Zhou Hui froze for a brief moment. The expression on his face shifted subtly before he suddenly flashed a rather rogue, improper grin.
The moment Chu He saw that look, he knew nothing good would come of it. Sure enough, the next second, he heard Zhou Hui laughing as he questioned Maha, “My dear son, since you’ve already eaten your fill of people, seen your mother, and caused quite a disaster, are you planning to pack up and head back to the Sea of Blood next? Your old man has been in a terrible mood lately. If my hand slips and I accidentally chop you into three or five pieces…”
Maha countered coldly, “Who do you think is more likely to chop whom into three or five pieces?”
The shadowy wind howled as heaven and earth changed color. The massive commotion whipped up by the magic dragon finally alarmed the clergy working out in the distant outer shrine. Along the endless mountain paths blanketed in white snow, the lights of the shrines flickered on one after another.
With a thunderous crash, the colossal dragon violently smashed through the vermilion torii gate not far away. Opening its bloody, cavernous maw, it unleashed a sky-rending roar!
Father and son locked eyes amidst the raging gale. After a long impasse, Maha abruptly drew his sword. The friction of the metal produced a screeching, metallic ring that threatened to tear their eardrums apart.
“You no longer hold any authority over me,” Maha said flatly. “The elderly should gracefully exit the stage of history instead of interfering in the affairs of others.”
Zhou Hui laughed. “Don’t speak too soon. It’s still up in the air as to who will be exiting the stage of history. However, I am absolutely certain that you are about to exit the stage of life…”
Chu He’s eyebrow twitched.
Yet, there was no sign of rage on Maha’s ice-cold face. Instead, he lifted his chin slightly, looking down upon Zhou Hui. Beneath his long lashes, the corners of his eyes flickered with a sinister light. “Put Mother down,” he said softly. “When you go to your grave, don’t use my mother as a shield.”
Chu He struck out abruptly, but in the next split second, Zhou Hui grabbed him by the collar, threw him forcefully backward, and raised his blade to charge directly at Maha!
Chu He landed firmly on his feet, shouting sharply, “Zhou Hui! Maha!”
Amidst the hurricane-force winds, the father and son—both carrying the volatile bloodline of monsters—slashed at each other ruthlessly. The clashing of their blades sounded like a tempest unleashing its fury over the landscape, erupting into thousands of blinding flashes of light that forced everyone to shield their eyes!
The vermilion wooden pillars snapped and tilted one after another, crashing heavily onto the bluestone corridors with dull, echoing thuds.
“Are you two insane?!” Chu He snapped furiously. “Is it impossible to stop unless one of you ends up dead?!”
_
At that very moment, upon the altar of the divine hall, Yan Lanyu was gripping the edges of the spatiotemporal rift with a deathly hold. His entire body erupted with the terrifying blue flames of burning talismans. Not far away, Aida Yoshihide knelt on the ground with a face drenched in blood, violently shaking his head to regain his senses.
“Shi… Shishu…” An Esoteric School disciple, half of his body pinned under the collapsed rubble, managed a weak cry. “Please help… Aida Shishu…”
“Damn it!” Aida cursed amidst the tremors. Staggering to his feet, he kicked a large chunk of shattered brick off the disciple. Without waiting to see if the man could crawl out, he turned and stumbled toward Yan Lanyu.
The spatiotemporal rift was unleashing a massive suction force, having already pulled half of Yan Lanyu’s body inside. Yet, at the same time, he was surrounded by countless aggrieved spirits. They wailed and swirled around him as countless withered hands reached out from the void, gripping his ankles tightly to pin him to the ground.
Those were undoubtedly the thousands of vengeful spirits sealed within the Ise Shrine over hundreds of years. Their power was so intense that it had practically materialized—two distinct, black handprints manifested on Yan Lanyu’s ankles, resembling the terrifying marks left by ghosts in a horror movie, sending a shiver down the spine at first glance.
“Curse you!”
Anxious and enraged, Aida pulled out the final talisman from his barrier. He rapidly chanted an incantation, and a rare, pitch-black flame ignited across the paper.
“Just go die already—!” Aida roared, violently slapping the talisman directly onto the crown of Yan Lanyu’s head!
Whish!
A wave of spiritual energy rippled outward in all directions. The vengeful ghosts shrieked as they scattered into the distance, and the suffocating, shadowy wind instantly cleared away.
Without the spirits holding him back, Yan Lanyu’s body lost its anchor. His Yin world soul unleashed a long, ancient cry of agony before his entire body was swallowed into the spatiotemporal rift!
With a sharp zip, the rift snapped shut, and Yan Lanyu’s figure dissolved into nothingness.
_
Darkness. Emptiness.
Time ceased to flow, and the air was so light that it made no sound. The void felt like a vast, boundless ocean.
Yan Lanyu strained to reach his hand upward, but his body sank slowly. He could only watch helplessly as the solitary light above his head grew higher and more distant.
…What is this familiar feeling?
Yan Lanyu widened his eyes, but his pupils were blank, completely devoid of focus.
Ah, right. It’s death.
Countless shattered images flashed from all directions like a surging tide, spinning and falling around him.
Those were fragments from many, many years ago.
“Mr. Yan, we suspect you are involved in a software engineering leak. Please come with us.”
“What are you doing? I’m just a lecturer… Hey! Let go of me!”
The stale images descended from the air like old movie screens. In the yellowed light and shadows, a group of men forcefully handcuffed a young man surrounded in their midst, shoving him into a car before speeding away in a cloud of exhaust.
Behind him, the front door of his home drifted open. The wind whipped up the newspapers in the living room, sending them rustling to the floor.
In the darkness, Yan Lanyu’s blank face was pale and cold, resembling a lifeless doll. Every last shred of sensation had vanished.
Yet, the tide of memories surged onward. They were demons creeping up from the depths of the ocean floor, opening giant hands to wrap around him, crushing him, squeezing him from the inside out into a pulp of blood and bone fragments.
Inside a dim, foul-smelling prison cell, a young man who had deteriorated into a skeleton lay on an iron bed. His wrists and ankles were locked in rusted iron cuffs, with blood-stained chains extending all the way into the corner.
A loud clack echoed nearby as the cell door opened. A group of uniformed men swarmed inside, deferentially ushering in an old man clad in an Onmyoji’s hunting attire, his hair and beard completely white.
“This is that lecturer from Todai?” The old man cast a glance at the motionless youth on the iron bed, his voice raspy.
“Yes, Headmaster. He is an intelligence operative who infiltrated our nation’s top-secret experimental project. We tracked him for six months before making the arrest. However, no matter how we torture him, we cannot force out his contact or any details regarding his espionage organization…”
The old man stared at the youth with cloudy eyes. Although the young man’s eyes were open, they were completely devoid of life—there wasn’t even a single sign to show he was still breathing.
“Can I take him with me?”
“This—”
Sensing their hesitation, the old man spoke slowly, “He won’t speak under these conditions. Even if you torture him to death, he won’t utter a word, not to mention he’s already on the verge of dying. It is incredibly rare to find someone whose age, gender, and Eight Characters perfectly align like this. What’s even more precious is this fiercely unyielding soul… I have been searching for it for far too long…”
The men quickly bowed in compliance. The old man added, “Do not worry, I will handle the Metropolitan Police Department.”
He raised his wrinkled hands and clapped them unhurriedly. A few sharp pops echoed in the air behind him as several low-level shikigami manifested. They stepped forward, snapping the iron chains binding the young man’s limbs, and hoisted him off the filthy, freezing iron bed.
“Cough, cough! Hah… cough!” The sudden shift in posture put pressure on his thoracic cavity, causing the youth to break into a raspy, painful fit of coughing, spitting out specks of dark crimson blood.
The old man watched with drooping eyelids as the shikigami carried him out of the cell. As they brushed past each other, the young man strained with all his might to lift his head, his voice hoarse: “…I… won’t say… anything…”
“It doesn’t matter,” the old man said expressionless. “In any case, from this moment on, no one will ever be able to hear your voice again.”
In the alternate dimension, the vast, empty void surrounding Yan Lanyu shifted abruptly, like stars reversing their courses through time. In the next instant, his feet touched solid ground.
He stood there like a numb puppet doll. After a long while, he turned his head to look behind him.
Right. He remembered this place.
It was an abandoned Japanese-style estate—empty, dilapidated, and covered in dust and cobwebs.
All the windows were boarded up haphazardly with blackened wooden strips. Strands of afternoon light filtered through the cracks, casting long shadows onto the floor, the walls, and the iron bars that were welded tightly across the entrance.
The afternoon light was abstract and hazy. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beams of light, resembling silent plankton in the deep sea.
Yan Lanyu’s gaze was scattered and unfocused. After a long while, his eyes finally landed in the dead center of the massive room, upon an erect wooden pillar.
A young man was suspended from it.
The young man’s head hung limply down. Although his feet touched the ground, his entire body leaned forward, relying solely on his hands—which were bound apart on the wooden frame—as leverage to keep from collapsing entirely onto the floor.
His complexion was an ashen gray—the damp, oppressive gray characteristic of the plum rain season. Even his cracked lips shared the exact same hue. His nose was straight and his features sharp, meaning his face hadn’t completely lost its shape; yet his eye sockets were deeply sunken and darkened, making him look exactly like a battered, miserable corpse.
Yan Lanyu’s gaze remained entirely devoid of emotion as it settled upon him.
It was a horrific body.
His chest, arms, and thighs bore the gruesome tracks of large chunks of flesh having been carved out by a blade. The exposed flesh had blackened and dried, revealing flashes of stark white bone beneath. The hideous wounds emitted a pungent, foul stench, attracting swarms of buzzing flies that fought to settle upon the decaying meat.
The terrifying part was that, even in this state, he wasn’t dead.
Though it was barely perceptible, his chest was still faintly rising and falling.
Why aren’t you dead yet? Yan Lanyu thought as he stared at him.
Why am I still not dead even after coming to this point?
He took a stumbling step forward, followed by another, until he was shaking violently as he stood right in front of the young man. Panting heavily, he reached out his hand toward that ashen, emaciated neck.
—End my suffering.
Just like this… hurry up and end my suffering…
However, in the next instant, his fingers passed straight through the young man’s neck. Like an incorporeal illusion, his hand emerged out the other side.
He tried again, but the result was the same. He tried once more, and it happened again.
The past was already the past. History was frozen within the pages of time, completely immutable.
Yan Lanyu stared blankly at the man. His lips trembled violently as tears spilled from his eyes, and he let out a stifled, trembling, and hoarse sob.
The iron door opened with a loud clang, and footsteps approached from afar.
Two young Onmyoji clad in hunting attire walked into the large room. Both looked to be in their early twenties, their faces carrying a familiar quality that transcended the decades. One was Aida Yoshihide, and the other was the future Headmaster of the Esoteric School, Ninigi-no-Mikoto.
Ninigi-no-Mikoto stood at the doorway with his arms crossed, surveying the surroundings with interest without saying a word.
Aida, on the other hand, walked closer to inspect the body. Completely blind to Yan Lanyu standing right beside him in an alternate timeline, he pinched his nose and shook his head. “Tsk, how has this guy survived being sliced to pieces for so long without dying?”
“It won’t be that easy,” Ninigi-no-Mikoto said. In his youth, his voice carried a deeper, more nonchalant cadence. “This is the process of soul refining. We must let the resentment of his Yang world soul accumulate to a certain degree before we can cast it into the underworld.”
“Then doesn’t that mean he has to suffer for a lot longer?”
“More or less.”
“How incredibly stubborn!” Aida shook his head with sigh, pulling a uniquely shaped short dagger from his lower back. He turned around to ask, “—Where should we cut today, Senior Brother Ninigi?”
They exchanged a look, and Ninigi-no-Mikoto blinked, laughing. “Anywhere is fine… just make it quick.”
In the void where no one could see him, Yan Lanyu let out an agonizing gasp, his entire body shuddering violently.
His fingernails dug deep into the flesh of his palms. Because he was squeezing so hard, fresh lines of blood seeped from his fingers, yet he felt no pain whatsoever.
He knew what would happen next. He knew exactly what kind of agony was coming.
Why do I have to relive this all over again?
The humiliation and despair that I paid every price to numb and forget… why must time reverse, why must fate toy with me, forcing me to watch it happen right before my very eyes?!
Aida seemed to harbor a keen interest in these bloody displays. He examined the young man’s body from top to bottom, resting the blade against that ashen cheek before drawing it away again.
“Hmm, I suppose places with more meat are easier to work with,” he muttered to himself. But as his gaze caught the buzzing flies, he felt a wave of boredom wash over him. “He’s gotten so filthy, who knows how many days he has left to live.”
Aida carelessly selected the outer edge of a wound on the thigh where a piece of muscle had already been carved away, pressing the blade down against it. The torture tool was highly specialized; beneath the sharp tip was a keen, spoon-shaped implementation that gleamed with a chilling light. If the blade was plunged into the flesh, a simple twist of the instrument would easily scoop out an entire chunk of muscle.
Yan Lanyu reached out in a futile effort, but it was useless.
He was nothing more than an illusory shadow visiting from a different time—a resentful spirit returning to the mortal realm from hell.
He tried again and again to grab Aida’s hand, only to pass through the empty air every single time. He unleashed desperate screams, laced with a distorted, animalistic sob of indignation, yet no matter what method he tried, nothing worked.
Don’t…!
Don’t do this to me!
Stop it! STOP IT!!
Yet he could only watch with wide, bloodshot eyes, his heart overflowing with absolute hatred as Aida effortlessly plunged the blade into his body, carving out a hideous, dripping piece of flesh.
Yan Lanyu collapsed to his knees, his trembling fingers clutching tightly at his hair as he unleashed a shuddering wail like a fierce ghost.
“Alright, let’s go report back,” Aida turned around and said casually.
“Mm-hm.”
Ninigi-no-Mikoto stood up from the wall he had been leaning against. Just as he took a step toward the door, he suddenly paused.
“What’s wrong?” Aida asked.
“…”
Ninigi-no-Mikoto didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back around, staring intently at the youth on the wooden frame who was trembling slightly from the pain and letting out muffled whimpers. A look of confusion flashed across his face.
“What is it, Senior Brother?”
Ninigi-no-Mikoto frowned, standing quietly for a long while before shaking his head with a smile. “Nothing… I just thought I heard someone crying just now. I thought it was a bit strange.”
Aida laughed. “You must have misheard.”
“Perhaps. It sounded incredibly miserable. It was the kind of crying… that makes you feel deeply uncomfortable just listening to it.”
Ninigi-no-Mikoto also seemed to find the thought rather absurd. Laughing it off, he waved his hand and walked out the door.
Without anyone knowing exactly when it started, Ninigi-no-Mikoto began to frequently wander over to this abandoned estate on his own.
Sometimes he came with Aida, which usually meant an execution session; but more often than not, he came by himself. It was as if he were studying some profound academic problem, looking up and down at this heavily scarred youth with an air of pure curiosity and interest.
Occasionally, he brought a flask of sake along, drinking entirely by himself, completely indifferent to the surrounding stench of rot and decay.
“To become a lecturer at Todai at this age, you really were quite remarkable.”
“The weather is getting colder. By the way, where is your home? What does your hometown look like during this season?”
“No wonder the Headmaster wants to use you to refine a dual Yin-Yang soul. How are you still holding on without dying?”
…
The youth’s body decayed further with each passing day, and he spent his entire existence in a state of deep unconsciousness.
Yet, Ninigi-no-Mikoto didn’t seem to mind. He appeared to have found a peculiar sort of amusement in this dynamic of solitary drinking and one-sided conversations. Sometimes, he could happily spend an entire afternoon there without uttering a single word.
“Come to think of it, we’ve known each other for so long, yet I still don’t know your name,” one day as he was preparing to leave, he suddenly looked at the youth with a hint of regret. “If you can still speak, could you tell me what your name is?”
The youth’s eyes remained tightly closed, his breathing non-existent.
Only the incredibly faint, imperceptible rise and fall of his chest proved that he hadn’t fully passed away yet.
Ninigi-no-Mikoto let out a sigh.
“What a pity… if I don’t know your name, we can’t truly consider ourselves acquainted.”
__
Winter finally brought its first snow. The white flurry fell in thick blankets as the cold wind whipped tiny ice particles against the window frames, making a sound akin to soft weeping.
As night fell, the lively sounds of celebrations drifted over from the distance. Fireworks erupted across the night sky, reflecting brilliant arrays of lights.
The iron door of the cell opened once more. Wrapped in a thick robe, Ninigi-no-Mikoto walked inside carrying a lantern and a small flask of wine, bringing a gust of freezing air with him. He smiled and said, “Tonight is New Year’s Eve.”
“The New Year is almost here. Today is a day for families to reunite. They say the fireworks are going to go on for the entire night.” He sat cross-legged on the floor, pouring himself a cup of wine. He smiled, “Well then, Happy New Year to myself. May I have good health and a long life… as for you, there’s no need for that.”
The youth’s head stirred slightly.
Right then, fireworks erupted in the night sky outside. The instantaneous flash of light illuminated his eyes, which he had strained with all his might to open.
“…”
“Oh? You’re awake?” Ninigi-no-Mikoto was thoroughly surprised. Putting down his wine cup, he walked over and asked, “What did you say?”
“…”
The youth’s lips moved, but in reality, no sound came out.
Ninigi-no-Mikoto stepped closer to his side.
The youth’s condition was already critical. His face was an ashen gray, his pupils were dilated, and his eyes were cloudy—the textbook signs of someone whose time had run out. One of his arms had been reduced to a skeletal frame with dried flesh clinging to it; the remaining parts of his body weren’t much better, though he likely could no longer feel any pain.
Ninigi-no-Mikoto looked down at him, a faint trace of pity appearing in the depths of his eyes.
“Well, seeing how hard it must have been for you to hold on for so long, I’ll give you a New Year’s gift.”
“…”
“You tell me your wish first, and then I’ll tell you mine. A fair exchange requires a give-and-take—as long as it isn’t asking me to commit suicide, anything else is fine, alright?”
The youth let out a muffled, indistinguishable sound. Ninigi-no-Mikoto stared at him with keen interest.
“…Kill…”
“Kill…”
“Kill… me…”
The cell fell into a prolonged, heavy silence.
Outside the window, fireworks soared into the sky, illuminating the canopy of the heavens before letting out brilliant, thunderous explosions. Further away, the crowds were bustling with excitement as the New Year’s Eve festival reached its peak, the sounds carrying far across the landscape over the wind.
The freezing wind hissed through the cracks in the window, making a sorrowful wail.
“Alright,” Ninigi-no-Mikoto finally spoke after a long pause. “But you must tell me your name in exchange. That is the New Year’s gift I want.”
However, the youth’s head slumped back down, as if he no longer possessed a single shred of strength to utter another syllable.
His head hung low, and no sound could be heard from him, appearing as though even his heart had ceased to beat. Ninigi-no-Mikoto waited for a very long time, but aside from his own breathing, the room was entirely silent.
He ultimately let out a helpless, soft laugh.
“…It looks like I’ve been stood up.”
Ninigi-no-Mikoto raised his hand, pressing his four fingers together as he rested them against the youth’s freezing chest.
Beneath his fingertips lay a faintly thumping heart—it had somehow persisted for so long, so long that it almost made one want to watch it beat forever.
“Farewell, the person who owes me a New Year’s gift.”
His four fingers sliced effortlessly into the chest cavity. Amidst the slight, crisp cracking sound of bone, his hand made contact with the heart.
The youth’s body twitched slightly. Immediately after, dark blood welled from the corners of his mouth as a sharp, ragged gasp caught in his throat.
In the next second, his heart was punctured. After his body gave one violent tremor, he went entirely still, slumping down limply.
—He would never make another sound.
That heavily scarred soul, which had held on for so long, finally rode the piercing northern winds of New Year’s Eve. Sweeping across the mountains and the wilderness, it crossed the frozen Miyako Strait, howling all the way back toward his home.
The sound of bells echoed from the distance, signaling the arrival of midnight.
The shrine would strike the bell one hundred and eight times—elegant, solemn, and continuous. It signified the expulsion of the past year’s evils and the welcoming of the new year’s blessings. When the tolling of the bells finally ceased, it would be exactly midnight, and the New Year would descend upon the mortal realm amidst the eager anticipation of millions.
Fireworks blossomed, and laughter filled the air.
Ninigi-no-Mikoto withdrew his palm, the friction of flesh producing a soft sound. He stared at the ruined, shattered corpse of the youth, his gaze unreadable in the deep shadows.
“…Happy New Year,” he said softly. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the cell.
