Chapter Forty-One: Vanished Without a Trace

At first, she seemed to shy away, but in the end, she still yielded to me.

Her compliance emboldened me. In that moment, I even forgot that she and I belonged to separate worlds, one living, one dead. Like a starving wolf, I threw myself upon her.

She fell back onto the red wedding bed and made no attempt to resist.

I had thought that, since she was a ghost, her form would be insubstantial, impossible to touch. Yet, to my surprise, when I touched her, aside from the chill of her body, she felt no different from a living person.

But just as I was about to kiss her, she suddenly raised her hand and stopped me.

She looked at me, and I looked back at her. The air between us became awkward, tinged with subtle tension. There was something off in her expression, making me realize she was troubled.

I took a deep breath and had no choice but to stop.

Then she sat up, lifted her hand, and pressed her middle finger to the center of my forehead. I had no idea what she intended, but I did not resist. All I felt was a cool sensation blooming between my brows. For reasons unknown, a wave of clarity and chill swept through my mind, and in an instant, all my earlier desires faded away.

My vision blurred; when it cleared, I saw Wei Yang sitting before me, her clothes neat and untouched. The scene that had just unfolded felt as if it had been nothing more than an illusion or a dream, something that had never really happened.

How could this be?

“Lin Yi, I am a spirit. If I ignore all consequences and consummate our union, I fear I will drain your vitality and damage your very essence. So tonight, all I can give you is a dream. Before dawn tomorrow, I must leave.” Her voice was cold, yet laced with an undercurrent of apology.

I had not expected that, having just married, she would leave so soon. If that were the case, would our marriage not be a mere formality, empty of substance?

“Did you not say you wished for the heart of one, to grow old and never part?” I pressed her.

“Now is not the time. It would bring you harm,” she replied, a slight furrow in her brow.

“I’m not afraid!” I retorted, my words tinged with anger and resentment. If she truly left on our wedding night, I did not know how I could ever face her again.

“Lin Yi, this is the last chance. I am afraid,” she whispered, her tone earnest and sincere.

I could not understand what she meant by “the last chance.” But those final words—I am afraid—shook me. I had never once imagined she could feel fear. From the very first time I met her, she had always appeared so bold and unflinching; I believed there was nothing she could not do, nothing that could frighten her. Those two words pierced the deepest part of my heart. She was still a woman, and she, too, could feel fear.

So I knew then that I could not refuse her departure.

“What do you mean, the last chance?” I sighed and asked.

“You will understand, in time,” she answered.

I nodded and lay back, not knowing what else to say. Perhaps I was truly exhausted, for before I knew it, I drifted off to sleep.

That night was like a dream, misty and unreal, both true and false. When I awoke, the bed beside me was empty. The night still lingered, yet she sat before the mirror, arranging her hair.

I watched her back in silence, wanting only to observe her quietly, though I did not know how much longer I would be able to do so. When she finally turned, I asked, “Are you leaving?”

She nodded slightly; I could not tell if she was reluctant.

“Will we see each other again?” I asked.

“Of course,” she replied.

“How?” I pressed.

“Beneath the Nameless Stele.”

I nodded, comforted somewhat. At least, she was only returning to Old Graveslope and not leaving me forever. So, if I wished to see her, I could go there.

I approached and fastened the pair of vermilion hairpins on her. She said softly, “I will come to see you as well.”

Then she pushed open the door. At the threshold, she turned and said, “Lin Yi, Old Graveslope will soon be thrown into greater upheaval than before. When the winds rise and the clouds gather, you must protect yourself.”

“And you, protect yourself, too!” I replied. Wei Yang would not have said such things lightly; she must have known something. I guessed that her departure was connected to the coming turmoil.

She nodded and walked off into the depths of the night.

I stood stunned for a moment, chasing her to the gate and looking out, but she was already gone.

When I returned, my grandfather was coming out of the house. He asked, “Wei Yang has left?”

I nodded, not wanting to speak further.

“Lin Yi, Wei Yang is a good girl. She has her reasons for leaving you.” Clearly, my grandfather had overheard our conversation.

“I know, Grandpa. I’m all right.”

Though I understood that she had to go, my heart was still heavy with loss.

Grandfather led me to sit by the stone table. “Don’t worry. I actually know where your wife lives. If you truly miss her, perhaps you can go there and find her.”

“She told me we could meet beneath the Nameless Stele,” I said.

Grandfather waved dismissively. “Haven’t you noticed she always rides a white horse when she comes to see you? That means where she lives is still some distance from Old Graveslope. There’s a place in Old Boundary Ridge called the Thirteen Streams of Cloud Dream—she’s always lived there.”

All my life, I had never crossed Old Graveslope, due to the taboos, so I had no idea what lay beyond it.

So when my grandfather mentioned the Thirteen Streams of Cloud Dream, my curiosity was piqued. Why did Wei Yang live there? Was it a paradise, a haven apart from the world?

I even imagined her sleeping beneath an old peach tree in a grove of blossoms. As I daydreamed, Grandfather suddenly asked, “Do you know why our village is called Old Boundary Ridge Village?”

“Because those distant mountains are called Old Boundary Ridge.”

“And do you know why the mountain itself bears that name?” he pressed.

I shook my head. Grandfather said, “I once read it in the old county records. There are two explanations for the name. The first is quite legendary: they say that when Pangu split heaven and earth, he left behind a place where sky and earth met—hence the ‘Old Boundary’ between them. Of course, that’s a bit far-fetched. The other explanation is more grounded: this is the watershed of the Three Rivers’ dragon veins, the dividing line of the river’s vital energy. Do you know where this ridge ends?”

“Where?” I asked, intrigued.

“White Dragon Pool,” Grandfather uttered.

I knew White Dragon Pool—it was the vast lake beside the Baiqing Temple. When I’d visited the temple, the village shamaness had told me of the legend of the White Dragon Pool: they said a white dragon was once suppressed beneath those waters.

Grandfather now mentioned that tale as well, though, as with many legends, the truth was hard to discern. Sometimes, such stories are simply conjured up to enhance the reputation of the nearby temple.

The next day, I went to Old Graveslope, driven by curiosity about the Thirteen Streams of Cloud Dream after Grandfather mentioned it. I even felt as if he had deliberately told me of that place, urging me to explore its secret. Deep down, I sensed I had some connection to it, for I too had come from the depths of Old Boundary Ridge as a child.

Grandfather had not explained much about the Thirteen Streams of Cloud Dream, nor did he know the way. When I crossed Old Graveslope, I was taken aback.

The landscape was nothing like I had imagined—no precipitous cliffs or breathtaking sights. Beyond Old Graveslope was just an ordinary mountain ravine, nothing remarkable at all.

None of the gullies seemed worthy of the grand name “Thirteen Streams of Cloud Dream.”

The whole day passed fruitlessly, and in the end I had to return the way I had come.

As I passed through the communal fields near the village, nearly home, I suddenly spotted a few hazy, indistinct figures on the village road ahead.

Given my recent experiences, I instantly grew wary. I had a strong premonition that these figures were not of the living.

They blocked the main road into the village. I had no choice but to take a side path to avoid unnecessary trouble. Fortunately, I encountered nothing unusual along the small path. When I got home, intending to tell Grandfather about this strange occurrence, I found he was nowhere to be found.

I searched the house, but there was no trace of him.

Thinking he might be at Niu Dahuang’s place, I went there, but that house, too, was eerily quiet, not a soul present.

Not just my home and Niu Dahuang’s—the neighboring houses were equally deserted. It was as if everyone in the village had vanished into thin air.

At that moment, I heard hoofbeats approaching from the road.

Instinctively, I turned and saw several dark shapes, mounted on pitch-black horses, heading my way. As they rode, they seemed to be searching for something.

I immediately hid myself and held my breath.

When they drew near, I saw that these riders had ashen faces, their bodies mottled with corpse spots, eye sockets sunken, lips black as ink. At their waists hung bronze chains with barbed hooks.

Their appearance bore a certain resemblance to that of the traveling peddler I had seen before.

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