Of Weddings and Wakes | Chapter 19 | The Yin-Yang Hotpot | Novela.app

An Ping was patted awake. It was currently a break between classes, and the room was a cacophony of voices. "Class Rep, you’ve really been able to sleep lately. You’ve been out for several periods. If I hadn't covered for you, the Old Man would’ve invited you to tea ages ago." His seatmate handed him a stack of papers. "Homework for all subjects assigned this afternoon. Due tomorrow." "Thanks, thanks." An Ping rubbed his eyes, slowly adjusting to the noise around him. By now, he had grown accustomed to the dreaming, but the sudden shift across a century still left him with a lingering sense of displacement. However, according to Mu Gesheng, his situation was already quite good. Some people woke from such grand dreams to find the world changed and could not recover for a long time. "Oh, right, *that guy* is here." His seatmate nudged him with an elbow, gesturing toward the back of the room. "He didn't show up until after four. He’s out getting water right now." An Ping knew who he meant. Yawning, he said, "Mu Gesheng has a name. Why do you always call him 'that guy'?" Lately, Mu Gesheng’s attendance had become frequent. He ran to the school every few days, though he didn't actually do anything once he arrived. He would sleep like the dead in the back row, occasionally chat with the girls, collect a few love letters, and wait specifically for school to end so he could sponge a meal off An Ping. "He’s the school bully," his seatmate said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re the Class Rep with the skills to make him your lackey, so of course you don't mind. But I’m just a regular academic dreg; I don't understand the joys of you rich second-generation kids." An Ping had given up on explaining, but he still insisted, "He’s not my lackey." "If he’s not your lackey, why does he treat you to dinner every day?" An Ping thought: *You need to swap the subject and the object of that sentence.* His recent closeness with Mu Gesheng had caused a minor stir at school. High schoolers didn't have much of a social life, so a single piece of gossip could be dissected, embellished, and flipped over until it was unrecognizable. An Ping no longer cared what kind of legendary figure he had become in the eyes of others. Even the homeroom teacher had spoken to him a few times, implying that since the "repeating school bully" was finally showing signs of life, perhaps there was hope for him to graduate this time. He asked An Ping to help tutor him, hoping to rid the school of this "great deity" once and for all. An Ping was speechless. Mu Gesheng was older than the city’s First High School itself. Rather than tutoring this "centenarian" on his homework, An Ping would much rather go to a nursing home and explain the National College Entrance Exam to the elderly. At least a senile person wouldn't ask him if a "hanged ghost" was a mammal during a biology quiz. A thermos was suddenly placed on his desk. An Ping looked up; speak of the devil. "What are you thinking about?" Mu Gesheng looked at him with a smile. "Free for dinner tonight?" His seatmate let out a weird squawk and winked frantically at An Ping. An Ping was exasperated but nodded anyway. "Sure. What are we eating? The usual at the cafeteria?" "Not the cafeteria today," Mu Gesheng said. "In the depths of winter, hotpot is only fitting." Winter days were short. By the time school let out, the sky was already dark. Mu Gesheng and An Ping walked out of the school one after the other, and Mu Gesheng led the way all the way to West City Street. West City Street was an old street. Despite the cold, many snack stalls were open for business. Fried noodles, roasted sweet potatoes, wonton carts, and pancake stalls—strings of hanging lights glowed brightly along the path, and the entire street was permeated with the rich aroma of frying, steaming, and roasting. Mu Gesheng held a bottle of "incense ash" seasoning, eating and sprinkling as he went. He walked from one end of the street to the other, visiting every stall, large and small. Aside from paying, An Ping’s only job was carrying things—skewers, iron-plate tofu, candied haws—his hands were completely full. Eventually, he began to wonder what he was even doing there. "Wait, Master Mu, didn't you say we were getting hotpot?" "No rush, we'll go in a bit." Mu Gesheng turned back with a skewer in his mouth and laughed at him. "A chicken in the left hand, a duck in the right." An Ping had a premonition that nothing good would follow. Sure enough, Mu Gesheng tapped his forehead with a finger. "And a big fat baby in the middle." As he spoke, he amused himself, humming a tune from some unknown dynasty. He sang while teasing An Ping, making fun of him to his heart's content. An Ping suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He suddenly found the melody familiar; he had likely heard it back at the Guanshan Pavilion. As the dreams deepened, An Ping’s understanding of Mu Gesheng grew. That young master from the Ginkgo Library had been raised in a military camp, a disaster of crooked logic, and was later gilded with poetry, books, and music. His mouth could cite classics just to roast someone into the next province. A century had passed in the blink of an eye; though Mu Gesheng now possessed a bit more of the gravitas of an old official, he was still a wicked old rogue at heart. He wasn't a stubborn old fogey; rather, he had become increasingly uninhibited, a "bastard" who was perfectly reasonable in his unreasonable ways. His stinginess was also a century-old constant. Aside from a few copper coins used for divination, An Ping had never seen this man reach for his wallet. He spent his days sponging food and drink with the most tranquil conscience in the world. Occasionally, An Ping couldn't help but ask what happened afterward, but Mu Gesheng was like a storyteller keeping his audience in suspense. He would only smile and drink his tea, telling An Ping to go back to sleep. Sometimes he brought An Ping tea bags to soothe the nerves, which worked so well that An Ping slept like a hibernating bear during class. Yet, sometimes when he woke for a brief moment, he couldn't help but look out the window. *Wait for the gavel to fall,* *The east turns white with dawn,* *The old friends of yesteryear—where are they now?* Mu Gesheng finally finished his snacks and walked deeper into the old street, stopping before a hotpot restaurant. "We're here." The restaurant had two floors and a grand storefront decorated in an antique style. Red lanterns hung before the carved wooden doors, bearing four large characters: *Yeshui Zhuhua*. An Ping knew this place. Yeshui Zhuhua was the most famous hotpot restaurant in the old district—a century-old brand where a table was hard to come by. Usually, one had to book weeks in advance. "Master Mu, this place requires a reservation. We might not get in..." Mu Gesheng patted his shoulder dismissively. "It’s fine. Just follow me." With that, he leisurely headed upstairs. Yeshui Zhuhua forbade outside food and drink, yet even though An Ping’s hands were full of miscellaneous snacks, no one stepped forward to stop them. The two of them walked into a private booth. An Ping looked at the ruyi-patterned windows, through which the entire street view was visible. This was the best room in Yeshui Zhuhua; his father had once booked this spot for a business deal, and the meal had cost as much as An Ping’s monthly allowance. An Ping immediately said, "Master Mu, you sit first. I need to go home." Mu Gesheng pulled out a chair. "What's wrong?" "I didn't know you wanted to eat here. I don't have enough money on my phone. I need to go back and get a card." "That won't be necessary." Mu Gesheng laughed. He signaled a server to bring a pot of Tung-ting Oolong tea. While pouring, he said, "Don't be stiff. This table is on me. Just treat this place like a cafeteria." An Ping nearly dropped everything in his hands. The iron rooster was shedding feathers; the iron tree was blooming. Mu Gesheng was actually treating? This was either a final meal before an execution or a trap. "No, no, you really don't have to treat me..." "Why so polite? You’re a junior; it’s only right to eat a senior’s food." Mu Gesheng spoke shamelessly as he set the menu aside and called the waiter. "One Yuan-Yang pot, and one 'book' of dishes." An Ping didn't understand. "A 'book' of dishes?" "It means every dish on the menu, from start to finish. One of everything." An Ping nearly knelt before him. Seeing An Ping about to rush out to find the waiter, Mu Gesheng reached out and hauled him back, saying unhurriedly, "Don't worry. It’s not just the two of us eating today. Someone else is coming later. You won't be the one getting fleeced." An Ping blinked. "Who else?" Mu Gesheng pointed out the window. At the end of the long street, an electric tricycle approached from afar. The driver wore a red armband, and a loudspeaker was mounted on the front, blaring "Happy Birthday" as background music. The crowd parted on both sides as the tricycle drove all the way to the entrance of Yeshui Zhuhua. Only then did An Ping see the contents of the trailer—a mountain-high pile of junk, ranging from scrap metal to sewage pipes and even shared bicycles. "Hah, another big load." Mu Gesheng laughed at the sight. "Diligently collecting scrap—if he’s not a city warden, he’s a beggar." While An Ping was still wondering what Mu Gesheng was up to, the booth door suddenly opened, and a draft of cold air rushed in. He couldn't help but sneeze. Only then did he see the newcomer—the person appeared to be around his age, wearing thin black clothes with a row of white buttons fastened all the way to the throat. His shoulders were bony, and his eyes were startlingly bright, carrying the cold bitterness unique to youth, like the chill of early spring. The newcomer blew into the room like a cold wind and sat down as far away from Mu Gesheng as possible. Without looking at either of them, he lowered his head and started playing a game on his phone. "Let me introduce you." Mu Gesheng acted as if he hadn't noticed the attitude. Sipping his tea, he said, "This is the West City Street warden, Wu Biyou. He should be a bit younger than you, An Ping." With a *crack*, An Ping saw the other boy crush his phone screen. The Xiao Qiao he was playing was smashed mid-ultimate. "He’s also the owner of Yeshui Zhuhua," Mu Gesheng added with a smile. "And my daughter." An Ping spat out a mouthful of tea. He almost screamed it out loud: *What? Daughter?* "Don't fucking call me your daughter!" The youth exploded instantly, standing up as if to flip the table. "A dog is your daughter!" "Child, why are you insulting yourself?" Mu Gesheng shook his head. "I told you dropping out of school early was no good. Without a nine-year compulsory education, your brain just doesn't work right—by the way, daughter, do you still have your kindergarten diploma?" An Ping didn't have time to criticize Mu Gesheng; his mind was filled with that word, "daughter." Recalling that Mu Gesheng had called him Wu Biyou, he asked in shock, "Is he from the Wu family?" Wu Biyou shot him a sharp glare. Mu Gesheng said, "Yes." "Did you and Wu Zixu get married?" This time, it was Mu Gesheng’s turn to choke violently. He reached out to hold back Wu Biyou, who was about to charge forward and punch someone, while coughing and laughing. "An Ping, you really have a wild imagination... Old Three doesn't have that biological function." An Ping: "Then you do?" "Absolutely not." Mu Gesheng waved his hands repeatedly. "I’m the godfather. The 'daughter' is Old Three’s biological child." "Where did you find this idiot?" Wu Biyou sneered. "What, after living all these years, you’re finally willing to die? Starting to look for an apprentice?" "Your father here died a long time ago. Underworld things don't take apprentices." Mu Gesheng tapped Wu Biyou on the head with a chopstick and said amiably, "It’s just a coincidence. He’s older than you, so hurry up and call him 'Brother'." Wu Biyou was about to start cursing when An Ping quickly smoothed things over. "No need, no need. First time meeting, you can call me whatever you like. I’m An Ping." "I know you. Your dad eats here all the time." Wu Biyou sized An Ping up, his eyes narrowing. "Why aren't you being a proper rich second-generation kid? Why are you hanging around with this undying ghost? Did he extort you?" An Ping was momentarily at a loss for words. "It’s... a long story." The atmosphere became somewhat subtle. Mu Gesheng continued to sip his tea slowly, showing no intention of explaining or saving the situation. Just as An Ping began to suspect the man was purely enjoying the show, the door opened, and the pot and dishes finally began to arrive. Mu Gesheng ladled a bowl of soup and finally spoke. "Don't just stand there. Young people shouldn't speak indigestible bullshit while eating, or you'll never grow taller, daughter." Veins popped on Wu Biyou’s forehead. "Shut up!" "You're so old, yet you still bristle like a wild cat the moment someone speaks." Mu Gesheng’s tongue was like a killing blade. While he leisurely used Wu Biyou to sharpen it, An Ping took the chance to observe the youth. If one only looked at his silhouette, Wu Biyou did indeed look very much like Wu Zixu; both had elegant features. If he held a folding fan, he would be a beautiful, jade-like youth. However, their temperaments were worlds apart. Wu Zixu was as gentle as water, while Wu Biyou was like water mixed with chili—a boiling, turbulent river of red. Much like the Yuan-Yang pot on the table: one clear soup, one red oil, completely different. But since his godfather was Mu Gesheng, such a genetic mutation wasn't surprising. It was a miracle the kid was still alive. "Alright, the father-daughter emotional exchange ends here. Let's talk business." Mu Gesheng cut the chatter and asked, "What time is it?" An Ping blinked and checked his watch. "Ten-thirty. Why?" Mu Gesheng picked up a teacup, rinsed it, and set it aside. "An Ping, do you know the legend of the 'Yuan-Yang Pot'?" "I bet you don't." Wu Biyou picked up his shattered phone and started another round. "This old fossil specializes in deception. Unless he’s at death’s door, not a single word out of his mouth is true." An Ping was indeed clueless. "The Yuan-Yang pot is also known as the 'Yin-Yang Pot.' The living eat from the red soup, and the dead eat from the white soup. One pot, two sides, separated by the boundary of Yin and Yang." Mu Gesheng began to rinse another set of bowls and chopsticks. "If you eat from a Yuan-Yang pot the correct way, you can share a table with the dead—a meeting of Yin and Yang." "This old ghost didn't tell you, did he?" Wu Biyou said. "What you’re eating today is a Yin-Yang pot." The chopsticks in An Ping’s hand hit the floor with a *clack*. Even though An Ping had seen much lately, having someone suddenly appear out of thin air beside him was still a shock. He looked at the person who had appeared to his left at some unknown moment. "You... who are you?" "Allow me to introduce him. This is one of the four Great Judges of Fengdu, the Chief Judge of the Court of Judicial Law, Cui Ziyu." Mu Gesheng pushed the tableware over. "Judge Cui, have some tea." "I dare not trouble you." The newcomer wore green robes and a black official’s hat. His complexion was ghastly as he spoke in a low, eerie voice. "This humble official has come to verify the matter of the Santu Space." He then looked at An Ping. "This must be the young gentleman who wandered into it?" Cui Ziyu had a pale face and blue lips—a ghostly visage that made his age impossible to tell. He spoke in a high-pitched, pinched voice, his words trailing off in long, drawn-out tones. It was hard to say if he sounded more like a eunuch in an opera or a vengeful ghost wailing; they shared one common trait—it made one want to piss themselves in fear. An Ping was stunned, but he recovered quickly. He looked at Mu Gesheng and whispered, "Is this guy a hanged ghost? Or was he castrated in life?" Mu Gesheng gave him a light, meaningful tap. "Don't go blurt out the honest truth like that." "Fengdu has come because of the Santu Space incident." Wu Biyou, who was still gaming, kicked their stools. "Hurry up and get it over with. I still have to go over the ledgers tonight." Cui Ziyu pulled out a scroll and unfurled it. "Seventy-sixth generation descendant of the An clan, given name Ping, aged eighteen, both parents living..." He proceeded to read An Ping’s eighteen-generation genealogy and his seventeen years of life history. Finally, he asked, "Are there any errors in the above?" An Ping shook his head. Amidst his surprise, he looked at the scroll in Cui Ziyu’s hand. "Is that the Book of Life and Death?" "Merely a transcript." Cui Ziyu wagged a forefinger; his fingernails were long and dark blue. He then pulled out a sheet of yellow paper and handed it to An Ping. "Young Master An, please take a look. Does what is written here match your experience?" An Ping looked at the paper covered in ghostly scribbles. "...I can't read this." "This is Yin script. It was this official’s oversight." Cui Ziyu took the paper back. "Then I shall read it to you." He began to recite the opening passage. An Ping immediately realized it was a transcript of their experience in the Santu Space. The yellow paper wasn't very large, yet it took over an hour to finish. Cui Ziyu chanted and intoned with such dramatic sighs that An Ping nearly had an accident. Mu Gesheng had already finished most of the dishes on the table. Cui Ziyu set down the yellow paper and looked at An Ping. "Does the above match your experience, Young Master An?" An Ping thought for a moment and shook his head. "No errors." Cui Ziyu snapped off one of his fingernails, which transformed into a black brush with a tip glowing the color of cinnabar. "Then please sign and press your seal." Just as An Ping took the brush, Wu Biyou, who had been gaming with his head down, spoke up: "That yellow paper was torn from the Book of Life and Death. Once you sign it, if there’s any deception, it’s the lifespan of the living that gets deducted. You’d better think carefully, you greenhorn." An Ping froze. He hadn't expected Wu Biyou to say such a thing. He looked over at him and said, "Your Cai Wenji is about to die." "Dammit! Do I need you to tell me?!" An Ping smiled and signed the yellow paper. "Is this enough?" "I am in your debt, Young Master An." Cui Ziyu tucked away the paper and stood to bow to Mu Gesheng and Wu Biyou. "The two of you have been much burdened lately. This official conveys the regards of the Yama of our department." "It’s rare for Judge Cui to visit the mortal realm. Why the rush?" Mu Gesheng pointed his chopsticks at the pot. "I’ve left the white soup for you. It’s the old soup base of Yeshui Zhuhua. Won't you try it?" "I would not dare decline such kindness," Cui Ziyu said with a deep bow. "However, there are still many official documents piled on my desk. I truly have no leisure. My apologies." "No matter, no matter." Mu Gesheng dumped a plate of tripe into the white soup. "Then we’ll eat it. Safe travels, we won't see you out." "Should you find the time to visit Fengdu, the Court of Judicial Law will welcome you with open arms." Cui Ziyu sang a final greeting, and his form dissolved into the steam. An Ping watched him vanish. "So, what was that all about?" "The appearance of the Santu Space in the human world is no small matter. Those loafers in Fengdu were a bit spooked and are scrambling to find the cause," Mu Gesheng explained. "I was a witness, so I went to Fengdu to record a statement a while back." "This old ghost is a master of lies. Fengdu was afraid of being tricked by him, so they took his version and came to verify it with you," Wu Biyou said, controlling his Cai Wenji to unleash a grand ultimate. "You’d better pray he didn't pull any tricks, or tomorrow you’ll be drinking soup at the head of the Bridge of Helplessness." "You’re the Wuchangzi of this generation, right?" An Ping asked Wu Biyou. "Is Meng Po’s soup good?" "What kind of stupid question is that?" Wu Biyou looked at him in disbelief. "How about I kill you so you can go taste it yourself?" Mu Gesheng laughed. "Meng Po’s soup comes in all flavors. You can add milk, sugar, or MSG—anything goes." An Ping: "Really?" "He’s talking nonsense," Wu Biyou snorted. "Practice is the sole criterion for testing truth," Mu Gesheng said leisurely. "I’ve died. Have you died, daughter?" "I won't die before you do," Wu Biyou sneered. "I’m waiting to flush your ashes down the sewer to feed the fish." "Daughter, you can't let the customers hear that. Raising fish in the sewers—people will think Yeshui Zhuhua uses gutter oil." The dialogue between these two was truly bizarre. An Ping couldn't help but say, "The two of you..." "A benevolent father and a filial daughter," Mu Gesheng said. Upon hearing this, Wu Biyou slammed his phone into the pot. He pointed at Mu Gesheng and sneered at An Ping, "Do you have any idea what this man has done?!" "Do you have any idea how many people he has harmed?!" *** **Glossary** Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation ---|---|--- 学委 (Xuéwěi) | Class Rep / Academic Representative | Short for 学习委员 (Xuéxí Wěiyuán), a student in charge of academic affairs for the class. 老班 (Lǎobān) | Old Man / Homeroom Teacher | A colloquial term for a class's homeroom teacher. 校霸 (Xiàobà) | School Bully / Kingpin | A student who dominates or intimidates others in a school setting. 邺水朱华 (Yèshuǐ Zhūhuá) | Yeshui Zhuhua | Literally "Vermilion Flowers of the Ye Waters." A reference to Cao Zhi's poetry. 鸳鸯锅 (Yuānyāng Guō) | Yuan-Yang Pot / Split Pot | A hotpot divided into two sections, usually one spicy and one mild. 阴阳锅 (Yīnyáng Guō) | Yin-Yang Pot | A play on the Yuan-Yang pot, implying a connection between the living (Yang) and the dead (Yin). 乌毕有 (Wū Bìyǒu) | Wu Biyou | The current Wuchangzi and owner of the hotpot restaurant. 阴律司 (Yīnlǜ Sī) | Court of Judicial Law | One of the departments in the Underworld (Fengdu) responsible for judging the dead. 崔子玉 (Cuī Zǐyù) | Cui Ziyu | A famous judge in Chinese mythology (Cui Jue), often depicted as the Chief Judge of the Underworld. 阴文 (Yīnwén) | Yin Script | Writing used by ghosts or in the underworld. 蔡文姬 (Cài Wénjī) | Cai Wenji | A character in the game *Honor of Kings* (Wangzhe Rongyao), a support/healer. 小乔 (Xiǎo Qiáo) | Xiao Qiao | Another character in *Honor of Kings*, a mage.