Chapter Sixty-One: Disappearance

“Vengeful spirits come to claim souls, the Messengers of Death are here for you.
Mortals, look away, retreat at once.”

Besides the shackles on his hands and feet, White Wuchang also wielded a three-foot mourning staff, which he swung hurriedly at Xi Chunxue, scolding as he did so. Meanwhile, Black Wuchang flung his soul-capturing chain toward Qu Hancheng’s body.

The chain plunged into Qu Hancheng’s chest, and after a few sharp tugs, his soul began to be wrenched free.

“His allotted lifespan isn’t over! Why are Black and White Wuchang here to take his soul?”

Xi Chunxue cried out.

“According to Judge Cui’s Book of Life and Death, this man is from Qujia Village, Pu Yu County, Qi Prefecture, Northern Youzhou. Born in the seventh year of Tianying, on the eighth day of the first lunar month, at the hour of the Rat; died in the thirty-second year of Tianying, on the first day of the ninth lunar month, at the hour of the Monkey. Not a moment too soon or late. Do not hinder official duties!”

White Wuchang waved his three-foot mourning staff at Xi Chunxue, who suddenly felt dizzy, as if the seven souls within her were about to scatter.

“Interfere again and I’ll drain your spirit, taking you to the Hall of Judgment for trial as well,” Black Wuchang threatened, his fierce gaze fixed on the staggering Xi Chunxue. With a tug, he pulled Qu Hancheng’s soul halfway out of his body.

At that moment, the characters on the official hats of Black and White Wuchang shifted once again, changing from “Wealth at First Sight” and “Peace Under Heaven” to “Catching You Now” and “Here You Are.”

“Whether this man is your uncle or brother, his time in this world is over. I see you are a cultivator; you understand the cycle of reincarnation. If he has done good deeds in life, you will meet again in the next,” White Wuchang said with a broad smile, trying to reassure the now-silent Xi Chunxue.

Standing nearby, Duan Lingqi couldn’t see any of this, but the sight of Xi Chunxue shouting and staggering alarmed him, and he hurried to Su Yuanbai, who stood before the bronze door.

“What happens in the netherworld is beyond my power here in the living realm,” Su Yuanbai said quietly, glancing at Duan Lingqi, who seemed about to speak.

Xi Chunxue’s cry—“His allotted lifespan isn’t over! Why are Black and White Wuchang here to take his soul?”—had reached his ears, but when he turned, he could see neither Black nor White Wuchang. For some reason, he could no longer summon any of the netherworldly spells or powers he once wielded.

But in all things, there is always a twist.

“You two have no authority to seize souls at will in this place,” a frail, scholarly-looking man slowly descended the dungeon stairs. His voice was so weak it seemed he might expire at any moment. His pale face was shadowed by deep, dark circles under his eyes, and he wore a jailer’s uniform with a tall white hat, nearly as high as White Wuchang’s.

The only difference: his hat bore no inscription.

In his arms he held a tall, slender white paper banner hung from a willow branch, nearly touching the dungeon’s ceiling. Black and White Wuchang ignored him, but the frail man gave the banner a gentle wave, and instantly, the soul that Black Wuchang had half-pulled from Qu Hancheng’s body snapped back inside.

“Who are you?” Black Wuchang demanded, his voice meant to scatter the man’s soul, but the newcomer stood unmoved.

It should be known: White Wuchang specializes in draining the yang souls of men and dispersing the yin souls of women; Black Wuchang does the opposite, draining yin from women and dispersing yang from men.

“State your name at once!” White Wuchang said, his smile vanishing.

“I am Xie Miu’an, appointed by the Yama of the Fifth Court to guard this place. All souls of the dead here are under my jurisdiction. If you possess the Yama’s decree, I will permit you to seize souls here,” Xie Miu’an replied, his figure unwavering, a gentle smile on his face, as if immune to their powers.

“Do you have the Yama’s decree?” Black Wuchang barked.

“Is this enough?” Xie Miu’an waved the paper banner again. Two lines of ancient, inky black script appeared on the blank white streamers—five characters on each line.

On the left: “In Mourning, We Do Not Return.”
On the right: “The Banner Leads the Way.”

Above, a line of blue light began to emerge, though before the full inscription could manifest, Black and White Wuchang exchanged a glance, released Qu Hancheng’s soul, and turned to Xie Miu’an, declaring in unison:

“We will report this matter to the Yama himself!”

A burst of black smoke, a howling wind—when the storm died down, the two were gone.

“After all that, nothing works like a proper artifact,” Xie Miu’an said with a faint cough, shaking the banner until the characters vanished, leaving it blank once more.

“That poor soul has suffered enough, following you lot,” he said, moving to Qu Hancheng’s side. He crouched, peering at the corpse’s ashen face, coughing so hard it seemed his liver might come up.

“Inmate 177, Xi Chunxue, child of scholars, born in the third year of Tianying, second month, in the Xi family of Baigu City, Mountain Qing Prefecture. Third-generation disciple of Langhuan Palace, Mount Wuliang. Convicted of murdering her master and allowing her beast to devour people.”

Xie Miu’an glanced at the silent Xi Chunxue.

“I was framed.”

This time, Xi Chunxue’s tone was calm, her eyes closing gently. When she opened them, the white glow had faded, and she looked down peacefully at Xie Miu’an.

Xie Miu’an only smiled and said nothing more, then turned his gaze to the distant corridor, where Duan Lingqi and Su Yuanbai stood.

“Inmate 61, Duan Lingqi. Transformed from a python into a flood dragon, cultivated on East Ruins Mountain, Mountain Qing Prefecture. Three hundred years ago, he raised waters at Yun Cave Lake, Mountain Qing, drowning mortals. Captured by the Monster-Hunting Guards and imprisoned here,” Xie Miu’an said, coughing.

“If that brat hadn’t injured my bones, those guards alone could never have caught me,” Duan Lingqi muttered under his breath.

“Inmate One, with neither name nor surname. There is no record of you in the prison’s archives. No one knows where you were born or how you came to be here. Through every riot in this prison over the past nine hundred years, even during the mass escape on the winter solstice two decades ago, you remained unmoving in your cell. Not once did you attempt escape.”

Xie Miu’an recited softly.

Su Yuanbai regarded him calmly, waiting to see what final words this feeble, dying man might say.

“But in the end, none of it matters.”

Xie Miu’an suddenly laughed.

“Indeed,” Su Yuanbai replied, unruffled.

So it ended in empty words, a waste of his attention.

“This island will soon be swallowed by the sea. Those who cannot swim will drown; those who can will be slain by water demons or sea monsters. No one will escape.”

Xie Miu’an coughed again as he spoke.

“Why? Is it because that Bixie beast died?” Xi Chunxue asked.

“That counterfeit Bixie? It’s nothing. Would the Dragon King of the Vast Sea risk open conflict with the imperial prison over a creature that isn’t even a true dragon? No—it’s because the Dragon Palace’s Ocean-Pacifying Pearl has gone missing.”

Xie Miu’an gave a faint, self-mocking smile.