Chapter 3: The Absurd Magistrate’s Court

A distant mirage, a city hovering above the waves, clouds forming an illusory palace. An oasis shimmering in the desert, a fairy mountain rising from the sea’s surface, beautiful yet insubstantial—such is the nature of a mirage, where illusion and reality intertwine.

Early in the morning, after a brief preparation, Black Obsidian and his companions set out to investigate the other side of the river. Ding Ning, as the leader of this commission, guided them to the riverbank. The last time Black Obsidian had seen the river, it ran red as blood; now, the water was black—thick as ink.

The river was broad. A layer of mist neither dense nor thin hovered above the surface, and only a faint, blurry outline of the far bank could be glimpsed in the distance. There was no bridge, nor had they brought anything to help them cross. To swim through would be an ordeal indeed.

Soon, however, Black Obsidian realized his worries were unnecessary. Ding Ning walked over to a withered tree and gently shook a bell tied to its branch. The bell rang thrice, clear and crisp.

After a while, a shadowy figure appeared on the far bank, gradually approaching. As the figure drew near, it became clear he was an old boatman. Though the sky was dry, he wore a bamboo hat and a rain cloak, his back bent as he rowed the boat slowly across, eyes bright amid the wrinkles of his face.

He moored the boat, greeted them with a smile, and waited for everyone to settle before rowing onward.

As he rowed, the boatman asked, “What business takes you to the other shore? Things are far from peaceful there these days…”

Black Obsidian followed up, “And what sort of unrest is that?”

The boatman shook his head with a bitter smile. “Truth be told, many have died over there already.”

Black Obsidian paled. “How did it happen?” he wanted to ask. So many deaths, yet not a whisper of it had escaped—this was troubling indeed.

The boatman’s expression grew solemn. “It’s mostly officials from the Underworld Bureau. I don’t know the details, but rumor has it they all saw visions while on duty.”

Black Obsidian felt a pang of regret—he wished he hadn’t waded into this murky business.

Though the river seemed vast, the crossing was soon over. After thanking the boatman, they made their way to the local yamen.

The entrance was tightly closed, but a servant emerged from a side door and beckoned them in.

Before they reached the main hall, the sound of a heated argument—a man and a woman—echoed through the corridor.

“Oh, dear lady, you mustn’t! That’s Lord Impermanence! Arranging things this way—how could I possibly comply?” The man’s voice was full of exasperation.

“What Lord Impermanence? Just a pretty-faced Rabbit Lord who earned his post by warming the King of Hell’s bed! And you’re still afraid of him? Spineless!” The woman’s shrill voice rose to a near shout, as if determined to be heard by all.

Black Obsidian broke into a cold sweat. He turned to ask, “Are they talking about me?”

Ding Ning nodded reflexively, then abruptly shook his head. Yan Nianqing’s face was dark, his teeth clenched. Black Slave, too, looked displeased; Black Obsidian was half his master now—how could he stand such insult?

Seeing that his companions were angrier than he was, Black Obsidian couldn’t help but laugh. So be it. After all, he had, more or less, “warmed the King of Hell’s bed.” He offered a word of comfort. “All right, gentlemen, why argue with a woman? It’s not worth it.”

But the woman’s next words were even sharper. “He’s nothing but a plaything for all comers. If you insist on respecting him, what does that make you? Go to him, and I’ll divorce you on the spot!”

Black Obsidian’s face turned black as coal. This was no ordinary woman—she was a shrew. He itched to silence her permanently, but he forced himself to stay calm. He mustn’t lose his temper in front of little Nian.

Suddenly, the woman shrieked, “You, child, what do you think you’re doing!”

Black Obsidian hurried forward and saw that, unbeknownst to him, Yan Nianqing had already reached the main hall. The chubby child was holding a dagger, and with a mere touch, a thin line of blood appeared on the woman’s neck—the blade was clearly sharp.

The man immediately knelt and kowtowed, pleading, “Please, my lord, spare my wife! I beg you, spare her!”

The woman trembled but refused to yield, snapping, “Don’t you dare beg him! I forbid it!”

Bloodshot, the man roared, “Be silent! Haven’t you caused enough trouble? Say another word and I’ll divorce you!”

Stunned, the woman went pale; never had she expected her usually docile husband to turn on her so. Her eyes suddenly brightened with a strange light; ignoring the dagger at her throat, she whirled and fled, cutting a deep gash into her own neck.

The man stood dazed for a moment, then bowed to Black Obsidian and rushed after her.

Black Obsidian dropped into a nearby chair, scooped up the chubby little Nian who had just saved his dignity, took the dagger, and examined the child’s plump hands. “Did you cut yourself?”

Yan Nianqing shook his head blankly.

At once, Black Obsidian rapped the boy’s head with a knuckle and scolded, “Next time you’re angry, don’t take matters into your own hands. What if you get hurt?”

Yan Nianqing nodded hastily and took the opportunity to cling to Black Obsidian’s neck, nuzzling him. “Daddy, I understand.”

Black Obsidian lifted him onto his lap, one hand supporting him, the other drumming lightly on the table. Ding Ning and Black Slave stood behind him, one to the left, one to the right.

He knew the little one was asserting his authority on his behalf, and he would not let that be in vain. He kneaded Yan Nianqing’s small hand, checking it again.

Not long after, the man returned, a bright red handprint on his cheek and a split lip. His hair was disheveled, like a bird’s nest. Trembling, he knelt, “This humble official greets Lord Impermanence!”

Black Obsidian said nothing, still gently massaging the child’s hand. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “What are you doing? Kneeling like this makes it look as if I’m bullying you.”

The man rose and bowed. “Not at all, my lord. I kneel of my own accord. It’s my pleasure.”

He hesitated, then ventured, “My lord, about our commission—”

“Why the rush?” Black Obsidian interrupted. “Attend to your wife first; we’ll discuss business afterward.” With that, he carried Yan Nianqing out of the yamen.

He was speechless—he’d seen henpecked husbands before, but never one so thoroughly cowed.

Ding Ning asked, “My lord, does this mean we won’t take the commission?”

Black Obsidian pressed his lips together. “We’ll take it, of course. But we’ll let them beg us to accept. Otherwise, who knows what that shrew might do next?”

He was just about to ask Yan Nianqing if there was anywhere to stay nearby when he noticed the little one had fallen asleep, arms still wrapped tight around his neck, mumbling, “Mama…”

Carefully, Black Obsidian shifted the child into a more comfortable position, his heart full of longing—if only he truly had a child like this.

He lowered his voice and asked Ding Ning, “Is there anywhere nearby we can stay?”

Ding Ning hesitated. “My lord, we were supposed to stay in the yamen.”

The implication was clear. Black Obsidian turned hopeful eyes to Black Slave.

Black Slave relented with a sigh. “I know of a place.”