Zhu Xian: They've all been reborn

Ghost King Sect, behind Fox Ridge Mountain.

The wind blew across the cliff face, carrying the chill of late autumn.

Biyao stood on the edge of the cliff, gazing at the distant silhouette of Kongsang Mountain shrouded in mist.

At nine years old, her body was still somewhat thin, and her light green clothes fluttered in the wind like a leaf about to fly away.

"Young Master, it's time to set off." You Ji's voice came from behind, calm and gentle.

Biyao didn't turn around. She stared in the direction of Kongsang Mountain, a light gleaming in her eyes. It wasn't the light a nine-year-old child should have. It was too deep, too heavy, like a pool of water, bottomless.

"Aunt You," she spoke, her voice crisp and clear, yet her tone steady, "Do you think the Dripping Blood Cave is still there?"

Youji walked to her side and stood beside her. She was dressed in black, her face veiled, only her eyes visible. Those eyes held a hint of doubt, but mostly obedience.

"It's there," said Youji. "For eight hundred years, countless predecessors of the Holy Church have searched for it, but none of them could find it. But the cave is there; it can't be hidden."

Biyao smiled. It was a very faint smile, the corners of her mouth curving slightly before quickly flattening again. "Yes, they can't escape."

She turned and walked down the mountain. Her steps were small, but steady. Youji followed behind, watching her small figure, and the doubts in her heart resurfaced.

The young master has been acting very strangely lately. He's been training relentlessly, and his marksmanship has improved at an alarming rate.

Sometimes when I watch her practice shooting, her eyes are so fierce it looks like she wants to kill someone.

Sometimes I would see her staring blankly into the distance, her eyes empty, as if she were looking at something she couldn't see.

And this time too. Suddenly she said she wanted to go find the Dripping Blood Cave, saying that the Hehuan Bell and the first volume of the Heavenly Book were there. How did she know that?

How could a nine-year-old child know so much about something that the Ghost King had been investigating for years without any results?

Youji wanted to ask, but she didn't. She had watched Biyao grow up, from that tiny little girl to who she is now.

Biyao was kind to her, like a mother. She also treated Biyao like a daughter.

If Biyao wants to talk, she will. If she doesn't want to, she won't ask.

The two descended the mountain and flew through the air. Biyao's cultivation level was still low, so she couldn't fly long distances; it was Youji who carried her.

Dressed in black and green, she moved through the clouds. The wind was strong, making Biyao's hair fly wildly. She ignored it, her eyes fixed on the distance.

Mount Kongsang drew closer. The mountain was dark and barren, like the bones of a dead man.

Biyao looked at it, and her heart skipped a beat.

It wasn't fear, it was something else. It was familiarity, it was... pain.

She remembered her past life.

I think of that cave, the darkness, the sound of dripping water, and... that person. Jiang Xiaochuan.

He lay on the ground, feverish, and unable to speak. She stayed by his side, feeding him medicine and wiping his forehead.

He woke up, looked at her, and his eyes were bright, like stars. He said, "Thank you."

Biyao closed her eyes. The wind brushed against her face, stinging slightly.

"Young Master, we've arrived," Youji said, her voice pulling her back to reality.

They landed at the foot of Kongsang Mountain. The surroundings were desolate and deserted, with only the sound of the wind howling like the wailing of ghosts.

Biyao looked up at the mountain. The mountain was very high and steep, with exposed rocks that looked as if they had been cleaved by a knife.

"Where is the entrance?" Yu Ji asked.

Biyao didn't speak. She walked forward, stepping slowly on the gravel. Her eyes scanned the ground, as if searching for something. Youji followed behind, silent.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Biyao stopped in front of a cliff. The cliff was very steep, covered with withered vines, dark and snake-like. She stared at the cliff for a while, then reached out, grabbed a vine, and pulled hard.

The vine broke, and soil fell down in a rustling sound. The stone wall behind it was revealed—smooth, flat, and completely bare.

Biyao frowned. No, not here. She remembered… not here. It was… She turned and looked to the other side. There was a crack there, very narrow, hidden by weeds, almost invisible if you weren't paying attention.

She walked over and parted the weeds. A crack was revealed, dark and cold, letting in a draft of cold air.

The wind carried the smell of mildew, and... the smell of blood?

It was very faint, but Biyao could smell it. She had spent so much time here in her previous life that she was very familiar with this scent.

"It's here," she said softly.

Youji walked over, glanced at the crack, then at Biyao. "Young Master, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Biyao said, bending down and squeezing into the crevice. The crevice was very narrow; her nine-year-old body could barely fit through. Youji followed behind her, her black clothes rustling against the stone wall.

It was pitch black inside, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Biyao raised her hand, and a ball of light appeared in her palm.

The green light, soft and dim, illuminated the surrounding environment.

The stone wall was damp and covered with moss.

The ground was covered in gravel, which crunched underfoot. There was a musty smell in the air, like something had been rotting for a long time.

They walked for a while, and the crack widened until it became a cave.

The cave was large and deep, stretching out into the distance with no end in sight. Stalactites hung from the cave ceiling, dripping water droplets that formed small puddles on the ground.

Biyao stopped and looked at the puddles. The water was clear, and she could see the stones at the bottom. The stones were red, like blood. She remembered that in her past life, Jiang Xiaochuan had discovered those seven red stones here.

She crouched down and reached into the water. The water was icy cold, bone-chilling. She scooped up a handful and brought it to her eyes. Her face was reflected in the water—a nine-year-old's face, innocent and childlike, but with deep, profound eyes.

"Young Master, be careful," Youji said from behind her. "Something's not right here."

Biyao put down the water and stood up. She walked slowly into the cave, each step firm and deliberate. Youji followed beside her, her hands on her waist, ready to strike at any moment.

At the end of the cave was a stone wall. The wall was smooth, like a mirror. Biyao stopped in front of the wall and looked up. There was nothing on the wall except for water stains, mottled and uneven.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the stone wall. She felt carefully, inch by inch. Youji watched her, saying nothing. She knew Biyao was looking for the mechanism, but she didn't know how Biyao knew it was here.

Biyao touched the center of the stone wall and stopped. She pressed her finger down and found a small, shallow indentation. It was barely noticeable unless you felt it carefully. She pressed harder, and the indentation sank in with a soft "click."

The stone wall moved. A crack appeared in the middle, sliding open to both sides, revealing a passage behind it, darker and deeper. Wind blew out of the passage, carrying an even stronger musty smell, and there seemed to be… the sound of bells?

It's very light and crisp, tinkling like a wind chime blowing through the eaves.

Biyao's eyes lit up. She recognized the sound—it was the Hehuan Bell. In her past life, she had worn it for hundreds of years. The sound was etched into her bones; she could never forget it.

She went in, and Youji followed. The passage was narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time. Biyao walked ahead, the green light in her hand illuminating the path. The stone walls were carved with ancient and eerie patterns, resembling both humans and beasts, twisted and entangled.

After walking for about half an incense stick's time, the passage widened and turned into a stone chamber. The chamber was not large, with a stone platform in the center and an iron box on the platform. The box was rusty and looked very old.

Biyao walked over and stared at the box. She remembered that in her past life, it was here that she opened the box and was poisoned by the ancient corpse. Luckily, she had the Heartbreak Flower, otherwise…

She raised her hand, and the green light in her palm shone even brighter. Then she took a step back and said to Youji, "Aunt You, open it."

Youji nodded and stepped forward. She didn't touch the box directly, but instead raised her hand, and a wisp of black energy flew from her sleeve, gripping the lid and snapping it open—

Black gas billowed out, thick as ink and reeking of a foul stench. You Ji was prepared; with a flick of her sleeve, the black gas dissipated into the air. The box opened, revealing its contents.

A bell. Golden yellow, about the size of a thumb, exquisitely crafted. A thin chain, also golden, runs through the center of the bell, shimmering in the green light.

Biyao walked over and picked up the bell. The bell was very light and cool to the touch. She shook it, and it tinkled clear and melodious, like a mountain spring dripping on a stone.

The sound echoed in the stone chamber, lingering for a long time.

Biyao gripped the bell tightly, her knuckles white and trembling slightly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her eyes were glistening with tears.

"Young Master?" Yu Ji asked softly.

Biyao shook her head and didn't speak. She tied the bell around her waist, wrapped the chain around it several times, and tied a knot. The bell hung from her waist, jingling with each step she took.

Then she turned and looked at the other end of the stone chamber. There was a stone door there, with words carved on it, very ancient words that she couldn't understand. But she knew what was behind the door—the first volume of the Heavenly Book.

She walked over and placed her hand on the door. The door was heavy and wouldn't budge. She thought for a moment, then bit her fingertip, squeezing out a drop of blood, which she dripped onto the door. The blood seeped in, and the words on the door lit up, emitting a red glow. Then the door opened silently.

Behind the door was another stone chamber, larger and emptier. The stone walls were covered with writing, densely packed, from top to bottom.

Biyao walked in and looked up. She recognized the characters, yet she didn't. She recognized them because she had seen them and memorized them in her past life.

The reason I don't recognize it is because it's a celestial book, the Great Dao, the origin.

She stood before the stone wall, staring at it for a long time. She read it word by word, line by line. By the end, her eyes were blurry, and her mind was buzzing.

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. The words on the stone wall were still there, gleaming, as if they had come alive.

She raised her hand, her fingers tracing the lines in the air. They traced the paths of those words, their essence, their very essence.

She rowed slowly and carefully. Yu Ji stood at the doorway, watching her, her gaze growing increasingly intense.

She knew what Biyao was doing. She was memorizing the Heavenly Book. Not just reading, but memorizing, memorizing with her body, memorizing with her soul. She was engraving these words into her bones, melting them into her blood.

A nine-year-old child reads a book written in a foreign language as if it were a nursery rhyme.

Youji's doubts turned into horror. But she remained silent, simply watching. She watched Biyao's hand trace the air, watched her eyes grow brighter, and watched the aura around her begin to change.

got windy.

There was no wind in the stone chamber, but there was wind around Biyao.

The wind was light and gentle, lifting the hem of her clothes and ruffling her hair.

There was light in the wind, a green light, emanating from her, like fireflies flying around her.

She finished the last stroke. She stopped, lowered her hand. The wind died down, the light faded. She opened her eyes; words flashed before her eyes, then disappeared.

"Okay," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

Youji walked over and looked at her. Biyao's face was covered in fine sweat, glistening in the green light. She raised her hand to wipe it away, her hand trembling.

"Young Master, you..." Youji wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say.

Biyao shook her head, signaling her not to ask. She turned, walked out of the stone chamber, back into the passage, and back into the cave. Youji followed her closely.

When they emerged from the cave, it was already dark. The moon rose, round and yellow, hanging in the sky. A cool breeze blew by. Biyao stood on the cliff edge, gazing at the moon for a long time.

The bells at her waist jingled in the wind, a lovely sound. She looked down at the bells, and as she looked, she smiled.

"Aunt You," she said.

"exist."

"Do you think a person can be reborn after death?"

Youji froze. She looked at Biyao, and Biyao looked back at her. In the moonlight, Biyao's eyes were bright, like stars, but deeper and more profound than stars.

"No," Youji said softly. "The dead cannot be brought back to life; this is the way of Heaven."

Biyao smiled but didn't speak. She turned and walked down the mountain. Her steps were small but steady. The bells jingled, like singing.

Youji stared at her retreating figure for a long time before following her.

The two flew back to the Ghost King Sect. Throughout the journey, Biyao remained silent. She gazed at the mountains below, the distant lights, and the stars in the sky. Her eyes were calm, like a frozen lake.

As they approached the Ghost King Sect, she suddenly spoke.

"Aunt You."

"exist."

"Don't tell my father about what happened today."

Yu Ji paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

Biyao turned to look at her and smiled. Her smile was like a child's, innocent and carefree. But Youji knew it wasn't a child's smile. There was something in that smile, something very deep, something she couldn't understand.

"Aunt You is the best," Biyao said in a sweet voice.

Youji felt a pang of sadness. She reached out and patted Biyao's head. "Greetings, Young Master."

Biyao leaned closer, nestled in her arms. She was a tiny, soft, and fragrant bundle. Youji held her, as if she were a child. Back then, Biyao had leaned against her like this, saying that Aunt You was the best.

Back then, Biyao's eyes were clear, like spring water. Now, Biyao's eyes are deep, like a well.

Youji didn't know what was wrong with Biyao. But she knew that Biyao had changed.

When did it start? About half a year ago? A year ago?

It's hard to explain. Things have just changed.

He's become less like a child and more like... like an adult who's been through a lot.

She hugged Biyao tightly, as if afraid she would fly away, as if afraid she would disappear.

Biyao closed her eyes in her arms. Jiang Xiaochuan's face was in her mind. Eight-year-old Jiang Xiaochuan was chubby with bright eyes. Ten-year-old Jiang Xiaochuan had grown a little taller, his face thinner, but his eyes were still bright.

She remembered the time in the dripping blood cave when he had a fever and could speak. She stayed by his side, fed him medicine, and wiped his forehead. When he woke up, he looked at her and said thank you.

She remembered him singing, his voice hoarse and off-key, but beautiful. He sang, "What do people say about good and evil? I will never let go of your hand."

She remembered him holding her in the darkness, in the cold. His embrace was warm, like a fireplace. She leaned against him and slept soundly.

She opened her eyes and looked at the moon in the sky. The moon was round and bright, like his eyes.

Soon, she told herself. Just wait a little longer. When I'm a little stronger, I'll come find you.

This time, I will not let go.

The bells jingled in the wind, as if saying, "Okay."

On the back mountain of Dazhu Peak, Jiang Xiaochuan sneezed.

He rubbed his nose and looked at the sky. The sky was blue, the clouds were white, and there was no wind.

"Who's talking about me?" he muttered, continuing to chop bamboo.

Little White lay at his feet, eyes closed, tail wagging. Hearing him mumble, it opened its eyes, glanced at him, and then closed them again.

Jiang Xiaochuan finished cutting a bamboo and sat down to rest. He patted Xiaobai's head, and Xiaobai rubbed against his hand.

"Xiao Bai," he whispered, "do you think Lu Xueqi is coming today?"

Xiaobai didn't react.

"Tian Ling'er got angry yesterday because I didn't eat the pastries she made," Jiang Xiaochuan sighed. "But I couldn't eat them. Lu Xueqi brought a box, and I ate too much."

Xiaobai still didn't react.

Jiang Xiaochuan stared at it for a long time, then leaned closer and whispered, "Little White, are you really a nine-tailed celestial fox?"

Xiao Bai opened her eyes, glanced at him, and her eyes seemed to say: Nonsense.

"Then you..." Jiang Xiaochuan hesitated for a moment, "How old are you?"

Xiaobai turned her head away and ignored him.

Jiang Xiaochuan scratched his head and stopped asking. He lay down and looked at the sky. The sky was very blue, and the clouds were very white, like cotton candy.

He thought of Lu Xueqi, and the box of pastries she brought yesterday—so many varieties, and they tasted wonderful. He thought of Tian Ling'er, and the way she ran away with red eyes yesterday.

He sighed.

Women are such a hassle.

Little White nuzzled over and nestled against his chest. It was fluffy and soft. Jiang Xiaochuan stroked its fur, and the slight annoyance in his heart slowly dissipated.

Who cares? He has Xiaobai, bamboo, senior brothers and sisters, master and mistress. Life is pretty good.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Little White raised its head and looked at his sleeping face for a long time. Then it closed its eyes and rested its head on his chest.

The wind rustled through the bamboo grove. The sun was shining brightly, warming me comfortably.

There's still a long way to go.