The roar of a motorcycle tore through the street, ending in a sharp fishtail as it screeched to a halt in front of the City God Temple.
Zhu Yinxiao laughed as he pulled off his helmet. "So? How was that for a thrill?"
"This is a no-parking zone. If you park here one more time, I’m writing you a damn ticket," Wu Biyou grumbled, hopping off the back seat. "And next time, please change the color of your ride. You’re throwing away every last bit of face the Seven Schools have left."
An Ping sat on the threshold, watching the two approach. Zhu Yinxiao had a passion for joyriding; throughout the first lunar month, he had been out racing almost every day. Occasionally, he even helped Wu Biyou deliver urgent takeout orders—though he was frequently fined for speeding.
A few days prior, An Ping had been heading home when he saw a streak of red light blur across the road, followed by a long string of police motorcycles and patrol cars. The traffic police were shouting through megaphones, but the strangest part was the electric city-management vehicle trailing at the very end of the convoy, blaring "Happy Birthday" amidst the cacophony of sirens.
At first, An Ping thought it was a high-stakes police chase and even took a photo for his social media feed. It wasn't until he returned to the temple that he found Mu Gesheng lounging alone in the courtyard. "Old Five got caught racing," the man said lazily, soaking up the sun. "Old Three-Nine went to the station to bail him out."
A while later, Chai Shuxin called. "You need to come talk to them," he said after a pause. "I can't explain it. They all think Old Five is a girl."
Mu Gesheng’s expression suggested he had seen this coming. Holding back a laugh, he squeezed out a tone of mock concern. "Oh? Are you alright then?"
"..." There was a moment of silence on the line. "I don't even know what happened. They currently think I’m a human trafficker."
"You might need to come bail both of us out now."
Mu Gesheng nearly died laughing. Eventually, he went to the station and brought them back. When they entered, Chai Shuxin was carrying a cage containing a garishly colored bird. An Ping had wondered why they’d made a detour to a pet market, but then the bird spoke: "Brother, I was wrong. I’ll do it again next time."
An Ping jumped—the bird was actually Zhu Yinxiao’s original form, albeit a miniature version. Apparently, Chai Shuxin had bought a hamster cage on the side of the road and stuffed him inside.
Mu Gesheng chuckled and hung the cage from the eaves. "It’s fine. I’ll let you out tomorrow morning."
Chai Shuxin remained composed, but that night he prepared an "All-Chicken Feast." He spent the evening in the courtyard with a knife, slaughtering and plucking chickens as one pathetic squawk followed another. An Ping and Mu Gesheng sat on the porch playing chess while the cage dangled above; Zhu Yinxiao had buried his head in his feathers, huddled like a shivering quail.
The next morning, An Ping was woken by a crowing sound. Downstairs, he found Wu Biyou standing under the cage, arguing with Zhu Yinxiao. "Zhu Yinxiao, are you trying to die?! You’re a Vermilion Bird, not a rooster!"
"Just let me out already," Zhu Yinxiao pleaded in a high-pitched, feminine voice. "If not a rooster, I can be a hen!"
Finally, Mu Gesheng, whose sleep had been disturbed, grabbed the cage and tossed it out the front door. By the time An Ping and Wu Biyou went to look for him, he was gone. They searched the temple fair for a long time before finding him at a stall selling rabbits.
Zhu Yinxiao looked quite spirited, stretching his neck out majestically and attracting a crowd of children. An Ping was speechless. "He’s already been thrown out; can’t he just change back himself?"
"The Rakshasa placed a seal on him. This idiot can't break it," Wu Biyou said, his face as dark as the bottom of a pot. He stomped over to haggle with the stall owner. "Five hundred for one chicken? Why don't you just rob me instead?"
The owner was indignant. "What do you know, kid? This is a hybrid breed! Look at those feathers—how grand!"
An Ping: "..."
In the end, Wu Biyou ran back to get his city management ID and confiscated the entire stall. The two of them dragged a cart full of rabbits, goldfish, and the "chicken" back to the temple, only to find Zhu Yinxiao already eating breakfast with Mu Gesheng. Upon seeing Wu Biyou, Zhu Yinxiao burst into laughter and pulled the boy close. "Come here, buddy. Which chicken did you mistake for me this time?"
Wu Biyou was nearly driven to a stroke by the man’s antics.
However, "admitting fault while never changing" was the perfect description for Zhu Yinxiao. He was a heavy motorcycle addict, constantly flooring the accelerator. A long-legged beauty on a motorcycle—An Ping’s social media feed had recently been flooded with candid shots of him. Even An Ping’s classmate sent him a message: "Get me a premium delivery membership! I don't believe it—I’m going to order four meals a day just to wait for that lady to deliver my food!"
An Ping didn't have the heart to crush the guy’s romantic delusions. He asked Zhu Yinxiao to make one delivery to him; that night, his WeChat exploded with wails from his classmate, who sounded like a tragic heroine finally meeting her long-lost lover.
But as Wu Biyou said, while Zhu Yinxiao’s racing and fashion sense were top-tier, his aesthetic for motorcycles was worth about half a cent. He had painted his bike a bright red base with a chaotic mix of colors; when he rode, he looked like My Little Pony stepping on a rainbow cloud. An Ping thought the color scheme looked familiar, then realized it was exactly like the "mottled chicken" form Zhu Yinxiao had before he could properly shapeshift.
Who knew a drag queen could be so nostalgic?
Zhu Yinxiao stayed for half a month, and now it was the fifteenth day of the first month—the Lantern Festival.
Over the past few days, Mu Gesheng had been constantly inviting people to play mahjong. These old monsters were all cunning as foxes; not one was an easy target. Wu Biyou and An Ping had lost everything down to their socks, and even Zhu Yinxiao couldn't take it anymore. Today, those two had fled early in the morning and only returned in the afternoon. "So, buddy, how did the battle go today?" Zhu Yinxiao asked, twirling his keys. "Did you make your money back?"
"No gambling today," An Ping said, not looking up from the threshold. "Doing homework."
An Ping had been raised at the mahjong table by his mother and usually played a few rounds with his aunts during the New Year, but he had never lost this badly in his life. He was truly at his wit's end; only when he was clutching his "5-3" test prep books would Mu Gesheng stay away from him.
"Then let's not go in either." Seeing this, Zhu Yinxiao signaled to Wu Biyou. "They’re one person short for a game right now. Whoever goes in is doomed."
"Today is the Lantern Festival. The Rakshasa is making yuanxiao this afternoon, so the old bastard can't start a game," Wu Biyou huffed, heading into the temple anyway. "I’m going in. You two can stay out here and enjoy the breeze."
"Fine, suit yourself." Zhu Yinxiao didn't stop him. He sat down next to An Ping and kicked off his high heels. "I heard from Old Four that you’re the class monitor? Doing homework during the holidays—you’re quite the diligent one."
The average education level in the City God Temple was "half-immortal," yet the only ones with actual diplomas were a kindergarten graduate and a guy who had been held back for three years. An Ping didn't know how to respond.
"Just chatting, buddy, don't be stiff." Zhu Yinxiao seemed to read his mind and smiled. "Though I never went to a proper school either, I have a relative who knows the God of Literature. When you take the Gaokao, come find me. I’ll have him mark you down as the top scholar."
Good grief, such a cheat code existed? An Ping said incredulously, "Then how did the Half-Immortal manage to get held back for three years?"
"Old Four once had a spat with the God of Literature. The official lost the argument, so he secretly decreed that Old Four wouldn't pass anything for ten years," Zhu Yinxiao explained. "But it was mostly just for fun. Old Four wouldn't have studied properly anyway, so he just went along with it."
Ten years of failing—that meant Mu Gesheng would have to keep repeating grades. If he stayed there that long, he wouldn't just be a campus legend; he’d be a myth.
Zhu Yinxiao changed the subject. "But there are high achievers among the Seven Schools."
"I know," An Ping said while calculating a problem. "Didn't the Half-Immortal study abroad back in the day? But that was ages ago." Did degrees have an expiration date? If not, how did they count for an old monster like Mu Gesheng?
" I’m not talking about Old Four. I’m talking about my brother." Zhu Yinxiao waved a hand. "Old Four has a bad memory; he’s forgotten most of what he learned. My brother is different. If you have a problem you can't solve, you can ask him."
An Ping blinked, realizing he meant Chai Shuxin.
Back at the Ginkgo Study, Chai Shuxin had never officially become a disciple of the Master, so he wasn't ranked among the others. Zhu Yinxiao called Mu Gesheng "Old Four" but called Chai Shuxin "Brother." The tangled web of seniority was a mess.
"The Spiritual Pivot went to school?"
"Around the late 1940s, my brother went abroad." Zhu Yinxiao counted on his fingers. "America, Britain, the Soviet Union... I remember he had a whole stack of degrees."
An Ping listened in a daze. These were all stories from beyond his dreams.
"I don't understand your problems either." Zhu Yinxiao leaned over to look at his chemistry workbook. "But my brother studied Western medicine back then. He might understand this."
That made sense. An Ping stood up abruptly. "Where are you going, buddy?"
"To ask a question."
Chai Shuxin was in the kitchen kneading dough. Dried osmanthus and salted egg yolks sat on the counter; tonight was the Lantern Festival, and they were having sweet fermented rice dumplings.
An Ping explained his purpose, looking at him tentatively. "Could you...?"
Chai Shuxin didn't say much. He washed his hands and took the book. "Do you have a pen and paper?"
"Huh?" An Ping blanked for a second, then snapped to. "Yes, yes!"
He hurried to hand over scratch paper and a pen. Chai Shuxin looked at the problem. "Your logic is too convoluted." He began listing several formulas on the paper.
Chai Shuxin explained slowly, breaking down the key points with great detail. He seemed very familiar with the scope of high school knowledge, and his explanations were simple and clear. An Ping understood almost instantly—he practically wanted to kneel and worship this academic god. After searching far and wide, it turned out the master was right beside him.
An Ping even started calculating if he could get Chai Shuxin to give him some tutoring sessions. The price was negotiable.
After Chai Shuxin explained a few difficult problems, An Ping wanted to ask more, but the book was set aside.
"Balance work and rest," Chai Shuxin said, handing him a few chestnuts. "It’s a holiday."
As a high school student suffering under the weight of academic pressure, An Ping almost teared up. He took the chestnuts to find Wu Biyou, who looked at him as if he’d told a joke. "What? You asked the Rakshasa to help you with homework?"
"What about it?" An Ping asked, puzzled. "He explains things very well."
"You’re full of it." Wu Biyou scoffed, chewing a chestnut. "When the old bastard first woke up a few years ago, the Rakshasa was the one tutoring him. And the result? I know for a fact he fails every year."
An Ping: "..."
Wu Biyou handed the chestnut shells back to An Ping and patted his shoulder with mock solemnity, looking like an old man. "The sea of learning is boundless; turn back to the shore while you can."
That was true enough, but wasn't turning back at kindergarten a bit too early for enlightenment?
That evening, Chai Shuxin served everyone tangyuan. Zhu Yinxiao scooped nearly half a jar of honey into his bowl. An Ping watched in awe, wondering if a Vermilion Bird could get cavities.
"We’re off then." Wu Biyou slurped down his dumplings and pulled An Ping toward the door. They were going to the Ghost Market tonight.
Chai Shuxin cautioned Zhu Yinxiao: "Be careful. Don't start fights easily."
"Fighting is fine," Mu Gesheng said lazily. "Just don't come back if you lose."
Zhu Yinxiao laughed and agreed. "Got it. Rest easy, you two."
The three went to the Yeshui Zhuhua building. Wu Biyou swiped his card in the elevator, heading straight for the eighteenth basement floor. A revolving lantern glowed in the elevator, casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance around them.
An Ping had imagined the scenery outside the elevator. He thought it would be like when Mu Gesheng and the others arrived years ago—near the banks of the River of Forgetfulness or the Gates of Hell. However, the moment the doors opened, he was stunned. What reached his ears wasn't the sound of rushing water, but a bus’s hydraulic brakes and a recorded announcement.
"Arriving at Three Lives District. Passengers departing here, please remember to take all your personal belongings..."
Zhu Yinxiao unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into his mouth, looking back with a smile. "Welcome to twenty-first-century Fengdu."
It was a massive station. The glass ceiling featured traditional flying eaves and bracket sets, supported by giant vermilion pillars. People bustled to and fro in an endless stream. The entire station was divided into three levels: suspended in the air were bronze-railed sky-trains; the middle level was a high-altitude station for buses; and the ground floor was packed with rickshaws. Drivers wearing traditional skullcaps gathered in small groups, white towels draped over their shoulders, smoking long water pipes.
An Ping noticed they had stepped out from a massive mural. The mural was carved onto a circular pillar in the center of the station, acting like a high-speed elevator. It depicted enchanting women dancing, adorned with jewels and holding bells and vajras. One of them noticed An Ping’s gaze, her eyes shimmering as she gave him a flirtatious smile.
"That’s the Dance of the Sixteen Heavenly Devils," Zhu Yinxiao introduced. "This elevator is the new Yin-Yang Ladder. The old one was used for thousands of years but was sealed after some issues last century. The Ten Kings of Hell built this new one and stationed the Heavenly Devils here to guard it against intruders."
"Stop rambling, it’s annoying. Let's go," Wu Biyou said impatiently. "The Ghost Market is about to open."
The Fengdu Station was very close to the Three Lives District, practically right next to the Ghost Market. As soon as the three stepped out, An Ping was overwhelmed by a vast sea of lights—colorful lanterns hung everywhere, and neon signs glowed brilliantly. Magnificent ships were docked along the River of Forgetfulness; light filtered through yellow paper windows, casting the silhouettes of women bowing their heads, while the sounds of cymbals and gongs echoed from the water, signaling the start of a play.
This place was vastly different from the Fengdu in An Ping’s memories. It was like a grand shadow play constructed of bronze and steel, using electronics and mechanics to tell an ancient story, filled with a strange and beautiful vitality.
An Ping followed them onto a large ship, only to find that the market, which used to be a cluster of small boats, had been moved entirely onto this one vessel. Cries of vendors filled the air. "The shops with lanterns lit are the old establishments. Check the color before you go in," Wu Biyou tossed out a quick sentence before running off. "I’m not helping you if you get into trouble."
An Ping watched Wu Biyou’s hurried departure. "What is he in such a rush for?"
"There’s a Ghost Three-Hime concert on the top floor tonight," Zhu Yinxiao shrugged. "He’s the president of the fan club."
*I thought we were going clubbing,* An Ping thought, speechless. Zhu Yinxiao seemed to guess his thoughts and casually slung an arm around him, leading him upstairs. "Clubbing doesn't start until after midnight. The concert ends at the hour of the Rat, and then they’ll release river lanterns. It’s quite beautiful."
"So what do we do now?"
"I booked a good spot at a teahouse to watch the lanterns. Let's go listen to some storytelling first. Tonight they’re performing *The Chronicles of the Finishing Touch*. There’s a chapter called 'Youth's Journey' that you’ll definitely like."
An Ping followed Zhu Yinxiao into a teahouse. Though called a teahouse, it occupied three full floors, with gilded paintings on the ceiling and elegant bamboo curtains. The ground floor was for general seating and was packed, yet the room was incredibly quiet, save for the rustling sound of strings being plucked.
Zhu Yinxiao had booked a private room filled with the aroma of tea. An Ping lifted the bamboo curtain as the storyteller’s voice drifted from afar, low and lingering.
"A hundred generations of kings and losers, rise and fall in the blink of an eye,
Dragons fight and tigers struggle, yet none understand true elegance.
Today we speak of a case of romance to soothe our idle worries,
Observe the youth in fine clothes, listening to the rain in the singing gallery—"
The gavel struck the table, sounding like a bird startled into flight, fluttering through the air and sending a ripple through the tea cups.
"It is said that nearly a hundred years ago, a youth entered the Gates of Hell with a sword in hand. He ran rampant through the Ghost Market, set up a gambling den, emptied the pockets of a hundred ghosts, and threw all of Fengdu into chaos..."
It sounded familiar to An Ping. A moment later, he realized with a jolt that this was the story of Mu Gesheng and Song Wentong. Though pseudonyms were used, he could tell.
That year, Mu Gesheng’s group had come to Fengdu to find the lost Zhu Yinxiao. Mu Gesheng had bought a mask by the water to hide his identity—because the first time he’d entered Fengdu, he’d started a gambling game in the market and won nearly half the city, offending almost everyone in the process. He’d ended up a wanted man and was even punished by the Bureau of Yin Laws.
The storyteller’s voice droned on. An Ping could almost see a figure sitting down calmly under the gaze of the crowd, leaning a vermilion longblade against the gambling table. He laughed, drinking and singing, throwing away fortunes with the wild, arrogant beauty only found in youth.
*You were but a traveler wasting time; what can time do to you?*
"*The Chronicles of the Finishing Touch* is an ancient script that has circulated in Fengdu for a thousand years. Every generation of storytellers adds to it. 'Youth's Journey' was written by the previous generation; it’s relatively recent, so it hasn't grown stale yet. Many people love it."
Zhu Yinxiao took a sip of tea. "It’s a long story. They’ll probably only tell the first act today. There’s a lot of fictionalization; those in the know would probably laugh at it."
He chuckled himself. "But it’s good for a laugh."
The storyteller’s tone turned humorous, describing how Mu Gesheng and Song Wentong argued incessantly over hocking the Blood-Licking Blade—this was pure fabrication. As far as An Ping knew, when Mu Gesheng wanted the blade back then, Song Wentong hadn't even blinked. Those two were habitual partners in crime.
But the storytelling additions were amusing. Mu Gesheng was portrayed as playing the victim, claiming he had a betrothal with a mutual love, but his partner was currently trapped in a dire situation, forcing him to come to the Ghost Market to try his luck. The way he was described—pitiful, sorrowful, and lamenting—actually captured a bit of the real Mu Gesheng’s shameless spirit.
Zhu Yinxiao and An Ping were both highly entertained. As they laughed, Zhu Yinxiao suddenly asked, "Do you know who the prototype for Old Four’s 'little lover' in this script is?"
An Ping choked on his tea. "There’s a prototype for that?"
Zhu Yinxiao lowered his voice with mock mystery. "It’s Old Three."
? ! ? ! The teacup in An Ping’s hand hit the floor. *What the hell?*
*Fuck.* His first thought wasn't anything else—*Is Wu Biyou really the son of Mu Gesheng and Wu Zixu?!*
***
**Glossary**
