Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 79

Chapter 79:

Jiang Wuwen Returns – Always

A celestial phenomenon, a gathering of Daoist practitioners.

Daoists, Celestial Masters, and folk practitioners, all converging on a single location.

Zuo He, after a long journey by plane and bus, arrived with his sect elders, the younger disciples trailing behind them, the oppressive aura of the mountain a heavy weight on their chests. As the sun set, casting long shadows, he looked up at the seemingly peaceful mountain, its tranquility marred by the blood-red moon hanging above it.

“Before the Grand Celestial Master arrives, we’ll set up the array!” one of the elders declared. “We can’t enter the mountain yet, but that ghost will have to come down eventually. We can’t let it reach the populated areas!”

“What kind of array?” someone asked.

“The Heavenly Net Array, a combined effort, the best method for trapping a powerful entity!”

Zuo He was startled. The Grand Celestial Master was his sect’s founder, a legendary figure, a demigod, the most powerful Daoist in the world.

The disciples began drawing talismans and preparing the array. Zuo He couldn’t wait, he had to warn Chen Henian.

A warm bowl of rice appeared before him as his stomach growled.

Oh.

Not a person, but a snake.

As he stealthily climbed the mountain, a hundred meters from the base, Xiao Bai appeared, and he followed it, his relief evident as he saw Jiang Wan.

“I knew it was you,” he said, his voice a mix of relief and concern. She opened her eyes, the Hegemon Sword pointed at his throat.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, lowering her sword, her brow furrowed. “They’re still in the lake.”

“They?” He looked at the dark pool below. “Chen Henian went into the lake too? How long has he been down there?”

“A whole day,” her voice was laced with worry and exhaustion.

“That long?” He walked to the edge of the lake, peering into its depths. “No sign of him?”

“He’ll be fine, he won’t drown,” the mirror ghost’s voice came from his backpack. “I can’t smell him, but I know he’s alive.”

“When will he come out?” Zuo He asked, his anxiety growing.

“Soon,” the mirror ghost chuckled, looking up at the sky, its eyes narrowed. “No ghost would tolerate those Daoist fools invading its territory. It’ll be enraged.”

Flickering lights, like fireflies, appeared in the sky, rising from the foot of the mountain, runes, the Daoists chanting, their combined power creating a steady stream of energy, forming a net, a cage.

“They’re almost finished,” Zuo He said. “At least a thousand of them, enough to surround the entire mountain. The Heavenly Net Array, they’re trying to trap all the ghosts on this mountain.”

His gaze was still fixed on the lake. “Especially the one down there.”

“That’s not just any ghost, kid,” the mirror ghost said, licking its lips. “That’s a demigod, an ancestor, even I have to show respect. If you anger it, it’ll devour you all.”

The ghostly aura emanating from the lake was intoxicating, the Daoists’ chanting echoing through the mountains. Suddenly, the mirror ghost yelled, “It’s coming out!”

Before the runes could form a complete net, the water in the lake churned, swirling inwards, then black mist erupted from its depths, like a hot spring, but the air grew cold, a chilling wind sweeping through the trees.

A dragon’s roar echoed from the depths. Emperors, the embodiment of the dragon’s aura, their bodies imbued with the kingdom’s destiny, even in death, became deities, guardians of cities and mountains. But this one was different, a wandering soul.

Jiang Wan and Zuo He watched, their eyes wide, the wind whipping their hair around their faces, as the mist cleared, two figures emerging from the water.

A human form, not a ghost.

Tall and slender, like a pine tree, his face pale, his eyes cold, his hand firmly gripping Chen Henian’s waist, pulling him from the water.

Chen Henian’s hair seemed longer now, reaching his waist, his jawline sharper, his gaze steady, his demeanor older, more mature.

Zuo He felt a pang of unease, the mirror ghost retreating into the mirror. “There’s going to be a fight!” it said as it vanished.

Jiang Wan rushed forward, her excitement evident, then stopped, her steps faltering.

“I’m glad you’re both alright,” she said, her voice slightly awkward.

“You’re all here, perfect,” Chen Henian smiled faintly. “This is Yu Lin. Do I need to introduce him? You should know who he is.”

Of course they knew, having spent days discussing him, an ancient emperor, rising from his watery grave, a startling sight.

“I’ll deal with those noisy fools,” Yu Lin said, his gaze finally leaving Chen Henian, turning towards the sky, his eyes flashing red, like the blood moon above.

Black snow began to fall, silent and swift, like the ashes of a great fire, the temperature plummeting, the snowflakes landing on the Daoists’ array, cracks appearing on its golden surface, the barrier shattering.

Yu Lin’s face was cold, his eyes, usually black and white, now glowing red, his presence terrifying, even in human form, a millennial jiangshi.

“Don’t hurt them!” Zuo He said quickly. “I know where their defenses are weakest, I can show you a way out, but I’d rather you come with me, down the mountain. Grandmaster isn’t unreasonable, they’re just afraid of a ghost king, worried about the safety of ordinary people.”

Yu Lin frowned, the chanting from below irritating. “Too noisy, silence them,” he said, his voice cold.

He moved, his speed unnatural, covering several meters in an instant.

But Chen Henian also moved, his finger hooking the red string connecting them, twirling it around his finger.

Yu Lin, sensing the tug, stopped, turning to look at him, his eyes questioning.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Chen Henian asked, his voice sharp.

Yu Lin didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied.

“We’re leaving together,” Chen Henian said, his voice firm. “The way we came.”

“Together!” Jiang Wan and Zuo He echoed.

“Don’t you want to?” Chen Henian asked Yu Lin.

Yu Lin shook his head.

“Then stay by my side,” Chen Henian said. “Like before.”

“Alright,” Yu Lin returned to his side, his movements fluid, his hand instinctively reaching for Chen Henian’s, his body positioned slightly behind him, a habit from his years as a guard.

“Forgive my boldness,” he said, his head lowered, avoiding Chen Henian’s gaze, the red string disappearing as their hands clasped.

The red string, a physical manifestation of their pact, was best kept hidden. Yu Lin had his reasons, but his actions weren’t entirely driven by logic.

His grip was tight, his hand cold, but the red string burned, a warm contrast to the cold wind that whipped around them, Chen Henian’s body shielded, the chill kept at bay.

He didn’t have to turn to know that Yu Lin was watching him.

Always.

In his past life, and now.

The feeling was unfamiliar, their hands clasped, Yu Lin silent, his presence a comforting weight, his usual coldness softened.

He saw the Daoists’ runes growing brighter, their chanting louder.

They sensed the approaching ghost, their fear palpable, their swords drawn, a figure appearing before them.

It was Zuo He, his presence a surprise, but they didn’t lower their guard.

“There’s no ghost king here,” he said, his voice slightly breathless.

“Little Brother? What are you doing?” A Southern Daoist disciple recognized him, not seeing his master. “Come over here!”

Zuo He didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the mountain path, the familiar scent growing stronger.

They heard footsteps, the sound too light for a human, then a pair of red eyes appeared on the path.

Three figures, a ghost, the black snow swirling around them, obscuring their faces, the ghost’s presence oppressive, a heavy weight on their chests, their breath catching in their throats, their legs trembling, some collapsing to the ground, their swords clattering on the stones.

Chen Henian smiled, his voice echoing through the silent night. “Were you waiting for us?”

“Such a large gathering, are you here to fight us?”

“The Three Yin Hand’s disciple?” Hu Busun, standing at the front of the Tianyin sect’s formation, recognized him. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was filled with surprise and a hint of something else, but her gaze, turning to Yu Lin, hardened, her voice sharp. “Draw your swords! Prepare for battle!”

Yu Lin’s eyes narrowed, his voice cold. “To raise a sword against your king is a crime punishable by death.”

“Wait—” An old man’s voice, calm and steady, stopped them before the battle could begin.

The Southern Daoists parted, their Grand Celestial Master approaching, his hair and beard white as snow, a Mountain-Shaking Wood staff in his hand, his steps slow and deliberate.

Yu Lin frowned at him, ghosts sensitive to the aura of Daoist practitioners, their mutual dislike amplified by their power.

But the old man smiled, his voice gentle. “The return of King Wuwen of Jiang, a joyous occasion, but I fear this world is too chaotic for Your Majesty. Come with me to the mountain, let us offer you tea and apologize for the disturbance.”

Jiang Wuwen. He had spoken Yu Lin’s name, his title, and the Daoists, stunned, lowered their swords.

The old man, showing respect, turned to Yu Lin. “Will you come?”

“Of course,” Chen Henian said.

Yu Lin’s expression didn’t change, his gaze fixed on the old man, his voice a single word. “Granted.”

The old man gestured towards the path. “Please.”

The tension eased, the Grand Celestial Master’s presence reassuring. Yu Lin wasn’t an ordinary ghost, his presence in the mortal world a potential disaster.

And now, this disaster was being escorted up the mountain in a car, like an ordinary person, even boarding a plane.

It was Chen Henian’s first time on a plane. He sat beside Yu Lin. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

Yu Lin nodded.

The old man sat in the front, their seats spacious and comfortable.

“Are you sure it’s safe to go up there?” Jiang Wan asked.

“My master is there, I trust him to protect us,” Chen Henian replied.

Zhou Xianzhi’s letter had said he would be waiting for him at the Southern sect’s mountain.

And without Yu Lin’s presence, the Daoist sects wouldn’t rest easy, fearing his power. They didn’t want a confrontation, hoping the Grand Celestial Master could contain him. Chen Henian simply had to play along. Who would dare harm an emperor?

“Do you want something to eat?” Zuo He offered them boxed meals.

“I’m starving,” Jiang Wan opened her meal, eating quickly.

Chen Henian and Yu Lin released each other’s hands, eating their meals, then falling asleep.

Only Zuo He and Yu Lin remained awake.

Zuo He looked at Yu Lin, not doubting his power, his body dead, but his heart alive, his love for Chen Henian, his unwavering devotion, a protective shield.

With him present, no one would dare touch the Tai Yin body.

This was a good thing.

He was surprised when Yu Lin turned to him, their eyes meeting.

An emperor’s gaze was intimidating, powerful, and terrifying.

“I know you,” Yu Lin said, his voice cold and distant. “But I remember your ancestor more clearly. He drank with me in the military camp, he lost to me.”

“My ancestor?” Zuo He was surprised. He frowned, his voice hesitant. “Do you miss being emperor?”

He was worried, the world different now, no empire, no subjects, would he long for his past life, for the power he once wielded?

“No,” Yu Lin scoffed, his gaze turning to Chen Henian, his eyes softening as he looked at his sleeping face, his desire a silent ache. “Now, I am truly alive,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The plane landed, and they woke up, Chen Henian straightening up, his hand reaching for Yu Lin’s.

He raised an eyebrow, his meaning clear.

Yu Lin smiled, Chen Henian’s presence a calming influence, his scent a comfort. He took his hand, their touch a strange mix of warmth and cold, fire and ice, yet harmonious.

The plane landed on the summit of the Southern sect’s mountain.

Chen Henian stared at the runway, his voice filled with surprise. “You have your own airport?”