Chapter Sixty-Six: Life Is but a Dream, All Turns to Nothing

The sunrise can illuminate the earth, yet it cannot warm the human heart.

The border city had been overrun by a tide of corpses, descending into utter chaos. On the city walls, Tian Xingjian and Yi Chongtian laughed and chatted without restraint, watching as the monstrous dead chased the living. Young Master Tian could barely contain his glee. But at the entrance to Muddy Village, a group of youths the same age could not muster even a smile.

Zhong Ming stood atop a boulder gazing into the distance. His eyes were deep, his face expressionless—a lack of sorrow or anger that worried Liang Yu and the others all the more. Those who knew Zhong Ming were well aware that, on ordinary days, Ming-ge was easy to talk to, genial, always wearing a smile. If angered, he would point at someone’s nose and curse, throwing aside the scholarly manners he was known for.

Only this state—neither sad nor happy, seemingly lost in thought yet not quite so—Liang Yu had seen only once before. Now, Liang Yu hesitated, scratching the back of his head, unsure whether he should try to comfort Ming-ge.

That was three years ago. Ming-ge was being stalked by a cannibal, and it was Liang Yu who had bitten through a man’s throat to save him. For a while after, Ming-ge was not himself. He stayed silent and alone in his house, playing with his rosewood dagger.

One day, Liang Yu went looking for Zhong Ming and saw him staring in this same way toward a corner of the village—the camp of those filthy cannibals. Sensing something was off, Liang Yu decided to shadow him the entire day.

That night, he followed Zhong Ming to the camp. The whole time, Zhong Ming said nothing, neither inviting nor rejecting Liang Yu’s company. At midnight, they crept into the reeking camp; by the next hour, they emerged.

Both were covered in blood. Together, they had slaughtered every last one of the flesh-eating fiends. From that day on, Liang Yu realized that when a seemingly frail scholar turned ruthless, he was more savage than the wicked themselves.

Ming-ge did not even blink as he killed, moving like a puppet from a street opera—raising his knife, stabbing one, turning to seek the next. Liang Yu could not do this. He killed too, but his hands shook, and after, he trembled with terror.

Only Ming-ge remained unperturbed, looting the camp, then piling it with dry wood and burning it to the ground. As the fire crackled, once again Liang Yu saw that unfathomable look on Zhong Ming’s face.

The firelight illuminated Liang Yu’s face, its heat searing even on an autumn night. The blaze burned away the camp and with it any words Liang Yu might have spoken. He buried that memory deep within, never telling a soul. Only by keeping it locked away would outsiders never know that the learned and respected Master Zhong of Muddy Village had killed so many.

Ming-ge had to be the revered Master Zhong, not a murderer. From then on, Liang Yu steeled himself to play the villain, so that only his own hands would be stained with blood—leaving Ming-ge’s to hold a brush, to write lucky couplets, never a knife.

Now, seeing Zhong Ming in that same state, Liang Yu knew that quiet days were over. They would have to plot and scheme against a whole new set of foes.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Liang Yu stopped scratching his head and walked over to Zhong Ming, grinning. “Ming-ge, what are you looking at, so entranced? If something good’s happening, you have to let me in on it. Don’t go off on your own.”

Zhong Ming said nothing, a faint smile on his lips, fingers quietly turning inside his sleeve, as if pondering something.

As the youths silently watched the distant border city, Fei Dacheng suddenly cried out, “Ming-ge, Blackie, look! There’s an immortal flying over there!”

Following Fei Dacheng’s pudgy finger, they all turned westward.

On the wild hills, clusters of blue light flared up, streaking toward the border city.

Zhong Ming frowned slightly. He understood—it was the people of White Jade Capital closing their net.

White Jade Capital had orchestrated such a grand spectacle for this very day, to end things perfectly and win the people’s hearts.

Hundreds of blue lights descended over the border city, dazzling brighter than the sun, weaving in intricate patterns through the sky.

From above the city came the sound of drums and music, so loud that even from such a distance, Zhong Ming and the others could hear it clearly.

Along with the music, a melodious woman’s voice sang out: “Above, the White Jade Capital, with twelve towers and five cities, the immortals lay their hands upon my crown, granting me eternal life…”

Zhong Ming had never heard such beautiful singing. In the song, he saw a vision of paradise: a celestial palace half-shrouded in clouds, cranes calling, immortals laughing and pointing at the sunset.

“Not good—the song is bewitching our minds.”

In the next instant, Zhong Ming snapped back, drawing the Yanluo’s Dread Blade from his back. The dragonfinch ring spun rapidly, shrieking above the demonic melody.

He glanced at the group of youths—all of them were entranced. Liang Yu had even dropped to his knees, bowing to the ground.

Seeing this, Zhong Ming’s anger flared. He struck Liang Yu’s back with the flat of his blade and shouted, “Blackie Liang, what are you doing? No backbone at all—just a girl singing and you’re on your knees?”

Liang Yu blinked awake, slapped himself, and scrambled up, muttering, “Why the hell did I kneel?”

He honestly had no idea—he’d simply been compelled by the song.

Because of this chaos, Zhong Ming and the others missed what happened in the city. When they looked again, things had changed.

The blue lights had landed, leaving only one figure standing atop the ruined drum tower. The figure was child-sized, standing on a huge white rabbit—an odd and comical sight.

That was Yu Tu on the tower. Zhong Ming would know him even if he were reduced to ashes, and seeing him made Zhong Ming’s anger burn higher.

The celestial music ceased. Yu Tu’s voice rang from atop the wall: “I am the Immortal Official Jingyue of the New Tang, commanded by Emperor Tang Zhen to inspect the border. In the face of this evil corpse attack, you believers need not fear—my disciples will banish the evil and ensure the New Tang’s enduring prosperity!”

With those words, the hundred blue lights moved again, this time rushing through the city inside and out, wielding ice-carved weapons, slaughtering the walking dead.

In barely the time it took an incense stick to burn, all the corpses in the city were destroyed.

Yu Tu smiled from the tower. “The evil has been purged. Heaven bless the New Tang.”

Celestial music soared again. Birds appeared from somewhere, circling above the city, chirping.

With an immortal official present, a hundred birds brought auspicious omens.

Within the city, ignorant townsfolk had fallen to their knees, some taking the lead in chanting, “Heaven bless the New Tang! Heaven bless the New Tang!”

At the city gate, a father and daughter from the noodle soup shop knelt in their courtyard. The fat man wept as he gazed at the immortal atop the wall, crying out, “Thank you, immortal, for saving us! Heaven bless the New Tang! Bless our New Tang!”

The little girl, pulled to her knees by her father, prostrated herself, tears shimmering on her cheeks. After bowing several times, she tugged her father’s sleeve and asked, “Daddy, can the immortal bring Mama back?”

The fat man stopped, staring at his daughter’s longing eyes, at a loss for words.

Outside the noodle shop, people continued to shout, “Heaven bless the New Tang!”—the cries rising higher and higher.

The ignorant masses remained in the dark, never realizing that those to whom they knelt, wept, and gave thanks were the very same who had brought ruin and death upon them.

Zhong Ming stood at the edge of the village, watching it all from afar. Seeing the hypocritical Yu Tu atop the wall, he sneered, “So this is what a charlatan looks like—no matter how sweet the birdsong, it can’t hide your filthy tricks.”

Thus ended the salvation farce masterminded by the so-called immortals of White Jade Capital.

Zhong Ming had once tried desperately to save the world from suffering, but he had failed—paying a terrible price.

Ah, life! Always so fickle—sometimes we give everything, only to find it all comes to nothing.

Zhong Ming jumped down from the boulder and strolled away, chanting loudly, “Lost the bride and the soldiers too—ephemeral life is but a dream!”

He alternately sighed and laughed madly, seeming both deranged and wild.

As he laughed, a note of sorrow crept into his face. “There’s no such thing as fairness in this world, not in my past life, not in this one!”

He paused, a ruthless glint in his eyes. He muttered, “Perhaps I should put away my compassion—and do things that will make the world tremble.”

As Zhong Ming walked away, the youths at the village head finally snapped out of their daze. Liang Yu turned and shouted, “Ming-ge, where are you going?”

“Going home to catch up on sleep!”

Putting aside all his thoughts, Zhong Ming smiled calmly and strode home.

Since he’d lost this round, he’d simply find another way to settle the score. Zhong Ming never fretted over a moment’s defeat.

He’d only lived seventeen years—there would be plenty of time to entangle with those immortals in the future.

Those who achieve great things don’t sweat the small stuff—the one who laughs last is the true winner.

...

For days afterward, the border town was decked with lanterns and streamers, livelier even than the New Year. All because an important figure had arrived in this remote place.

The newly appointed Jingyue Immortal Official of the New Tang, a first-rank dignitary, had come in person to this backwater—a blessing for the locals.

Ordinary folk racked their brains but could not fathom why an immortal would descend upon their little border town. They naïvely believed the immortal official had come especially to save the New Tang’s people from disaster.

Only a few high-ranking officials knew the truth: tensions between New Tang and Southern Han were high, and the main reason for the official’s visit was the division of the borderlands.

Between New Tang and Southern Han lay the Suiyun Mountains—a vast and fertile region, with ancient trees by the thousand, teeming with rare herbs and exotic beasts.

Strategically, the Suiyun Mountains were vital—a natural barrier separating the two states. Whoever controlled them would seize the initiative in war.

Logic dictated that such a coveted land would be fiercely contested by both courts.

Yet strangely, neither New Tang nor Southern Han ever mentioned dividing the Suiyun Mountains. Even the boundary stone south of the border city had disappeared. New Tang kept yielding—first setting the boundary at the northern foothills, then at the boundary stone outside the city, and now, at the city itself.

In the end, the Jingyue Immortal Official fixed the border: the line would run through the border city, east to west. North of it belonged to New Tang; everything south was Suiyun Mountains.

A few days later, word came from Southern Han: their northernmost city, Tuiyun, would be their boundary—south of that was Southern Han.

Thus, the land south of the border city and north of Tuiyun became a no-man’s land, a buffer zone belonging to neither country, just like the Suiyun Mountains themselves.

This led to something new: the townsfolk inside the border city were New Tang citizens, but those living outside, like the villagers, were left stateless.

If they wished to become citizens again, the villagers would need to secure residence within the city.

Muddy Village was among them. Overnight, these villagers became rootless refugees, plunged from the world of the living into hell, turned into lost souls wandering between worlds.