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The sun had set, tinting the world a somber purple-gray. Luo Binghe walked the edge of the swamp. On the water, the sedge clumped together, their wiry green stalks and stiff blades rasping against each other in the breeze. Behind the grass and reeds, bald cypresses towered like bloody pillars, their thick red trunks and exposed roots rising from the tea-colored water. Only the faraway call of birds broke the quiet.
In the nearby village, he was warned, “Stay away from the Red Swamp. There’s been drownings lately.” In recent months, fishermen found bodies floating in the murky water, their eyes, tongue, and internal organs plucked out. Officials claimed the drownings were accidental and that the missing body parts were simply devoured by aquatic animals, while the villagers believed it to be the work of a malevolent spirit.
As if Luo Binghe had any reason to fear a ghost. He had a more important purpose for coming here.
Half a year ago, he’d emerged from the Abyss, heart bruised but determined to win his place back at Shen Qingqiu’s side. But before he could execute his plans, he’d found out that Shizun had disappeared.
After months of searching, he’d finally found a lead. A traveling musician recalled an immortal in green who’d asked about directions to the Red Swamp several months back.
His boots squelched in the muddy earth. The swamp did seem like a place Shizun might visit, with its lush vegetation and fables of monsters lurking in its depths. Wind blew, swaying the cattails and drooping boughs of the weeping willows in an undulating wave. In the dying light, one could imagine dark shapes with long claws and sharp teeth scurrying under the foliage.
Suddenly, a thin, distant voice broke the quiet.
He paused and looked around, straining his ears. The call echoed from every direction, a shimmer of sound, faint like the breath of wind over glass. The silence that followed left his ears ringing.
—sciple…
His heartbeat quickened and the hairs on his nape stood on end. Concentrating, he sensed a faint fluctuation of qi further in the water, past the sedge and reeds, where the cypresses clustered together. Curiosity compelled him to investigate, and he entered the dark water.
Mud sucked at the bottom of his boots, as if invisible hands were pulling him down. The sedge scratched at his face and hands. A crow cawed and the final vestiges of sunset dissipated, plunging the swamp into near-darkness.
The voice continued its call.
—my disciple
A chill ran down his spine. Still, Luo Binghe, pressed on, cold slimy water lapping past his hip. Whatever the source of the sound, it was weak.
Where is my disciple?
On the dark water, a black, oily mass of hair floated to the surface, the long strands writhing like waterweeds, the ends clawing like hooks. Beneath the mass of hair emerged a forehead, bluish in the pale glow of the rising moon. The ghost slid from the water, its semi-transparent robes wisping like smoke. Two ghostly hands reached out, clammy and cold, and snaked against Luo Binghe’s cheeks, holding him in place.
The ghost tilted its head up. Luo Binghe’s breath froze in his lungs.
That elegant nose, the sharp chin, those phoenix eyes. He’d know that face anywhere.
Shizun.
No.
Shizun couldn’t be a ghost. Shizun wasn’t dead.
Time stood still, Luo Binghe’s mind wiped clean like a candle snuffed in a storm. His mind refused to process the scene in front of him.
My disciple. Where is he? The ghost repeated, its eyes shrouded, unseeing.
There must be another explanation. A trick of the light. A hallucination. Malevolent forces at work.
He sent out a probing burst of qi and brushed against a qi signature he could never mistake. One that made his heart tighten, fluttering and aching all at once.
Without his bidding, tears dripped down his cheeks to join the murky water below.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe whispered, and his heart splintered at the terrible truth. He reached for the ghost’s forearm but his hand met nothing—only the chill of air where Shizun should have been.
The ghost winked out of existence. Luo Binghe turned around in circles, called again and again, but Shizun didn’t reappear.
He clutched the sides of his head and let out an anguished wail.
Shizun was dead. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he knew it with a certainty in his bones. No wonder no one in Cang Qiong had found him. Sorrow engulfed him like a flood.
He stayed in the cold, murky water all night, wading among the reeds, calling for Shizun.
At daybreak, Luo Binghe was drenched from head to toe, fetid algae clinging to his robes and his face and arms covered in slowly-healing scrapes. Though Shizun had not reappeared, he felt lighter, a subtle thrill bubbling underneath his skin.
Shizun was lost, but Luo Binghe had found him. He’d wanted to be with Shizun, but Shizun was already dead.
If Shizun was here, Luo Binghe could stay by his side.
He squinted at the rising sun, a smile cracking his face.
Behind the reeds, Luo Binghe watched as Shizun claimed another victim. A fresh-faced youth, no older than sixteen, lured into the water by an insistent tug on his fishing line. He was so quiet when he died—only a soft splash broke the stillness when Shizun took him under. His eyes and tongue were plucked out, his liver and heart eaten, the rest of him discarded. The body floated away, sheet-white and ghastly, drained of blood.
Shizun would appear every few days, during dawn or dusk when darkness met light and fishermen were out in the swamp. He preyed on young fishermen venturing deeper into the forest of bald cypresses or children playing at the swamp’s edge.
Once, Luo Binghe had stood in front of him, hoping to be pulled into the water like one of his victims. Shizun only gazed at him wordlessly before sinking back into the murky depths.
Was it his cursed demon blood? After they were reunited, Shizun had never again attempted to touch him. Neither did he attempt to feed on him.
Even as a ghost, he thought bitterly, Shizun rejected him. He’d thought of joining Shizun, but just as in the Abyss, he could not release himself from his mortal coil. No matter how grave the injury, his body knitted itself back together, again and again.
Luo Binghe had tried several times to catch Shizun’s attention, but it was like talking to a constantly moving fog. He didn’t recognize Luo Binghe. His eyes were vacant as glass, and he seemed only dimly aware of his surroundings. In a thin, echoey voice like the wind blowing through cliffs, he only said these words on repeat:
Where is my disciple?
After feeding, Shizun’s apparition was more opaque, as if the youth’s color had leached into him. From a distance, he even looked as if he was alive—a peerless immortal gliding amongst the reeds, the silver guan on his hair glinting in the low light, the hem of his pale green robes swirling in the water.
Luo Binghe looked thoughtfully as Shizun slid through the sedge. Shizun grew stronger the more he fed. How could Luo Binghe bring him back to the world of the living? What would it take to make him stay? Surely, there was a way.
Luo Binghe waded closer. “Who are you looking for, Shizun?”
It’s all my fault.
Luo Binghe swallowed a lump in his throat. “What happened?”
Shizun’s form grew paler. Then, he answered,
He’s gone.
“What’s his name?”
My disciple.
And then Shizun vanished like smoke, leaving only the mist curling in his wake.
If Luo Binghe provided for him, would Shizun let him stay by his side?
Luo Binghe hid in the shadows, eyes locked on his target. The boy had bright eyes, smooth skin, and a lightly muscled body that spoke of days working in the forest and fields. A worthy sacrifice for Shizun.
The boy shared a joke with his friends, their laughter sparkling like the twitter of birds. It reminded Luo Binghe of mornings spent with Ning Yingying and the other disciples, Ming Fan breathing down their necks as they grumbled and laughed and did their chores.
Luo Binghe’s heart wavered, his claws digging into his palm. Though he’d killed countless in the Abyss, he had never sought to harm a human. That was something only monsters and demons did.
The boy waved goodbye to his friends and started down the path to the river, straight toward Luo Binghe.
Luo Binghe was a demon, and a monster. Shizun had been right to throw him into the Endless Abyss.
He carried the boy, body limp and eyes wide with fear, and brought him to the spot where Shizun’s apparition often appeared. He set the boy down into the water and unleashed the blood mites’ hold on his body, just enough to allow him to weakly thrash in the water. No shout escaped the boy’s lips, his tongue frozen and vocal cords rendered inert.
What did it matter that Luo Binghe had given up his humanity? He would do anything for Shizun.
Just as he hoped, Shizun emerged and dragged the boy into the depths. Bubbles gurgled and burst on the water surface. After a while, all fell silent and still.
When Shizun resurfaced, his skin had lost some of its pallor and even his wispy robes looked more opaque. He was almost like his living, breathing self. Though his expression remained blank, his eyes had lost their hollow quality, and he trained his gaze in Luo Binghe’s direction. Luo Binghe’s heart leaped.
“Shizun?” The murky water closed in around him as he waded closer, the pit of his stomach churning in both nervousness and excitement. Chasing Shizun was like chasing the wind. What if Shizun escaped again?
But this time, Shizun stayed.
Have you seen my disciple?
Luo Binghe swallowed. “If you tell me his name, I’ll look for him.”
The tiniest of cracks marred the blankness on on Shizun’s face. On his brow formed an almost imperceptible furrow. When he spoke, it was a long, low sound that rang and vibrated like a ritual gong.
I lost him.
“What happened?”
Shizun was silent. The crease on his forehead deepened and his lips tugged down. Sorrow bloomed on his face. The air thickened like a suffocating weight. For a moment, he looked on the verge of crying.
And then, in a blink, he vanished.
Luo Binghe muttered a low curse. He’d scared Shizun away. Maybe it was too soon to pry.
But the encounter gave him hope. Shizun had been receptive to Luo Binghe’s offering. He trusted Luo Binghe enough to stay.
If being a monster what it took to bring Shizun back, he had no qualms going down this path.
Luo Binghe brought in more sacrifices. Fearful of the Water Ghost haunting the swamp, fishermen dwindled and children stopped playing at its fringe. So he traveled to various towns, plucking youths brimming with vitality and offering them to Shizun.
His efforts were rewarded. Shizun’s death pallor had gradually receded, his body looking more solid and corporeal with each feed. Even his hair had regained its luster. If Luo Binghe squinted, he could swear there was a faint blush of the living on Shizun’s skin.
On his way back to the Red Swamp, Luo Binghe stopped by a demonic cultivator’s lair and pilfered books about necromancy and the underworld. According to the books, ghosts were bound to the mortal realm owing to unfinished affairs. Upon receiving closure, the soul unlatched and moved on to the next life.
Tightness wound in Luo Binghe’s chest. If Shizun crossed over, before Luo Binghe’s plans bore fruit, then how could Luo Binghe bring him back?
He couldn’t risk it.
He dug at the bottom of the swamp and found a familiar silver guan. Digging some more, pieces of a silk robe emerged, pale green and embroidered with a bamboo motif. And finally, human bones—white and smooth, the flesh picked clean by the fishes.
He didn’t cremate nor bury them, and neither did he light incense or joss paper. He slipped them into a special qiankun pouch and kept them in his robes, directly over his beating heart.
Luo Binghe stood guard under the willow tree—Shizun’s favorite spot—his eyes never leaving Shizun’s form. The apparitions had lengthened, and at times, Shizun would spend nearly a shichen roaming, his ghostly form gliding over the water and slipping through the sedge. Luo Binghe pretended the tall reeds were bamboo, that he and Shizun had merely gone for a walk around Qing Jing Peak. The dark, oily tendrils trailing behind Shizun transformed into the silk ribbons of his guan fluttering in the wind, and the toads and frogs in the stagnant water became the fat koi he fed at the Tranquil Pond.
But one thing had yet to change. Though Shizun acknowledged Luo Binghe’s presence, it was difficult to ascertain whether he understood his words, or if he heard him at all. Shizun spoke in fragments. But he persevered, and put together Shizun’s story piece by piece.
Where is he…?
“I’m here. Your Binghe is here.”
I’m the worst.
“That’s not true, Shizun.” He brushed away a stray lock of hair that hid Shizun’s eye. The strands were slimy and slippery like algae. His cheek, cold. He wasn’t alive, and neither was he human, but he was real under Luo Binghe’s fingers.
It’s all my fault.
“Shhh…” he soothed. “Shizun knows best.”
He’s just a bun.
“Who?”
A White Lotus.
“Did he hurt you?”
The water’s surface shivered. The atmosphere tightened and a familiar stifling pressure clenched around Luo Binghe. He ignored it.
Hurt… falling.
“Is he the reason you’re bound to the swamp?”
I failed him.
“Who, Shizun? Who is it?”
I did something unforgivable.
Purple veins crept from the edges of Shizun’s eyes and two dark rivulets of blood trickled from his tear ducts. His silhouette wavered like rippling water.
“Shizun, please. Tell me.” His voice cracked, and he fought the urge to shake Shizun. He settled for curling a hand around a lock of Shizun’s hair. He stared into his eyes—blank, unseeing.
In the next breath, Shizun dissolved beneath his hands. It was fine. Binghe would try again.
Green and purple sparks leaped as Luo Binghe heaved another spent sacrifice into the pyre. From behind the reeds, Shizun watched impassably, satiated after a large meal. The Abyssal fire crackled, the unearthly purple flames devouring the husks of three adolescent boys until not even ashes remained.
Under the swamp, I saw it.
Luo Binghe paused. “What did you see?” Was this Shizun’s way of hinting at his murderer? He was going to hunt them down, carve them into a stick, and throw them into the Abyss. Then he’d use his blood mites to knit them back together so he could do it all over again.
A most beautiful dream.
Luo Binghe abandoned the fire and splashed into the water. “What kind of dream, Shizun?”
My precious disciple.
And me.
Together. Happy.
The wind picked up. The reeds trembled in the cold wind, and the dark swamp water began to ripple.
As if that day never came.
Despite the cold, a hot flush descended like a fever over Luo Binghe. “What happened next?”
I followed it. The dream.
And then…
Shizun’s brow creased and he looked down at himself, bewildered. As if he couldn’t believe his own eyes.
I was here.
Luo Binghe’s breath caught, the heat that had suffused him snuffed out by a cold realization. On his travels, he’d encountered stories of an enchantment that lured victims by reflecting their deepest desires on bodies of water. Was that what Shizun saw?
Drowned by an illusion. It wasn’t an end befitting a Qing Jing Peak Lord. His fantasies of revenge grew cold. Useless to direct his anger at a non-sentient being.
Luo Binghe extended a hand and let it hover over Shizun’s shoulder, afraid to spook him away. “It’s okay, Shizun. Your Binghe has found you. I’m here, by your side.”
Luo Binghe should have never wasted his time out of the Abyss. Why did he try and ingratiate himself to the Huan Hua Palace Master? If he’d revealed himself earlier, Shizun wouldn’t have gone to the Red Swamp alone. He wouldn’t have been caught in the illusion. He would be standing right now in front of Luo Binghe, warm and joyful and alive.
Instead, he’d died alone.
Luo Binghe could fix his mistakes—he was sure of it. He was going to bring Shizun back. And even if he couldn’t, he was prepared to live in this swamp forever.
Luo Binghe had just finished offering sacrifices and was tending a fire with a pot of congee bubbling over it. Even if Shizun couldn’t eat it, he was determined to keep the pot going so Shizun could fill his belly with something warm when he finally regained his appetite for human food.
Shizun sat on a fallen log, staring at the crackling flames. Gray clouds hung from above and fine frost fell from the heavens, swirling through and around him like a halo. Earlier, he had let Luo Binghe lead him out of the water.
Luo Binghe had combed Shizun’s tangled mass of hair and now it hung in smooth, straight strands that glistened in the firelight. His skin color, the faintest shade of peach, could almost pass for human. Even his green robes were nearly opaque.
“Shizun, are you comfortable there? Aren’t you cold? This disciple has prepared congee to warm Shizun’s stomach. It has less scallions and more ginger than yesterday—maybe it will better suit Shizun’s taste.” He ladled congee into the bowl and pressed a spoonful against Shizun’s mouth. Pale lips parted but didn’t chew, and the congee fell to the ground.
“This disciple is pleased to report significant progress on methods to resurrect the dead.” He scooped another spoonful and brought it to Shizun’s mouth. “It involves a sacred sanctuary at the edge of the Endless Abyss where—”
The fire flickered and Shizun’s form trembled like moonlight over restless waters. The congee slipped from the spoon.
It should have been me falling into the Abyss.
Luo Binghe froze. “Shizun?”
I killed him.
My innocent bun.
He set the bowl down and knelt in front of Shizun, touched the hand on Shizun’s lap. It was clammy and soft, between solid and liquid, yielding to his touch like chilled velvet. He wanted to sink into it, merge himself with Shizun until it was impossible to tell where Luo Binghe ended and Shizun began.
“Do you remember? At the edge of the Abyss?”
That day… is my deepest regret.
Tears sprang to Luo Binghe’s eyes. He’d known, deep down, whom Shizun had been calling for, but he’d never allowed himself to dwell on it. Now, with the truth laid bare and the answer he’d once longed for before him, all he felt was pain—sharp and cutting, where joy should have been.
What I did… was unforgivable.
“Shizun,” Luo Binghe murmured, gazing up at Shizun’s face, his shrouded eyes and blank expression. He raised his hand and cupped Shizun’s pallid cheek. Everything Luo Binghe received from Shizun was a gift. He’d kept the scar from Xiu Ya. Even his fall into the Abyss from Shizun’s hand—how could he be sad or upset, knowing that Shizun regretted it so much he drowned to his death, chasing an illusion?
Shizun had died for Luo Binghe. Chasing a happy dream of them together. His lips cracked into a smile.
“Shizun, there’s nothing to forgive.”
The shroud in Shizun’s eyes cleared, like clouds parting, uncovering the vibrant green of his irises. Color suffused his cheeks. He met Luo Binghe’s eyes and for the first time, he was looking at Binghe, not through him.
“Binghe?”
“Shizun!” Luo Binghe sprang to his feet and cupped Shizun’s face with both hands, gazing into those clear green eyes as if he could drown himself in them, joy surging through his entire being. “You recognize me!”
“Binghe.” His name on Shizun’s lips slid into his ears like the nectar from the gods.
A shaft of light pierced through the clouds like a beacon, casting Shizun in a blinding glow. Before Luo Binghe’s eyes, Shizun began to fade—the color draining from his skin, his eyes, his hair—until his body turned pale and translucent, paler than it had been when he first saw him. He was dissipating, his soul at last leaving the mortal plane to cross into the next.
Panic seized Luo Binghe. He clutched at him, only for his fingers to slip through Shizun’s form like water.
Shizun’s soul had found peace. His lingering regrets had been resolved and he could now move on, drink Meng Po’s soup and be reborn.
But Luo Binghe was selfish. He couldn’t bear to let him go.
“Shizun, don’t leave me.” His voice fractured, tears burning down his cheeks.
“Binghe. I’m sorry.” Shizun’s hand rose to cup his cheek. The touch was like an icy wind, yet to Luo Binghe it was as warm as a spring morning. “Don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you crying.”
“No! Shizun isn’t allowed to leave.”
He pulled the qiankun pouch from where he kept it over his heart and upended it. Pristine white bones clattered on the frozen earth. With shaking fingers, he cast the talisman he’d saved for just this moment over them.
The talisman burned and the blinding light winked out. Color returned to Shizun’s cheeks; his form solidified beneath Luo Binghe’s trembling hands. With a choked sound, Luo Binghe pulled him into a fierce embrace.
When he finally let go, Shizun blinked, his lips curving into a smile, warm like honey and freshly brewed tea pouring into the hollow crevices in his chest. It felt like salvation.
“Wherever Binghe wants to go, this master shall follow.”
Above, the clouds parted and sunlight spilled down, melting the ice and frost.