Love Beyond the Grave

Originally, Lord Iril had four wives and over ten children, but only two sons survived to adulthood, both now serving as officials in the Upper Capital. Since being sent to the Upper Capital at age ten to live with his elder brother, Luda had never returned to Fujian City. After more than a decade apart, when his father heard this youngest son was coming home, his first reaction was to tell him not to come. Having been repeatedly turned away over the years, this time Luda finally refused to obey and insisted on returning no matter what.

He Simu laughed and said, "What, is the lord afraid he'll discover the ghostly energy in this mansion? You're his father—his wealth, status, even his life all come from you. Surely you don't fear he'd turn against his own flesh and blood?"

An awkward expression crossed Iril's face.

Everyone in Fujian City knew Iril's youngest son was exceptional, the pride of his life. Even higher-blooded Huqi nobles showed Iril respect for Luda's sake.

Yet he dared not even face this son of his.

Duan Xu, holding his sword, turned his gaze to He Simu. Meeting his eyes, she snapped her fingers: "Since we've been staying at Lord Iril's residence these past days, you should help him out. Ghosts travel fast—intercept Luda and find a way to send him back to the Upper Capital."

After a brief silence, Duan Xu said, "But what about you—"

"No need to worry about me."

Duan Xu's eyes shifted between Iril and He Simu before he smiled. "Understood."

Sword in arms, he bowed slightly to them. "Take care."

The black-clad youth in his veiled hat turned briskly and strode through the mansion gates, vanishing into the riotous colors of spring.

Tonight's dream felt unusually vivid. He Simu saw the small town where she'd lived as a child—bustling and noisy, with peddlers hawking wares and toys, steam rising from wonton stalls under brilliant sunshine.

She'd grown very slowly as a child, taking a full century to reach adult form before her growth halted. Like her body, her mind matured at a glacial pace.

This memory seemed to be from when she appeared twenty years old—though looking no older than a mortal child of five or six—scooping fish from a river with other children. A girl whose face she could no longer recall asked amid the spring scenery, "Why is your body so cold?"

Before she could answer, a boy nearby said, "Don't you know? She's a little Immortal Child! The Star Lords from Star Clarity Palace brought her."

Bewildered, she asked, "What's an Immortal Child?"

"Immortal Children are deities who stay childlike forever—they command wind and rain and never die! When we're all old and gone, you'll still be young."

"They also help vanquish demons and evil spirits, just like the great ones from Star Clarity Palace."

The faceless children offered various explanations describing her, her mother, aunts, and uncles.

Back then, she hadn't truly understood what she was. She only vaguely sensed she differed from other children. Stranger still, people never seemed to see her father, who forbade her from mentioning his existence.

So she ran to find her father and asked him: "What is death?"Father stood tall in the brilliant sunlight, appearing slightly surprised by the question. He crouched down, his peach-blossom eyes gazing at her intently. "Death," he said, "is when one becomes a bright lantern rising into the sky, temporarily leaving this world, only to start anew as another life."

"Starting anew... would that person still be the same as before?"

"Yes, and no. The original person can never truly return."

"Will I become a lantern too?"

"No, only the living who die become lanterns. Simu... you're already dead." There was hesitation in his expression as he spoke these words.

She was already dead—what did that mean?

She froze momentarily before pressing on in confusion, "But I haven't even lived yet. How can I be dead? Why haven't I started anew?"

Her father pondered for a long time, as though the question were too complex. He seemed unsure how to explain it to her—or how to do so without breaking her heart. In the end, he simply wrapped his arms around her shoulders and patted her back gently. "I'm sorry," he said.

In her memory, Father often apologized to Mother, but this was the first time he had ever said sorry to her.

Truthfully, she didn’t understand why he was apologizing, nor what there was for her to forgive.

She thought to herself—she was happy, wasn’t she? With her parents, her aunt and uncle, and all these friends. If life could just go on like this forever, what did it matter whether she was alive or dead?

Not understanding the meaning behind his apology was, in itself, a kind of happiness.

Later, when she left the small town with her father, mother, aunt, and uncle, the entire town came to see them off. She had been holding her mother’s hand at first, but soon her mother’s arms were filled with gifts from the townsfolk, leaving no room to hold her. Even her own pockets were stuffed with sweets, and her hands clutched a basket of pastries.

Bewildered, she asked her uncle, "Why are they doing this?"

Her uncle, always gentle and strong, smiled and said, "Because they love us."

These ordinary people loved their families, their partners, their friends—even this vast world. If you allowed them to love and be loved in peace, then every ounce of that love was connected to you.

Perhaps they didn’t know you, didn’t know your name, didn’t even realize they had been helped by you.

But they loved you.

She didn’t fully grasp his words. Dazed, she turned her head and spotted her playmates in the crowd. The children laughed and waved at her excitedly, so she raised her basket of pastries and waved back.

"Goodbye," she said.

She thought life was long—that there would always be another chance to meet again. She didn’t know then that she had already seen these people for the last time, that this "goodbye" was a promise she would never keep.

She never got to say goodbye to her aunt and uncle, either.

Their deaths were a grand spectacle. The violent surge of spiritual energy shook her to the core. When she rushed outside, she saw snow falling in the autumn air of September, swirling and blanketing the ginkgo trees, maple leaves, and osmanthus branches.Others told her that the snow that day was red, like the scattered remnants of firecrackers dancing in the spring breeze, but she didn’t know what red looked like. She stood there, watching the two bright lamps huddled together in the wind and snow, slowly ascending into the sky, and suddenly, she didn’t know where she should run to.

Her aunt would no longer bring her little trinkets, her uncle would no longer give her books, and they would no longer step in to shield her when her mother punished her. Perhaps they would start anew in this world, but starting anew meant she would have no connection to them anymore.

Her father told her that her aunt’s family had a destined fate, and her aunt had already lived the longest among them.

“One day, your mother will also leave us, and in the end, it will just be the two of us, father and daughter, relying on each other. It’s a bit bleak, isn’t it?” Her father sighed, smiling as he stroked her hair.

Her father said he would stay with her, depend on her. He had promised.

But he broke his promise too.

That year, she wore mourning clothes and a white flower, sitting beside her mother’s coffin. Her mother lay peacefully inside, as if asleep. Because of her cultivation, even at over ninety years old when she passed, her mother still looked youthful, without a trace of aging.

She held a jadeite box in her arms, filled with ashes.

Or rather, the box contained her father.

She gently touched the coffin—it was made of sturdy, fine-grained golden nanmu, wood her mother had personally chosen while alive. Her mother had always said that birth, aging, sickness, and death were the natural order of life, and there was no need to dwell on it too much. Indeed, her mother had passed away naturally at the end of her years.

She didn’t know whether she should dwell on it or not. She thought she had the right to grieve, to rage, to refuse to accept it.

But she was no longer a child with both parents, one who could throw tantrums and act spoiled.

So she climbed into the coffin and lay beside her mother, stretching out her arm to hold her tightly, just as she had done before. In her embrace was also the jadeite box containing her father’s ashes.

She whispered, “See? Now I can hold both of you in one arm.”

“You said you loved me, but you all left, one after another, leaving me behind. You liars.”

She was mature enough to understand her fate.

Born to die, thereafter a ghost, enduring without decay. All she loved was fleeting as smoke, only the abyss shared her lifespan, as eternal as the heavens.

In the silent afternoon, she curled up inside her mother’s coffin. No one answered her murmurs—only the Ghost King Lamp Jade Pendant at her waist glowed faintly. She took it off and held it up, examining it over and over.

“Leaving me behind… with this thing.” She spoke softly.

The sunlight blazed through the Ghost King Lamp, and in that instant, she vaguely sensed something strange and subtle, a feeling she had never experienced before, as if there was someone else beside her.

A scent.

The word suddenly appeared in her mind, as if it had popped out of nowhere. She froze. Scent was something distinctly unfamiliar and distant to her, as if it only existed in the words of others.

What was a scent?

Why had she instantly recognized this as a scent? Something so lingering, so crisp, drifting over like threads of wind, winding around her nose and heart.

This was… agarwood, amber, storax, mint leaves, bletilla striata, benzoin…

This was…

This was…

Duan Xu’s fragrance.His scent pouch.

He Simu's hand holding the Ghost King Lamp paused. In a silence as vast as the shifting of seas and lands, she gathered her confusion and sorrow, then let out a soft laugh. "Going through my memories to find my Life Gate—Rakshasa Hall Master, you've truly gone to great lengths."

The sunlight, coffin, jade box, and Ghost King Lamp all vanished in an instant. When He Simu opened her eyes again, she saw a full moon hanging in the sky. She was seated in Yilier's garden, enveloped by a Magic Circle. Before her, the Glazed Tile Pagoda seethed with intense Ghostly energy, as if shrouded in black mist, while Yilier stood beside it, watching her nervously.

He Simu smiled faintly and addressed the Ghostly energy within the pagoda. "Rakshasa Hall Master, it's truly difficult to get an audience with you."

Far away near the Upper Capital, Luda entered a room in the posthouse and closed the door. Sensing the unusual atmosphere, he frowned and turned around to find the window wide open. Bathed in moonlight, a black-clad youth leaned against the windowsill, wearing a veiled hat of black gauze.

An Evil Ghost—one clutching a Spirit sword.

The Evil Ghost took two steps forward as if to speak, but Luda frowned and drew a bone flute from his sleeve. Carved from eagle bone and inscribed with strange Huqi script, the flute emitted a piercing shriek like a blade's edge when blown. Ghost Talismans flickered across the veiled hat before abruptly snapping and falling away.

As the hat dropped, the youth's features became clear. His deep-set eyes and striking features were handsome and bright, his rounded yet upturned eyes gleaming with light.

Lowering the flute in surprise, Luda said, "Seventeen?"

The youth seemed even more astonished. After a moment of silence, he chuckled. "The Young Priest actually recognizes me?"

Luda stepped forward and placed a hand on Duan Xu's arm, where an icy Ghostly energy emanated.

"You've been missing for years—so you're already dead?"

"..."

Duan Xu nodded solemnly. "Indeed."

"Then why are you here?"

"To be honest, your father sent me to chase you back to the Upper Capital." Pausing, Duan Xu flashed a bright smile. "Though, of course, it was just an excuse for him to get rid of me."