Chapter Forty-Four: Gathering Place of Shadows

Yu Xianzhi glanced at the Black Tortoise standing upright on the compass. His face was clouded with gloom as he cursed under his breath, “Damn it, looks like we’ve run into real trouble this time.”

Coming from someone who always boasted “to stand above all, second to none,” hearing such words from Yu Xianzhi sent a cold shiver down our spines.

Forcing myself to steady my nerves, I moved closer to examine the golden Black Tortoise on the compass, puzzled. “Daoist Yu, what exactly does this mean?”

Yu Xianzhi pointed at the golden Black Tortoise and, frowning, explained, “In Cao Zhi’s poem about the Divine Tortoise, he mentions the Four Symbols of the Mysterious Yin. As the verses go, the Black Tortoise emerges from the house of cold, embodying the utmost yin. In feng shui, there’s a saying ‘Black Tortoise repels corpses’—which means such a place should not house the dead or serve as a burial ground, for here souls cannot move on. Thus, such locations are called ‘lands of gathering yin.’”

I listened in a daze. To be honest, I knew nothing about feng shui. I’d only heard that there used to be “geomancers” who chose auspicious sites for the wealthy. Beyond that, I was completely ignorant.

“Then let’s just go back,” Shao said, terror written all over his face.

Yu Xianzhi pondered for a moment, shook his head, and repositioned the Black Tortoise on the compass. “It’s not as if we have no chance of winning. I sense a faint Buddhist power being suppressed in this land of gathering yin.” He looked at me. “Did you bring any Buddhist antiques?”

I shook my head, thinking, You never said I should! I can hardly lug a massive Northern Wei stone Buddha around, can I? They’d never let that on a plane!

“Wow, it’s lucky I’m always prepared!” Shao said smugly. He took a silver ga’u box from around his neck, inside which sat a tiny, two-to-three-centimeter-tall gilded bronze Kalachakra Vajra Buddha from the Ming dynasty.

Kalachakra Vajra, or Kālacakravajra in Sanskrit, is a highly revered deity in the highest yoga tantra of Esoteric Buddhism. The dual-bodied Kalachakra generally symbolizes compassion and kindness, depicted with four faces and twenty-four arms, legs of red and white, embracing a consort representing wisdom, who herself has four faces and eight arms—a classic dual practice image.

Yu Xianzhi studied the little Kalachakra Vajra, a look of confidence blooming on his face. He gave an “OK” gesture. “No time to lose—let’s go.”

Just as Wu had described, the moment we entered the corridor, the temperature plummeted, making us shiver involuntarily. Even Yu Xianzhi himself seemed a little uneasy.

When we reached the elevator, Yu Xianzhi pressed the button to go up, only to find the elevator long out of service. The doors and control panel outside were rusted over.

“No choice. We’ll have to take the stairs.”

But just as we turned around, the elevator suddenly gave a crisp “ding” and, as if in slow motion, the doors slid open. Inside, a black figure sat hunched, knitting a sweater—a kindly-looking old woman with a head full of curls, entirely absorbed in her knitting, utterly unaware of our presence. The three of us, as if bewitched, drifted toward the elevator.

“Get back!” Yu Xianzhi shouted.

His cry snapped us out of our trance. We looked again—where the old woman had been, now sat a gruesome skeleton in the pitch-black elevator.

Bang, bang, bang…

Before we could recover, the sound of a bouncing ball echoed from the distance. Down the corridor, a boy of seven or eight came running toward us, dribbling a ball.

Suddenly, he tripped and fell, bursting into loud wails.

“Oh no!” Xue cried, rushing over. “Are you alright, little one?”

She helped the boy up—only to scream in terror at the sight of his face.

The skin and one eyeball were stuck to the floor, blood dripping down his cheeks. The other eyeball dangled from its socket, and he wore a bizarre, twisted grin. The “ball” in his hand was, in fact, a badly decayed human head.

He let out a sudden bestial roar and lunged at Xue, his hands clawing for her throat.

Smack!

Yu Xianzhi moved like lightning, landing a kick on the boy’s head and sending it flying. He grabbed Xue by the wrist and yanked her out, then turned and kicked the child’s body away as well.

Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Yu Xianzhi looked at Xue. “Sister, could you please try not to worry me so much? I told you not to come.”

Chastened, Xue could only nod apologetically.

We made our way into the stairwell, ascending step by cautious step, dreading further dangers. But fate rarely bends to our wishes.

“What’s going on? Is it raining?” A few drops of liquid spattered my face.

“Yeah, where’s this water coming from? Is the roof leaking?” Shao looked up instinctively—then shrieked, nearly tumbling down the stairs.

Alarmed, I looked up as well, almost losing my footing.

Above us, the ceiling was hung with dense rows of corpses, bound and suspended upside down with ropes. Their skin was blotched with livor mortis, greenish in color, covered in festering sores—a grotesque sight. But most disturbing of all, each corpse’s forehead bore a deep, man-made wound, from which a sickly mixture of fat and blood dripped down.

Yu Xianzhi sneered coldly. “So that’s the trick. I overestimated our opponent.”

“Maybe we should just leave. I’d rather deal with the child ghost than stay here any longer,” Shao stammered, ashen-faced.

Yu Xianzhi glared at him. “Don’t be such a coward.”

“Daoist Yu, are those real?” I glanced at the ceiling, hesitating.

“Consider them illusions,” he replied.

I cursed inwardly. What does ‘consider them illusions’ mean? Does that mean they are—or aren’t?

Surrounded by the hanging dead, we crept forward for five or six minutes before finally reaching the third floor, as Wu had indicated.

As expected, the moment we reached the doorway, a sound like shuffling cards drifted out.

Yu Xianzhi dashed forward, looking left and right. There, a dark figure stood ahead of us.

Shao picked up a loose brick from the doorway. “Here comes a sneak attack!” he cried, preparing to throw it.

“Don’t! That’s a living person,” Yu Xianzhi said with a smile. “And who might you be? To have crossed blades with us so many times and made it this far, you must be quite formidable. Why not introduce yourself?”

The figure let out a chilling laugh that raised goosebumps on our skin. After a moment’s silence, a slow, deliberate voice emerged.

“Qiutong, do you remember me?”

At those words, my mind buzzed. It was the voice from that night!

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The figure ignored my outburst and slowly raised a hand, pulling back their hood. It was the silhouette of a woman.

With a strangled cry, Shao fainted dead away. Xue hurried to help him aside.

“Miss Mengya, spare us your parlor tricks. Such theatrics won’t work on me,” Yu Xianzhi said coldly.

“Mengya, why are you doing this?” I asked, my heart aching as if torn apart.

The figure smiled again, drew the hood back over her head, and with a bandaged hand pointed behind us. I turned, and there stood a familiar silhouette.

I trembled—it was me.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The figure smiled, a disturbingly familiar smile. “I’m Qiutong.”

“Nonsense, I’m Qiutong!”

“That’s just your imagination. Perhaps you were never Qiutong at all.”

His words made my mind reel. I even began to question my own identity.

Yu Xianzhi’s gaze turned icy. “Who are you, really? Which of you is the true Qiutong?”

I was at a loss for words. I looked at Yu Xianzhi, sighed, and fell silent.

Yu Xianzhi frowned deeply, glancing at the black-cloaked figure. “Miss Mengya, I don’t care what your intentions are. I’m only here to pacify this land of gathering yin. I have no quarrel with your world. Please, step aside. I don’t wish to fight you.”

The black cloak ignored him and instead snorted coldly at me. “Qiutong, for the sake of what we once shared as husband and wife, I advise you—do not pursue this any further.”

My heart ached even more. The true face beneath that black cloak was Mengya, with whom I had shared days and nights, body and soul. The heaviness in my chest sent a searing pain through my head. The agony was so great I collapsed to the floor.