“Is there anything I can do to help?” Huxian asked. Eating and never being filled and drinking but always being thirsty sounded downright horrible; he could hardly think of a worse fate. Leaving them to suffer such an unreasonable punishment would be immoral.
“Perhaps,” the man said. He thought for a moment, then pointed at the ceiling, where a picture of the Candle Dragon was dancing in the firelight. He formed some hand seals, and suddenly a shining golden piece fell from one of its half-red eyes like a tear.
Huxian jumped and caught it in his mouth before placing it on the floor before the head priest. The object was a golden piece of jade. The ghostly man cowered when it landed in front of him. He feared the jade, feared its power. Huxian looked at the object and discovered a single character.
Spirit? Huxian thought, reading it. The moment he did, the jade burst into tiny motes of light and shot into his body. His body tingled as it did, but he didn’t notice any other differences. He looked back to the ghost, which was now huddling in the dark room, frightened.
Huxian approached the cowering ghost. “What’s that thing supposed to do?” he asked.
“You can still see me?” the ghost asked, trembling.
Huxian frowned. “Yes, of course I can see you. Just like before, the twilight is here, and the torch is lit. And I…”
He looked to the firepit and realized the fire had gone out. Yet despite the missing flame, he could still see the ghostly man.
“Good,” the man said in relief. “Very good. It seems my friend the monk wasn’t lying.”
“The monk?” Huxian asked.
“The monk who warned me not to do this,” the ghost said. “He told me that what I was doing was against the laws of the nature. Humans could not live forever, and the consequences of trying to stop time would be disastrous. He gave me that piece of jade and told me it might give hope should the worst come to pass.”
Huxian nodded. “Where can I find him?”
The ghost pointed eastward. “Go outside the city. Keep walking until you find him. It will seem impossibly far, and many temptations will arise, but you must keep going. Perhaps he will know what to do about this problem.
“All right,” Huxian said. He now had something to do in this place, which was far better than wandering the parched desert without a goal in mind. Perhaps he could solve this mystery, and in turn unlock the dormant powers of light and darkness he’d sensed from the outside. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”
“Thank you,” the ghostly priest said. To Huxian’s surprise, he kowtowed. “We want nothing but to be freed from this wretched fate. If that means death, so be it. We’d gladly rejoin the cycle of reincarnation.”
Then the ghost disappeared.
Seeing that there was nothing more he could do, Huxian walked back into the city proper. It was still twilight out, but everything looked different now. In the empty streets, he saw people: merchants, shoppers, cultivators, children, and even guards. The restaurants were serving up transparent dishes—which he tried and found were incredibly flavorless and unsatisfying. The tea houses were serving tea, and the bakers were baking bread that both smelled wonderful and not appealing at the same time.
In the streets, the children played. But these ghostly children could clearly feel no joy. They were trapped in the moment, forever cursed to play the same wretched game over and over, always with the same people and the same outcome. In the houses, the parents watched their children in despair as they tried to light lamps that wouldn’t burn to prepare for the night that wouldn’t come.
Unable to bear it any longer, Huxian left the city through the open eastern gates. He set out due east as the monk had told him. The land was parched and cracked, just as it had been when he’d traveled here. Still, anything was better than staying a second longer in that cursed city. He wouldn’t wish their fate on his worst enemy. Simply imagining it was enough to give him nightmares.
Chapter 11: Life
Sweet potatoes and marinated bamboo shoots sizzled on a makeshift grill on the side of the road. Cha Ming, the one cooking, took care as he applied sauces and seasonings to the thinly sliced vegetables. He waited patiently as the brown concoction hissed and boiled on their surfaces, ready to remove them the moment it began to harden.
“Are they almost done?” asked Mo Ling, who was sitting beside him. Her hair was now short and black, as opposed to the long brown hair she’d worn before. Cha Ming had also alchemically changed her eye color to a light green. Physical characteristics aside, she also dressed much differently than she had in Liaoning. She now wore men’s cultivation robes and looked like an amateur swordswoman.
“Patience is a virtue,” Cha Ming said, flipping the vegetables over. “You should see waiting not as a chore but as mental training. Don’t waste a single moment.” Young or old, only diligence and hard work led to progress.
Mo Ling did as she was told and turned her attention to the nearby village. He followed her gaze as she looked from one group of men and women to another. It was nearly dusk, so most of the families had retreated into their wooden houses. They were so weak that even Mo Ling, an initial-foundation-establishment cultivator, could see everyone using her incandescent soul force.
“They’re so pitiful,” Mo Ling said, looking at their huddled forms. “They work all day from dawn to dusk, never getting any rest and barely getting enough food. Why does the world have to be this way?” As the daughter of Liaoning’s city lord, she’d been sheltered from the
