Chapter Six: In the Hands of Fate

Three days later, in the Hall of Asura.

“I wish to go out and have some fun—do any of you have objections?” the Ghost Lord spoke with a half-smile.

The fiends and spirits remained silent. After a moment, Black Slave spoke up, “May I ask, does my lord know when you will return?”

The Ghost Lord coldly replied, “Not yet.” Then, after a pause, he added, “If there’s nothing else, you may all leave. Black Slave, stay.”

At that moment, a fox suddenly darted out from some unknown corner and leapt straight before the Ghost Lord’s eyes. The sight made Mei cry out in surprise.

The Ghost Lord looked at the bold young celestial fox with amusement, then picked it up with one hand. With a wave toward the fiends and spirits, the four of them found themselves outside the hall. The doors slammed shut with a bang. The four exchanged glances, sighed in unison, and left helplessly.

The little fox, dangled in mid-air, showed no fear. It rubbed its eyes with its tiny paws, yawned, and its eyelids drooped sleepily. The Ghost Lord chuckled softly, thinking there was no need to fuss with a mere cub, and cradled it in his arms.

Drowsy, the little fox soon fell sound asleep, undisturbed even when the Ghost Lord stroked its belly, sleeping so comfortably.

Black Slave was secretly astonished. He asked, “What orders does my lord have?”

The Ghost Lord reached for the Soul-Chasing Tassel at his waist. With a flash of white light, the tassel appeared in Black Slave’s hand. “After I leave, tonight you are to go to the human world. Follow the Soul-Chasing Tassel to find a newborn, and bring him to the Temple of Illusion in the Kingdom of Liu.”

At these words, Black Slave’s head snapped up, his face stricken. “My lord, are you going to reincarnate?!”

The Ghost Lord’s expression was helpless. “Look at you!” he sighed, “For me, it’s nothing more than a way to while away the endless years. I am born of heaven and earth itself—do you truly fear I’ll be lost? You, at least, are my chief general. Why act so flustered?”

Black Slave stammered, “But, but…” After a long pause, he gazed at the Ghost Lord, finally relenting. He knelt on one knee, cupped his fists, and said, “Your servant obeys.”

The Ghost Lord grunted an acknowledgment, rose with the little fox in his arms, and said, “While I am gone, you are to watch over the Hall of Asura. The fiends and spirits have not served as long as you; of the four, Chi is the most bloodthirsty. Be sure they cause no trouble.”

Black Slave replied, “I understand. Rest assured, my lord.”

The Pavilion of Longing.

The Old Matchmaker was, as usual, inspecting the Tree of Fate in the mortal world. He looked up at the myriad red threads—within his mind, it was as if a ledger appeared, listing each couple, when their fates were joined, every detail clear at a glance. With a single sweep of his eyes, a great chunk of his work was done. Suddenly, a faint “drip”—the Old Matchmaker touched his forehead in confusion.

Strange, wasn’t it only time for a rain-calling ritual in Heaven? Why no notice? He felt the wet spot, looked at his hand, and found blood!

“Meow…”

“Mee-ow…”

Before the Old Matchmaker could think further, faint cat cries reached his ears—no, more like the pained yowl of a cat. He looked up, his face turning blank as if frozen. There, a black cat stood, all four claws braced, ready to attack. Its fierce face glared at him, the threat in its eyes unmistakable. This scene, this cat—it was exactly as he’d seen in his dream the other night.

Though wounded, the black cat moved with astonishing speed. Taking advantage of the Old Matchmaker’s moment of distraction, it lunged at him. The Old Matchmaker snapped back to himself, but instinctively shielded the cat.

A muffled groan escaped him. After they both tumbled safely to the ground, the cat, eager to escape, raked its claws over him—viciously, drawing blood in an instant.

The Old Matchmaker clutched his injury and rose, but the cat had already vanished over the wall. To be so ferocious while so gravely hurt—what a wicked creature, unchanged at heart.

He muttered a curse, then stared miserably at the wound on his right hand. Heaven knew he was terrified of pain. Worse than that, though, was how he was to handle his duties with this hand!

“Well, old fellow, what are you up to now?” A familiar, mischievous voice sounded by his ear. The Old Matchmaker, quite used to such interruptions, composed himself. “Inspecting the threads,” he replied serenely.

The Ghost Lord stroked the little fox’s soft fur, smiling. “And yet, I smell demon energy here.” His gaze flickered to the Old Matchmaker’s concealed injury. “Old fellow, were you scratched by some stray cat? Patience is a virtue—you can’t rush these things. When it comes to such matters, you’d best proceed slowly.”

The Old Matchmaker’s mouth twitched. That incorrigible old ghost! He replied, “That’s hardly your concern. What of our wager—have you made up your mind?”

The Ghost Lord answered, “Of course I accept the wager. But I do have one more errand for you.”

He handed the little fox in his arms to the Old Matchmaker. “Last time, I managed to trick those stingy foxes from the Celestial Fox Clan out of quite a few treasures. If I show up now, I’ll never get away. I’ll entrust this cub to you—see it safely home.”

It was only then that the Old Matchmaker noticed the small creature the Ghost Lord had been holding. He blinked several times, scarcely able to believe his eyes. It was indeed a youngling of the Celestial Fox Clan—a royal, no less. Unbelievable.

Suspicion written across his face, the Old Matchmaker stared at the Ghost Lord, who explained, “This is none of my doing. I merely chanced upon the cub during my travels in the mortal world and brought it back. You’d best hurry and return it. If you delay any longer, the Celestial Fox Clan will surely be thrown into chaos!”

Realizing this, the Old Matchmaker hastened to the Celestial Fox Clan.

Having agreed to the wager, the Ghost Lord too made his way to the Underworld.

In the Underworld, whether mortal, god, or spirit, there was but one path to reincarnation: the Pool of Rebirth.

By the pool’s edge, a flash of black and a flash of blue passed in turn, and an entangled tale, impossible to sever or unravel, began.

In the mortal realm, at the Temple of Illusion in the Kingdom of Liu, Daoist Master Qingyu found an abandoned infant at the temple gates. That day, the wind howled and snow fell thick, yet the child smiled fearlessly into the storm. Moved, Qingyu named him Liu Zhanyan and took him as his last disciple, giving him the Taoist name Qingfeng.

At the same time, in the Liu royal palace, the empress gave birth to a prince. The emperor, overjoyed, declared a general amnesty, lifted taxes for a year, and commuted the death sentences of all those scheduled for execution in the next three days to life imprisonment at hard labor.

The prince was named Liu Junlin, signifying his destiny as crown prince and future ruler—one who would reign supreme over the world.

Five years later, the empress brought her son to the Temple of Illusion to pray for blessings.

At the temple gate, only Daoist Master Qingyu was present to receive them. “Qingyu greets Your Majesty the Empress!”

Upon seeing the Daoist master, the empress’s concealed anxiety finally surfaced. She hesitated, “Master, I…”

Qingyu understood. “Perhaps Your Majesty would be more at ease discussing matters in the inner hall.”

The empress nodded and composed herself. “Xiao Xiangzi!”

From behind, her young attendant hurried forward. “At your service, Your Majesty!”

The empress commanded, “Take the young prince to the side courtyard and watch him well. Should anything befall him, it’s not just your life at stake, but your family’s as well…”

Xiao Xiangzi straightened at once. “Understood, Your Majesty!”

With that, the empress cast several lingering glances at Liu Junlin, then followed Qingyu into the inner hall.

No sooner had they entered than the empress knelt swiftly and, in tears, pleaded, “Master, please save my son! Save the heir of Liu!”

Qingyu frowned and went to help her up. “Do not panic, Your Majesty. Tell me everything so I may judge.”

The empress sat and continued weeping. “When my son was born, he was perfectly normal. But in the third winter, I noticed—his hands, his whole body were icy cold. His wet nurse was even frostbitten when she approached him. It’s only grown worse. Master, what are we to do? We tried several remedies with some effect, but every winter, it returns…”

Qingyu responded calmly, “So it is, indeed.”

The empress, puzzled, asked, “Why do you say that, Master?”

Qingyu appeared confident. “Your Majesty need only be patient and wait.”

While they spoke in the inner hall, trouble was brewing in the side courtyard.

Xiao Xiangzi led the way, constantly glancing back to ensure Liu Junlin didn’t wander off. Yet, despite being only five, the young prince’s face was expressionless, eyes fixed ahead, his bearing already regal and composed. Xiao Xiangzi sighed inwardly.

One more glance back—and in a heartbeat, the boy was gone. Xiao Xiangzi felt as if plunged into an icehouse. He slapped himself, cursing his fate.

Liu Junlin had been following at a distance, but suddenly heard rustling in the grass. Curious, he watched quietly. A white, fluffy head poked out of the thicket, yawned, and seemed utterly at ease.

Liu Junlin smiled inwardly, though his face betrayed nothing. The animal in the grass, sensing his stare, turned and vanished. Without thinking, Liu Junlin followed.

The white shadow ambled along; Liu Junlin trailed after it. Soon, the shadow darted ahead. With his short arms and legs, Liu Junlin struggled to keep up, soon drenched in sweat.

At last, the path ended and light broke through. Unable to stop himself, Liu Junlin squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for a safe landing.

Heaven must have heard him—the ground was soft beneath him.

Liu Zhanyan, face dark with anger, glared at the person who had suddenly crashed into him. “Get off me, now!” He tried to sound threatening and harsh, but to Liu Junlin, that soft, milky voice was impossibly pleasant.

Liu Junlin hesitantly opened his eyes, then widened them in surprise.

The person beneath him—how to describe it? Adorable. Truly adorable. Without thinking, Liu Junlin said so aloud.

At this, Liu Zhanyan’s face grew even darker. “Adorable? You’re the adorable one! Your whole family is adorable!”