Chapter Fifty-Five: Resolve

My roar was no longer just a sound from my body; I could even sense that many different voices were coming from me. It was as if I had been split into several versions of myself. With that shout, my whole being trembled, about to scatter in all directions.

“Xiaoyuan, don’t move. I’ve drawn out your three souls. Now your seven spirits are unstable—if they disperse, all these years of waiting will have been for nothing,” my mother’s weak voice trembled with emotion, yet it also held a calming power, soothing that sensation of being torn apart.

I dared not move. I was afraid of disappointing the hopes my mother had placed in me. Yet I was also in agony, filled with despair, for my mother was growing weaker and weaker—her soul was almost completely transparent, her legs already reduced to nothing but a wisp of mist. Though her face was gentle, her eyes full of reluctant affection.

“Three souls, sealed fate—manifest now,” she whispered. From the soul drawn out of me, a complex sigil began to float above my head. Three lines extended from the sigil, binding my soul as if with cords. My mother raised her hand, gently hooking one line with her finger.

“Human soul, unbind,” she intoned. My soul shuddered; one line vanished. With a light pat, my soul returned to my body. I felt no discomfort at all. Instead, I was suddenly light, as if reborn, more clear-headed than I had ever been.

But looking at my mother, I saw a soul weaker than any I had ever beheld. A faint breeze caressed my cheek—not the wind, but the sensation of my mother’s hand, though she was now too weak to truly touch me.

“Mother…?” My voice shook as I knelt to the ground, pounding my fists into the dirt. Tears fell in heavy drops, soaking the earth in a patch of darkness.

“Xiaoyuan, don’t cry. I have no regrets,” she said. “I’ve seen you now, my Xiaoyuan. You have grown into a man who can stand tall in the world. You must live well, carrying my hopes, bearing your father’s bloodline. I won’t leave so easily. I want to see Hundred Households Village return to peace, to leave together with your father. Will you let me do that?”

There was no sorrow on her face, only gentle warmth and pride, though her eyes were tinged with reluctance. My heart trembled, and only then did I remember my father.

“He… doesn’t deserve it…” I murmured, sobbing harder, a sour ache swelling in my chest.

“Xiaoyuan, your father is just an ordinary man. Trust me; I wouldn’t have chosen wrongly. Now his eyes are clouded by resentment. You must help him see clearly again. That is my final wish.”

At the mention of those words, I could no longer hold back my tears. My mother’s voice grew suddenly desolate.

“Xiaoyuan, I want you to stand tall, to shoulder the responsibilities you must bear. If my appearance has shaken your resolve, then perhaps I should not have come at all.”

With her changing tone, her soul grew even fainter. Alarmed, I looked up and cried out hoarsely, “No, Mother! Don’t!”

Her ethereal face was streaked with tears, and with her sobs, her spirit seemed on the verge of collapse.

She was in no condition to withstand such emotional turmoil. Digging my nails hard into my palm, the pain—and the desolation in her words—snapped me back to clarity. My mother had waited for me all these years, only to reveal these secrets. She had waited, so I could decide my own fate. If I faltered now, if I let my emotions send her away in sorrow, what right did I have to face her sacrifices? What right did I have to call myself her son?

“Mother, don’t worry. I won’t let you down.” I stifled my tears and forced the words out, almost one by one. The pain, the fear, the anxiety—all were swept away by a new, rising emotion. It wasn’t suppression or evasion. My mother had given everything, had given me the chance to live. She had sacrificed all so I could stand here. What right had I to wallow in pain or terror?

I stood up. My mother’s ethereal form drifted close to me, gently touching my forehead.

“Go, Xiaoyuan. I sealed your three souls before, but now I’ve unbound one. They can no longer harm you. I don’t know exactly how strong you are, but it should be enough to protect you. And that brush—its power belonged to that person. If you can recall certain things, it means you have gained everything of his, including his memories. Remember, this is your secret. Tell no one. I will wait here for you.”

As her words faded, a breeze stirred and her ghostly form drifted into my room. I drew a deep breath and turned to look at the road outside.

Fifty or sixty ghosts were fighting over the blood rice scattered on the ground, the scene already ghastly beyond words. Some ghouls’ heads hung limply down their backs, others had lost their arms. A couple even clutched severed limbs in their mouths, eyes burning with greed, while the other spirits avoided them.

My pupils contracted. I pressed the hairpin my mother had given me to my chest and took the brush from the long wooden box. The image in my mind flashed again and again—the strokes of the sigil etched deep into my consciousness.

My mother must have done something in our house to keep White Liu from seeing, to hide us from the ghosts. I slipped cautiously out the side of the courtyard. The cold air lashed my face, and the wind on the village road sent chills over my skin. Only then did I begin to hear the agonized screams and the haunting wails that pierced the depths of the soul.

Some spirits, unable to restrain themselves, followed the trail of blood rice thrown by White Liu, swarming toward Wang Erjun’s house, including the two vicious ghosts who had begun devouring the others.

Standing there, I realized none of them had noticed me yet. My heart pounded furiously, but strangely, I felt no fear—only tension as I wondered if I could deal with them.

I took out the brush from the wooden box, quickly dipped the tip into the wound on my middle finger. As my blood soaked the bristles, my heart raced so wildly it threatened to leap from my throat. Raising my hand, I felt myself merge with the figure in my memory. With a few strokes, I drew a sigil.

I froze. Nothing happened. No phantom rune appeared in midair; no sudden flash of blood-red light. It was as if I’d simply waved the brush meaninglessly.

By now, all the ghosts had reached Wang Erjun’s door. One armless spirit struggled to its feet, face twisted, turning toward me with wide eyes—surprise, greed, and a bloodthirsty violence blazing within.

Having feasted on the blood rice, their hunger had only grown more savage. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I gripped the brush tightly, shocked—had I made a mistake? But I had drawn the rune exactly right.

Unwilling to give up, I drew the sigil again. The ghost’s eyes flashed with terror, its body frozen, not daring to move. Hope surged in me—did it work?

But when the brush finished its stroke, there was still no reaction.

A furious, humiliated rage contorted the ghost’s face. It lunged at me in a flash! It wasn’t the rune that had scared it before, but the fear that I might use it. Now, it wanted to kill me before any other spirit could interfere.

My face blanched. I dared not rush back into my courtyard, fearing I might endanger my mother. So I turned and ran in another direction.

Within moments, I’d put a dozen meters between us. The chill behind me grew heavier, an icy wind whipping at the back of my neck, and suddenly a hand clamped hard around my throat.

Alarmed, I dared not shout for fear of attracting the other ghosts—if they came, I’d be finished.

The ghost clinging to my back swiftly crawled around to my front, one hand locked on my neck. I gasped for breath, mouth forced open by the grip. Its face twisted in excitement and cruelty, it opened its mouth and inhaled toward mine.

So this was what the elders called “drawing out the living’s vitality.”

Furious, I glared at it, reaching out with both hands to grab at its body. It sneered, voice cold and mocking, “Dumber than a donkey—you can’t grab me.”

But in the next instant, its sneer turned to shock. My reaction had been instinctive—of course I knew you couldn’t grab a ghost. Yet, to my astonishment, I had a solid grip on its body.

Its face darkened with rage, and it inhaled again with all its might.

But I felt no loss of vitality. Instead, a strange impulse rose within me—a desire to inhale in return.