Pride 1

New Arc: Pride

Chapters 97-123

His soul and body were torn apart by the blood and resentment, which had been compressed to the extreme. It was as though he had fallen into a void. All Fu Sang could see was endless dark red. He lost all sense of weight, floating like a cloud in the midst of a violent wind, being torn away and carried farther and farther off.

…

“Then do you have any last words?”

“…Last words? I’ll have to wait until the end to know.”

“What if I kill you right now? What do you want to say to me?”

“…

“…I hate you.

“Zhuge Fusang, I hate you so much.”

…

“I don’t hate you.

“Even if these are things you don’t need or want to hear, still…

“…Zhuge Fusang, I love you very much.”

…

But what was love?

To Fu Sang, it was an extremely abstract and elusive term.

Fu Sang did not need to love anyone, nor did he need anyone to love him.

He had always looked down on this thing. Everyone in the world sang the praises of love’s greatness, love’s depth, and love’s eternity… But he was completely disdainful of it.

If he wanted something, he would think of every possible way and use every means at his disposal to keep it firmly in his own hands.

But love was tied to someone else. Once he handed over control, he could never take it back. Every day, he would have to worry about whether that love remained intact or had become tainted or developed cracks. It was simply too exhausting.

Love would change one day, but control would not.

Neither would hatred.

Would you open your pet’s cage, untie the rope around its neck, and grant it a certain degree of freedom just because you believed it was absolutely loyal to you and would never leave you?

Would you transplant a flower outside your courtyard so it could enjoy natural rain and sunlight just because it wasn’t receiving the best care by your side?

Fu Sang would not.

Pets had legs and might run away.

Plants might not have legs, but beautiful flowers would inevitably attract the covetous eyes of others. If planted outside, they might be secretly transplanted by someone with ulterior motives.

What belonged to him was his. If it lived, it would live by his side. If it died, it would die by his side.

Whether it was good or bad, it had to remain by his side forever.

If you possessed something, you had to possess it completely. Its past, present, and future all had to bear a mark that belonged exclusively to him.

That was what it truly meant to “possess” something.

Fu Sang had lived by this theory for more than twenty years, and in practice, everything had gone smoothly.

Qi Changying was the only exception.

Fu Sang could get nothing from Qi Changying.

He wanted this ghost to be obedient and submissive. He wanted this ghost to belong to him alone. But the ghost could not belong to him completely, because when he lost consciousness, he called someone else’s name. His instinct did not call out “Fu Sang,” but “Su Li.”

So Fu Sang simply discarded that part and instead demanded all of this good-tempered ghost’s hatred.

He hurt him with cruel words, humiliated him with actions he could not accept, wore down his temperament, destroyed his personality, and treated him like an object he could arrange and manipulate however he pleased.

Hatred was the deepest, most eternal, and hardest-to-abandon thing in the world, and the thing least likely to change, wasn’t it?

But just when Fu Sang thought his plan was about to succeed, and that all that remained was for Qi Changying to kill him so everything could end perfectly, Qi Changying once again effortlessly overturned everything Fu Sang had constructed in his mind.

“Hatred” was rejected outright.

He said he loved him very much.

Perhaps Qi Changying really was a calamity sent by Heaven to torment him.

Fu Sang thought this to himself.

He said he did not hate him, yet he left him in such a decisive manner, crossed through that gate, sacrificed his soul, and completely disappeared from the human world, leaving him unable to find even the slightest trace of him ever again.

So this was what the love Qi Changying spoke of was like. It was something that tormented people.

Then it shouldn’t exist at all.

And Qi Changying should not exist either.

His final consciousness remained at the moment when his body was struck and torn apart by blood and resentment. After that, Fu Sang seemed to fall into endless darkness.

Zhuge Heng said that Cui Xing Gate was a place that stripped away resentment and sent souls on to reincarnation.

Then what would happen if a living person entered it?

Fu Sang did not know.

From the moment he got up from the ground, he never intended to live.

Yet his soul floated in a void, unable to find where he had come from or see the road ahead.

He could neither see nor touch anything. He searched aimlessly for his own end until he heard an unfamiliar voice beside his ear. It was warm and gentle, like a breeze carrying a hint of coolness in early spring.

“Heaven and earth are dark and yellow; the universe is vast and desolate. The sun and moon wax and wane; the stars are arranged in their places…”

The person recited the opening lines of the Thousand Character Classic, but soon stopped and let out a helpless, soft sigh.

Later, Fu Sang heard a crisp sound.

“Ding-a-ling!”

It was a silver bell.

The silver bell rang beside his ear, almost instantly awakening his consciousness.

In that instant, it was as though his soul had suddenly been separated from a chaotic mass, and Fu Sang heard the person say:

“…Daydreaming again?”

Fu Sang abruptly opened his eyes.

His breathing was somewhat rapid, and cold sweat had somehow spread over his entire body.

He instinctively reached for his chest.

His body was warm, and his heart was still beating inside it.

He was still alive.

He couldn’t quite describe how he felt. It was probably irritation, mostly. He was irritated that, at this point, he couldn’t even control whether he lived or died.

Fu Sang temporarily lacked the strength to get up, so he lay flat on a small bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Where was this?

The air was filled with the scent of sandalwood. It smelled pleasant, but it was also choking.

The room was dimly lit, with an old-fashioned, dark atmosphere. An ornate crystal chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, and many shelves stood along the walls. The things on them all looked rather old. There was a hodgepodge of items: a European-style mantel clock, a tin candy box full of Russian flair, feather shuttlecocks… The shelves were almost entirely without gaps, every space crammed with something.

It seemed the owner of this room was a maximalist.

This did not look like the main branch residence.

It could not be the main branch residence, either. After all, he had clearly seen that more than half of the buildings in the main branch had collapsed into ruins during that earthquake.

But this place did not look like the Spirit Supervision Bureau or a hospital, either.

His mind gradually cleared, and the memories from before he lost consciousness surged back like a tide.

The violent wind formed from resentment flashed before his eyes, along with the crimson corner of a robe caught in that wind.

For some reason, dull pain came in waves from his chest. Fu Sang frowned and closed his eyes, clutching the fabric over his chest.

He curled up, squeezing his eyes shut, but could not ease the pain even slightly.

It was the lingering pain caused by the destruction of his life-bound artifact, still attacking his heart and soul.

That was what Fu Sang thought.

It had to be.

“Awake?”

Later, a young man’s voice came from outside the door.

Although it was only one word, Fu Sang still detected a hint of familiarity in the brief syllables.

After recalling it for a moment, Fu Sang remembered that the voice seemed similar to that of the person who had recited the Thousand Character Classic in his dream.

Then a hand gently lifted the old-fashioned white curtain hanging across the lower part of the doorway.

The hand was clean and slender, with long fingers and prominent joints. Its pale skin disappeared into the dark sleeve of a robe.

Someone walked in.

The person was tall and slender, dressed in a dark ink-colored long robe. Faint patterns of cold plum blossoms and swirling clouds could be seen in the fabric.

His long hair was loosely gathered into a knot at the back of his head with a long wooden hairpin. Half of the strands that fell loose rested on his shoulder, while the other half hung down his back. A few stray strands framed both sides of his face, giving him a lazy, casual appearance.

However, none of the above was why Fu Sang stared at him.

Fu Sang couldn’t take his eyes off the person before him for quite some time. In fact, it was because of his appearance.

Pale skin, like freshly fired white porcelain; phoenix eyes with slightly upturned outer corners; a red mole on the left side of his nose; thin lips; a slender chin… He was so perfect that he did not look like a living person. Or rather, he was so beautiful that he had a ghostly quality.

No matter how one looked at him, he did not seem like an ordinary person.

“How are you feeling?” The man seemed oblivious to Fu Sang’s unwavering stare, nor did he find it offensive. He only asked:

“Is anything bothering you?”

“Where is this?” Fu Sang frowned and did not answer his question. His tone was not particularly pleasant.

“This is my residence.” The man was good-tempered and did not take offense. He simply explained slowly:

“You entered Cui Xing Gate in a human body. The moment you entered, both your body and soul should have been destroyed. From then on, you should have been cast out of the Six Paths, never to see the light of day again. But strangely, your life was not meant to end. You wandered among the chaotic, disordered resentment, neither alive nor dead. So I fished you out. Only then did I discover… that you were someone who should never have been alive in this world.”

Fu Sang sneered. “Because I was supposed to die in the first place. Who asked you to meddle in my business? You rescue a dead person and then ask why he’s still alive? That’s not how things work.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

Hearing Fu Sang’s words, the man smiled helplessly and shook his head.

“You child… You do live and die as you please. Forget it. Everything you did today was for that Crimson Evil, right?”

This man seemed to know a lot.

A trace of wariness rose in Fu Sang’s heart.

He asked in a low voice,

“Where is he?”

“Shouldn’t you know best where he is? Otherwise, why would you choose to jump into Cui Xing Gate? Why bother asking me? I wouldn’t give you a different answer.”

“Then why are you wasting your breath on me? Don’t tell me you think I’ll be grateful just because you dragged me back from the gates of death?”

Fu Sang’s patience was almost completely exhausted.

He never intended to live in the first place. Whether he disappeared from the world completely or became an unconscious wandering soul that drifted through the world forever without ever finding release, that was his own choice.

This man before him had taken it upon himself to bring him back, then spouted a bunch of inexplicable nonsense. What exactly was he trying to do?

“Grateful? There’s no need for that. In fact, I only wanted to tell you that there is unfinished karma between you and him. If I’m not mistaken, you may also have lost a part of your memory.”

“I don’t know why the karma between you has never been fully resolved. Perhaps it has something to do with that memory. But whatever the reason, as long as the karma remains unresolved, you will never obtain complete release. No matter how many more times you walk through the gates of death, you will certainly crawl back into the world of the living again.”

Once again, these were words Fu Sang did not want to hear.

He frowned.

“I’ve never lost any memories.”

“…That’s true. The word ‘lost’ may not be entirely accurate, but… it is indeed something that belongs to you. I think you need to get it back, and as it happens, I can help you with that.”

“No need.” Fu Sang’s tone was cold.

“I’m not interested. The greatest favor you could do for me is kill me immediately.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. Death may come easily to other people, but for you, it’s difficult. I told you that you’re someone who should never have been alive in this world, yet your life is not meant to end. No one can forcibly overstep your destiny and bring you to your end.”

“You may not count as a living person, but you can never become a dead one, either.”

The man stood beside the bed, looking at him quietly.

“Every second, people in this world depart, while others are born. But there are too many emotions that people experience in a lifetime. When the end comes, there will always be countless regrets and countless things they cannot bear to part with. If the dead carry too many obsessions, they cannot find the road to the Yellow Springs. They can only wander among the mist day after day, neither alive nor dead, wasting away until the end of time. My duty is to show them the road ahead and send them on to reincarnation.”

“And you, although your situation is somewhat different, are also one of them.”

“You have unfinished karma and an extremely strong obsession, but you don’t know what they are. That’s why you have never known what you should do or what the meaning of your existence is.”

“All I can do is perform my duty and take you along the road that the dead must travel. At the end of that road, other souls can always find their conclusion and move on to a new life. If that is what you want, then I hope you can be like them, too.”

“More importantly, you may be able to find the answers you’ve lost there. What you should do, what you need to do, may all become clear as a result.”

After a pause, the man continued,

“Aren’t you curious about where you came from? Where exactly did you come from? Why do you carry this kind of karma? Why did you have to experience all these things? Why are you you?”

These words successfully stopped Fu Sang in his tracks, leaving him briefly hesitant.

Then he heard the man say to him,

“Your body seems to be fine. Now, please come with me.”

“…” Fu Sang did not answer or move.

He simply watched the man turn around.

Then he quietly took the folding knife he carried in his pocket, flicked the blade open, and stabbed it into the side of his neck without the slightest hesitation.

Can’t become a dead person?

Everything before him, this place, this man, and even the things he had said, was extremely bizarre. Fu Sang had no reason to trust him.

He didn’t believe what other people said. Only practical experience could reveal the truth.

With his mortal flesh, if Cui Xing Gate couldn’t kill him, then a severed artery could.

Fu Sang saw the blood spraying out of his own body. He also saw the faint trace of surprise in the man’s eyes when he heard the sound and turned to look at him.

Very soon, his consciousness sank into darkness. But just as he was about to sink to the bottom, the sound of a silver bell rang beside his ear again.

He took a deep breath and abruptly opened his eyes.

He was still in that old little room. The man was also still standing beside him, looking at him calmly with a faint, gentle smile at the corners of his lips.

“Awake?”

Fu Sang instinctively reached for the side of his neck.

There was nothing there.

Not even the bedsheets beneath him or the walls had been splattered with blood.

“If you still don’t believe what I’ve told you, you can try many more times.”

As he spoke, the man held out his hand and offered Fu Sang the folding knife.

“Please.”

“…”

Fu Sang took the knife from the man’s hand.

He lowered his eyes and hesitated for a moment before silently folding the blade shut.

He naturally wouldn’t do something useless a second time.

Seeing this, the man raised his eyes to look at him.

“If you can trust me a little more now, can you come with me?”

Fu Sang remained silent as he put the knife back in his pocket and stood up.

Seeing this, the man walked toward the bedroom doorway and lifted the curtain for him.

Fu Sang glanced at him, then turned his gaze toward the outer room.

This looked like a general store.

The shop was roughly the size of two of his rooms put together. There was all sorts of stuff on the shelves, from dolls to rubber balls, from radios to padded cotton jackets. It looked cluttered and messy.

The counter in the shop was made from a single block of golden-thread nanmu wood. Behind it was a reclining chair, with a blanket draped over it that looked extremely soft.

The man walked over and picked up a dark-red paper umbrella from beside the counter. Then, carrying the umbrella, he walked off alone toward the path ahead.

Fu Sang slowed his steps.

He looked at the man’s back, then at the umbrella in his hand.

He seemed to suddenly realize something.

Later, he watched the man push the general store’s door open. There was nothing outside, only a faint, glowing white light and thin wisps of mist drifting inside, adding a little brightness to the dim room.

Only then did Fu Sang frown and finally remember an important question.

“What is your name?”

“My name? It’s been many years since anyone called me by it.”

The man opened the paper umbrella with practiced elegance.

Then, amid the wisps of white clouds and mist drifting in through the doorway, he glanced back at Fu Sang and smiled very gently.

“You can call me Jiuzhangji.”

Author’s Note: I’ve always said that spirit masters have three paths, but the only ones that appear most often are the Nether Path and the Spirit Path. Jiuzhangji is the mysterious third path, the Heart Path.