Chapter Index

    The white plum wine splashed into the shallow, wide-mouthed cup, sending up crystalline droplets. The wine, brewed with cold water from an ancient river, had a distant fragrance. The guest who had come from afar sat down opposite him, silent, draining one cup and pouring another for himself. The Divine Lord in the black cloak and red robes ate his congee with a spoon. The white spoon clinked against the black pottery, a lonely, cold sound. The old Granny Hu’s granddaughter looked from one to the other, and for some reason, she no longer dared to cry out to attract customers.

    Under the small congee stall, there were only two strange guests.

    The white spoon was gently set down.

    The Divine Lord raised his eyes. “The whale pods will not be migrating south this year.”

    “Correct.”

    Mu Di, in his black robe and white crown, held his wine cup, his words concise.

    “It was the White People, wasn’t it?” The Divine Lord pushed aside his congee bowl and opened a jar of wine for himself, watching the liquid pour into his cup. “Luo Tang and Su Shen,” he recalled them always losing their bets against the whale pods and never admitting it. He paused for a fraction of a second, letting all the surging trivialities of the past sweep by. “Although they are close to the whale pods, they cannot persuade them.”

    “Correct,” Mu Di spun his wine cup. “The whale pods follow the harsh winds south to break the ice and prevent the hundred rivers from flowing into the bay. This has been the way for generations, it’s true. But what good does it do the whales? They do it if they want to, and they don’t if they don’t. No one can control them. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Divine Lord?”

    The Divine Lord said nothing.

    The snow fell harder.

    The congee old Granny Hu made was warm and comforting, the plum blossoms were preserved in fragrant new honey, and the white plum wine was just the right amount of strong. One sip could warm you from your core to your fingertips. In this freezing weather, one should be idly chatting in a corner like this, rambling from stealing flowers for winemaking the day before yesterday to cats fighting in the snow today.

    But neither of them spoke.

    Everything that needed to be said—be it resentment, anger, or the tangled web of gratitude and grudges, the questioning and wavering—had all been said twelve years ago. Now, there was no need for pleasantries, no need for extra words. They got straight to the point, so incisively that they didn’t seem like old acquaintances at all.

    After a long time.

    The Divine Lord put down the wine jar. “The northwest sky is deficient, so sunlight has difficulty reaching it. If the whale pods remain in the north, once the Great Wilderness strengthens the harsh winds, even the Dragon Fish’s Mausoleum will be sealed in ice. The White People can’t be unaware of this. What did the Great Wilderness promise you?”

    “Why can’t it be that we wanted to do this ourselves?” Mu Di’s voice was indifferent. “Even if we freeze to death in the cold, it’s better than becoming the livestock of human cultivators, working tirelessly only to be skinned, have our tendons pulled, our oil extracted, and our flesh taken to become a dish on the plates of your esteemed guests from the immortal sects, right?”

    “I will handle the matter of the Beast Taming Sect secretly hunting the whale pods in violation of the decree,” the Divine Lord said slowly. “But the Nightmare Ape of Fire-Hating Island went missing six years ago, and it carries a Mustard Seed Realm in its belly. The Water Count of Chaoyang Island’s Eight-Legged Azure-Yellow Beast went into hiding a year ago, and it can cross rivers and travel through marshes… For twelve years, the number of Wilderness Attendants in the West and Cloud Continents has suddenly increased. The Thirty-Six Islands should have dealt with this.”

    The drooping white plum blossoms, covered in remnants of snow, cast dappled light and shadow on the faces of the Divine Lord and the Great Demon.

    Calm and icy gazes met in the shifting light.

    The winter sun had not yet risen, and the morning chill was at its peak.

    “The demon clans of the Thirty-Six Islands who dared to violate the order and smuggle Wilderness Attendants will naturally be punished. As for those demon clans that have already left the Thirty-Six Islands… whatever grudges they have with the immortal sects are their business. Don’t human cultivators always boast about slaying demons and exorcising devils?” Mu Di said coldly. “Then let those demon-slaying immortal sects solve it themselves. Don’t expect the Thirty-Six Islands to clean up their mess.”

    He paused.

    Mu Di let out a low laugh.

    “You ordered the Witch Clan to go north not just for them to return to their ancestral land in the Yi Hills, did you? The Witch Clan are the Ancient Descendants of the Clouds. They understand the habits of the various clans of the Thirty-Six Islands better than the immortal sects. They are skilled at controlling insects and birds; anything can become their eyes to monitor the four directions… What a fine chess piece, to check the demon clans in the east and suppress the immortal sects in the west,” Mu Di knelt on one knee to set down the wine jar, looking mockingly at the person opposite him. “You didn’t use power and balance before, not because you didn’t understand it, but because you didn’t want to. But what about now?”

    What about now?

    First, he moved the Witch Clan north to monitor the Thirty-Six Islands. Then, he controlled the sun and moon to regulate the twelve continents.

    What matter did not involve balance?

    A white plum blossom was blown by the wind and fell into his cup.

    The Divine Lord slowly turned the cup, watching the small petal sway in the clear wine, like a lone boat drifting back and forth, only to end up spinning in place. He raised the cup and drank it all in one go. The black pottery cup hit the tabletop with a soft, yet distinct, sound.

    “Yes.”

    The Divine Lord said softly.

    Mu Di stopped smiling, his face devoid of joy or sorrow.

    First bow, second joy, may you never leave. Light snow falls, I sweep the courtyard. Third bow, fourth joy, a gift of winter for me. Heavy snow is vast, falling like feathers. Third bow, fourth joy, the new comes, the old goes. Winter has arrived, I invite my god… Faintly, the wind carried the blurry sound of a distant song. It was the children of Plum City, singing the “Song of Joyful Snow” while kicking pebbles in some alley.

    Mu Di suddenly raised the wine jar.

    Fifth bow, sixth joy, the gentleman is handsome. Lesser Cold’s ice jade, drips like rain. Seventh bow, eighth joy, the beauty’s gaze is pleasing. Great Cold friends gather, meeting in the homeland…

    The little girl on the stone steps stared in astonishment, watching the young guest under the congee stall chugging the strong wine as if it were water. The clear liquid rolled down the sharp line of his jaw, wetting his throat and half his chest. The cold liquor fell with a splash, not a drop was spared. The young man pushed the table, tripped over a chair, and rose, thoroughly drunk.

    He casually tossed the wine jar to the ground, where it shattered with a clang.

    Mu Di laughed and bowed deeply to the Divine Lord.

    “Congratulations!!!”

    Congratulations on all your wishes coming to naught.

    Congratulations on becoming, like us, completely unrecognizable in the end.

    Congratulations.

    ***

    Ninth bow, tenth joy, a kowtow to heaven and earth. On New Year’s Eve, the firecrackers never cease!

    The walls on both sides of East Alley were high. The snow piled on the flat tiles fell down at the sound of the children’s voices. Seven or eight half-grown children were playing a game in the narrow alley, but they weren’t kicking a pebble, but a skinny little child who was curled into a dry ball, his hands clasped tightly around his head.

    He was a few years younger than the other children and rolled around under their feet without making a sound.

    The leader, a tall and sturdy boy, lifted his foot and planted it on him, panting, “Why isn’t this idiot screaming today? This is no fun.”

    As he spoke, he was about to bend down and grab the child’s hair.

    “Hey! Liu Huzi, be careful! This kid’s good at playing dead. Last time…” someone beside him immediately reminded him, but the words were barely out before it was too late.

    The leader cried out in pain. The “idiot,” who had suddenly struggled up, rammed his head hard into the boy’s face, making his head buzz and sending him falling backward with a bloody nose. The freed idiot straddled Liu Huzi, and with a strength that came from nowhere, his hands clamped tightly around Liu Huzi’s neck.

    “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!” the idiot growled, his voice hoarse and hissing, his features terrifyingly contorted.

    “The evil spawn of the Hundred Clans is killing someone!” a tall, thin boy shouted in alarm.

    The other children swarmed forward in a chaotic rush, grabbing his arms and kicking him, trying to pull the idiot off Liu Huzi. But somehow, this dry, skinny “idiot” had the strength and ferocity to keep his hands clamped like eagle talons on Liu Huzi’s neck, no matter how the other children kicked him and sent his head lolling about. The gasping sounds from Liu Huzi’s mouth grew fainter, and his round, chubby face turned almost purple.

    The boy who had shouted earlier looked around frantically and grabbed a rock. “Get out of the way! Everyone, move! Let me smash this little demon to death!”

    Two or three children dodged aside. The shouting boy raised the rock high and brought it crashing down on the idiot’s head.

    Thud!

    The idiot’s hands loosened uncontrollably, and Liu Huzi began to gasp for air.

    “At such a young age, who taught you to take a life?” A young man in white held the idiot, who was still staring intently at Liu Huzi, and frowned at the children who had backed away. They looked at each other, then suddenly shouted, “The great remnant demon is here!” and took off running.

    “…What remnant?”

    Lu Jing was stunned.

    He had been “expelled” from the Medicine Valley and had wandered the martial world for twelve years. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been cursed at or avoided like a venomous snake, but he was usually called a “ruthless poison cultivator.” “Demon” was sometimes used, but it was definitely never associated with “remnant”—his old-fashioned father and his various brothers were still considered paragons of morality in the martial world, thank you very much.

    In his bewilderment, a few weak coughs came from the alley. “Young Master Lu has misunderstood. They were talking about me.”

    Lu Jing turned around.

    “Greetings, Young Master Lu.” A thin scholar in white clasped his hands in greeting.

    Lu Jing found him somewhat familiar and was wondering who he was when the man straightened up, revealing a uniquely shaped calculation rod hanging from his waist.

    “It’s you.”

    Lu Jing was slightly surprised.

    Twelve years ago, when he, Monk Budu, and Half-Diviner had broken into the thousand-mile great formation set up by Elder Mu He, a white-robed chronicler from the Hundred Clans had appeared and saved them several times. He had also stopped the Moon Mother, who, at the time, was unaware of Ghost Valley’s true intentions and had come to break the formation.

    Thinking back, that white-robed chronicler’s every move had been somewhat unusual. He only called himself “Zi Jin” without mentioning his clan name, and said he was “following Mister Mu’s orders to guard the Kun position” rather than the orders of the North Ge Clan Head.

    But after the Night of Dusk and Dawn’s Division, the Kongsang Hundred Clans were destroyed. The remaining members and their followers scattered in all directions, and the white-robed chronicler who had participated in the thousand-mile army slaying and survived also vanished without a trace. Although Lu Jing and the other two had their doubts, they were overwhelmed with other matters and had neither the time nor the means to investigate. They never expected to meet him here, twelve years later.

    “I am greatly honored that Young Master Lu still remembers me.” Zi Jin clasped his hands in another salute. As he straightened up, he let out two suppressed coughs and looked at the child in Lu Jing’s hands. “Thank you, Young Master Lu, for saving my nephew’s life.”

    Only then did Lu Jing remember he was still holding a child.

    He looked down and saw that with Zi Jin’s arrival, the child who had been struggling constantly had found his pillar of support. The stubborn breath he had been holding in was released, and he tilted his head and fainted.

    Lu Jing handed the child to him. Without even needing to check his pulse, he could see that both uncle and nephew were in an utterly dreadful state. Zi Jin fumbled in his sleeve for a long time before finding a flawed pill to feed the child.

    Lu Jing, who was from the Medicine Valley: …

    Was that pill even fit for human consumption?

    “Use this.” Lu Jing tossed him a jade bottle.

    Zi Jin hesitated for a moment, then took the pill. “I’m afraid it will take me some time to repay you for this Jade Spirit Pill.”

    Lu Jing shook his head. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

    ***

    The wind had stopped, and snow fell on the congee stall.

    The Divine Lord in the black cloak and red robes sat at the table, slowly drinking, cup after cup. The young man in the black robe and white crown held a wine jar, chugging it down, jar after jar. The jars were scattered on the ground. The little girl was frightened by him and had retreated into the house. The world-weary old Granny Hu paid them no mind, simply bringing out new wine when the old jars were nearly empty.

    Clang.

    Another wine jar was thrown and shattered.

    Mu Di tossed down the jar, his hand resting on his knee, and looked coldly at the Divine Lord.

    He had drunk no less than a dozen jars, and the Divine Lord had also had three or four.

    The more they drank, the more tasteless the wine became, and the clearer their minds grew.

    “Is A Rong alright?” the Divine Lord asked, lowering his gaze to pour more wine. “I didn’t see her last time.”

    Mu Di laughed. “She’s dead.”

    The wine cup stopped in mid-air.

    “Skinned, tendons pulled, flesh scraped, bones picked clean. Her spine is paving the Ascending Immortal Steps of the Beast Taming Sect, and her head is hanging on their mountain gate. You want to see her? Go! Go on!” Mu Di was still laughing, but as he laughed, he suddenly kicked the table over, grabbed the Divine Lord by the collar, and threw a vicious punch accompanied by the sound of wind. “Let me ask you—do you dare to see her?!”

    You can support us on

    Note