Chapter Fifty-One: Ferryman of the River of Forgetfulness

Faced with such a terrifying scene, how could I possibly sit still? But just as I was about to get up and run, the two women each took one of my arms, holding me firmly in place.

“Sir, what are you doing?” they asked.

I ignored them. Anyone less experienced than I would have been scared half to death by now. I tried to break free, but their grip tightened until it felt as though I had fallen into an icy abyss; a cold wind swirled around my body, leaving me completely immobilized.

“Let me go! I’m not going!” I insisted.

“Why would you say that, sir? Have we not looked after you well enough? Besides, this is the Yellow Springs Road out there—if you won’t ride in the sedan, do you intend to walk down the Yellow Springs Road on your own?” one of the ghostly women retorted, her tone mocking and strange.

Once you set foot on the Yellow Springs Road, you’re as good as dead.

It seemed I’d been tricked. If I left the sedan, I would have to walk the Yellow Springs Road; if I stayed, I was going to meet the King of the Underworld. Why hadn’t I thought this through earlier?

“Don’t worry, sir. Once we cross the Bridge of Forgetfulness, it won’t be long before we reach the Hall of Yama. If you’re bored, I can keep you company and answer any questions you may have,” the ghost woman offered with a seductive smile that was unsettling in its charm.

I shuddered, goosebumps prickling my skin. Still, I found myself curious—what was this so-called Little Underworld all about?

I asked her, and she replied that the Little Underworld was just that, having no connection with the Underworld I knew. There was no need for me to worry. Then I asked, why did it still have a Yellow Springs Road and Bridge of Forgetfulness?

She explained that even though the Little Underworld was small, it had all its essential features: the Yellow Springs Road, the Bridge of Forgetfulness, the Hall of Yama, and the River of Oblivion.

After we traveled for a while, a bridge appeared ahead. At its head stood a stone stele carved with three characters: Bridge of Forgetfulness. But when I glanced up, I didn’t see the Lady Meng.

I asked why Lady Meng wasn’t on the bridge.

The woman smiled. “This is not a place for the dead to cross, so there’s no need for Lady Meng to stand guard.” I asked then, what does the Little Underworld ferry, if not the dead?

She replied, “The living, of course.”

About half an hour later, the black sedan finally stopped before a gloomy grand hall. Inside, cold blue candlelight flickered, giving off no warmth.

“Mountain God, Lord Yama is waiting for you,” said the woman beside me, gesturing for me to enter. I looked up at the plaque above the hall, which indeed read “Hall of Yama.” Yet outside, there were no ghostly guards.

I stepped inside; the hall was empty, white banners fluttered everywhere, and ghost money spiraled through the air on the chilling drafts.

No sooner had I crossed the threshold than the great doors closed behind me with a creak.

“Who goes there?” echoed a voice throughout the hall. I looked around but saw no one.

“The Mountain God of the Old Realm Ridge, Lin Yi,” I replied. For now, the only identity I could use was the one borrowed from my grandfather.

The voice sneered, “You dare call yourself a Mountain God just because you hold the Mountain God’s Token?”

I hadn’t expected this so-called King of the Underworld to see through me so quickly. Still, I didn’t intend to dwell on that. Since I was here, I needed to ask about the tomb. So, I got straight to the point and asked where the tomb was.

“Everyone who comes here seeks that tomb. But if you want to know its location, you must leave your life behind. Are you willing?” he asked.

“If I have to give up my life, wouldn’t I already be dead? What use would knowing the tomb’s location be to me then?” I retorted.

“Not so. That tomb holds great fortune and opportunity. If you can seize it, what does one life matter?” His voice drew nearer, and when I turned, I saw a shadow floating behind me, dressed in black robes, his face hidden.

So this was the infamous King of the Underworld? He was nothing like I’d imagined.

Instinctively, I inched away. He chuckled. “Why, are you not willing to risk your life? All who dare come here are brave.”

Indeed, I wondered—if I gained this opportunity but lost my life, could I still be the one Weiyang is waiting for? But there was no turning back now. If I clung to my life, I’d never gain that chance, nor ever escape this place. Compared to that, even if I lost my life, at least I could save my grandfather, and perhaps see Weiyang one last time.

So I gritted my teeth and made up my mind.

“Very well. If it must be so, take my life!” I declared.

“Truly courageous,” he said, then pressed his fingertip to my brow. Black smoke flowed from his finger, and I felt something being stripped from within me—my strength drained away, my mind grew hollow.

Suddenly, I seemed to forget many things. How could this be?

But at that moment, there was a loud crash—the King of the Underworld screamed and was hurled backward, barely managing to steady himself.

He looked at his hand and asked, “Why can’t I take your life?”

Indeed, the emptiness vanished instantly. He seemed to be pondering, then looked at me again. “Could it be—you are that very life?”

“What life?” I asked.

“The secrets of fate cannot be spoken!” he declared, then continued, “You wish to find the tomb, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You are an exception; you need not leave your life behind.” I hadn’t expected him to give up so easily. Whatever the reason, I was running out of time—I needed to find that tomb as quickly as possible. So I pressed him, “In that case, where is the tomb?”

“It is on the River of Oblivion. The Ferryman there will give you clues. If he asks whether you are ferrying the living or the dead, answer: the living. If you answer wrongly, he will drown you in the river, and that would be a shame.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Ghost maidens, escort this lord to the River of Oblivion ferry,” commanded Yama. The doors creaked open, and the shadowy figure had vanished.

Outside, the black sedan awaited, the two ghost women seated on either side. The talkative one remarked, “In a thousand years of the Little Underworld, few have entered the Hall of Yama and come out alive. You are the second.”

I asked her, “Who was the first?”

She said the first should still be at the bottom of the River of Oblivion; no one knew who he was—perhaps the Ferryman did.

I wondered if it was the one Weiyang was waiting for—the one who had promised to return but was drowned by the Ferryman.

But that was only my guess.

The sedan swayed as it traveled on. When I began to catch the metallic scent of blood, it finally stopped. After I stepped out, I saw a stretch of water ahead, its surface a ghastly yellow, utterly still but for the constant bloody wind. The water seemed boundless, its source and destination unknown.

The ghost woman led me to the ferry and then left.

So I sat at the dock, waiting for the Ferryman of Oblivion.

Then, from a distance, I heard an old man singing. Looking out over the water, I saw him—at first a mere speck, but soon his black-canopied boat was just tens of meters away.

“Young man, do you want to cross?” he asked.

The old man wore a black rain cloak and a black bamboo hat. At a distance, I could not see his face clearly.

Before I could answer, he brought the boat to the shore. Now I saw him better—just an ordinary old boatman, no different from those on rivers in the world of the living.

“Young man, are you ferrying the living or the dead?” he asked in his raspy old voice.

“The living,” I replied, as Yama had instructed.

But the Ferryman burst out laughing. “This is the River of Oblivion—how could there be any ferrying of the living?”

Yama had not told me how to answer this. I thought for a moment and said, “Sir, whether the living can cross depends on who you are ferrying, doesn’t it?”

The old man smiled, stroked his white beard, and said, “You’re a bold one. Come aboard. The ferry hasn’t carried a living soul in ages—a single trip today will do no harm.”

With that, I climbed aboard.

“Sit tight,” the old Ferryman warned. I gripped the gunwale, and the boat rocked as it moved into the depths of the River of Oblivion. Soon, the dock vanished behind us in the shrouding mist.

After a while, the Ferryman asked, “Young man, do you know why this river is called the River of Oblivion?”

When I was young, my grandfather often told ghost stories, and I remembered that the River of Oblivion was said to make you forget the past so you could begin anew and re-enter the cycle of reincarnation.

I explained this, but the Ferryman only smiled. “It’s not about forgetting, but about letting go. If you wish to gain something, you must be prepared to give something up.”

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