An Ping snapped back to his senses.
The century-old memories from the dream were still vivid, almost merging with the scene before his eyes. He watched Wu Biyou dancing in the rain; if not for Mu Gesheng singing nearby, he would have almost mistaken the boy for the Jade-Faced Wuchang of old.
Tonight’s torrential downpour was identical to the one back then. An Ping could clearly sense an indescribable, restless energy saturating the air. The large drum Wu Biyou danced upon was positioned at the end of the long street. Though the surroundings had changed over time, An Ping could tell that this was the very same street where the ghost soldiers had rioted.
Mu Gesheng had mentioned that after the ghost soldiers were eradicated, some lingering resentment remained, which was resealed using the Mountain Ghost coins. However, a century had passed, and the seal was weakening. No one could say for sure what would emerge from the Yin-Yang Ladder. Moreover, this was a bustling urban area; if anything went wrong, the consequences would be unthinkable.
Fortunately, Mu Gesheng seemed to have made preparations in advance. The long street was silent and deserted.
Wu Biyou’s form shifted rapidly, his dance like a sword-draw breaking through an enemy formation. Though he was but a youth, a valiant, sharp sword-intent seemed to hover in the air around him. The rain lashed against the drumhead like the charge of ten thousand horses.
Amidst the cacophony of the storm, the sound of the pipa grew faster and faster.
The boy leaped and spun until he was little more than a blur. However, as An Ping listened to the pipa, he faintly sensed that Wu Biyou was beginning to drift from the melody. Having witnessed the "City-Toppling Dance" of the past with his own eyes, An Ping could see the difference. Although Mu Gesheng only had a single pipa, his momentum was no weaker than Song Wentong’s had been; yet Wu Biyou was young, after all, and his rendition of the General’s Nuo Dance fell slightly short.
Furthermore, the dance a hundred years ago hadn't been performed by Wu Zixu alone—Wu Nie had been there as well.
An Ping recognized the drum beneath Wu Biyou’s feet. It was transformed from Wu Nie’s flower ball, containing nearly five hundred years of the Taisui’s cultivation.
His dream had ended abruptly at the moment the city fell, leaving him knowing nothing of the old friends' fates. He remembered Wu Nie’s face in the rain after her cultivation was spent—the face of a young girl, her makeup washed away, beautiful as a hibiscus yet with eyes that held an ancient weariness.
An Ping drifted into thought. He wondered if anyone still performed the flower-ball dance atop the twelve-layered tables in the current Ghost Market Variety Show.
The strings suddenly shrieked, soaring to a sharp crescendo before abruptly snapping. On the drum, Wu Biyou stumbled and crashed to the ground, sending water splashing everywhere.
Mu Gesheng swept his hand across the instrument, and the remaining strings severed in unison.
He set the pipa down and stood up, opening an umbrella. "Not a bad dance, but you’re still a bit green."
He handed the umbrella to An Ping. "Take my daughter into the temple. There’s brown sugar water warming on the stove."
An Ping hurriedly took the umbrella and ran over to help Wu Biyou, but the boy shoved him away. Gritting his teeth, the youth stood up. "I can still dance!"
"Stop fooling around," Mu Gesheng said calmly. "How old are you? Go back to bed."
Before his voice could fade, a violent tremor shook the earth. The buildings along the entire street swayed as if something were about to burst from the ground. An Ping had seen this before; the momentum was exactly like when the ghost soldiers had charged out of the Yin-Yang Ladder. Wu Biyou’s expression shifted. He cursed under his breath and grabbed An Ping. "Dammit, come with me."
An Ping was dragged all the way back to the City God Temple. Wu Biyou slammed the door shut and locked it, glancing at him. "Aren't you scared?"
An Ping thought to himself, *Not really. I’ve seen much grander sights than this; I’m afraid I’d scare you if I told you.*
The City God Temple seemed to act as a barrier. The tremors vanished, and the lanterns hanging from the eaves flickered back to life. The surroundings were peaceful and silent, even the falling rain sounding gentle.
Wu Biyou, however, was irritable. He paced for a moment, stomped his foot, and unlocked the door again, cracking it open just a sliver.
The roar of the storm and thunder immediately rushed in.
The two of them peered through the crack. Inside and outside the door were two completely different worlds. Mu Gesheng stood in the middle of the street, the wind and rain raging above him.
The gale ripped roofs from nearby buildings, and the ground began to split. Countless fissures spread like slithering snakes, driven by something rioting deep underground. The cracks raced from the far end of the street toward Mu Gesheng’s feet, but they seemed to hit an invisible wall. With a thunderous boom, the ground collapsed.
Yet Mu Gesheng remained where he was, as immovable as a mountain.
With him as the boundary, the long street was split in two: one half was a ruin, the other perfectly intact. He was forcibly holding back a terrifying power. As the two forces locked in a stalemate, a muffled, gargantuan roar echoed from deep within the earth. A faint, shimmering green light flickered in the rain—it was the Mountain Ghost coin in Mu Gesheng’s hand.
An Ping watched, heart racing. "Can he hold it?"
"He has to, whether he can or not," Wu Biyou’s voice came from above him, sounding as though it were squeezed through his teeth. "The barrier for the entire street depends on him right now. If he retreats and the resentment crushes the City God Temple, the whole city is finished."
"Then what was the point of the General’s Nuo Dance you just did?"
"I suppressed half the lingering resentment in the Yin-Yang Ladder, which is why the riot started so late!" Wu Biyou yelled, making An Ping’s ears ring. "But I didn't finish it, so the remaining resentment was provoked. The backlash is going to be even more horrific... wait." He frowned, grabbing An Ping by the hair. "How do you know about the General’s Nuo Dance? Did that old fossil tell you about that, too?"
An Ping’s eyes rolled back as his hair was pulled. "You... you... let go of me first..."
As they struggled, a sudden clap of thunder exploded nearby. The doors of the City God Temple were blown wide open, knocking both of them to the floor. An Ping scrambled up. "What happened? What is that?!"
Behind him, Wu Biyou kicked him back down. "Dammit, they finally made it."
Thick clouds swirled in the sky as the long cry of a crane pierced the night. For a moment, even the torrential rain seemed to freeze. A beam of light broke through the dark clouds. An Ping squinted, trying to see. Within the light, something descended from the sky—it was a horsetail whisk.
Wu Biyou shook the rainwater from his hair, finally looking relieved. "With those two here, we can sleep tonight."
An Ping stood up unsteadily, watching the figures appearing in the light. "Who is that?"
"The current Changsheng-zi, the Sect Leader of Penglai."
"Lin Juansheng."
An Ping wanted to see more, but Wu Biyou closed the doors without a word. He brought out a large pot of brown sugar water from the side room, and the two of them sat under the eaves, each holding a tin mug.
The rain pattered softly. An Ping wanted to ask about Lin Juansheng, but the words died in his throat.
Wu Biyou gulped down the sugar water, the sound of his swallowing echoing in the corridor. An Ping watched him secretly, thinking the youth was an incredible contradiction. He would curse Mu Gesheng to his face, yet he was remarkably obedient at times.
With the blood of Wu Zixu, raised by Mu Gesheng, and having taken over Song Wentong’s Yeshui Zhuhua—Wu Biyou had inherited something from each of the three. His temperament was much like Song Wentong’s, sharp and edged, yet he lacked the other’s easygoing wildness. Thus, that sharpness became prickly thorns, hiding a youth’s awkward, lonely rigidity beneath his temper.
*I’ve never seen him with anyone his own age,* An Ping thought. Wu Biyou didn't seem to go to school.
The hurdles that Mu Gesheng and his companions had crossed together, this boy now had to face alone.
After all, there would never be another Ginkgo Library.
*I wonder if he’d kill me if I called him 'little brother.'* The sugar water seemed to contain something to aid sleep; a heavy drowsiness washed over An Ping. His last muddled thought was: *He’s still just a kid.*
The boy was, after all, young.
***
When An Ping woke again, it was early the next morning. The sky had cleared after the storm. He pushed open the window and took a deep breath; several flower pots sat in the courtyard, filling the air with a faint scent of greenery.
He remembered what Mu Gesheng had said yesterday: *When the rain stops and the sky clears, all will be well.*
"You're awake?" Someone interrupted his thoughts. He saw a man standing nearby—it was Lin Juansheng.
The former head disciple of the Tiansuan Sect, now the Sect Leader of Penglai.
Mu Gesheng had said that Penglai sought the path of the immortals; its members were all half-immortals, and cultivators possessed the appearance of longevity. As the Changsheng-zi, Lin Juansheng’s appearance had remained unchanged over the years; he still looked like the young man who had played chess by the water.
Except the young man was currently wearing padded trousers and a down jacket, holding a tin mug identical to Mu Gesheng’s—white with red characters that read: "Serve the People."
*Are all immortals this down-to-earth nowadays?*
While An Ping was dazed, Lin Juansheng walked over and handed him the mug. "Tofu pudding. Do you prefer it sweet or savory?"
An Ping didn't process the question immediately. "Savory," he blurted out.
Lin Juansheng smiled, tapped the lid with his finger, and opened it again. Inside was steaming savory bean curd, sprinkled with celery and sesame.
An Ping took the spoon blankly and took a bite. It was savory and fragrant. He thought to himself that being an immortal was certainly convenient.
"I’ve heard my junior brother mention you," Lin Juansheng said, standing outside the window, his voice gentle. "There is a bond of fate between you and him. With the recent undercurrents, you’ve both worked hard."
"I wouldn't go that far, not at all," An Ping choked on a piece of tofu, waving his hand while coughing. "I’m just a tag-along. Please don't mind me, Daoist Master."
Lin Juansheng chuckled and handed him a pack of tissues. "No rush. Eat slowly."
An Ping had only seen Lin Juansheng once in a dream and couldn't gauge the Changsheng-zi’s temperament. Not daring to make an excuse to leave, he sat there nervously chatting while clutching the mug. Fortunately, the young man possessed a bit of that same casual air as Mu Gesheng, though he was much more like a refreshing spring breeze.
"This ginkgo tree was transplanted from the Library back then. It’s older than I am." Lin Juansheng pointed to the ginkgo tree in the center of the courtyard. "My junior brother could never keep anything alive, but he has taken very good care of this tree."
The man chatted about various trifles, and An Ping gradually relaxed. The mug of tofu pudding was soon empty. "The first time I saw the Half-Immortal, this tree was golden," he said, recalling when he first delivered homework to Mu Gesheng. "The yellow ox at the gate even scammed me out of my ticket money." Looking back on it now, it was quite ridiculous.
Sure enough, Lin Juansheng laughed. "The 'gatekeeper' you’re referring to should be the City God of this place."
"The City God?"
"The City God is a ghost-deity who protects the city and its people—you can think of him as a local government official established by the Underworld in the mortal realm. The City God oversees all affairs in the city, dispelling disasters and bringing blessings and wealth." Lin Juansheng explained smoothly, "If you're interested, you can look up *Liaozhai* or the *Taiping Guangji*; there are many stories about City Gods in them. Among the various ghosts and spirits, the City God is considered quite approachable, protecting the peace of a region."
An Ping remembered the dilapidated statue in the shrine, so shabby it made his teeth ache. "If he’s the City God, why is he acting as a gatekeeper?"
"A squatter in another's nest," Lin Juansheng said with a hint of helpless amusement. "My junior brother is the Tiansuan-zi; no one can really talk sense into him."
An Ping thought: *Figures.*
"However, West City Street is the sealing site of the Yin-Yang Ladder. It makes sense for my junior brother to guard this place," Lin Juansheng shifted the topic. "Incense offerings have been scarce in recent years. If it were anywhere else, the City God might have faded away by now. This City God has borrowed some of the Tiansuan-zi’s providence to endure until now, so he lets my junior brother stay here without paying rent."
As they spoke, the gates of the City God Temple suddenly opened. The yellow ox, wearing a red armband, walked in. "Changsheng-zi." He bowed to Lin Juansheng, then turned to An Ping, waving a plastic bag. "We meet again, Young Master. Had breakfast yet?"
An Ping could smell the aroma of *jianbing guozi* from a distance. He thought these immortals and ghosts were getting more down-to-earth by the minute. "Is there chili in it?"
"Yes," the yellow ox said. "Added sausage, too."
Before he finished speaking, another person walked in. This time it was Wu Biyou, holding a helmet and wearing a food delivery uniform. He tossed a paper bag to An Ping. "Pay up."
Inside the bag were custard buns and osmanthus porridge, with a delivery slip still attached. An Ping was bewildered. "I didn't order delivery?"
"I did." Wu Biyou swiped his phone screen and shoved the QR code in front of An Ping’s face. "Part-time job. Help me boost my order count."
An Ping spent the morning in the courtyard eating until he was stuffed, then followed Lin Juansheng to practice Tai Chi to help his digestion. Halfway through, he realized he hadn't seen Mu Gesheng today. "Changsheng-zi, where’s the Half-Immortal?"
"Junior brother is upstairs, he hasn't woken up yet." Lin Juansheng helped correct his posture. "His constitution is unique. He exhausted too much energy last night; he’ll likely sleep for a while."
An Ping remembered Mu Gesheng saying he was a dead man. He looked at the second-floor room with a complicated expression, his mind wandering. He wondered if there was a coffin inside.
*Good thing it’s winter, or he might start to rot.*
Because the school building was under renovation, the First High School started winter break early. An Ping spent most of his time living at the City God Temple, sometimes learning chess from Lin Juansheng or playing video games with Wu Biyou. One day, he went to Yeshui Zhuhua for a free meal, only to find the place packed. He was grabbed as a "volunteer" to help mind the shop.
The An family had been in business for generations, and An Ping had learned by osmosis from his parents. He easily helped Wu Biyou straighten out the accounts for the past few weeks, thus beginning his career as free labor. Every day was spent between Yeshui Zhuhua and the City God Temple, his dreams filled with the "Clear" button sound of a calculator.
Later, An Ping discovered that Yeshui Zhuhua was actually open twenty-four hours a day, though it didn't serve the living after midnight. The shop had an elevator that was invisible during the day; after midnight, it would run directly from the eighteenth basement level to the lobby. The customers were all ghosts and spirits from Fengdu.
At first, some ghosts mistook An Ping for an ingredient and nearly threw him into a pot, but once he became a familiar face, he could greet them and see them off without blinking, his hands full of change in hell-bank notes.
Some of the staff at Yeshui Zhuhua were hired from Fengdu, while others were from the Seven Houses. An Ping was easy to get along with and soon became friends with everyone. One day during a chat, someone mentioned that business had been much busier than usual lately.
"It’s certainly booming," An Ping agreed. He was busy enough to barely have his feet touch the ground, but he found it a bit strange. "Is business usually not this good?"
"It’s always good, but lately it’s been unusual," a waiter from Fengdu chimed in. "You have no idea. Yeshui Zhuhua usually hosts the big shots of Fengdu. Ordinary ghosts can't easily come to the mortal realm. Usually, having a dozen tables after midnight is considered good. I’ve never seen such a massive crowd."
An Ping remembered seeing Cui Ziyu a few days ago. The judge had been hosting several large tables. Anyone invited by one of the Four Judges certainly wouldn't be an ordinary ghost messenger.
Someone whispered, "Didn't they say something happened a while back? Fengdu is busy as hell, too."
"Is it the end-of-year evaluation?" An Ping joked. "Do ghost messengers have to worry about performance reviews and year-end bonuses too?"
Everyone laughed and began educating An Ping on the rules and regulations of Fengdu. Times had changed, and even the Underworld was keeping up with the era. An Ping listened with fascination, and the topic was dropped.
An Ping knew that as a living person with an unclear background, he should avoid prying too much. But he could faintly guess that the matter they were discussing was related to the disturbance at the Yin-Yang Ladder.
However, Mu Gesheng was still in a deep sleep, so it wasn't something he could worry about.
Soon it was the first lunar month. An Ping’s parents were busy with business abroad and couldn't return, so An Ping decided to stay at the City God Temple for the New Year. The New Year was a rare busy time for the temple. A temple fair was held on West City Street, which was decorated with red lanterns. The yellow ox spent every day happily counting incense money, and even the statue seemed to look a bit more prosperous.
With so many people at the temple, the front courtyard was constantly filled with smoke, so An Ping and the others moved to the back courtyard. The temple fair opened early in the morning and stayed lively all day. There were dragon and lion dances, folk plays, and acrobatics. The street was lined with stalls selling blown sugar, sugar paintings, and fortune-telling. An Ping found it funny; Mu Gesheng was still sleeping soundly, unaware that competitors were right outside his door.
It snowed on New Year’s Eve. An Ping was woken early by the sound of gongs and drums. Yawning, he went out for a stroll. There were many snack stalls at the fair, so he could just buy whatever he wanted for breakfast.
He bought a few pieces of brown sugar rice cakes and a cup of lotus seed soup, walking back in a daze. He pushed open the back courtyard gate, still half-asleep.
Then, he was suddenly startled.
A young man was standing in the courtyard. He wore a black overcoat and stood in the snow, holding a paper window-flower, his expression quiet.
It took An Ping a long while to snap out of it. He noticed that spring couplets had already been pasted on the door outside. The man didn't look like a thief, and he seemed somewhat familiar. Still groggy, An Ping was trying to remember who he was when a gust of wind blew, carrying a faint, dark fragrance.
Only then did An Ping realize that the red plums in the courtyard had bloomed.
The two of them locked eyes. An Ping shuddered, suddenly wide awake as he realized the man’s identity.
Just as he was stammering, not knowing what to say, the window of the second-floor room suddenly swung open, and laughter drifted down.
Mu Gesheng was leaning on his hand by the window, looking like he had just woken up. "Good heavens, the fragrance is enough to wake even a dead man like me."
He looked at An Ping and teased, "An Ping-er, do you know when the plum blossoms bloom?"
An Ping was in a state of shock and didn't react. "Huh?"
Mu Gesheng leaned against the railing and smiled, his lazy voice echoing through the courtyard.
"The plums bloom in the twelfth month, when the coldest days arrive."
***
**Glossary**
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