The Invincible Female Ghost Is A Bit Of A Hopeless Romantic

“Six who travel the same road, one photograph, one offering.”

Crimson characters floated on the wooden tablet sent from the Righteous Well, like a worm just hauled from blood.

The back of the tablet was still damp.

The young disciple Meng An had sent handed it to Lu Yuan with trembling fingers.

“Did it float up from the well by itself?”

“No.”

The disciple swallowed the drowsy saliva.

“Mister Meng had someone hook it up with a long pole. As soon as they put it by the well, the characters appeared.”

“Who touched it first?”

“Then how did the name get written on it?”

“The well water kept rising as if an invisible hand were dipping into it and writing, stroke by stroke.”

Lu Yuan took the wooden tablet.

Cold seized the unvarnished wood in his hand, a cold not like fresh wood but like a bone placed on a dead chest.

Six names were arranged on it in neat lines.

Lu Yuan was first, followed by Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao, then Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe side by side.

Between the six names there were no words like “witness” or old terms such as “registry keeper” or “public keeper.”

Only four characters.

“One photograph, one offering.”

Xu Erxiao drew his short sword.

“Brother Lu, we should chop this tablet.”

“If we chop it, what about the names?”

“The names were written by it, not us.”

“But it used our names to write them.”

Lu Yuan handed the tablet to Song Qinghe.

“Qinghe, look for the imprint.”

Song Qinghe did not take the tablet, she lifted her lamp to shine on its face.

As the flame approached, the six names on the tablet simultaneously contracted inward like six closing eyes.

The bronze lamp’s flame did not change color.

Song Qinghe exhaled in relief.

“It isn’t borrowing souls.”

“It’s borrowing routes.”

Lin Zhaoxuan asked, “Borrowing routes?”

“It didn’t directly take our shadows, and it didn’t write our names into the Child-Name Register.”

Song Qinghe pointed to the tablet’s edge.

“Look here.”

Along the tablet’s rim a very fine line had been carved, one end attached to a slanted character for mountain, the other end joined to a well pattern.

“It wants to connect the places we walked.”

“The skylight, the Seventh Offering, the grass shrine, the West Ridge boundary marker, Ma Family Gully Righteous Well, the Northern Guan Righteous Manor.”

“These places aren’t altars.”

Lin Zhaoxuan continued,

“They are the traces six people left along the same route.”

“It stitched those traces together into an altar.”

Zhou Heng’s face darkened.

“Six who travel the same road, one photograph, one offering.”

“What it wants to feed is not the six of us.”

“It’s the road we walked together.”

Wang Cheng'an hugged his abacus and slid a bead.

“Then it’s not capturing people, it’s settling accounts.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“It wants to count what the six of us witnessed together as a single offering.”

“As soon as we acknowledge this tablet, the traces left along the route will merge.”

“At that point the six shadows won’t be six separate things.”

“They’ll be one.”

Zhou Shoumo lay on the ground and, hearing this, suddenly laughed.

“You finally understand.”

“Traveling the same road isn’t about loyalty.”

“Traveling the same road is a contract.”

“You six broke offerings, altered rules, verified shadows along the way, and long ago left your shadows at each other’s feet.”

“If just one of the six acknowledges this tablet, it can drag everyone’s shadow into the kiln.”

Xu Erxiao spun to glare at him.

“Shut up!”

Zhou Shoumo coughed twice.

“What I said might not be lies.”

Lu Yuan said,

“Even truthful things mixed with corrupted rules still count as that sentence.”

Zhou Shoumo stared at him.

“Then how do you break it?”

Lu Yuan did not answer immediately.

He looked at the ground of the righteous manor.

From under the six men’s feet, out across the snow beyond the gate, to the distant old bell tower, six dark lines were slowly converging.

It wasn’t that real shadows were moving.

Places where they had walked were sending the lingering trace imprints back.

Lu Yuan had once severed seven corrupt offerings at the skylight: name, wish, life, death, home, shadow, offering.

Xu Erxiao had followed him down the mountain, Wang Cheng'an had kept the accounts all the way, and Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe had left their names and seals at the grass shrine and before the Mountain-Regulation Assembly.

Those experiences originally belonged to them.

But someone, taking advantage of the names floating up from the Righteous Well, had recomposed the six people’s “witnesses” into a single offering route.

“We can’t let our six shadows continue to merge.”

Lu Yuan said.

“First separate the shadows.”

“Each acknowledge your own route.”

Song Qinghe asked,

“Brother Lu, are you saying the skylight’s Seventh Offering?”

“That part doesn’t belong solely to me.”

“But that slash was cut by my blade.”

“The broken blade is in my hand.”

Lu Yuan looked up at his shadow.

“But I didn’t walk the skylight alone.”

Xu Erxiao and Wang Cheng'an looked at him at the same time.

Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe fell silent.

“That corrupt offering was guarded by Xu Erxiao holding the descent path, Wang Cheng'an recording the broken-off offering in the account.”

“Lin Zhaoxuan watched the altar boundary, Zhou Heng blocked borrowing the shadow, Song Qinghe kept the lamp from extinguishing.”

The shadows under their feet all trembled together.

Above the black kiln the hundred-wood seal suddenly cracked open.

The eyeless child face of the seal-mouth opened its mouth and let out a sharp wail.

On the righteous manor ground four black prints simultaneously spread outward.

The shadow lines from kiln, marker, well, and manor—like four black snakes—crawled across the snow from afar.

They tried to coil around the six men’s feet again.

Lu Yuan planted the half-broken blade horizontally among the six.

“Each report your origin.”

“Not your identity.”

“Report why you are still here.”

Xu Erxao spoke first:

“I followed Brother Lu because he would not treat the dead as things.”

Wang Cheng'an said,

“I follow Brother Lu because ledgers shouldn’t hide the faces of evildoers.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said,

“I fled from beyond the Great Wall because Daoist lines shouldn’t use the mountain gate to oppress the living.”

Zhou Heng said,

“I followed because those who borrow shadows can’t decide who I am for me.”

Song Qinghe said,

“I guard this lamp because someone hasn’t found the road home yet.”

Lu Yuan spoke last:

“I remain here because the Malevolent Deity can be cut down, and corrupted rules must be changed by someone.”

There were no incantations, no talismans in those six sentences.

Still, the six shadows finally returned to their own positions.

The doorless black kiln peeled away from behind them, shrank into a black brick, and fell to the ground.

Dense names rose up on the black brick’s surface.

There were kiln workers’ names, child names, temporary names from the righteous manor, and many characters half-scraped away.

Wang Cheng'an pointed at a line of small characters on the black brick:

“Since entering the pass, those renamed, whose shadows were borrowed, or whose records were suppressed amount to six hundred forty-seven.”

“Three hundred twenty-one are child names.”

“Twenty-three are nameless corpses.”

“Forty-seven are people who crossed the border.”

“Sixteen kiln workers.”

“There remain two hundred forty who weren’t in any register we just saw.”

Lin Zhaoxuan’s face shifted slightly.

The black brick suddenly split.

A thin sheet of paper floated out of it and landed on Lu Yuan’s hand.

The paper drew seven roads.

All seven roads led to different mountain mouths.

Six were already circled by ink lines; only the last road was still empty.

Lu Yuan looked up at Zhou Shoumo.

“You didn’t just take on ownerless corpses and child names.”

“You also accepted refugees who fled from within the pass.”

Zhou Shoumo lay on the ground, his smile gradually draining away.

“In chaotic times people need somewhere to land.”

“To land you must register a name.”

“And after registration?”

Lu Yuan asked.

Zhou Shoumo said nothing.

Gu Huaishan had already taken a second ledger from an old chest.

This ledger’s cover bore no year, only an inverted carved character meaning relocation.

On the first page the places from within the pass were densely listed:

Qinghe, Linqu, Yizhou, Pingyuan, Jiaodong.

Many names were circled in red.

One line was singled out in ink:

“White Cloud Sect, three people.”

Gu Huaishan looked at Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s fingers tightened.

“White Cloud Sect is not our sect.”

“But when we fled we did pass the old site of the White Cloud Sect.”

Zhou Heng turned the ledger to the next page.

It read:

“Qingwei Altar, one person.”

Song Qinghe saw her sect’s name and her face turned pale.

“This ledger doesn’t record migrants.”

“It records origins of Daoist disciples.”

Lu Yuan took the ledger and continued flipping.

The last page contained no names, only the shape of a mountain.

Under the mountain shape was a line:

“Six who travel the same road, replenish the old gate.”

“Where is the old gate?”

Xu Erxiao asked.

Lu Yuan did not answer.

He looked toward the manor gate.

In the sky the black smoke that had already dispersed rose up again.

This time the smoke did not come from the old forest direction.

It rose from the north mountain mouth between Seven Tun Three Gullys.

That was a place none of them had yet visited.

At the top of the black smoke there were not sixteen human faces.

There was only a door.

A wooden plaque hung on the door.

The plaque read:

“Daoist gates from within the pass, borrowing land to enter the pass.”

Zhou Shoumo suddenly struggled to sit up.

“You can’t go to the north mountain mouth.”

“Why?”

“That is not a Malevolent Deity feeding ground.”

“It is the relocation-name pass.”

“In the year refugees entered the pass, they had to pass three name verifications.”

“The first verifies the body, the second verifies the shadow, the third verifies the gate.”

“Only those who pass may stay.”

“And those who fail?”

“Rename them.”

“Verify again.”

“Still fail?”

Zhou Shoumo lowered his head.

“Return the shadow.”

Xu Erxiao cursed.

“How is that different from seizing people?”

“So you don’t want us to go?”

Lu Yuan stared at Zhou Shoumo,

“It’s not that I won’t let you go.”

Zhou Shoumo rolled his eyes.

“It’s because I’m afraid you’ll discover the relocation-name pass is still operating.”

“Who operates it?”

Zhou Shoumo didn’t answer.

A bell-like sound suddenly rose outside the manor.

Not the old bell.

A clatter of carriage bells.

On the snowy road in the distance seven black carriages were slowly coming from the north mountain mouth direction, driverless.

Each carriage was piled with wooden boxes.

Dark red muddy water seeped through the cracks in the box lids.

Each carriage bore a small flag at its front.

The first read “kiln.”

The second read “marker.”

The third read “well.”

The fourth read “manor.”

The fifth read “name.”

The sixth read “shadow.”

The seventh read “gate.”

The carriages rolled into the snow before the manor, and seven black horses lifted their heads at once.

They had no eyes.

The wooden boxes on the carriages all began to rap in unison.

Thud.

As if many children were locked inside.

Wang Cheng'an clutched the relocation ledger.

“What are those seven carriages carrying?”

Lu Yuan said,

“Accounts.”

“What kind of accounts?”

“The relocation-name accounts for living people.”

Song Qinghe stepped forward with her lamp.

As the flame lit the first carriage, a woman’s voice came from inside:

“Name, origin, teacher.”

A man’s voice came from the second:

“Name, origin, relatives.”

A child’s cry from the third:

“Name, origin, cause of death.”

The fourth carriage was silent.

From the fifth came Zhou Shoumo’s voice:

“Name, origin, do you wish to enter the pass?”

The sixth came with the fake Zhou Heng’s voice:

“Name, origin, do you wish to leave a shadow?”

The seventh carriage’s door opened by itself.

Inside were no wooden boxes.

Only a long table smeared with red mud.

Behind it sat a person.

He wore gray robes, his features blurred, his right hand on the tabletop.

The right hand had six fingers.

When Zhou Shoumo saw him, his whole body trembled.

“It’s not him.”

“He’s already dead.”

“Who?”

Lu Yuan asked.

Zhou Shoumo stared hard at the seventh carriage.

“The first relocation officer.”

“The year Daoist gates from within the pass fled into the pass, he died at the north mountain mouth.”

“But he has sat there ever since.”

“He conducts verification for everyone.”

The gray-robed man on the carriage lifted his head.

On a faceless face six thin slits slowly appeared.

“Six who travel the same road.”

“Six of the same gate.”

“Six may enter.”

“But before entry, one thing must be handed over.”

Xu Erxiao gripped his sword and stepped forward.

“What thing?”

The gray-robed man looked at him.

“Xu Erxiao, hand over your senior brother.”

Wang Cheng'an’s expression soured.

“Wang Cheng'an, hand over your abacus.”

Behind Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe, their shadows flickered at once.

The gray-robed man articulated each name:

“Lin Zhaoxuan, hand over your origin.”

“Zhou Heng, hand over your real name.”

“Song Qinghe, hand over your teacher.”

Finally he looked at Lu Yuan.

“Lu Yuan, hand over the broken blade.”

Lu Yuan glanced down at the half-broken blade in his hand.

In the nick of the blade grain, black ash from the skylight’s corrupt altar remained.

“What happens after we hand them over?”

“Enter the pass.”

“What pass are we entering?”

“The Pass of the Dead.”

The gray-robed man answered.

“From now on the six who travel the same road will share one shadow.”

“If old rules don’t change, relocation names won’t be revoked.”

“All child names you saved will belong to the public registry.”

“All old accounts you uncovered will be counted as corrupt accounts.”

“All who refuse to enter will be nameless.”

Lu Yuan suddenly laughed.

“No one wants to enter your gate.”

The gray-robed man raised his six fingers.

The black brick, the old ledger, and the vermilion wooden tablet rose and hung in midair.

A roar sounded from the Righteous Well direction.

Ma Family Gully’s water shot skyward.

Rising from the water were no longer children’s reflections.

Instead the six shadows emerged.

The six silhouettes of Lu Yuan, Wang Cheng'an, Xu Erxiao, Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe were borne by the water, slowly moving toward the north mountain mouth.

Xu Erxao, panicked, was about to dash after them.

Lu Yuan reached out and pressed him down.

“Don’t chase shadows.”

“Then watch them run?”

“They’re not running.”

Lu Yuan looked at the six waterborne shadows in the air.

“They are waiting for us to acknowledge.”

“Acknowledge what?”

“Acknowledge that the six of us are one thing.”

Wang Cheng'an suddenly opened his abacus.

Six black beads had already aligned in a row.

He pushed one hard.

“Brother Lu, if the six are regarded as one thing, then the account is only one entry.”

“Right.”

“Then split the account.”

Lu Yuan looked at Lin Zhaoxuan.

“Zhaoxuan, can you separate the six shadows into six routes?”

“I can.”

“But once separated, someone could be dragged away alone.”

Zhou Heng said,

“Then make pairs.”

“Do not give it six who travel the same road.”

Song Qinghe immediately said,

“Three Daoists in one group, Lu Yuan with three?”

Xu Erxao shook his head.

“We’re not decided in groups anymore.”

He looked at Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe.

“We six have come together; it’s long since a matter of who pairs with whom.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Separate each person’s shadow.”

Wang Cheng'an said,

“But once separated, each bears his own account.”

Xu Erxao grinned.

“That’s how it should be.”

Lu Yuan looked at them and nodded.

“Well said.”

He handed the broken blade to Wang Cheng'an.

Wang Cheng'an blinked.

“Brother Lu?”

“Keep it for me for now.”

“You won’t hand the blade over?”

“I give it to a fellow traveler to hold, not to the relocation-name pass.”

Lu Yuan turned to the gray-robed man,

“You want things, not responsibility.”

“Objects can be passed on.”

“Responsibility cannot.”

All six of the gray-robed man’s fingers curved at once.

“You think this will let you escape gate verification?”

“It’s not escape.”

Lu Yuan stepped to the six water-shadows.

“It’s redistributing the accounts.”

He raised a hand and pointed at Wang Cheng'an.

“Wang Cheng'an’s shadow belongs to Wang Cheng'an.”

Wang Cheng'an pressed his abacus to the water’s surface.

That shadow immediately separated from the water and returned beneath his feet.

“Xu Erxao’s shadow belongs to Xu Erxao.”

Xu Erxao drove his short sword into the ground.

The second water-shadow formed a hand gripping a sword and dove back to his feet.

“Lin Zhaoxuan’s shadow belongs to Lin Zhaoxuan.”

Lin Zhaoxuan dipped a finger in snow and drew the White Cloud Sect imprint on the ground.

His shadow withdrew from the water and stood behind him.

“Zhou Heng’s shadow belongs to Zhou Heng.”

Zhou Heng pressed the sect copper coin on the water.

The coin sank and the shadow returned beneath him.

“Song Qinghe’s shadow belongs to Song Qinghe.”

Song Qinghe shone the lamp on her feet.

The flame passed through the water and illuminated the shadow of her keeping the lamp alone.

The shadow bowed lightly and returned to itself.

Only Lu Yuan remained.

The last water-shadow did not return.

It lifted a face identical to Lu Yuan’s and cradled the half-broken blade.

The gray-robed man murmured,

“You have no shadow.”

“You left your shadow in the skylight long ago.”

“This one now is the main shadow.”

Lu Yuan asked,

“Whose main shadow?”

“The main shadow of the six.”

Xu Erxao spat,

“Nonsense!”

Wang Cheng'an gripped his abacus.

“Brother Lu, we’ve split our accounts.”

“What about yours?”

Lu Yuan looked at his reflection in the water.

“My shadow is not in the water.”

He turned and reclaimed the sect copper coin from Zhou Heng, borrowed the bronze lamp back from Song Qinghe, and finally had Lin Zhaoxuan take out the ink-line.

He placed the copper coin, the bronze lamp, the ink-line, and the broken blade on the ground.

“At the skylight I severed a corrupt offering.”

“I did not leave my shadow to anyone.”

“This broken blade is just a blade.”

“The bronze lamp is a lamp.”

“The copper coin is Zhou Heng’s sect record.”

“The ink-line is Lin Zhaoxuan’s boundary.”

“They can jointly witness, but they cannot compose a single person.”

Lu Yuan stepped on the hand the water-shadow extended.

“Lu Yuan’s shadow belongs to Lu Yuan.”

“Lu Yuan will not be the main shadow of the six.”

“Each of the six has his own origin, his own name, his own return.”

“Traveling the same road does not equal sharing a shadow.”

He pressed down on the blade.

The face of Lu Yuan in the water suddenly split open.

From that crack spilled not black smoke but an inverted hanging mountain gate.

A stone board hung from the gate:

“Relocation Headquarters for Daoist Gates from beyond the Great Wall.”

The gray-robed man leaped to his feet.

“Do you see it?”

“I see it.”

“Then all the more you should hand the blade over and enter.”

“Why?”

“Because the Malevolent Deity you seek is there.”

The gray-robed man pointed to the gate.

“Not the Protect Life altar.”

“Not the borrowed Longevity God.”

“Not the nameless deity fed by the old Mountain-Regulation Assembly.”

“It is the gate god outside the pass jointly fed by all who took relocation names.”

From within the mountain gate countless voices rose.

There were elders, women, children, Daoists, and people Lu Yuan and the others had once saved, seen, or heard.

They all shouted in unison:

“Give me a name.”

“Give me an origin.”

“Give me a door I can enter.”

The voices swelled, and the black smoke over the north mouth sank lower.

The six water-shadows from Ma Family Gully Righteous Well dissolved completely.

But the inverted mountain gate floated up out of the water and hovered above the righteous manor.

Before it stood a faceless person.

He wore shabby Daoist robes and hung six wooden plaques at his waist.

Each plaque had one of Lu Yuan’s six names carved on it.

The man lifted a hand and broke the first plaque.

Wang Cheng'an’s shadow suddenly lurched.

Wang Cheng'an stifled a groan, and a bead on his abacus split on its own.

Lu Yuan looked up.

“It’s beginning to verify gates one by one.”

Xu Erxao tightened his grip on his short sword.

“Then we beat them back one by one.”

“We cannot strike.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said.

“A gate is formed from the wishes of all the nameless.”

“To strike the gate is to strike them.”

Song Qinghe lifted the bronze lamp.

“Only let them say themselves what gate they wish to enter.”

Zhou Heng stared at the inverted mountain gate.

“But they do not even have names, how can they speak?”

Lu Yuan picked up a blank wooden tablet.

“First have them tell their origins.”

“An origin need not be a place name.”

“It can be an object, a sentence, a person.”

He turned to the villagers outside the manor.

“Everyone listen.”

“From now on, nobody answers for nameless ones.”

“You ask only three things.”

“Where did they come from?”

“What did they leave behind?”

“Where do they want to return?”

Gu Huaishan spoke first.

“Sun Laifu came from the brick kiln.”

“He left behind a bronze tobacco pipe.”

“He wants to return to his old home in Ma Family Gully.”

The nameless corpse in the mortuary felt the red mark on his forehead fall away completely at those words.

The features on his face slowly became clear.

Not Sun Laifu, not Sun Shiqi.

He was a man in his twenties.

He looked at Gu Huaishan and said softly:

“My name is Gu Ping.”

Gu Huaishan started.

“You are…”

“The son of Gu Changgeng.”

Zhou Shoumo shot upright.

“Gu Changgeng had no son.”

Gu Ping said,

“He did.”

“You just erased me from the ledger.”

“I fled to the pass with my mother then went back to the mountain to find my father.”

“You told me he died in the kiln.”

“You wouldn’t let me into the Northern Guan Righteous Manor.”

“You changed my name to pending verification.”

Fear, real and new, showed for the first time on Zhou Shoumo’s face.

“Gu Ping is already dead.”

“Died on the way back to the mountain.”

“So you sent me into the righteous manor?”

Gu Ping looked at him.

“You didn’t send me.”

“You sent my shadow.”

“My corpse is still at the north mountain mouth.”

The inverted mountain gate at the north mouth gave a muffled sound.

Among the six plaques in front of the gate, the one carved “Zhou Heng” split with a crack.

Zhou Heng’s expression tightened.

“It’s using Gu Ping’s name to pry open my shadow.”

Lu Yuan said,

“Not borrowing Gu Ping.”

“Zhou Shoumo linked Gu Ping’s shadow with the relocation-name pass.”

“Gu Ping was the first to have his origin erased.”

“If his shadow enters the gate, the six hundred forty-seven people following will be counted as nameless.”

Gu Ping raised a hand.

A red mud print marked his palm.

“I am not the seventeenth shadow.”

“I was the first to be renamed.”

“The sixteen kiln workers were killed in the kiln.”

“I was killed by erasure.”

“Zhou Shoumo used my shadow to take the seventeenth slot in his father’s kiln.”

Zhou Shoumo said in a trembling voice,

“Your father asked me to do this.”

“He said the old ledger mustn’t be exposed.”

“He said if I marked you nameless, you could be protected.”

Gu Ping smiled.

“Protected?”

“When I was alive no one knew who I was.”

“After I died I was still forced to guard your gate.”

Lu Yuan looked at Zhou Shoumo.

“You didn’t guard a secret.”

“You turned six hundred forty-seven people into secrets.”

Zhou Shoumo lowered his head.

At that moment the faceless man behind the inverted gate stepped forward.

“The first origin has appeared.”

“Open the gate.”

A dark red light shone through the door crack.

Gu Ping’s shadow was drawn toward the interior.

Gu Huaishan stepped forward and grabbed him.

“You can’t go in.”

Gu Ping looked back.

“If I don’t go in, who will claim my corpse?”

Gu Huaishan was momentarily speechless.

Lu Yuan said:

“Gu Ping, will you let your name be registered?”

Gu Ping asked:

“Registered where?”

“In the righteous manor’s temporary name ledger.”

“Not the public registry, not the old Shadow Officer ledger.”

“First record origin, relic, cause of death.”

“When your corpse is found, family may claim you.”

Gu Ping looked at Gu Huaishan.

Gu Huaishan nodded strongly.

“I will claim him.”

Gu Ping reached out his hand to Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan did not take it; he took out a blank sheet of paper instead.

Gu Ping wrote his name on the paper.

The handwriting was crooked but clear.

“Gu Ping.”

He handed the paper to Gu Huaishan.

Gu Huaishan received it with both hands.

The inverted gate rumbled.

Among the six wooden plaques before it, the one carved “Lu Yuan” suddenly burst into flames.

Ash crumbled away to reveal a line of text on the back of the plaque:

“Ownerless shadows, if someone claims them, remove a lock from the gate.”

Lu Yuan looked at the faceless gray-robed man.

“What you call entering the pass is only people handing over things.”

“A true gate does not need offerings.”

The faceless man took a step back for the first time.

“You cannot destroy the relocation-name pass.”

“I do not destroy it.”

Lu Yuan picked up the black brick from the ground.

“I will change it.”

“Do you dare?”

“Old rules can’t be changed—those are corrupted rules.”

“The relocation-name pass asks not whether the living wish it, only whether they will hand over their names.”

Lu Yuan raised the black brick and struck the inverted mountain gate.

The blow did not shatter the gate.

But the four seals on the black brick simultaneously split.

The characters kiln, marker, well, manor fell away and turned into four rays of white light, landing into the hands of the six.

Lu Yuan held “kiln.”

Zhou Heng held “marker.”

Wang Cheng'an held “well.”

Gu Huaishan held “manor.”

Lin Zhaoxuan and Song Qinghe’s hands produced two new characters:

“origin.”

“return.”

Xu Erxao glanced down at his empty palm.

“I have none?”

Lu Yuan looked at him.

From Xu Erxao’s shadow underfoot a character slowly surfaced.

“route.”

Xu Erxao grinned.

“Now I have one.”

The six characters together—

kiln, marker, well, manor, origin, return, route—

strangely made seven characters.

Wang Cheng'an stared at the “well” in his hand and suddenly understood:

“The six who travel the same road, when calculated, don’t make six offering positions.”

“They make seven living roads.”

Lu Yuan said,

“The kiln records the dead, the marker records passersby, the well records child names, the manor records corpses.”

“Origin records origin, return records return path, route records the places people walked.”

“Each of the seven belongs to its own place, not combined into one offering.”

All seven characters rose and landed on the inverted mountain gate.

The stone board’s “Relocation Headquarters” lettering began to flake away.

New characters appeared, stroke by stroke:

“Origin may be asked.”

“Names may be changed.”

“Old accounts may be investigated.”

“The living do not feed shadows.”

“The dead do not borrow names.”

The faceless man on the gate let out a shriek.

From the black smoke behind him six hundred forty-seven faceless ones opened their eyes at once.

The faces did not surge out; instead they began one by one reporting their origins.

“From the South Gully.”

“From inside the pass.”

“From a village that has no name.”

“From the fire.”

“From the snow.”

“From places no one remembers.”

The voices became a torrent.

The inverted gate was struck by a multitude of origins and its frame thinned inch by inch.

Zhou Shoumo clapped his hands over his ears and knelt.

“Stop speaking.”

“Don’t let them out.”

“If they have origins, they no longer belong to the relocation-name pass.”

Lu Yuan said,

“That is exactly what you feared.”

Gu Huaishan opened the old ledger and wrote Gu Ping’s name on the first blank line:

“Gu Ping, North Mountain Mouth person, son of Gu Changgeng, cause of death pending verification.”

After writing he looked at Zhou Shoumo.

“Anything more to record?”

Zhou Shoumo lifted his head, blood flowing from the whites of his eyes.

“Record me…”

He hung on the words a long time.

“Record me Zhou Shoumo.”

“Record that I used shadows to replace people and used rules to kill.”

“Record that I marked Gu Ping as nameless.”

“Record that I sealed the kiln, altered ledgers, raised shadows.”

“Record that I am unfit to guard the gate.”

Gu Huaishan’s hand trembled slightly as he held the pen.

Still he wrote every word without omission.

Zhou Shoumo’s shadow peeled up from the ground and became a sheet of gray paper.

There were no talismans or stamps on the page.

Only a clear line:

“Zhou Shoumo confesses his crimes.”

The inverted mountain gate thundered open.

Beyond the gate was not darkness.

It was a snow road stretching north.

Along the road countless wooden plaques stood, each bearing one of the origins just reported.

Six hundred forty-seven plaques, none marked “public registry.”

Gu Ping’s personal body walked slowly out of the mortuary.

He handed the iron ruler back to Gu Huaishan but did not leave.

“My corpse is at the north mountain mouth.”

“I will go with you.”

Gu Huaishan said,

“All right.”

“But you can’t call me the Shadow Officer anymore.”

“I won’t.”

Gu Ping looked at him.

“I call you big brother.”

Gu Huaishan dropped his head and his shoulders trembled once.

Zhou Shoumo was bound with hemp rope by the manor’s porters.

This time the knots were ordinary living-man ropes, not soul-sealing ties.

Zhou Shoumo did not resist.

He simply stared at the opened gate.

“The gate is open.”

“But there are still people behind it.”

Lu Yuan asked,

“Who?”

Zhou Shoumo smiled thinly.

“The true relocation officer.”

“Not me.”

“He never enters the righteous manor.”

“Nor the abandoned kiln.”

“He lives beyond the north mountain mouth.”

“If you just go, you will see his tablet.”

Wang Cheng'an asked,

“What does his plaque say?”

Zhou Shoumo closed his eyes.

“Ownerless Real Master.”

“All relocation-name people outside the pass jointly revere that Malevolent Deity.”

Xu Erxao drew his short sword.

“Finally we found the true culprit.”

Lin Zhaoxuan looked at Lu Yuan.

“This time it’s not a single feeding altar.”

“It’s a Malevolent Deity formed from the wishes along the entire refugee road.”

Song Qinghe held her bronze lamp and stood by Lu Yuan.

“It has no fixed idol.”

“It lives in the thought of each person who wants to enter a door.”

Zhou Heng gripped his long blade.

“How do we subdue it?”

Lu Yuan looked at the snow road at the north mountain mouth.

“First get people to know that a gate is not opened by a god.”

“Then let those who wish to return walk back by their own choice.”

He sheathed his broken blade and turned to Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxao:

“Let’s go.”

Xu Erxao followed.

“Brother Lu, where are we going now?”

“The north mountain mouth.”

Wang Cheng'an hugged his abacus.

“To examine the grand relocation ledger?”

“To find the Ownerless Real Master.”

Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe followed behind.

Gu Huaishan supported Gu Ping, escorted Zhou Shoumo, and the manor people carried lamps and came along.

On the snow road’s end the inverted gate still hovered in midair.

The characters on the gate had all faded.

Only a black-holed frame remained.

From within the frame came a gentle voice:

“Visitors, announce yourselves.”

Lu Yuan stood before the gate and did not announce a name.

He only looked up and asked:

“If we do not announce?”

The voice from the gate said:

“Nameless may not enter.”

Lu Yuan said:

“Then we do not enter.”

He turned and led his six companions away.

On the north mouth’s snow the six men’s shadows each returned to their own forms, varying length but no longer connected to each other.

The inverted gate’s voice hurried.

“Weren’t you seeking return paths?”

“Weren’t you going to save the nameless?”

“You must enter to rescue them.”

Lu Yuan stopped walking.

“Who says saving people requires entering your gate?”

“There are corpses, ledgers, six hundred forty-seven origins behind your door.”

“Then let them come out themselves.”

He plunged the half-broken blade into the snow.

Wang Cheng'an placed his abacus by the blade.

Xu Erxao laid his short sword across the ground.

Lin Zhaoxuan established the white-bean boundary.

Zhou Heng pressed his sect copper coin into the snow.

Song Qinghe set the bronze lamp at the center of the six.

They did not kneel or register.

They simply put the items they had brought down in front of the gate.

It was the road they had jointly traveled.

But it was not a single offering.

It was a table left by living people.

Lu Yuan raised his hand to form a seal.

“If a gate is opened by people, it can be changed by people.”

“If a road is walked by people, it must be acknowledged by people.”

“Ownerless gates borrow names, borrow shadows, borrow wishes to become gods.”

“Today we do not offer.”

“Today we ask about roads.”

“Please, nameless ones,

“From where do you wish to come?”

Silence fell among the six hundred forty-seven voices behind the gate.

After a moment the first voice answered softly:

“I come from inside the pass.”

The second voice:

“I come from a fire.”

The third:

“I come from my mother’s hands.”

The fourth:

“I come from the kiln.”

The fifth:

“I come from the well.”

More voices rose.

Not a single voice said, “I come from the Ownerless Real Master.”

The inverted gate began to shake violently.

A huge blurred face emerged behind the frame.

The face had no features, only an inverted carved plaque.

“Ownerless Real Master.”

The face opened its mouth.

“If you refuse doors.”

“Then you will have nowhere to belong forever.”

Lu Yuan gripped the broken blade.

“Return is not given by a gate.”

“It is reclaimed by people.”

The blade fell.

Outside the Seventh Offering, the not-yet-formed Malevolent Deity at the north mountain mouth split for the first time.

From the fissure no divine blood or flame spilled.

Only countless wooden plaques rained down like snow.

Each plaque bore an origin.

From the depths of the north mouth came the first true cry of the living.

After that cry an old woman shouted:

“I come from Liuhe Village!”

Then a child shouted:

“I come from inside the pass!”

Then a man shouted:

“My name is Zhao Si, not pending verification!”

One by one the six hundred forty-seven voices began to report their origins and names.

With each report the inverted gate sank an inch.

The gate god behind it shrieked.

It tried to cut off the voices but was pressed by seven forces:

The kiln records the dead.

The marker records the passerby.

The well records child names.

The manor records corpses.

Origin records origin.

Return records return path.

Route records the living.

Finally Lu Yuan pulled the broken blade free.

The black-holed gate frame collapsed with a roar.

Snow at the north mountain mouth ceased falling.

The nonexistent god beyond the gate did not vanish completely.

It condensed into a half-man-high black plaque and fell to the snow.

On the plaque’s front was written:

“Ownerless Real Master.”

On the back someone had carved a new line with the broken blade:

“Ownerless does not become a god, borrowing a name does not merit offering.”

Lu Yuan sheathed his blade.

Xu Erxao looked at the wooden plaques strewn across the ground and asked:

“Brother Lu, has the Malevolent Deity been subdued?”

Lu Yuan said,

“The idol has fallen, the corrupted rules are half broken.”

“Only half?”

“It still lives in every person’s heart.”

Wang Cheng'an moved beads on his abacus, and six hundred forty-seven beads all slid back to zero.

“What about the remaining half?”

Lu Yuan stared at the sky gradually brightening in the distance.

“Return the living to their origins.”

“Send the corpses back to their household gates.”

“Write names back into their own hands.”

“When they no longer need a deceitful gate, the Ownerless Real Master will truly have no offering left.”

Song Qinghe held her lamp and walked to the black plaque.

The flame illuminated a line of tiny characters beneath the plaque:

“The Eighth Offering, the return path.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said in a low voice:

“It still has an eighth place.”

Zhou Heng tightened his grip on his blade.

Gu Ping stood at the snow road’s end, pointing beyond the north mountain mouth.

“The eighth place is not in the mountains.”

“Where is it?”

Gu Ping looked at Lu Yuan.

“In the places all refugees want to return to but can never return to again.”

Xu Erxao frowned.

“Where would we have to go to find that?”

Gu Ping did not answer.

Behind the black plaque a map suddenly appeared.

On the map seven points were lit.

The final red point lay inside the pass.

It rested on the burned remains of an old Daoist temple.

Three characters were written there:

“White Cloud Sect.”

Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe all looked up at once.

The bronze lamp’s flame dimmed sharply.

From the distance within the pass, across a thousand mountains and snow, a long bell rang.

That bell’s tone was exactly the same as the old bell of Northern Guan.

When the eighth bell fell, vermilion characters appeared on the black plaque:

“A Malevolent Deity beyond the pass has awakened; the old gate within the pass should be restored.”

Lu Yuan read those words and slowly tightened his grip on the half-broken blade.

“First return the dead to their routes.”

“Then go back inside the pass.”

Xu Erxao stood at his side.

“Let’s go.”

Wang Cheng'an hugged his abacus.

“The account is not yet finished.”

Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe stepped forward too.

The six men’s shadows remained separate.

But their footprints in the snow led in the same direction.

Beyond the north mountain mouth the black plaque cracked silently.

From the crack a hand without eyes reached out.

It grasped a wooden plaque reading “White Cloud Sect” and slowly turned it over.

On the back was a name not yet finished:

“Lu—”

The handwriting stopped there.

Below the black plaque, a second line of small characters was slowly seeping out:

“The Eighth Offering, first take the returners.”

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