And then he saw it: the large bar blocking the door. Shrinking, he sheepishly approached it and lifted the bar, then pushed the door open with a singular paw without any problems. He proceeded to the northern door, then the western door, allowing the same eerie crimson light to fill the shrine.
I’ll have to leave out that embarrassing bit when I retell the story, Huxian thought. Now, where to find wood? There was none around him. He thought about going outside to fetch some from town, then remembered who he was bonded to. Right, creation qi.
He channeled creation qi and wood qi through his bond with Cha Ming—which still worked for some reason—and began forming wooden log after wooden log. Then, when he’d gathered an appropriate amount of wood, he channeled fire qi. Heavens, that bond is useful sometimes. The logs caught fire, and soon there was merry crackling in the temple.
Huxian looked around in expectation. He glanced toward the sun, which ought to move any minute now. He looked to the shadows, which should begin dancing soon. He looked toward the roof, where the dragon lay with half-closed glowing red eyes. Nothing happened. Instead, the eyes glared at him mockingly.
He walked out the southern doors of the temple and looked out at the city, noting that nothing had changed. Everything was still frozen in twilight, not moving or flickering in the slightest. He figured if he captured a dozen images over the course of a day, they’d all be identical. Nothing moved in the ghostly city.
Shaking his head, he was about to leave the temple when he heard a sigh. It was softer than a silken sheet running across marble, softer than a drop of water trickling down a smooth stone. It was softer than a blooming flower, softer than a blinking eye. But he heard it.
There, he thought. He walked back into the temple, and just behind the fire to the north, he saw a flickering image. It was barely visible, but the fire, along with the twilight that now entered the room, caused the light in the room to illuminate it just the right way. It was the transparent figure of a man holding his arms in prayer.
Who are you? Huxian asked, walking up to the man. The man ignored him as he continued to finger prayer beads with his spectral fingers. The prayer beads were odd, given that the man wasn’t a Buddhist monk but a Daoist priest, but who was he to argue about convention?
Excuse me, sir? I can see you. With these last words, the man nearly dropped the rosary. He opened his eyes and looked to Huxian in shock. Huxian stared back.
“You can see me?” the man asked, peering into Huxian’s eyes. The man’s own eyes were crimson, and combined with his transparent body, they gave him an otherworldly appearance.
I can see you, Huxian confirmed. At least, as long as this fire is burning, I can.
The man nodded when he saw the fire, then looked to the four cardinal directions. Then, he looked up at the black-and-white picture above the fire and sighed. “This city didn’t used to be like this. It was a prosperous city that knew no disease, knew no war, and knew no major suffering. The only ill that plagued it was the ill all mortals suffer: death from old age.”
Not even so-called immortals and gods can escape death, Huxian said. Except for Yama, but he was the exception, rather than the rule. The god of death ruled the Underworld with an iron fist, and not even the leaders of Heaven, Hell, and the demon world dared fight him, for fear of destroying the entire universe.
The figure nodded. “We realized this soon after we tried something daring. We tried to cheat death.”
How? Huxian asked. History was rife with examples of people doing this same.
“All of us tethered our souls to the sun, locking it in place,” the man explained. “For surely, if the sun didn’t set, time wouldn’t pass. Our lives would be forever blissful, enjoying the final moments before the sun set across the horizon.”
You were successful, Huxian said, frowning. That shouldn’t have been possible.
“In a way,” the man said. “But this was the Candle Dragon’s land. By tethering the sun, we restrained the Candle Dragon himself. He was not pleased, and as a punishment for our transgression, he cursed us.
“‘If you desire immortality so much, I shall grant it,’ the Candle Dragon said. ‘You shall remain as ghosts in this unchanging land, forever bound to this city you hold so dear. For all eternity, you shall eat but never be full. You shall play but never know cheer. You shall drink but never be sated, and when you try to sleep, slumber will never take you.’
“We realized our mistake then. We’d tethered the sun, and if the sun did not set, how could there be any fulfillment? We were frozen in cause without consequence. Anything we did had no effect. Thousands of years passed, and by now many of us have lost our minds. We exist in perpetual monotony. We never change our habits, forever roaming this city, which never sleeps.”
“You mean there are others?” Huxian asked, frowning. He hadn’t seen them on his way to the temple.
“They are invisible to you,” the man said. “They, too, are ghosts. Perhaps it is due to the strength of my soul as head priest that you can see me in
