Chapter 56:
Within the Forest:
It Said Again, “I Want to Hold You.”
Zhou Xianzhi was a natural storyteller, his voice captivating, his pronunciation of “Jiang Henian” precise and deliberate. But his posture was casual, one leg crossed over the other, his hand gesturing animatedly, his fingers occasionally poking Chen Henian’s neck.
Chen Henian, annoyed, swatted his hand away, but it returned, resting on his shoulder.
He glared at his master, who continued, unfazed. “But I couldn’t find his birth date. However, the texts mention a distinctive mark, like a birthmark.”
Chen Henian listened intently, a sudden itch on his neck as Zhou Xianzhi’s hand moved to the back of his neck, pressing against a specific spot.
“Crown Prince Jiang Henian had a red mole on the back of his neck,” Zhou Xianzhi said, his voice low and serious.
Chen Henian pushed his hand away, his hair falling back, revealing the red mole. Jiang Wan and Zuo He both looked at it.
“Elder, are you suggesting reincarnation?” Zuo He asked.
“Reincarnation?” Jiang Wan scoffed. “There’s no such thing.”
Reincarnation, in the traditional sense, didn’t exist in their world. Souls, crossing the Naihe Bridge, drank Meng Po soup, erasing their memories, their past lives forgotten, their new lives a blank slate. Dwelling on past lives only brought trouble. Who knew, perhaps they had been a chicken or a pig in their previous life?
But Chen Henian was different. He was a wandering soul, never having crossed the Naihe Bridge, his past life still connected to him.
The longevity lock was proof of that.
Jiang Henian, only a surname different from his own. His grandfather had given him the name Henian, wishing him a long life, just like the Jiang Queen had wished for her son. He had suspected a connection, perhaps he was a descendant of the Jiang family, but Zhou Xianzhi’s words still surprised him. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice hesitant.
Zhou Xianzhi chuckled, taking a sip of tea. “Of course, why would I lie about something like this?”
“You’re capable of anything,” Chen Henian retorted.
“Finding this information wasn’t easy,” Zhou Xianzhi said. “I was worried my precious disciple would be devoured by a ghost.”
“Now that I’ve found it, it’s still a thousand years ago, who knows the truth? Only those involved would know. If you want to know more, do your own research. I’m not going to tell you everything. I told you to read more, but you never listened. The Jiang Dynasty was an important era.”
“You haven’t told me its identity yet,” Chen Henian said.
“That one…” Zhou Xianzhi paused, putting down his teacup, his voice hushed. “That one’s name isn’t to be spoken lightly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t say it aloud.”
He took a piece of paper, dipping his finger in ink, and wrote two characters:
—Yu Lin.
“Yu Lin,” Chen Henian read aloud. “Like ‘outstanding in the forest’?”
“Precisely,” Zhou Xianzhi nodded. “That’s how he’s described in the texts. A fitting description.”
“An ordinary name,” Chen Henian said, his voice flat. “So what’s so special about its identity?”
Zhou Xianzhi chuckled. “It’s said he was an emperor, the only emperor in the Jiang Dynasty not of the Jiang bloodline. I’m guessing he still carries the aura of a dragon, the merit of a ruler.”
An emperor?
That was significant. But not of the Jiang bloodline, a usurper then?
“You should treat it with respect,” Zhou Xianzhi said, his voice serious.
“I know,” Chen Henian replied, thinking to himself, it must have been a terrible emperor, so foolish… perhaps overthrown and cast out, becoming a wandering ghost?
“Alright, I’ve told you everything. I’m leaving you to your own devices now. You’re young, you should experience the world, make some friends, forge your own path. Don’t bother me with anything else, I’m going to sleep now.” He stretched, yawning. “Wake me up for dinner.”
“Young man,” he said to Zuo He, “add some chili peppers to the stir-fry, a bit of spice is good.” He then went upstairs.
With Zhou Xianzhi gone, Zuo He and Jiang Wan relaxed, the tension in the room easing. They had felt awkward listening to the master and disciple’s conversation, their tea growing cold in their hands.
“What does Jiang Henian and the Jiang Dynasty mean to you?” Jiang Wan asked.
Chen Henian held up his hand, the red string visible. “It’s connected to a question that has plagued me for years.”
“My master wouldn’t have revealed this if he didn’t trust you. I have nothing to hide. I need all the information you can find on the Jiang Dynasty.”
Jiang Wan paused. “I’m a descendant of the Jiang Dynasty. After its fall, my ancestors went into hiding, preserving our bloodline. But I don’t know much else. We can find historical records at the library.”
“I can buy some books when I go to town tomorrow,” Zuo He offered.
“Thank you,” Chen Henian said, the words a rare display of gratitude.
“It’s my duty,” Zuo He stood up. “It’s time for me to cook dinner. Where’s the kitchen?”
Jiang Wan pointed him in the right direction.
“Will I have a room tonight?” he asked.
“There’s a spare room upstairs,” she replied.
“Thank you,” he said, carrying the groceries to the kitchen.
Chen Henian frowned. “Who’s the boss here?”
“The stingiest boss in existence,” Jiang Wan teased. “He doesn’t look like he knows how to use a gas stove. I’ll go help him.” She followed Zuo He into the kitchen.
Chen Henian heard the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, a soothing sound that almost lulled him to sleep. He took a shower, and by the time he was finished, dinner was ready, Jiang Wan having even prepared a makeshift nest for the white snake in a basket by the stairs, feeding it some raw meat. The snake lay motionless, like a small, white pet.
The snake needed to recover, and so did they. Zuo He’s cooking was excellent, earning Zhou Xianzhi’s enthusiastic praise, his compliments making Zuo He increasingly uncomfortable. Chen Henian, his mood improved, even offered a few words of approval. After dinner, he went upstairs to sleep.
Back in his room, he didn’t sleep immediately, writing two names on a piece of paper.
Yu Lin, Jiang Henian.
He stared at the names, his fingers tracing the red string, then the light from the window was blocked by a large shadow.
“You called me,” a voice said from behind him.
He had called it, silently, with his mind.
It had appeared. He was pleased. There was no better source of information than the ghost itself.
He turned to see the ghost floating before him, its form immense, like a towering mountain shrouded in mist, a disorienting and awe-inspiring presence.
This was normal, ghosts were meant to be feared.
But…
An emperor?
A ruler with absolute power?
It didn’t seem likely, the thought almost amusing. He studied the ghost’s form, a formless mass of black mist when calm, its body expanding in anger, its shadowy limbs turning into sharp blades, tendrils emerging from its back.
It was calm now, its gaze fixed on him, waiting.
“Good news,” Chen Henian said, picking up the paper, pointing at the names. “I found your name.”
“Yu Lin,” he said. “This is your name. Do you remember anything?”
“Yu Lin?” He repeated the name, stepping closer, wanting the ghost to see clearly.
But the ghost didn’t react, its silence lengthening.
It shook its head.
“I don’t remember,” it said. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Even if I tell you now, you don’t remember?” Chen Henian was dissatisfied with its answer. “What’s inside your head? Black pudding?”
“Your surname is Yu, you were an emperor, ruler of all, and you don’t remember?”
The ghost’s expression turned to confusion, its gaze fixed on the two characters, its face drawing closer.
Then, its expression changed.
“No, wrong.”
“Wrong…”
It repeated the word, its hand reaching out, its sharp claws tearing through the paper, obliterating the characters.
Chen Henian paused. “If you don’t remember, why deny it?”
The ghost seemed distressed. “I saw it.”
“My name.”
“Yu Lin.”
Its hands turned into black water, flowing onto the floor, solidifying into two characters, written in bold, elegant calligraphy.
The same two characters, but different, more powerful.
So it did remember.
Chen Henian smiled. “Do you know Jiang Henian?”
“Jiang Henian,” the ghost repeated slowly, each syllable distinct.
“Yes, Jiang Henian,” Chen Henian said. “Do you remember him? You should know him.”
“Jiang Henian,” the ghost whispered the name again and again, its voice fading into silence.
It stood motionless, like a statue, only its breath audible, a cold whisper.
“Yu Lin, who is Jiang Henian?”
Chen Henian’s voice startled it. “Peach blossoms are beautiful,” it said.
“Anything else?” Chen Henian asked.
The ghost shook its head, its eyes lowered, its hand tracing the characters “Jiang Henian” on the paper.
Then Chen Henian saw red.
Drop by drop.
Tears of blood flowed from the ghost’s eyes, landing on the paper, which burst into flames, turning to ash.
It was strange, unsettling. Chen Henian’s impatience faded, his voice soft. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” the ghost replied, its voice calm, its expression unchanged. “I don’t know Jiang Henian.”
“I know Chen Henian.”
“Chen Henian, it’s you…”
It pointed at him, its finger touching his chest.
Chen Henian’s tension eased, replaced by a sense of helplessness.
It clearly knew Jiang Henian, at least in its past life.
As he pondered this, the ghost interrupted him. “I want to hold you,” it said.
“Why?” he asked, puzzled.
“Because I’m afraid,” the ghost replied.
Chen Henian almost thought he had misheard. He stared at it. “You’re afraid? Of what?”
“I don’t know,” the ghost shook its head. “But I want to hold you.”
It was insistent, stepping closer when he didn’t respond.
“I want to hold you,” it repeated.
Chen Henian paused. “For how long?”
“From night to day, for a long time,” the ghost replied, its voice calm yet firm. It wanted to hold him, to sleep beside him, its eyes, still wet with blood, like a blind beggar’s, its demeanor strangely innocent, as if he were the one imposing.
And it was an emperor. He should show it some respect. He considered it, then agreed. “Alright, you can hold me.”
The ghost immediately pulled him onto the bed, its arms wrapping around his waist, its touch cold, but familiar now. As long as it didn’t lick his neck, it was fine.
Tendrils emerged, two or three, coiling around his chest and waist, not tightly, but a soft, comforting pressure, pulling him closer, its essence surrounding him, cold and damp, a ticklish sensation, a strange intimacy.
