The three “mortals” that remained were staring incredulously at the spot that just seconds before contained a spiritual portal.

“... Are you a wanted criminal or something?” Duan Baozhai asked, dumbfounded.

This irked Liu Ying tremendously, and he snapped, “Are you becoming senile? The only criminal here is you.” He moved so that he could face both Duan Baozhai and Chen Yun at once. “Frankly, this has reached a conclusion, as far as I’m concerned. You’ll be escorted back to Ludong and handed back to the village elders so that they can decide what to do with you.” He then looked pointedly at Chen Yun, “And you’ve just acted so irrationally that I can’t help but doubt your capabilities in returning her to the village.”

Chen Yun raised a weary brow at him. “I’ve acted irrationally?”

“Why would you affront gods like that? Don’t you fear the scrutiny, or even banishment, by your sect? And on my behalf?”

The cultivator shook his head once, and it was more irritating than if he’d said something confrontational.

Before Liu Ying could open his mouth to dole out more harsh words, Duan Baozhai cut in, “I don’t object to being taken back to Ludong. But I haven’t done what I’ve come all this way to do. Indulge me, won’t you?”

“What is it you want?” Chen Yun asked.

Duan Baozhai looked solemn now, hands clasped behind her back while her gaze was lowered. It took her a moment to respond, but when she did, she squinted down at the ground and cleared her voice. “It’s close by. The earthen pit tomb.”

A silence washed over them like an ocean wave. Chen Yun turned his head to meet Liu Ying’s bewildered eyes, his expression communicating a graciousness that Liu Ying couldn’t comprehend. Words weren’t needed – he knew that Chen Yun was leaning towards granting her wish just by the look on his face.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand.

He beckoned him to follow him a short distance away, where they could have a private conversation but still keep a close eye on Duan Baozhai.

“Chen Yun,” he began slowly, “This woman has evaded us for days and hasn’t shown any remorse for what she’s done and for the harm she’s caused along the way. The murders? The mule? The crops? Can you help me understand?”

“I’m not moved by the theatrics or the request in and of itself, but I am moved by this being the last request of a criminal that will most likely face execution in her village.”

His words made Liu Ying stop to think. He hated how reasonable that sounded, and he hated how his own stance was swayed so easily. It was like talking to Zhou Hui all over again – Zhou Hui with his sensible words and controlled temperament, always looking at things from perspectives that Liu Ying would have never otherwise even considered.

“Hm?” Chen Yun looked at him with a flicker of confusion in his eyes.

Pulled from his thoughts, Liu Ying shook his head. “Nothing, you just remind me of someone,” he said, frowning, “But I don’t agree with what you’re saying. I don’t think she deserves a last wish.”

Chen Yun fished into his pocket for something before pulling out another gold coin and putting it in Liu Ying’s hesitant palm. “I didn’t say she deserved one, did I? If you decide to leave now that your end of the agreement has been upheld, I understand, but I’d also like for you to come along.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Liu Ying looked at him with uncertainty, then at Duan Baozhai standing where they’d left her. She was squinting at the horizon, the sunlight harsh against her face.

He could have tried to talk Chen Yun out of it, but nothing about his demeanor seemed to be open to debate. On the contrary, he seemed very at peace and comfortable with his decision, and so did Duan Baozhai. He also could have just turned around and walked away, putting an end to this strange chapter to his series of misadventures, waving goodbye to these characters that had somehow wormed their way into it. But something in the pit of his chest begged him to stay despite it all.

“I’ll come along… but only because I want to give you another earful for what you just said to the Gods of Wind and Earth,” Liu Ying said, sighing.

Chen Yun barely smiled, but didn’t say anything as he lifted a hand shimmering with a very light haze of spiritual energy and moved it towards Liu Ying’s chest. He stepped back in surprise, but then calmed when he realized his robes were slowly drying, having almost forgotten that the three of them were still sopping wet from the storm Kang Zhenzhen had brewed.

After also drying himself off, Chen Yun did the same for Duan Baozhai, who continued to be silent even as they began their short trek over to Qingshan’s earthen pits. It was almost eerie – there was a melancholy in the air that Duan Baozhai had originally seemed to be immune to, too absorbed in her treacheries and careful planning to feel perhaps what she should have allowed herself to feel before she decided to summon a demon.

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Qingshan’s earthen pit tombs sat nestled beneath a low mound of land, the entrance haphazardly framed with pieces of stone that lowered into a steep and narrow set of steps. Chen Yun led the way, using cultivation energy to provide them with light emitting from his palm, shadows and darkness otherwise surrounding their descent into the tomb. Once they were inside, he used it to light a few of the nearly burnt out candles sitting on hastily dug shelves.

Across all of the earthen walls of the tomb, holes just big enough to contain the wooden coffins of the dead were dug out, leaving nearly not an inch of free space. Beneath each coffin, there was a wooden nameplate carved with the deceased’s name.

“What name are we looking for, Duan Baozhai?” Liu Ying asked, eyes scanning the tomb walls.

“Yao Dong.”

The stretch of time that followed was filled with silence, only occasionally punctured by the sound of boots shuffling to move onto the next row of coffins.

“Families seem to be grouped together,” Liu Ying said, “Is there a section for…?”

“The unclaimed?” Duan Baozhai tried to snap, but her heart wasn’t in it, making her sound like she was reading a line from a play, “Do you have anyone that would claim you?”

“Probably not, no,” Liu Ying replied with ease, shrugging.

Chen Yun’s posture stiffened where he stood as he cast a glance over at him.

“You must know more than anyone else that not every life is valuable,” Duan Baozhai said, “Not every life means something. Some people exist for a bit and then die without making any waves. That was my Yao Dong.”

“Is making waves necessary for a meaningful life?”

“How else is meaning assigned to a life that people only see the surface of? How can you create meaning when you lived your life being ostracized and pushed around by your village?” Duan Baozhai scoffed, but it sounded choked, “Yao Dong had such low vision he was nearly blind. It started when he was a young child and it gradually got worse over the years, and his peers were unforgiving. They tripped him and bullied him whenever they had the chance – the neighbor girl was the worst of them. A demon girl in her own right. Her parents fought so hard and so often that they didn’t care whether she had tripped Yao Dong on his way to the teahouse, or whether she tipped over his mugwort broth during the harvest festival, which burned both of his hands. Yet he still fell in love with her, and I tried, I desperately tried to make him rid his mind of that bitch, but his every thought was consumed by her. When she rejected his love confession, she did so in front of a gaggle of her peers and humiliated him to the point of this.” Duan Baozhai slammed her hand against the front of one of the coffins that she stopped in front of, which clearly read the name ‘Yao Dong’.

A deafening silence followed, and Duan Baozhai’s tense shoulders slumped down in defeat after a moment. “What meaning did that life have?” she demanded weakly.

Liu Ying crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling deeply uncomfortable. When he looked at Chen Yun, he had a solemn look on his face that was otherwise unreadable.

“Duan Baozhai, do you remember the divine curse you and your peers received on your day of reckoning? The day you had to answer for belonging to a demonic sect that killed, hurt and harassed others in the northern Ludong region?” Chen Yun asked.

Duan Baozhai became very quiet all of a sudden, eyes honing in on the cultivator from across the tomb. When she didn’t say anything, Chen Yun continued, “You were cursed with a permanent effect from your own talisman. Bite, and be bitten. It was to take effect if you were to once again use demonic cultivation with the intention to harm. The unfortunate life your son has lived sounds as though you had, in fact, been bitten.”

Liu Ying stared, taken aback. How did he know that? I didn’t even know the details of what Zhou Hui had done after disbanding the sect…

…

Who is this?

“I used it again to make sure my family had food on the table during a year of drought. I had to steal from a few people,” Duan Baozhai suddenly said, a bitter smile on her face, “So I suppose, in the end, all I did was prolong Yao Dong’s suffering… What a life. I’ve lived a long one, and my sins have charged me double what I’d paid for them.”

She sat down on the ground directly beneath Yao Dong’s coffin, leaning back against the earthen wall and allowing her head to dip forward just slightly. “You know, in more ways than one, they say that destiny is written in the stars. I didn’t believe it at all in my youth – I believed that we were the authors of our own lives and futures. Now, in my old age, I see that everything, every minute detail, had been arranged just so.”

With trembling hands, Duan Baozhai reached into her sash and pulled out a small porcelain bottle, uncorked the top, and quickly down its contents before either Chen Yun or Liu Ying could move a muscle. She made a strained face, as though it tasted extremely bitter.

“Ah… even death tastes like sin.”

Liu Ying took a step forward. He wasn’t sure what he was reaching for or why – perhaps it was instinct, a primordial tick that made him want to save a dying person, even though that person was dying from their own hand. Maybe he didn’t want her to get away so easily, to be able to run off into an infinite darkness where no one could chase her or ask her questions, or grab her by the shoulders and shake her for answers.

Chen Yun held out an arm that impeded Liu Ying from moving any further, giving a quick shake of his head.

“Let her be. This is the better of two outcomes.”

Liu Ying sank away and nodded.

“I… suppose it is.”