe detached from the stake and hopped to Lu Yuan’s feet.

Its opening gaped and inside were fine rows of teeth.

Xu Erxiao slashed with his sword.

The shoe cleaved in two, but black water spurted from the sole, spraying Xu Erxiao’s face.

Lu Yuan blocked the spray with the blade’s back.

“Don’t let the sole touch you!”

“It enters from the foot.”

Xu Erxiao stepped back immediately.

Lu Yuan used his left hand to form the “Suppress Foot Seal” while pressing a copper coin to the ground with his right.

“The foot is the gate to earth, the palm is the human’s hinge.”

“Evil enters from shoes, filth travels from soles.”

“Copper coin suppresses earth, cinnabar seals the gate.”

“Close!”

A red circle rose beneath the coin.

The black water fell outside that circle and quickly condensed into a curled-up foot.

Seven toes grew on it, each tied with a red thread.

Lu Yuan used his blade tip to sever the red threads; the foot dissolved into a heap of black ash.

“This is not a shoe spirit.”

“But someone whose footprints were taken by it.”

“Can the person return?”

“They can.”

Lu Yuan looked to the end of the steps.

“But someone must bring the road back.”

Zhou Heng asked, “How to return it?”

“Find the shoe’s owner.”

“There’s no name on the shoe.”

“No name on the shoe, the lamp has one.”

Inside the seventh lamp the flame suddenly tilted.

Two characters floated on the lampshade:

“Li Gui.”

Lin Zhaoxuan extended the ink-line; the thread tip pointed toward the west side of the stockade.

“Li Gui is to the west.”

“Is he alive?”

“There is qi.”

Lu Yuan took a blank offering paper, wrote the two characters “Li Gui,” folded them into a thin strip, and stuck it into the lampwick.

“This lamp stays lit for now.”

Xu Erxiao looked puzzled.

“Why not extinguish it?”

“It can reveal who was taken.”

“First record the name, then break the lamp.”

They continued forward.

At the rear hall’s door, warm yellow light leaked through the crack.

A roasted potato scent wafted from inside.

Asheng’s feet stopped.

“This is it.”

A woman’s voice called from within:

“Asheng, come back and eat.”

Asheng shuddered.

Lu Yuan looked at him.

“Do you remember this voice?”

“I remember.”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t go in yet.”

The woman inside called again:

“Asheng, mother left you the biggest potato.”

Asheng’s eyes reddened.

Song Qinghe placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t respond.”

“You know.”

“Knowing will still make you want to go in?”

Asheng said nothing.

Lu Yuan stepped to the door and knocked three times with two fingers.

“People inside, announce your names.”

Silence followed.

“Where are you from?”

No answer.

“What do you seek?”

A low sob came from inside.

“I only want my child back.”

There was still no reply to the three questions.

Lu Yuan raised his hand and formed the “Knock Gate Seal.”

Index and middle fingers together, thumb pressing the ring finger, fingertips aiming at the door.

“The gate has an owner, the house has a household.”

“No name, no response; no wish, no welcome.”

“Whoever uses a mother’s voice to lure a living soul—”

“Reveal yourself!”

He pointed once.

The paper on the rear hall’s door tore apart with a great crack.

Inside was not an earthen kang but a dark room piled high with offering lamps.

Ten-odd small beds were arranged within.

On each bed lay a child.

They lay covered in white cloth, an empty bowl on each chest.

Inside each empty bowl was a single black grain of rice imprinted with the character “Life.”

By the beds stood a woman in old blue cloth.

She faced away, holding half a roasted potato.

“Asheng.”

She slowly turned.

Her face had no features.

Only a white slip of paper was sewn onto the skin of her face.

On the paper was written:

“Mother.”

Asheng stepped back.

Lu Yuan put himself between the boy and the figure.

“You are not his mother.”

The woman said softly:

“I fed him potatoes.”

“I held him.”

“I called his name by the well.”

“Then what is your name?”

She did not answer.

“Where did you come from?”

“From his wish.”

“What do you ask?”

“That he return to my side.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“You indeed are not his mother.”

“You are the wish he could not admit.”

The woman’s body suddenly elongated.

All ten children on the small beds sat up at once, their faces featureless beneath the white cloth.

The black rice at their chests cracked open one by one; black tendrils crawled from within and lunged at the crowd.

“Back!”

Lu Yuan formed the “Protect Gate Hand Seal” with both hands.

Left hand set Child-Noon Seal, right hand formed sword-finger pointing at the frame.

“Heaven’s gate above, earth’s hinge below.”

“A border in the gate, a person within the border.”

“Those without names halt at the gate.”

“Those who borrow the Life character return to origin.”

“Protect!”

A white light rose from the doorframe’s sides, stopping the black tendrils.

But the tendrils no longer rushed out; they wrapped around the children within.

Every child bound by a tendril then sprouted a human face on their chest.

“Save me!”

“Please save me!”

“If you don’t save us, we will die!”

Xu Erxiao cried, “Brother Lu, the Protect Gate Seal won’t hold for long!”

“Qinghe, give me the bronze lamp.”

Song Qinghe handed the lamp.

Lu Yuan did not take it but placed his palm above the lamp cup.

“From the lamp’s fire borrow a portion.”

“Borrow only fire, not the wish.”

“Only to light the road, not the soul.”

The bronze lamp’s flame became a thin thread and fell to Lu Yuan’s fingertip.

He snapped that thread of fire toward the room.

The fire thread did not burn the black tendrils; instead it circled each child’s chest.

A name surfaced on each child’s chest.

Big Brother.

Chunni.

Little Stone.

Tie Zhu.

Xiaomei.

Some names were true names, some nicknames.

Lu Yuan scanned quickly.

“Erxiao, left side, third one, named Wang Xiaoshun.”

“Cheng’an, right side, second one, named Chen Gui.”

“Zhaoxuan, back row, innermost, named Liu Xiaoman.”

“The rest are empty shells!”

Xu Erxiao charged in; his swordpoint did not cut the tendrils but struck the black rice on a child’s chest.

The first black rice split and the child’s black tendril immediately loosened.

Wang Cheng’an used the abacus frame like a shovel to pick out a second black rice.

“Chen Gui, wake up!”

The child opened his eyes and wailed.

Lin Zhaoxuan wrapped the ink-line around the third child’s ankle and used it to pull him out from the tendrils.

“Names confirmed?”

“Confirmed!”

“Then shout!”

Lin Zhaoxuan tightened the ink-line and chanted:

“Name rises from the body, life returns from the name.”

“Thread does not bind the soul, it only guides home.”

“Liu Xiaoman, return to your body!”

The third child rolled off the bed, and the tendril on his chest snapped piece by piece.

The remaining tendrils became frantic.

The faceless woman raised both hands; between her ten fingers hung ten red threads.

The ends of those threads attached to each child’s brow.

“All their lives are in my hands.”

“You rescue one, I will take another.”

Lu Yuan looked at her.

“You have no life in your hands.”

“Only wishes others cannot refuse.”

He raised his right hand and formed the “Sever Thread Seal.”

“A thread tethers the heart, not the life.”

“A wish with an owner cannot be relied upon.”

“Today we sever mother-illusions and cut false kinship.”

“Living people return to life, dead wishes return to death.”

“Sever!”

The broken blade did not cut the red threads.

Lu Yuan struck the threshold with the blade’s back.

Three copper coins he had earlier placed at the threshold flipped over at once.

The threads were pulled by the boundary qi and all rolled outward toward the gate.

The faceless woman was dragged forward by the red threads, the white paper on her face starting to peel away.

Beneath the paper revealed a half-face strikingly similar to Asheng’s.

Asheng cried out:

“She’s my mother.”

“No.”

Lu Yuan held his hand over Asheng’s.

“She was peeled from your memory.”

“What do you actually remember about her?”

Asheng looked blank.

“She... called me Asheng.”

“She held you?”

“I don’t know.”

“She fed you potatoes?”

“All I remember is the taste.”

Lu Yuan faced the faceless woman.

“You cannot prove you are his mother.”

The woman opened her mouth and spat out a black potato.

Its skin sprouted eyes, and each eye’s pupil was full of well water.

“He ate my food.”

“Therefore he belongs to me.”

Lu Yuan pushed his blade into the ground and made the “Divide Meal Seal” with his left hand.

“Food enters the belly, ties do not enter the soul.”

“Taking one meal does not mean taking a lifetime.”

“Grace in feeding the body is not proof for nourishing a demon.”

“Whoever uses food as contract, today the contract is annulled.”

The blade struck; the black potato split in two.

Inside there was no flesh, only tangled hair.

Asheng suddenly clutched his chest and bent over coughing violently.

From his throat he spat a small black object which fell and turned into a tiny bowl.

The bowl’s bottom bore the character “Life.”

Lu Yuan cleaved that bowl to pieces.

At last Asheng could breathe smoothly.

The faceless woman screamed as the red threads dragged her out the gate.

The lamp-bearers outside raised their lamps at once.

Blue-green lamp fire shone on her; her flesh peeled layer by layer until only a white slip of paper bearing the character “Wish” remained.

Lu Yuan pressed the paper down.

“You came from Asheng’s wish.”

“Now return to that wish.”

“A wish shall not play mother, mother shall not be a sacrifice.”

“Collect!”

The paper turned to a wisp of black smoke and slid into Asheng’s shadow under his feet.

Asheng trembled.

Lu Yuan immediately placed a copper coin on his brow.

“Do not be afraid.”

“It is not that it returned.”

“Your old remembrance returned.”

“You must see it clearly yourself, then let it go.”

Asheng closed his eyes.

After a moment he said in a low voice:

“I do remember someone holding me.”

“But I cannot remember her face.”

“That is enough.”

Lu Yuan said,

“To recall one thing is not to hand over your whole life.”

“Who was she?”

“Maybe a sliver of memory left by your mother.”

“Maybe the Malevolent Deity created a false shadow from your memory.”

“We’ll check after the supply lines are severed.”

The children still alive were carried out by Song Qinghe and Zhou Heng.

Each child’s chest had a yellow paper stuck with their true name written on it.

Xiaoman stood by the doorway and suddenly pointed to the rear hall wall.

“There’s another lamp there.”

They looked.

In the very center of the rear hall hung a black lamp without shade.

Its wick was not cotton but a human finger.

Below the lamp hung a stone plaque.

Carved on the plaque were the words:

“Homecoming Lamp.”

The flame’s reflection showed not a village nor a mountain road,

but a strange, bright city.

Tall buildings, vehicles, neon lights, and streets Lu Yuan had seen before.

That was the world he had once lived in.

A voice came from the lamp’s flame:

“Lu Yuan, come.”

“This time it’s real.”

“The gate is already open.”

“You only need to reach out.”

Everyone looked at Lu Yuan.

He stood beneath the lamp unchanged in expression.

Meng Changgeng, held by Zhou Heng outside, let out a hoarse laugh.

“This is its root.”

“It does not live on villagers’ offerings alone.”

“It feeds on the place in every person’s heart they refuse to let go.”

“If you don’t go inside, it will call you forever.”

Lu Yuan pinched two fingers together and squeezed the lampwick.

It was a chunk of shadow peeled off.

The shadow contained countless people who never returned.

They came from different places and years but the Malevolent Deity nailed their names to the lamp under the word ‘homecoming.’

Lu Yuan made the “Recognize Shadow Seal” with his left hand and held one end of the shadow with his right.

“The origin has a gate, the return has a name.”

“Those who have not returned do not become lampwick, the lost are not lamp oil.”

“If you want to go, first recognize your origin.”

Countless voices came from the shadow.

“Inside the border.”

“Beyond the mountains.”

“Old stockade.”

“Jiangnan.”

“Liaodong.”

“My home is...”

With each origin spoken, a portion of the shadow peeled off the lampwick.

At last, only one voice did not answer.

The voice sounded exactly like Lu Yuan’s own.

“My origin is not here.”

The black lamp’s flame changed back into a city.

“You need not speak.”

“I know.”

“If you acknowledge it, you can return.”

Lu Yuan watched the city, then turned his broken blade in a new direction.

The blade did not chop the lamp.

Instead he slashed at his own shadow.

The blade struck the ground, cutting the thin line connecting the black lamp back to his shadow.

The shadow beneath his feet split open.

“You cut your own shadow?”

“Shadows are not life.”

“You will lose a return road.”

“I am not walking your road now.”

Lu Yuan formed the “Sever Gate Seal.”

Left thumb pinching index, right thumb pinching middle, palms facing each other and slowly turning.

“I recognize origin, not the evil gate.”

“I have old memories, but I do not use old memories as offerings.”

“Roads may be far, gates may be closed.”

“Hometown is not in the lamp.”

“Sever!”

The black lamp went out abruptly.

The countless shadows inside the wick scattered in all directions, passed through the gate, and disappeared into the wind and snow.

When the city finally faded, Lu Yuan saw a figure at the corner of a street nod toward him.

Not a beckoning.

A farewell.

At the instant the black lamp died, a great rumble came from deep within the old hall.

The rear hall’s floor split open.

A thick, black fetal root burst up from the earth, wrapped with innumerable bronze lamps and wooden tablets, like a black spine reaching out from a mountain’s belly.

The root’s tip aimed straight at Lu Yuan.

It no longer formed faces.

A mouth full of teeth revealed itself.

“You destroyed the homecoming lamp.”

“Then use your shadow as the root.”

The root’s tip drove toward the shadow under Lu Yuan’s feet.

Lu Yuan had been waiting for this moment.

He planted his boot on the shadow’s cut and thrust his broken blade into the ground, while his right hand formed the “Northern Dipper Suppress Shadow Seal.”

“Greedy Wolf lights the head, Huge Gate locks the throat.”

“Prosperous Store presses the heart, Literary Curve steadies the hand.”

“Integrity calms the foot, Military Curve seals the back.”

“Break Army severs the root, seven stars return to place.”

He took seven star-steps forward.

With each step the ground glowed a fleck of cinnabar light.

When the seventh step landed, seven points connected into the Dipper handle and pressed down on the black fetal root.

The black root emitted a sharp, piercing howl.

But it was not subdued.

One by one the lamps attached to the root ignited; inside each lamp the faces of the people appeared.

Xu Erxiao’s face.

Wang Cheng’an’s face.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s face.

Song Qinghe’s face.

Zhou Heng’s face.

Asheng’s face.

Xiaoman’s face.

And every child recently rescued from the room.

The black root spoke through those faces:

“If you sever the root, they will lose protection.”

Lu Yuan looked to the group.

“Protect your own names.”

Xu Erxiao made the Child-Noon Seal with both hands.

“Xu Erxiao is here.”

Wang Cheng’an held the abacus frame across his chest.

“Wang Cheng’an is here.”

Lin Zhaoxuan wound the ink-line around his arm.

“Lin Zhaoxuan is here.”

Song Qinghe guarded the lampwick between both hands.

“Song Qinghe is here.”

Zhou Heng gripped his short blade.

“Zhou Heng is here.”

Asheng lifted his head.

“Asheng is here.”

Xiaoman timidly imitated them, “Xiaoman is here.”

Each voice was not loud.

Yet the faces in the lamps gradually thinned.

Lu Yuan gripped his blade with both hands.

“Name is a person’s own gate.”

“You borrow their faces, you are unfit to be called a god.”

“Today we sever the root, not the people.”

“Chop!”

The blade fell.

The seven-star suppression array shone simultaneously.

The black fetal root split in the middle, and what spurted forth was not blood but countless fine red threads.

The red threads flew toward outside the hall, through the ridges, extending farther and farther.

Lu Yuan did not chase every red thread.

He used his broken blade to hook the thickest one and followed it with his eyes.

At the end of that red thread stood, faintly visible under the snow, a stone platform.

On it planted a large black flag.

The flag surface bore no words, but sewn in its center was a closed eye.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s face changed drastically.

“That is not an offering altar.”

“What is it?”

“A camp flag.”

Zhou Heng looked up as well.

“I’ve seen this sort of flag inside the border.”

“It’s not a military flag.”

Lin Zhaoxuan murmured,

“It’s a road flag planted by fleeing groups.”

“People will plant flags in wastelands to tell those behind where to find water, grain, or shelter.”

“But the eye sewn on this flag...”

Lu Yuan pulled the blade back.

“The Malevolent Deity borrowed escape-route flags.”

“It does not only collect offerings in stockades.”

“Any group passing from inside the border could leave names under a road flag.”

Song Qinghe asked, “Where is that flag?”

“Old Dragon Ridge.”

Meng Changgeng suddenly spoke.

Everyone turned to him.

“Outside Old Dragon Ridge there is an abandoned Guan Di temple.”

“Fleeing groups rest there.”

“There is no statue, only a stone well.”

“Whoever passes must write a name on the flag.”

“Write a name to exchange road, light a lamp to exchange water.”

Lu Yuan asked, “Have you been there?”

Meng Changgeng nodded.

“I collected names for it three times.”

“How many people are there now?”

Meng Changgeng closed his eyes.

“Seventy-seven.”

“Are they alive or dead?”

“Seventy-seven names.”

Lu Yuan looked past the old hall into the snowstorm.

On the ridge the black flag had already begun to glow.

The stitched closed eye slowly opened.

A red beam of light cut across the sky and struck the old hall’s broken wall.

The character “Qing” on the wall lit up in red; two plaques painted over in black slowly revealed outlines.

Left was “Tai.”

Right was “Guan.”

The three characters recomposed:

“Taiqing Temple.”

But beneath “Taiqing Temple” another line of smaller blood-red characters appeared:

“All passersby return.”

Asheng suddenly clapped his hands over his ears.

“It’s calling them.”

Lu Yuan asked, “Who?”

Asheng looked to the outside of the hall.

In the wind and snow, the faceless lamp-bearers from a moment ago had reached the broken wall.

They no longer held their lamps.

Each now held a blank road-pass slip.

“It’s calling everyone who passed Old Dragon Ridge.”

“Where are they going?”

Asheng pointed toward the ridge.

“Under the flag.”

Lu Yuan tucked the lampwick extinguished from the black lamp into a yellow paper.

“Send the children back to the stockade first.”

“Meng Changgeng will escort them.”

“Who is willing to go with us to Old Dragon Ridge?”

Zhao Shun was the first to step out from the crowd.

“I’ll go.”

Li Guilan held his hand.

“I’ll go too.”

Old man Zhao Xiaoman knelt by the old well and pressed the broken life-nail into the dirt.

“I’ll go too.”

He looked up at Lu Yuan.

“I have lived twenty-seven years; I should not let others repay me alone.”

The villagers of Xiaoman Stockade looked at each other.

None immediately volunteered.

But soon a woman carrying a child stepped forward.

“My lamp went out, my child is still alive.”

“I’ll go and take a look with you.”

Then a man stepped forward.

“I don’t know if my father can walk.”

“But I don’t want that red cord anymore.”

More and more people came to the old hall.

They were afraid and hesitant, but nobody knelt again at the well.

Lu Yuan did not stop them.

“At Old Dragon Ridge you may see people you offered.”

“You may see what you most want.”

“And maybe someone will die.”

“If you don’t want to go, now is the chance to return to the stockade.”

No one went back.

Lu Yuan looked beyond the snowy curtain.

The black flag on the ridge fluttered again.

Seventy-seven red lights along the ridge lit up in a line like seventy-seven eyes opening at once.

Lu Yuan sheathed his broken blade.

“Dawn is near.”

“Let’s reach Old Dragon Ridge before light.”

“It wants to send everyone into the offering altar by one road.”

“Then we’ll walk that road to the end.”

“To its root.”

The group raised torches and stepped out of Taiqing Temple.

In the wind and snow, seventy-seven faceless lamp-bearers turned and slowly headed toward Old Dragon Ridge.

Xiaoman clutched Song Qinghe’s sleeve.

Asheng walked behind Lu Yuan.

Xu Erxiao and Wang Cheng’an flanked them.

Lin Zhaoxuan and Zhou Heng protected the villagers.

Meng Changgeng, bound in red cloth, silently walked at the rear.

After half a li, Lu Yuan suddenly stopped.

He looked down.

A new line of characters had appeared in the snow as if written by an invisible hand:

“The third lamp is already among you.”

Xu Erxiao drew his sword at once.

“Who among us has a lamp?”

They all scanned one another.

Song Qinghe’s bronze lamp had already gone out.

No villager carried any offering implements.

Meng Changgeng bowed his head and looked at his chest.

Where the yellow paper had been torn away a faint red glow now pulsed.

Lu Yuan walked to him.

Meng Changgeng’s face was deathly pale.

“Not me.”

“I already returned the name.”

“The lamp is not on me.”

Lu Yuan pressed his hand to Meng Changgeng’s chest.

The red light spread under his palm and finally manifested as a thin thread of blood.

The thread extended from Meng Changgeng’s chest, crossing the crowd and landing on a child.

That child was Xiaoman.

Around Xiaoman’s neck, a red cord had appeared.

At its knot hung a red lamp no larger than a thumbnail.

Its flame was faint but burned steadily in the wind and snow.

Xiaoman looked up at Lu Yuan.

“It says I am the third lamp.”

Lu Yuan did not immediately reach to remove it.

“Do you want to be the lamp yourself?”

Xiaoman shook his head.

“I want to go home.”

“Where is your home?”

Xiaoman pointed to Xiaoman Stockade.

Lu Yuan nodded.

“Then don’t be a lamp.”

He pinched the red cord and formed the “Sever Offering Seal.”

“Lamps have fire, fire has a core.”

“A core does not belong to the lamp, the lamp does not belong to the god.”

“Children return home, red cords return to ash.”

“Sever!”

The red cord did not snap.

Instead, the tiny lamp burned stronger.

Xiaoman’s shadow was stretched by flame, cast toward Old Dragon Ridge.

Lu Yuan’s expression darkened.

“This is a living person’s lamp.”

“You cannot force it off.”

“What do we do?” Song Qinghe asked.

“Let him blow it out himself.”

Xiaoman looked at the lamp in fear.

“I can’t.”

Lu Yuan crouched and met his eyes.

“You don’t need to blow the flame.”

“You only need to say one sentence.”

“What sentence?”

“That this lamp will not walk the road for me.”

Xiaoman stared at the red lamp and slowly spoke:

“This lamp will not walk the road for me.”

The flame trembled slightly.

“It will not bring me home.”

The flame shrank.

When Xiaoman uttered his last line, the red cord snapped by itself.

The small lamp fell to the snow and turned into a single black grain of rice.

Lu Yuan nudged the black grain into the snow with his blade tip.

“The third lamp is broken.”

From Old Dragon Ridge, two of the seventy-seven red lights suddenly dimmed.

But on the farthest ridge a black temple gate slowly opened.

From behind the gate came that ancient, vast voice:

“Lu Yuan.”

“You brought them, so I will leave a door for you.”

“Roads beyond the border are long, snow is deep, living are hard to travel.”

“If you enter the temple, everyone will return to where they want to go.”

Lu Yuan looked up at the black gate.

He tightened his grip on the blade and continued forward with the group.

“The road home must be walked by oneself.”

“I will not enter your gate.”

The wind and snow swallowed his voice.

But behind the black gate, seven eyes had already opened together.

At the end of the mountain road on Old Dragon Ridge, a Guan Di temple covered in snow gradually took shape.

There were no couplets on its doorposts.

Only two newly carved blood-red lines:

Left: “Those who come leave their names.”

Right: “Those who go leave their lives.”

In the temple’s center hung a black flag.

The eye on the flag was looking at Lu Yuan’s group, slowly opening to its fullest.