Chapter 54:
Peach Blossom Spring (Conclusion):
Zhao Cuicui, She Flew Away…
The Black Wraith held the Great Shaman down, its immense power pinning him to the ground, his limbs restrained, his head bowed, unable to chant or use Gu techniques. Tormenting him would be easy.
Chen Henian was silent, his gaze fixed, the Great Shaman’s eyes filled with hatred. The heart’s door was a difficult barrier for many, but using that technique against Chen Henian had been a fatal mistake.
His silence was chilling. He finally spoke, his words directed at the ghost watching him.
“Do you like me?” he asked, his voice abrupt.
“Like,” the ghost replied instantly.
“Good.” Chen Henian nodded, pointing at the Great Shaman. “Then carve out his heart for me.”
“Do it slowly. I want a whole heart, while he’s still alive. I want him to suffer, but I don’t want to hear his disgusting voice. Can you do that?”
His smile was cold and cruel, his words not a request, but a command. He knew the ghost would obey.
The ghost vanished, appearing before the Great Shaman, pushing the Black Wraith aside.
Four tendrils emerged from its back, piercing the Shaman’s joints, lifting him into the air, tearing through his flesh and bone, leaving gaping holes.
Fear finally flickered in the Shaman’s eyes, his voice silenced, the ghost knowing exactly where to strike, a fifth tendril tightening around his neck, choking him, his cries strangled.
A large hand pierced his chest.
The ghost could have simply ripped his heart out, but it didn’t.
Because Chen Henian had said he wanted him to suffer.
Inflicting pain was easy for a ghost, an instinct. It didn’t kill him instantly, but infused him with yin energy, keeping him conscious.
The Shaman’s blood turned cold, his body numb, as if frozen, only the searing pain in his chest real, his heart being slowly carved out, the fear of death amplified by his helplessness, his eyes wide with terror, tears and snot streaming down his face, his whimpers a grotesque parody of grief.
The ghost ignored his pleas, the blood flowing freely from his chest, dripping onto the ground, his face turning purple, his neck twisted, his hair dishevelled, the bulging veins like the Gu worms he had nurtured, now consuming him.
Finally, the ghost tore out his heart, still beating, retracting its tendrils. The Shaman collapsed, his eyes fixed on his own heart, his last breath a silent scream.
The ghost tossed the body aside, returning to Chen Henian.
It bent down, offering him the heart, its hands stained with blood, the crimson of hell’s flowers.
“You did well,” Chen Henian smiled. “I’m pleased.”
“Do you want to eat this heart?”
The ghost shook its head.
“But what if I want you to?”
The ghost nodded, lifting the heart to its mouth.
“No,” Chen Henian stopped it, his hand on its arm.
The ghost paused, its gaze fixed on him, waiting for his true desire.
Chen Henian smiled, his hand gently caressing the ghost’s face, his voice soothing. “I won’t make you eat such a disgusting thing. Crush it. Don’t defile yourself.”
A human heart was fragile in a ghost’s hand. It flicked its fingers, and the heart turned to dust, dissolving into the ground.
“Good,” Chen Henian said. “You’re obedient. I like that.”
“Come back,” he opened his arms, a welcoming gesture. “Come back inside me.”
The ghost exhaled happily, its tendrils wrapping around Chen Henian’s waist, its form coiling around him, its head hovering above, its gaze fixed on his face, its touch unopposed.
It licked his cheek, then retreated into his body.
Chen Henian, his hand stained with the Shaman’s blood, walked to the table, wiping it clean with a cloth, his movements calm and deliberate.
Zuo He looked at him, his voice filled with concern. “Are you sure it’s wise to let that ghost kill? It’s a powerful being.”
“If you awaken its bloodlust, it might become uncontrollable, and you’ll be its next target.”
“Dangerous?” Chen Henian shrugged. “It might eat me, so what? Is that so terrifying?”
“Isn’t it?” Zuo He asked.
“No,” Chen Henian replied. “It’s not terrifying, it’s… endearing.”
“We’re one.”
Zuo He was speechless. Jiang Wan said, “Since we’ve dealt with him, let’s get out of here. What a waste of a night.”
…
The white snake led them out of the cave. Dawn was approaching, the valley below shrouded in mist, their vantage point high on the mountain, the village barely visible.
“I know where we are,” Zhao Cuicui said. “That mountain, that’s where the Poisonous Cave is.”
She pointed, her face still pale from blood loss. “Wait until sunrise, then follow that path, and you’ll be out of here.”
As they prepared to leave, Jiang Wan tried to convince Zhao Cuicui to come with them. “Your life is just as valuable as anyone else’s. No one can force you to do this. Don’t be a fool, throwing your life away.”
“I know,” Zhao Cuicui smiled sadly, shaking her head. “I thought about it last night, what it would be like to leave, to see the outside world. I’m not that good a person. I thought about just leaving, pretending I didn’t know anything.”
“But it came back to me, and it gave me something.”
She stroked the white snake. “It gave me its sister’s gallbladder. It can cure any poison, so there’s a chance it can cure the Gu King’s poison too. Then I knew I couldn’t leave. Maybe… maybe I was born to save them.”
“Don’t pity me,” she lowered her head. “My grandmother, she’s the one who deserves your pity.”
Zhao Cuicui had been orphaned at birth, a rare occurrence in the village, considered a bad omen, unwanted, only her grandmother accepting her, raising her as her own.
Granny was everyone’s grandmother, but she was Cuicui’s only grandmother.
Cuicui should have had an older sister. She had seen a room, kept clean and tidy, a beautiful wedding dress inside, belonging to a girl who had died before her wedding, a girl who lived only in her grandmother’s memory.
Granny cared for all the children in the village, their laughter and chatter filling her days, while she mourned her own child in silence.
Because it was a secret, a secret of sacrifice.
When she had been chosen, Cuicui had been heartbroken by her grandmother’s apparent indifference, her silence as the Great Shaman declared her death date.
She had thought her grandmother didn’t love her, that she loved her dead daughter more, and she had been jealous, angry, wanting to destroy everything that belonged to that dead girl, but she had seen her grandmother sitting by the window, clutching the wedding dress, until dawn.
Her grandmother was grieving for her own child, and for her.
She had resented her grandmother’s coldness, wanting her to protect her, to fight for her, but now she understood.
Her sister had also been a sacrifice.
Her grandmother had already endured this pain once before.
As the Great Shaman cut her wrists, cursing her grandmother’s selfishness, Cuicui understood. Only she knew her grandmother’s pain, only she cared.
Sixteen years ago, Granny hadn’t had the Mountain-Shaking Wood staff, she had been just an ordinary person, a mother, her life spared by the Jian Jia Gu, half her lifespan a gift from Zhou Xianzhi. The villagers had obeyed the Great Shaman, and so had she.
Cuicui thought, her sister must have resented her grandmother too, for not protecting her. A mother should protect her child.
But Granny was also a Chinan, bound by tradition. Did she have a choice? How could she defy the entire village? What could she have done to save her daughter?
The Great Shaman had called it a necessary sacrifice, and those words had silenced her.
A mother forced to sacrifice her child, praised for her sacrifice, her greatness, while she stood alone, watching the villagers celebrate, their laughter echoing through the valley, their feet treading on her daughter’s grave.
She couldn’t speak, no one remembered her daughter, the Gu King a secret, the sacrifices forgotten.
Sacrifice brought reward, and she didn’t want to sacrifice anymore. What was wrong with wanting to be a saint?
Her grandmother wasn’t the sinner the Great Shaman claimed her to be.
Cuicui was heartbroken, she didn’t want to die, but she had asked the heavens, why her? She wouldn’t have children, wouldn’t dance or sing, wouldn’t grow old with her grandmother, no one would remember her, no one would know which girl had been thrown into the Poisonous Cave.
“I’ve already made up my mind,” she said, her voice cheerful, her sadness hidden. “I packed these for you, small gifts, take a look!”
Zuo He opened the bag, taking out the silver hair ornaments. Zhao Cuicui placed one in each of their hair. “I can’t leave, so take these flowers with you, they won’t wither.”
“And please take care of Xiao Bai,” she placed the white snake on the ground. “It’s injured, it’ll be captured and used for Gu if it stays here.”
The snake didn’t want to leave, and she nudged it towards Chen Henian.
They remained silent, knowing they couldn’t interfere. Zhao Cuicui had made her choice.
She looked towards the mountain, towards her fate, her voice choked with emotion. “I have so many unfulfilled wishes. I wanted to see the outside world with Granny, to see Manman get married, to see her have a daughter, to pick flowers in the mountains together, to have my own child, to teach her our songs, to love her, Granny would have loved her too.”
She paused, unable to hold back her tears any longer, her sobs echoing through the valley. “Pretty Brother, Big Sister, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die at all.”
“I want to live, like them, but I can’t. If I don’t do this, Granny will die, Manman won’t have a happy life with Wang Mazi, all the children, all the girls, they’ll all die.”
She cried, her grief and resentment pouring out, then, finally, she wiped her tears, her voice calm.
The young girl, at the end of her short life, smiled.
“Pretty Brother, Big Sister.”
“Goodbye.”
She turned and walked towards the mountain, her slender form disappearing into the shadows, her voice the only sound.
She sang, “The mountain wind blows—
The mountain wind blows—”
Her voice, the jingling of her bells, fading into the distance.
They waited, waiting for the dawn, for the mist to clear, for the first rays of sunlight, for the light Zhao Cuicui would bring to the Chinan people.
As the sun rose, they saw a golden light, growing brighter, closer, a swarm of yellow butterflies emerging from the mountain, like a shower of golden leaves, fluttering around them, landing on the silver flowers in their hair, then flying towards the village.
The butterflies flew further and further, disappearing into the houses.
They landed on the villagers, on Granny Zhao’s shoulder, their delicate wings brushing against her cheek, a gentle breeze.
Granny Zhao woke up, her eyes opening to a single butterfly, its wings shimmering in the sunlight, flying away.
Zhao Cuicui, she flew away.
