In the aftermath, hell and earth burn alike.
Millions of people lost their lives to the predation of demons, natural calamities, or collaterally in the grand battle. Whether they were swallowed by the mouth or a stray fireball that found them at the wrong moment, their afterlife became equally hectic.
This was an old problem and now it's back. Zhang Xiyu knows that because he went through it himself. Technological advancements had always produced war in excess. Killings from invasions, colonisation, expansions, or plain pillaging of the villages. Whatever term it held, they all lead to death.
And so, he and Yutao had once stood in those very long lines, packed elbow to elbow with other souls on the banks of the Sanzu river, waiting for days just to enter the gates of hell.
Back then, Lord Enma had vanished from the public sight and many speculated that the sheer volume of the dead had finally broken him. That he had simply run. That Lord Enma, that coward will never come back. In hindsight, that's where it all began to go wrong.
In that sense, things are a bit different now. The ghost lines outside are reaching a dangerous length, but there are still people managing the collapse. And the news that Lord Enma will return within days is enough to bring even the most insolent demons to heel.
That return was made possible, in no small part, by the unconscious body Yutao had deposited at the palace gates like an unwanted parcel.
He Bolin had sensed their presence and flashed there within seconds, only to find them already gone — and Ren Jiang face-down in the dirt at his feet, soaked in blood.
Whether he had immaturely kicked it or not cannot be confirmed.
What is confirmed: He Bolin ordered the body moved immediately to the deepest cellar of his personal palace. Jin Niu had frowned at the refusal to hand Ren Jiang to the soldiers, sensing the jurisdictional overreach, until He Bolin answered the unspoken question.
"I need to wrench that thing out from him." He hissed impatiently. "You can have your turn after."
No matter how impatiently he dealt with the ministers and angels, none of it was present when he entered the cold cellar that held the eldest brother. Down there, with spell-enforced iron chains binding every limb down to the finger joints, He Bolin worked on his eldest brother with a focus he rarely showed anywhere else. What Ren Jiang endured in those hours surpassed anything Liu Xue's backstabbing had done to him.
The people wondered what is taking He Bolin so long while more closer confidants suspected one cause.
He Bolin is relishing his pain.
Rumours reached the ministers in fragments. The second prince was conducting military-grade torture. Days passed. Then a tattered body was delivered to court, its face unrecognisable, its torso flapped open as though it had detonated from the inside.
"Amitabha…" They gasped. "It's the first prince."
Word spread fast. The renowned philanderer of the second court was, it turned out, just as demonic as his elder brother. Detailed accounts of the torture filled the village bookstores, though the copywriters took care to remind readers, at length, of Ren Jiang's own considerable sins. It was important for narrative balance.
But that's all gossip for the leisurely. While the reality wasn't that far from the truth, it wasn't the same either.
Unhurried footsteps resound on the marble floors of the passages, a tall figure with deep green robes passes through the many guard checkpoints, all bowing as they step aside for him. His posture no longer holds any languidness and his amber eyes are no longer playful, only the sharpness bares its teeth. A bearing worthy of the sole student of Jin Niu, the prime minister. The inane role he had taken up for survival can finally be discarded.
He Bolin heads straight through the long halls to the far removed and secluded judgement room that has seen very few cases. It has persecuted Ren Jiang's mother for treason, his wife for corruption, and now it's his turn.
Heads turn when the door opens just slightly enough for He Bolin to slip in. Even with restrained movements so as to not disturb the procession, he still manages to grab everyone's attention.
Let alone his bold movements in the court and what seems like a meteoric rise in politics, just the idea of matching the face to the person behind Ren Jiang's dire condition is enough to peer over.
This striking face devoid of flirtatious smiles reminded them of his mother, the once formidable Queen Consort, He Suyin. And now centuries later, they can finally admit with awe—
Like mother, like son.
The bland voice of the prosecution droned away while their attention moves back to the defendant.
Ren Jiang kneels at the centre of the podium, every spotlight finding him without effort. His golden hair is burnt at the ends, his skin a map of scars stitched together with threads of healing qi — and that is the presentable version, the one the healers managed to produce after weeks of work. His condition after going through He Bolin was unspeakable.
His complicated and countless injuries can be described by one word: dilapidated. He was skinned and barbequed into a tattered mess where it was hard to figure out where the head started and the legs ended. That he can kneel at all is less a sign of recovery than a monument to the competence of Hell's medical staff.
Which is why He Bolin's old reputation has crumbled and rebuilt overnight. His name moves through the corridors just behind Zhang Xiyu and Liu Xue now — whispered with a new kind of respect, and a new kind of fear. But whatever fantasy they have cooked up, the truth is that Ren Jiang's gruesome body is the plain result of just one action.
He Bolin had removed the cores. Yes, both of them.
No medieval theatre required. The operation alone had been sufficient to destroy Ren Jiang and several walls of the palace cellar. Returning his father's stolen core was the priority — the mortal realm and hell were haemorrhaging from the battle's aftermath, and Lord Enma needed to return before the damage became irreversible. As for Ren Jiang's own core, Liu Xue had already crushed it, but not beyond repair.
If He Bolin wished, he could have called for the best healers to treat their prince, the intergalactic criminal. With this healed heart, Ren Jiang would arrogantly stand on the stage and He Bolin would obediently wait upon the council to announce a fair punishment for him.
Yes, he had walked through the debris to find his remains with his father's core pulsing in his bloody hands. He had every intention to save Ren Jiang after that. Then his boot came down on something.
Crack.
He did not look back at the golden fragments sticking to his sole. That's what I will say.
His eyes darken as they fall on his splattered remains. Ren Jiang What remained of Ren Jiang's qi clung to his meridians by instinct alone, keeping him at the outer edge of life. He Bolin has nothing more left to wait for. The judgement has been made.
As if wiping off mud, He Bolin slides his boots on the wooden debris, golden bits falling off from them.
Ren Jiang is stripped off his immortality. He shall live his remaining years as a mere mortal. In a human's expendable flesh with no future of ascension. He will live the life that he has always looked down upon.
The judgement has been made.
I had every intention to save him. He Bolin calls upon the servants to send for a healer. That's what I will say.
Whether the council believed him was, by then, irrelevant. The second prince's statement has been recorded and the formalities are over with. Given the state of the realms and lack of respect for Ren Jiang, no one had the energy to press further.
After the healers finally patched what could be patched, the prince's court date was set.
The hearing could not be held, however, without one key absence addressed. Lord Enma — who had followed the news of his eldest son's defeat from behind the curtains of his private chamber, bandaged and meditating, slowly reintegrating the stolen portion of his core — had made one request. Even if facts show that Ren Jiang was a treacherous tyrant and coveted the throne to the extent of killing millions of mortals in the process. But a father's heart holds its attachments regardless of the evidence, and Ren Jiang was the only trace of the first queen he had left.
He asked that his son's life be spared. He had pleaded to Zhang Xiyu, and the goddess that raised him like a mother, to spare his son's life. As long as the boy remains alive, that was the entirety of Lord Enma's condition.
Back in his palace chamber, with curtains drawn fully, he lies on his bed covered with bandages, meditating to reintegrate the stolen chunk of his core. All the while, once again praying that the council spares Ren Jiang's life upon his request.
The council did not reject it outright, which was the closest to mercy the room could offer.
Back in the courtroom, the scroll of Ren Jiang's crimes was read in full. Exploitation of souls. Exploitation of demons. Embezzlement of government funds. Operating illegal organisations across multiple jurisdictions. Prime suspect in his own wife's disappearance. Unauthorised invasion of foreign realms. Orchestrating the demonic massacre of mortals. Staging a coup. Destroying the infrastructure of two realms simultaneously. And all the cascading consequences of the above, which the prosecution chose not to abbreviate.
The list was long enough that execution began to look like a generous shortcut.
Crediting the second prince, Ren Jiang has gone through literal bone shattering torture. The core extraction, the weeks of existing at the threshold of death — even a millennium of imprisonment looked like a sentence his body would not survive to complete. So, what fitting punishment remained for a prince who had done everything, and had very little left?
The debate ran for days. Junior ministers were invited to contribute. The room drew on every available reservoir of creativity and institutional experience, and together they assembled something appropriate.
Jin Niu knocks once before slipping into Lord Enma's bedchamber. Enma has pulled himself upright on the couch, skin pale with exertion, bandages trailing loosely from his clothes. His gaze, when it finds Jin Niu, is hazy at the edges. "Your highness," Jin Niu takes the opposite seat. "The sentence has been delivered."
He drops the very thick set of files on the wood table with a loud thump.
"It requires your stamp."
Enma's eyes drop to the files. He feels humid friction in the air, making his movements slow. But this tension is all illusory. He turns each page slowly, breath held, the lamplight flickering against his damp brow. Until—
Thump.
The file slips from his loosened grip, falling back on the table. Moments pass within the flickering lamps and then a deep exhale is heard.
A sigh belonging to neither relief nor distress. Because things were bad but it could have been worse. Just as he wanted, Ren Jiang would not be executed. The list of crimes was too long for a clean death to satisfy, and death, in any case, was no longer a punishment the executioners of hell were equipped to deliver to him. He had already endured the bone-shattering work of core extraction, been pulled from the rubble with barely enough qi threaded through his skin to keep it knitted together. What remained of him had no path back to immortality, no path back to ambition. Stripped of his core, he was closer to mortal than the lowest demon in the realm. With his capabilities gone, Ren Jiang cannot even hold the title of prince anymore.
Now, he is just Ren Jiang. A person who will live out a century or two remaining of his life. Whose name holds a faint relation left with his mother. Such a rogue person cannot enter the cycle of reincarnation to join the mortals nor can he stay here, in hell.
"Exile…"
Lord Enma blankly reads the file; his eyes stuck on the sentence. His eyes stay fixed on it with the faint hope of having misunderstood. "He will be thrown out of this realm…"
"That's… the standard sentence for treason." Jin Niu attempts something gentle, lands somewhere between reassurance and bureaucratic recitation. He clears his throat. "In any case, he won't be cast into a bottomless rift. He will simply roam the mortal realm."
The place he was dying to go. Jin Niu keeps this quip to himself.
"And, the council is letting him live so…" He impatiently taps the page, urging Enma toward the paperwork. During the king's long absence, it had been Jin Niu who carried the stamp, and he had been impatient to return it. Now, watching Enma's hands hover unsteadily over the files, he finds himself wishing he could simply take it back and finish everything in one clean sweep. He would not have to navigate a father's grief. He had not realised, until now, how much he had preferred it when things were up to him.
Though the situations then had not been this bad.
He is still rearranging his thoughts when the consecutive thumps begin. Jin Niu looks up. Enma is stamping — resolutely, page after page, jaw set.
He has decided.
Thump. Thump.
He thinks that this outcome is better than execution…
Jin Niu stands; the stamped files clutched between his numb fingers. His lips open, attempting to shape out the appropriate words laced with sympathy or encouragement.
'This is the right thing.'
'The realm will mourn the grand prince's absence.'
And so many other words he could only come up with later. But in this moment, he could only manage his apathy. It certainly does not help when the second queen's ailing face surfaces behind his eyes, pleading for a promise.
In the end he manages a small bow before leaving with haste, not bothering to note the King's grief. About the king, he only concluded that his weakness has ignorantly cost Ren Jiang a worse punishment. In fact, death would have been kind. If not for his insistence, the council would have him executed long ago. The subject of great shame that has been brought upon their hell, they wanted to erase him from history's pages immediately!
But such details would only trouble the poor king more. Moreover, he nor Enma's sons want such a swift conclusion. This punishment befits.
In his attachment for his son, he does not see how this outcome will prove to be a worser punishment for Ren Jiang. How he shall roam the scorched land left by the devis' wrath and nature's torment. Hungry, in pain, and powerless. And when it all becomes unbearable, he will seek death by his own hands, but death shall coldly deny him. The days will pass longer than ever and time shall lose all meaning. Drifting in the wastelands, tormented by vengeful ghosts.
Every second of his life will be haunted by the shadow of death, teasingly, making him yearn their unity. But it will take a long while before he gets that release, albeit from a man he once hated. For now, he will live with death for a long, long time.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Gurgle.
They exhale from within the black tartar. Vision flickering to their pain and suffering. Then he sinks. Deeper into the abyss that glows red with anger. The perfect monument of terror awaits them, awaits him. Fear of drowning grips him until—
Until he drowns.
I see. Their voices ring together. I am not being punished.
A relieving chill spreads through the writhing masses. What they had braced to burn in is instead a gentle embrace, soft and forgiving.
This is liberation.
The news moves through them like current, and they fall deeper with greater vivacity. Fear not, my fellow damned. The gate to liberation lies below.
"But I have made a promise!"
"This will not be the last of me that you see, Sir."
The tugging turns into pulling. They do not want to hear him, no, they are him. His limbs curl to his chest, as he struggles to remain conscious.
"Wait for me. Till the end."
He is losing himself drop by drop, becoming a mere fraction of himself. The loss suffocates him until nothing remains but the hope itself.
"Wait for me. Till the end."
Pain bursts through his skull. His eyes refuse to open.
"Wait- "
"He's up!"
That is the first thing he hears. His vision clears slowly. His sight is blurred with residue but even so, he knows that the man watching over him is a stranger. Survival instinct begins to stir, then stills as two familiar figures push through the door into his room. His room, he registers.
Exhaling, his attention is at last drawn to his limbs that have started stinging with pain with an intensity that only grows with his awareness. He mutters a curse and raises his left hand to his face. It is struggling to hold its shape — cycling from a man's hand to a child's to a black wisp and back again, hurting in every form. He lets it drop back to the bed.
Yutao stands to his right, two fingers pressed to his chest, threading gentle qi through his meridians to probe for complications. The stranger lingers near the door, unsure of his role. Zhang Xiyu is at the bedside table, measuring out a bowl of medicine.
"Drink."
He holds the bowl to Renhu's lips without ceremony. Renhu almost chokes on the concoction — thick, unpleasant, trickling down before he has properly swallowed — but the bowl stays where it is, so he drinks. When it's done, he looks down at his clothes and finds older stains of the same green. This rough nursing has happened before, more than once.
"You couldn't have cleaned this?" He mutters a spell. The stains disappear.
"I was hoping the discomfort would wake you."
"Ha ha." Renhu drawls, and begins inspecting himself. The furrow of his brows deepens steadily as he works. The stranger, sensing the shift in atmosphere, decides this is a good moment to leave. He murmurs something as he goes; nobody acknowledges it.
Zhang Xiyu and Yutao wait.
"How much—" Renhu starts, then stops. He tries again with difficulty. "How much is left of me?"
Although he looks mostly the same from outside, he has lost a significant part of himself. In essence, Renhu is just the amalgamation of millions of incomplete and damned souls and Renhu is their collective conscience. But all of them have an equal importance and no one knows that better than Renhu himself.
He understands that what he did was the only option for survival, and that surviving at all constitutes a major miracle. But this was also his first time he had cut off his own existence. But this was the first time he had ever severed part of his own existence, and those pieces have left no trace. He cannot sense them. They are simply gone.
"Just over a quarter," Zhang Xiyu says quietly.
"A quarter." Renhu's eyelids grow heavy. Behind them, images from that night: sinking, struggling, suffering. The parts of himself he can no longer feel.
This is liberation.
His throat, which had been tightening, loosens. The weight over his eyes eases. Perhaps they are not lost.
"Mr. Zou." Yutao greets someone at the door. Renhu, still in his own thoughts, hadn't noticed the arrival. Two figures enter — the stranger from before, and another man. They walk towards him.
Yutao turns to Renhu. "Zou Yaozu and Osada Kenji. Ministers of the fifth court."
Renhu's eyes widen ever so slightly. This is the Last Fortress, a place the government isn't allowed to touch. So, how are they here? He turns to Zhang Xiyu.
"We, the people of Naraka, will always be indebted to you." Kenji curtsies while Zou Yaozu slightly bows his head. "We wish you a swift recovery." He passes a small box to Yutao, who opens it without apparent surprise and brings it forward. Inside, set in velvet, is a palm-sized medal of gold dense with spiritual stones, the highest award the government bestows.
Of course, there are other monetary prizes but the speciality of this medal is that the stones alone could build unbreakable arrays, and the metal melted down could forge a weapon up to Immortal King grade. Every rare recipient before this has kept theirs in a display case, untouched, out of patriotism or sentiment or simple reverence. But the three of them do not share the same patriotism so one can look forward to see what will be made out of these awards.
Snap. The box closes. No words of gratitude are offered. No pretty words are conjured in return. Words such as 'I am honoured' and 'I am grateful' are nowhere to be found. Instead—
"Why are you here? Certainly not just for this."
Kenji awkwardly clears his throat. He has never seen such blatant rudeness towards government officials nor such unbelievable disregard for the royal medal. But these past few days have already shown him many new things. Zou Yaozu, for his part, is undeterred.
"We were here to investigate what happened that night."
"Oh."
"Speaking of which, we have concluded our work and need a closing statement from your side." He nods to Kenji, who unrolls a scroll and readies his pen. "The corpses, or rather the piles of skin discovered on your barbican, have been identified. All of them on the criminal database, several of them key leaders of a demonic organisation called the Crosses."
He pauses. "The Crosses… were involved in the massacre of Queen Consort Liu's palace."
His gaze settles on Zhang Xiyu. "They were commanded by Ren Jiang?"
A charming smile grows on Zhang Xiyu's face. "Of course."
"You've raided my entire estate. I never maintained an army. Everyone here answered to—"
"The Blue Lotus. Yes." Zou Yaozu pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then how did you defend against Ren Jiang's forces? What we found goes far beyond the innocence of defence. Mr. Zhang, millions of demons have died so cleanly that not a drop of blood is found. Only their skin is left, piled at your gate. How do you explain that?"
He exhales. He is known as the most composed of the ministers. Even so, his voice carries the particular strain of a man who has spent days inside something he cannot explain.
Four days ago, he and his team had cautiously entered Zhang Xiyu's territory. Unlike the case reports from before, they weren't killed for just thinking about entering. Nor were they killed when they eventually reached its gates.
If someone had detected their presence then they didn't acknowledge it. Not even when they loudly announced themselves at the entrance. While they weren't killed, they weren't welcomed either. Instead, skin which they thought were clothes were dangling in every corner of the barbican.
Even then, they weren't rejected. Wherever they went the gates opened with ease. But maybe only those gates that led to its owner because when they finally found him in this labyrinth, they found Zhang Xiyu hunched over a demon suspended in a network of pipes connected to the floor. Black smoke moved through them like blood through a transfusion line. A healing array burned purple beneath the bed. And Zhang Xiyu was tending to it.
"You are?" He had asked, languid, utterly unbothered by the possibility that they were a threat.
Zou Yaozu has not been able to account for that confidence since. No battalion, no goddess behind him, no obvious protection — and yet he had radiated the certainty of a man who knew exactly how this would go.
Someone's backing him.
Who? Jin Niu? He Bolin? He will find out when he returns to the capital.
"The Crosses." Zhang Xiyu appears to consider this, tilting his head. The pause stretches.
"Never heard of them."
Zou Yaozu's fist closes.
"I wasn't here, so I don't know what happened." Zhang Xiyu's tone is light as paper. "That's all."
Zou Yaozu signals Kenji to close the scroll. This is as far as Zhang Xiyu will go, and pressing further will produce nothing. He shifts his gaze to Renhu. "Are you ready to travel to the capital?"
Zhang Xiyu looks at Yutao, who inspects Renhu from head to toe before returning a reassuring nod.
"We are ready."
The journey to the capital took just under an hour, to the ghost horses that led the carriage. Apart from these animals, the monsters residing in the vast fortress had long left that abode. They do not seek material comfort and only act on two instincts – fear and hunger.
Zhang Xiyu bore the brunt of both of them. The authority of Blue Lotus behind him instilled that highest magnitude of fear in these monsters. And for their hunger, the man who scared them also fed them. The most delicious breed of demons and humans, their boss had not been stingy.
But once the dominating presence vanished suddenly along with their food resource, they simply packed their bags and left. Some directly to the Kaigan Pit while others made detours. This left behind only the mountain of shed skins and the wreckage inside the palace. Such things are too tiresome to explain to Zou Yaozu nor do they owe any explanation. So, then why are they heading for the capital?
Yutao turned the question over for the entire ride. Across from him, Renhu lay weakly against the seat, eyes half-closed. Is it to validate his strange presence? Will they rehabilitate him with the civilians?
His fingers drifted to the hilt at his waist, tracing the possibilities he liked less. He hoped they would not reach those. About Zhang Xiyu, he had asked him the same question. In fact, many questions were fired at him after the battle.
Why are we cooperating with these dicks? Why didn't you kill Ren Jiang?
In the end, why… why were you about to sacrifice yourself?
The answers were a frustrating mixture of excuses, shrugs, half-hearted smiles, and apologies. If not for these hounds infiltrating the house and Renhu being in a critical condition, he would have throttled him.
The fifth court came into view. The carriage slowed and stopped. The door opened from the outside, and Renhu stepped out carefully, Zhang Xiyu close behind, his back to Yutao.
If this goes wrong, Yutao thought, stepping out after them, I know who I'm stabbing first.
On came the pleasantries. At the gates stood many ministers whose introduction they did not bother to learn. They weren't the only ones impatient. Zou Yaozu jumped off his carriage and immediately berates the fawning ministers to clear the area and get back to their duties at once. But these ministers did not hold enough pep in their step so Zou Yaozu makes a beeline to the inner chambers of the court. Following him was easy. Ignoring the enthusiastic handshakes being offered from every direction was easier.
The halls narrowed and emptied as they went deeper, sloping gradually upward. The guards stationed here held cultivation at the Profound Immortal level — one step below Immortal King. In the current state of the realm, peak Immortal Kings could be counted on one hand: the three princes, and Zhang Xiyu backed by Blue Lotus. Renhu, Yutao, and a handful of senior ministers stood at the mid-stages, and Zhang Xiyu had recently joined them there. Lord Enma and the nine kings occupied a different category entirely — early God Realm, two full stages above.
None of the younger generation had broken through to Immortal Emperor, and yet the princes had gone to war with the kings. The arithmetic of that ambition had never quite resolved itself.
Doors opened and closed sternly behind them as they walked further down the monotonous hallways. Until they reach their destination. The hall ended at a set of tall wooden doors. Zou Yaozu presses a qi-condensed palm against them, and despite their weight they swing open without effort.
The room inside was not what any of them expected. Warm lamplight fell across soft curtains and velvet sofas. Soon their attention lands on the two people waiting for them.
"Ah. Mr. Zou, I thought this guy had done you in." Jin Niu throws a stern glance at He Bolin who teases. "It's good to see you safe and sound."
"I appreciate your concern, your highness." Zou Yaozu replied flatly.
"Why, yes. It would have been terribly tiresome for us to arrest these legends. Speaking of- "He smirks as his gaze moves to Zhang Xiyu. "The heroes of our generation. Welcome to the fifth court."
A beat passes. Both Yutao and Renhu stand with guarded expression while a soft smile grazes Zhang Xiyu's lips.
"Please, sit." Jin Niu's posture remains impeccable. They take the large sofa across from the two ministers, and Zou Yaozu slips out through a side door. "It's been dormant long enough that preparation is taking some time. We'll get to your request shortly."
Looking at Zhang Xiyu nod knowingly, Yutao feels a chill in his bones. Quiet rage builds up in his chest so he averts his eyes from him.
"This is the first time we've met in person," Jin Niu offers, filling the silence. "Although, we did share a letter or two before."
"Did you?" He Bolin raises his brows with theatrical surprise, looking between them.
Jin Niu clears his throat. "A while back, when the military was moving to seize the Last Fortress, I received a letter from him."
"It had the locations and predicted timings of the mysterious calamities that were striking back then. The tips rang true and because of that, we were able to evacuate civilians and contain the damage considerably. The same letter advised me to call the army back. Or—"
Jin Niu chuckles faintly at the memory. "My kingdom would need to beat ploughshares into swords."
He Bolin pressed a hand to his chest. "And you conceded? What remains of our dignity?"
"Nevertheless," Jin Niu ignores the pointless provocation. "I was indebted to you."
"And a while back ago, you have repaid it." Zhang Xiyu gently nudges the topic to an end. However, Jin Niu's mind clouds with the uncertainty of what he had done. A few months ago, around the time of Aika's arrest, he had received a letter to urgently stall the first prince. This vague request did not mention a why or how. Only, that this is what he owes. The task was simple and Jin Niu had summoned Ren Jiang in for a discussion. But then and even now, he has no clue of how that could have helped these men.
"Yes… I did." He tamps down the old curiosity and acquiesces in settling the topic. His head turns towards Renhu. "So, how are your injuries?"
A beat. Renhu registers that he was being spoken to. "Better." he says. "Nothing worrisome." This is fucking surreal.
"Glad to hear it. We wish you a full recovery." Jin Niu smiles with what appears to be genuine warmth.
The prime minister isn't running after me with a knife. No, he's offering tea and biscuits while wishing me good health.
What the fuck is going on?
Ever since Zou Yaozu appeared in his bedroom with that medal, Renhu has felt untethered from reality. The last he remembered, they and the court maintained a careful distance from each other. A mutual, unspoken agreement to pretend the other didn't exist. Now he is having tea with the second prince and the prime minister. What's next, cards with King Enma?
And why the fuck are these two okay with this? Just how much did the world change in the few days he was knocked out.
While he quietly spirals, an uncomfortable silence has settled over the room. The two beside him, neither of whom has ever shown any interest in small talk, recline in their seats with the ease of men who have nowhere else to be, leaving Jin Niu to manage his own discomfort.
He Bolin understands why Jin Niu is stalling. He hasn't found the right words and he's wary of the trio's temper. So, He Bolin takes it himself. "What's the deal with the young one?" He points openly at Renhu. "Demon? Ghost? His cultivation reads strange. Constitution and core aren't matching." He blinks the qi layer from his eyes. "It's unstable. He'll need to go into seclusion." His tone shifts, suddenly reminiscent of a nagging elder.
"He's a demon condensed from countless damned ghosts." Zhang Xiyu answers easily. "He has the ability to absorb and retain their identities."
Why is this man exposing me? Renhu presses his fist closed and keeps his face still.
"You mean… "He Bolin follows the implication. "He can retain their cultivation too?"
"To a degree. He is proficient in all spiritual roots but the acclimation doesn't increase exponentially." A certain gleam crosses Zhang Xiyu's eyes as if he is showing off the specs of his new artifact. "Consuming two Profound Immortals keeps him at the same stage with different abilities. To level up, he must cultivate or consume someone of higher standing. But the volume of what he had already absorbed gave him a running start at peak Profound Immortal."
Wonderment spreads across Jin Niu and He Bolin's faces. Their eyes keep returning to Renhu, which does nothing good for his nerves. "The R&D department will lose their shit when they meet him." He Bolin breathes out.
When what?
"Renhu." Jin Niu turns to him. "The past centuries without the rule of Enma reigned with corruption."
What's this now? He thinks to himself.
"Frequent wars and pillaging in the mortal world along with the internal dispute of the royal family, put a significant stress on the realm's workforce. There was no one to rein the civilians, and certainly no one to rein the rich and powerful. In those abandoned times, no one wanted to bear the burden of responsibility. Be it, the princes of hell."
"Anyone who had even a shred of power was set to exploit it. For money, for entertainment. Throughout all of it, the mortal souls bore the cost. Including your benefactors."
A prickling sensation crawls up the back of Renhu's neck.
"I'm aware that what I'm about to say borders on rudeness," Jin Niu continues. "But the truth is that while those souls suffered more than most, you three have not only survived. You have thrived."
Zhang Xiyu's left palm comes to rest firmly over Renhu's fidgeting fingers. Renhu's eyes cut to his face. Relaxed. Unoffended. The spiritual pressure building in Renhu's chest loses its shape immediately, deflated by that single wordless reassurance. He exhales quietly. Let's hear him out.
"You are among the most formidable cultivators this generation has produced, a list short enough to count on two hands. Unlike the billions of souls that remain suffering across both realms, you three were never consumed, never condemned. You have built something the rest of them couldn't."
"Can we get to the point." Yutao's voice is low and flat, not a question.
Jin Niu absorbs the look that comes with it and takes a brief pause, though his words don't waver. "My point is that we can no longer neglect the existence of those souls. What once seemed impossible to redress now appears reparable." He turns back to Renhu. "We would like you to take a position."
Renhu's knee jerks forward and hits the centre table with a bang.
"…"
"Huh?"
He turns right and looks at Zhang Xiyu and Yutao with bafflement. Yutao looks a bit dazed himself but Zhang Xiyu, he smiles as if there is nothing notable is happening. React more goddammit! Am I not getting poached right in front of you, boss?!
"A special post is ready for you in the Pànguān department. Given your brief prior work with them, they have a high opinion of your abilities. They are eager to have you on permanently."
"What is happening," Renhu says, more to himself than anyone.
"The role gives you authorisation to travel both realms as duty requires, but it operates independently. You would have no one above you to answer to."
"No. What's going on?" He asks this time loudly. His eyes boring directly into Zhang Xiyu. "We are working for them now? This is—"
"Renhu."
"—just… "
"We are done." He says warmly with conviction. But the chill travelling down Renhu's neck only intensifies. It feels as though unknowingly he has reached the end of the summit. A summit he was born to climb, not knowing what lies at the end of it. But now what?
"She's gone. Our job is done here and we are free." His voice carries his smile. "You are finally free."
Strange. His hand holding him is still firm and yet why does it feel like it's slipping away?
"This is just an option. You are still an important asset to this realm and it's them who need you now. If you want to go back home and aimlessly roll under your covers, you can do so till kingdom come. There's no one leading you anymore except you. Your future, it belongs to you."
Renhu's voice comes out rough. "So… we are…"
Done.
His quivering eyes turn to Yutao, unable to fully accept the reality that has overturned overnight. In the very first place, he had not expected that he would survive that night. About the future, he had always assumed that he would one day die for Zhang Xiyu and that night was supposed to be just that.
But now he is alive. And he has a future that he has the liberty to dream about. A future that doesn't depend on the two men sitting beside him.
Judging by the glassiness in Yutao's eyes, he is arriving at the same realisation right now. A breathless beat passes. Then Yutao nods.
It all goes blank. The sound, the scents. Renhu feels an overwhelming wave of emotions rising in his chest. The emotions that are birthed with the concept of any and all change. Within it all, one question churns in his gut and yet he is unable to ask the out loud.
Will the two of you be in my future?
No. He is afraid of what he will hear and more afraid of how he will react. That is if he even gets a straight answer from this beguiler.
"You don't have to decide now." Jin Niu smiles and moves to smooth over the tension that has thickened the air. Two fingers click together. "I think I know something that might help."
He Bolin leans forward, hands clasped over his knees. "Would you like to speak with your colleagues?" He phrases as if he has already accepted them as so.
This time Renhu resists the pull to look right. Pressing his lips till they turn white, he makes his own decision. "Yes."
"Fantastic." He Bolin rises from the sofa. "Let's go."
Renhu stands, uncertain what comes next. This might all be a ploy and maybe they will shoot him backdoor. It wouldn't be the worst outcome. There would at least be something to blame, and they could go back to the Last Fortress and resume the life he understands.
Nonetheless, he doesn't know. The man who always seemed to know everything is no longer offering that service. Renhu takes one last measured look at the two still seated, receives only a quiet, encouraging smile, and follows He Bolin through the door Zou Yaozu had used earlier. It swings softly shut behind them.
Then a hand catches it. Zou Yaozu leans in from outside. "Jin Niu. They need you in there."
Jin Niu excuses himself, and the door closes again — this time leaving only two people in the large room. A situation Zhang Xiyu had been genuinely hoping to avoid. Yutao has been cornering him with impossible questions for days, relentlessly enough that Zhang Xiyu had thrown everything he had into waking Renhu up just to have a buffer.
So, why is he sitting silently now?
Zhang Xiyu tilts his face towards him. Arms crossed, legs extended, eyes somewhere far ahead looking lost in thoughts. Zhang Xiyu averts his eyes, interlocking his fingers.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about this arrangement." He keeps his voice gentle, probing. The furrowed phoenix eyes that had been staring ahead slowly turn to him.
"Then are you ready to confess what other arrangements you've made?" Yutao's low voice holds his frustration just barely in check. Zhang Xiyu's silence does nothing to help. A scoff. "I have a good idea of why you almost traded your life for Ren Jiang's."
"You—" his gaze sharpens "made a deal with Enma. Some kind of severance package. You've done your grand work settling Renhu, so who has the great lord Zhang arranged for next?"
"It's me, isn't it."
A harsh laugh escapes Zhang Xiyu's throat. "Who else?"
"The woman is gone. Her monsters are gone. You are the last thing I need to take care of before—"
"Before what, asshole?" Yutao's voice cracks on the word. "What more burden does Saint Zhang have left on his shoulders?"
"Ahem."
They turn sharply. A frail old woman stands at the door, Zou Yaozu just behind her. "Mr. Yutao," she says. "You have been summoned."
The anger in his eyes sharpens as he holds Zhang Xiyu's gaze — the poker face giving nothing, as always. A low growl rises from his chest as he stands.
"You better start praying for yourself."
"Don't need to." He sighs exasperatedly. "You'll love it."
"Oh, fuck off." he mutters, and follows the old woman out. But not before leaving a withering look for Zou Yaozu, who steps past him into the room and says to Zhang Xiyu, plainly: "They're here."
I am over this. Yutao breathes steadily as he walks, talking himself down with each step. These corridors are nothing like the empty ones they came through. They swarm with people carrying stacks of files and spiritual artifacts between rooms, too occupied to spare him a glance, moving with the energy of a place preparing to open its doors after a long closure.
The carvings on the walls grow grander the deeper he goes, more intricate, until the painted figures of the ten kings and the Vedic gods spread across the stone in full fable, and the great hashiras rise above him, and he understands: he is being brought to the heart of this building. Whoever waits at the end of this walk is important.
Passing through the red gates, he is brought to a place which looks like a waiting hall with barricades arranged for multiple queues. The hall however is completely empty. Bells tinkle somewhere in the high air, and an unusual feeling of peace settles over him.
The woman's steps are fast despite her frame. Arms folded within her long sleeves, she leads him to the far end of the hall, where a moustached man writes at a large mahogany desk. As Yutao draws closer, a sense of déjà vu moves through him — the feeling of having seen this before, from somewhere he can't quite place.
"Sir Manikantan." The woman addresses him without stopping. "I've brought the first defendant."
The man seems to be expecting him as he confidently sweeps out a thick file from the top of his drawer. He adjusts his glasses and looks up at Yutao. Catching his frown, he misreads it and offers an explanation. "Normally, the defendants are to carry their own file. But I will make a special exception for you. Don't fetter son, we have it all here."
"Nothing's lost." He stamps several forms in quick succession and passes them over while the file vanishes from the desk. With this, a gate opens in the wall behind him. "Go on in."
The old woman stops where she stands, meaning that Yutao must venture in alone. Slightly unnerved, he walks through the doors which promptly shut behind. Ahead stretches another vast hall, its interior gilded, glittering and familiar in the way that places are familiar when you have been in similar spaces too many times, from too many angles, across too many years. It looks exactly like a royal court.
He steadies the anxiety climbing his chest, pushes through the sheer curtains, and walks forward. And there it is, the throne he had imagined countless times in his life and death. Until he could no longer bear the hope behind his imagination. On it sits the man he had once been desperate to meet.
Jin Niu approaches from the side, smiling. "Mr. Yutao." His voice is warm. "Welcome to the court of King Enma. The judgement of your life is long overdue."
Memories, whatever remain, flash through him in rapid succession. The impoverished but warm house of his childhood, the hellish training he endured to be a spy for the state, then his death on the field, an arrow rushing through the night and lodging through his skull as he tried to flee on a rickety boat. Blue silk grazing cave stone, the woman wearing it looking down at him like a predator. The world crumbling when he emerged from that Tartarus.
All the memories that were dredged from the deepest part of his mind. Gone in a blink, and yet he feels as though he has lived each one again.
"What's happening?" He breathes out, hand clutching his chest. He forces his head up to meet Lord Enma's eyes.
Lord Enma sets down his ink brush and gestures toward the incense burning on the desk. "The scent is drawing out your repressed memories which are necessary for my judgement. At the end of this session you, Li Yuze, will be sentenced to your determined reincarnation."
Yutao's lip curls at the name he discarded long ago.
Li Yuze's parents were labourers in Taiwan-fu, his siblings too young or too frail to outlast what the world put in front of them. Naturally, he became their only support, only hope for the future that they would never see. As the story usually goes, the capital was embroiled with sieges that had nothing to do with them. And yet they were ordered to hold the line.
Taiwan-fu was not protected by stone walls so the peasants must protect it with their own bodies. Villages burned to ashes and any opposition was knifed to death. The people had to pick a side and hope that would be the correct lifeboat. But when Li Yuze's parents died under the rebellion, his choice became obvious. He would join that Manchu general's army and have his vengeance. Slowly, those feelings and motivation emptied and took his identity with it.
Li Yuze died, and a nameless man was born who changed faces faster than a chameleon. Until he died with his last throwaway name, Yutao.
"That can't be right." He straightens up. "The window for reincarnation closed long ago. My soul has completely contorted and it was you guys who said it wasn't possible so…" He holds Enma's gaze with ferocity. "It cannot be."
"Yes, that did happen." Lord Enma sighs heavily, his eyes downturned with pity. "That is the protocol. It exists to prevent runaways and to ensure destiny can run its necessary course."
"But Li Yuze, I am forever indebted to you and your companions. You have done something for me that defied the permission of a power standing even above me."
"So, this is the deal he has made?" His eyes widen with bewilderment. Zhang Xiyu had rushed to replace Ren Jiang as a sacrifice so that he can reincarnate?
"Don't need to. You'll love it."
Yutao's face has gone ashen. Whether he loves this or not is entirely unclear from his expression; what is clear is that he can barely breathe. He wants to storm out and put his fist through Zhang Xiyu's face but even that impulse feels wrong. His fingers tremble as the reality of what comes next crashes through him, dragging something bittersweet in its wake.
"Since he has held to his end of the bargain," Lord Enma continues, "it is only right that I hold to mine. Li Yuze, upon my return, yours will be the first name my pen sends to reincarnation."
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Pure white stretches farther than the eye can follow. A frozen lake glitters under pale sunlight, snow swallowing all colour except the black grime streaking down the convicts who shuffle behind their demon escorts, heads bowed, wrists in irons. Such is summer in cold hells.
The demon tugs at them sharply as they near the royal residence — a warning to stay quiet. Everyone knows the third prince takes his off days seriously, that he is not to be disturbed when he is with his family.
The prince, however, has been watching them the entire time.
Liu Xue rests his chin on his hand, half-sprawled across the table by the window, following the convicts' shuffling movements with the mild interest of someone with nothing better to do.
"Dear." Liu Chunhua sets a plate of osmanthus cakes on the table and takes the seat across from him. "I've been wondering about something for a long time, but—no, forget it. It's foolish."
Liu Xue sits up. "What is it?"
"No, forget it."
"Tell me."
"It's nothing."
"Then tell me."
"Oh, you—" Her voice climbs half a note, startling them both. She opens her mouth to apologise and then bites her tongue, remembering that he hates her pointless apologies.
Liu Xue presses his lips together against a smile. "Hua'er." he says, drawing it out gently.
"It's just… "Liu Chunhua sighs with exasperation. "I have always wondered why do the convicts traverse these hills with barely anything on their back? Most of them are barefoot. And the punishments don't begin until they reach the stations, so… is the journey itself part of it? I only—" She grimaces at the sight of the convicts shivering, their limbs going blue. Even in summer. "I pity them."
"You're right that it isn't part of the formal punishment, nor is it a matter of the courts skimping on resources. But have you ever thought why they are feeling?"
"Feeling…" she echoes, the word sitting strangely. Feeling what? The cold? Or—
The meaning lands. "Why do they feel? They have no physical body, and yet… "
Liu Xue's eyes crinkle along with his smile which significantly recedes his famous aloofness. That's another thing that Liu Chunhua has noticed, these days her husband has been smiling and talking a lot more. He now openly takes vacations and his cold temperament has relaxed. This man who reminded her of an ice sculpture is now enjoying life.
Liu Xue mistakes the reason behind her dazed expression and pursues his lips. "That's right, they should feel nothing. But even so, our punishment centres remain as effective as ever." is gaze drifts back to the window. "It's because they haven't let go."
"They haven't relinquished their past that included their blood and flesh." A supernal sheen glosses over his grey eyes. "The stronger they grip it, the more they suffer. Their mortal identity is nothing against the span of an eternal soul, and still, they futilely hold on."
"As long as they hold on to their phantom past, they will continue to endlessly suffer." He looks back at her slowly, attempting a crooked smile. "Hence, the hell teaches. To find true bliss, they must let it all go."
Entranced, Liu Chunhua looks at him in silence. A quiet instinct tells her that these words are not only meant for the convicts.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The gavel comes down hard. The trial has run for a long while. The constant turn of paper, the scratch of brushes, an old man with a long white beard narrating the history projected on the golden mirror with exaggerated precision. At intervals Yutao hears his own voice rise among the noise, and the collective soundscape has long since become grating to his ears.
He can't tell how long he has been standing here. Hours, possibly days. The hall seems to occupy a private fold of the time-space fabric, similar in nature to the devis' realm, though nowhere near as extreme.
Even if his forsaken dream miraculously came to fruition, he didn't feel the process of it was quite as magical. It was more tedious than he had thought. Back to the present; the gavel did finally land in consecutive thumps, signalling that the theoretical part of it was now over.
Under normal circumstances, the hearing wouldn't have gone on for so long. But Yutao has a far longer life than any mortal so the trial had to be divided in two parts—hearing and sentencing.
Under ordinary circumstances, a hearing wouldn't take this long. But Yutao has lived far longer than any mortal, and the trial has to be divided — hearing, then sentencing. By the time the ministers file out behind Lord Enma, everyone in the room has the look of people who need to sit down.
Yutao exits through the door he came in. Zou Yaozu waited at the door to escort Yutao back to the room they had chatted in. But on the way Yutao steps into his path. "Take me to him."
Zou Yaozu doesn't ask who. He turns down a different hallway without a word. Before Yutao could suspect whether he is being misled, a door ahead swings open and the respected elders emerge — Shiraishi, Hisao, Tsuneo, Shoji, and then Masashi, who is not alone. His hand pats the shoulder of the figure in black towering over him with a kind smile.
"Keep persisting, young man." He says with vigour. "And you shall find it too. But in the meantime, you can come find us anytime."
Yutao's mind goes numb as he watches Zhang Xiyu cup his fist and bow respectfully towards the elders, seeing them off with a gentle smile, everything he did was unimaginable just moments ago.
Zhang Xiyu turns and finds Yutao standing in the shadows. Expressionlessly, he peers back at Zhang Xiyu. His gaze dark and devoid of any emotions. In the midst, Zou Yaozu must have yet again slipped out of the area but no one cares. Yutao turns his back to him, retracing his steps to the lake upon which the huge torii stands.
Zhang Xiyu follows a step behind, and neither of them speaks. The walk stretched for mere minutes until Zhang Xiyu sees the grand gates of Enma's court for the first time. Knowing that he's being observed by Yutao, he feigns indifference at the unsurmountable sight of the place that has dictated billions of lives and will continue to do so. Whether he will join its line again…
He surfaces to find Yutao already seated on a bench facing the lake, the afternoon sun catching orange at the edges of the seat. Zhang Xiyu sits beside him, and is reminded without warning of that time on earth when the two of them squandered Renhu's earnings without shame.
"What's funny?"
"Hmm?"
Yutao frowns at him. "You were laughing."
"Oh." Zhang Xiyu's brows lift, the trace of a smile still on his lips and Yutao finds himself momentarily arrested. Those habitually lifeless eyes are sparkling. Like the lake in front of them, shimmering gold in the afternoon light.
"How was it?" Zhang Xiyu crosses his legs and reclines, tilting his head back, eyes still on Yutao.
"You… "Yutao's jaw tightens, clothes crumple under his fist. "They're evaluating my report. Determining the right life for me." The words come out choked, averting his gaze towards the waves. Those eyes hold a bundle of emotions, confusion, pain, and relief. And for some reason they refuse to stay hidden in front of this man. This friend. The only true one he has made across his entire life and death.
No matter how long a friendship lasts, it is always awkward when things get emotional. The crashing waves permeate the stiff silence between them alleviating their slight discomfort. They stew in their own thoughts, the light reflecting in their dark eyes.
"Zhang Xiyu." The name comes out weighted with emotion. "I was angry. Months ago, you started acting out of line. Taking risks with that He fellow. Suddenly deciding to not kill that fucker. Disobeying the woman. And not revealing why. As the humans say, you were raising my blood pressure."
"I understand." Zhang Xiyu sighs.
"You do, right?" Yutao's words quiver slightly. "Leveraging our trust to bring us here. Oh, was I angry…" He says so, but Zhang Xiyu easily hears the hidden connotation behind such harsh words.
I was afraid. For your life. For Renhu's. Your silence made me sick with anxiety.
Zhang Xiyu feels an unexpected bout of guilt burning in his chest as he looks at the man who keeps his head down to hide himself. He sighs yet again.
"I am sorr-"
"Stop, don't make it worse."
The two mindlessly stick their gaze to the shimmering lake, lost in their own thoughts. Like taking a deep breathe before bracing for the impact.
"Will you be going next?" Yutao asks quietly.
Zhang Xiyu's head turns sharply. He holds the silence for a moment, feeling the pressure build behind his throat, knowing the truth may land badly. He says it anyway.
"No."
Yutao turns slowly, frowning. "No?" The echo comes out dark, a premonition already forming. His jaw tightens, body tensing against whatever is coming. When Zhang Xiyu doesn't speak: "Don't tell me you can't. Not after you sent me in there. I will—"
"No, that's not it." Zhang Xiyu cuts in quickly. Yutao watches him for gaps in the statement and finds none.
"Oh." The tension drains from his shoulders and an abrupt weariness takes its place. He laughs, humourlessly. "When will they call you then?"
"Yutao."
The name comes out harder than intended. Yutao goes still, phoenix eyes losing their focus, unwilling to hear more. But the callous man doesn't stop. With an expression carrying the look of a man surrendering to something larger than himself, he delivers. "I am not reincarnating."
"I have no wish to re-enter that vicious cycle. I am unable to."
"For the same reasons I've been yearning for Meng Po's soup. Why not fucking forget it?!" The anger surges back, hissing and sudden. "Why live inside the pain when you could stop being you? Start over. Get a new life and let it all go." A sliver of desperation in the exhale. But Zhang Xiyu's expression tells him plainly that these words are landing nowhere. Buzzing at the surface and falling off.
In front of his anger, Zhang Xiyu leans back into the shadow of the foliage with a serene smile.
"I am going to ascend."
Yutao's eyes widen at this unbelievable declaration. The image of Zhang Xiyu with the elders flashes back.
"I want to attain liberation. Moksha."
"That's all."
Silence once again stretches its legs on the small bench. Yutao's looks more dumbfounded as the seconds pass. "You are serious." he says with incredulity. "The monks… they have agreed to teach you." He states without a doubt but Zhang Xiyu nods nonetheless.
"Isn't it the natural course." Zhang Xiyu adds carefully. "So… don't feel bad about leaving." He can't see Yutao's face fully in the long shadow, but the agitation seems to have quieted.
Zhang Xiyu boldly laughs. "And don't be afraid of your next life in hell. I'll make sure you won't be wronged. Until the day you choose to stay."
Trembling, Yutao turns to him, his gaze complicated and all he feels is burden. Except it's a bittersweet burden of a long friendship. With his hoarse voice he forces out.
Yutao turns to him, trembling, his gaze carrying the weight of something that has no clean name. A bittersweet burden, the specific kind that only long friendships produce. He pushes the words out through a rough voice.
"Well then." A smile, and his eyes moisten. "I wish you the best. I'll be in your care. Until the day I choose to stay."
There they sat, talking about the past and future, living out the few remaining hours of their hundreds of years long friendship. They made new promises, that in the future Zhang Xiyu wouldn't bully him, and he would visit him in the mortal realm from time to time. But there is no way for Yutao to make sure of these promises. He makes him promise that he will look after Renhu and himself and that if things become unbearable, simply get in line to chug the soup of oblivion.
However, they both know that these words are flimsy. The future has never once been theirs to hold so why would it change its slippery nature now?
But these flimsy words distracted Yutao, gave him courage to not back out and that is enough. Their words should be hopeful enough to help him cross the bridge later without looking back. Hours later, Renhu appears at the far end of the garden, looking around. He feels the spike of a familiar spiritual pressure, then turns and runs towards the two of them.
The atmosphere is weird. He thought before he forced himself in the space between them. On that bench, for the first and last time, they talk without weight — or try to. Their lightest conversation is still heavy with the knowledge of what waits at the end of it. Even so, they chatter, they had a lot to say after all.
Until the time comes to say goodbye.