Chapter Eighty-Four: The River God's Wedding

I answered, but Wei Yang had already left, and there was no response from her.

After Wei Yang departed, Madam Bai asked me, “Just now, I heard Miss Ye address you as her husband. Has the Master already married Miss Ye?”

“Yes, Wei Yang and I are married,” I replied.

“It seems Miss Ye was right—this lifetime is indeed different,” Madam Bai said. I asked her, “In what way is it different?”

She confessed, “To be honest, in every previous life, it was always you, Master, who owed her. Not to mention marriage, you never even gave her a promise. Yet Miss Ye has never given up, never reincarnated, always waiting faithfully for you. Master, in this life, you must not fail her!”

I nodded, though I could not understand why the Master had never given Wei Yang any promise. I asked Madam Bai whether it was because the Master harbored no feelings for her.

Madam Bai shook her head. “It was not for lack of feeling, but because you loved her too deeply, yet were powerless to act. Master, do you remember the ancestral seat of our Ghost Sect?”

I shook my head, for I certainly did not know, nor had I ever heard of the ancestral seat of the Ghost Sect.

“Our ancestral ground is Penglai Island in the Eastern Sea, where your own spiritual sanctuary stands—Weiyang Palace. So, Master, you should understand the place Miss Ye holds in your heart.”

“Penglai Island’s Weiyang Palace?” I repeated inwardly, the name stirring something in my memory. In those distant days, the Ghost Sect’s Master had named his sacred ground after Wei Yang, underscoring her importance in his heart.

“Master, it is late. You should rest,” Madam Bai reminded me.

Truthfully, I was indeed tired. It was already past two in the morning. I nodded and returned to my room, while Madam Bai, still seeking redemption, continued kneeling in the courtyard. I pitied her, but she remained unyielding.

Her words had overturned everything I thought I knew. I was not unfamiliar with tales of Penglai Island in the Eastern Sea. My grandfather had told me stories: in Qin times, Xu Fu sailed east to Penglai Island in search of the elixir of immortality, yet never returned, and the First Emperor died on his southern tour. Of course, these were legends—childhood tales my grandfather told to amuse me—yet now Madam Bai spoke of the place as real. According to her, Penglai Island exists, and it is the ancestral ground of the Ghost Sect, with Weiyang Palace as the Ghost Master’s sacred sanctuary.

After returning to my room, I asked Niu Dahuang whether he knew of these things. He confirmed the Ghost Sect’s existence but said he knew nothing of Penglai Island. Furthermore, he added, “There’s something I can’t figure out. Your grandfather was a true mountain god, appointed by the heavens—a disciple of the Immortal Way, traditionally an enemy of the Ghost Sect. Yet all these years, he’s plotted on your behalf. I don’t know why.”

“You say my grandfather was a disciple of the Immortal Way?” I asked. The revelation shocked me as much as Madam Bai’s earlier disclosures.

“That’s right. If he hadn’t been a disciple of the Immortal Way, he would never have been made the true god of the Old Boundary Mountains,” Niu Dahuang explained. I asked if he, too, was a disciple of the Immortal Way. He chuckled. “How could that be? Your grandfather only taught me a few tricks. Even my position as the temple steward was granted by him.”

We chatted a bit more before each going to sleep.

That night, I had a strange dream.

Once again, I dreamed of the elder nun from Baiqing Temple. At first, she appeared in her familiar form, but then, seemingly angered, she transformed into a massive white dragon, winding through the black clouds for miles.

She spanned the heavens, exuding a majestic, unyielding presence, looking down upon the earth.

“Why have you broken your promise?” she demanded.

It was true—I had promised her I would stop investigating my own origins. But everything had unfolded beyond my control.

“If you break your promise, you will invite mortal peril!” she warned.

I asked why, but she would not answer.

After a moment, she resumed her elder’s form, came close to me, sighed with a worried expression, and said, “It seems that what must come will come. This is fate—beyond the power of men.”

I wanted to ask more, but suddenly she transformed again into that white dragon, soared into the sky, and after weaving through the clouds, dove down and disappeared into a mountain pool in the distance.

The elder nun from Baiqing Temple was indeed the white dragon of the Dragon Pool. Her words left me heavy-hearted.

Would mortal peril really come for me?

Upon waking, I pondered the dream and asked Niu Dahuang whether fate truly existed. He smiled and replied, “Whether fate exists is up to interpretation. What do you think?”

His words were profound.

If one does nothing, fate is fixed; if one acts, the world becomes unpredictable, and nothing is truly predetermined.

Still, I could not fathom why the white dragon had aided me, disguising herself repeatedly as the elder nun. I could not believe it was simply to deliver souls. Surely, there was more to it.

During the day, Niu Dahuang and I stayed at the Bai family’s old residence, preparing for what was to come.

When night fell, we left together. Before departing, I summoned Madam Bai. I instructed her to hide the Ghost Sect’s followers along both banks of the White River. The Ma family elders rarely appeared; tonight was the perfect chance to eliminate them.

“We await your command, Master!” Madam Bai said, bowing.

I nodded, and Niu Dahuang and I discussed our plan for the River God’s wedding, knowing that much would have to be improvised. I asked Madam Bai if she knew what was suppressed by the Nine Dragon Formation.

She replied that she did not. The nine stone bridges had always been there; the Bai ancestors had only repaired and reinforced them, not built the formation originally. So the Bai family did not know what was buried beneath.

There were many rumors: some said it was a Dragon King punished by heaven, others claimed a thousand-year corpse king. One thing was sure—it was no properly appointed river deity.

Legend had it that the Nine Dragon Formation had been laid by the White River’s original river god, but the formation was so powerful that, upon its completion, even the river god perished, sacrificed to the array.

But these were only stories; the truth remained unknown.

Once Madam Bai’s three thousand followers were in place, she concealed herself in a wooden tower overlooking the river, from where she could survey both banks.

Niu Dahuang and I set off to investigate the Ma family.

It was past ten at night. Ordinarily, by this hour, Baichiao Town’s lights would be extinguished. But tonight, the riverbanks were ablaze with lanterns, bright as day.

From the Ma family’s house, the festivities extended all along the way, with music and celebration everywhere.

Beneath the dazzling lights and joyful melodies, it seemed the townsfolk had forgotten the grim truth—that one hundred children had been chosen as sacrificial soul-brides and grooms. They called it a happy occasion, but in fact, at midnight, it would become those children’s death sentence. Ma family’s influence was everywhere. I saw a couple weeping, only to be beaten by one of Ma’s wandering priests.

The Ma men shouted that tonight was the River God’s wedding—a day of great joy. Anyone caught weeping would be thrown into the river as an offering.

I clenched my fists. No wonder everyone wore forced smiles. They were compelled to feign happiness, even as their own children faced death.

Niu Dahuang stopped me. “Yi Wa, don’t tip them off,” he warned.

I nodded. The wedding had not yet begun; any rash action would ruin our plan and jeopardize our chance to destroy the Ma family.

We kept to the shadows as we proceeded. Sadly, scenes like that were all too common. Fortunately, they had not yet begun throwing people into the river, or I could not have stood by.

We made our way to the Ma residence and hid nearby.

After half an hour, the Ma family’s gates opened. The blare of suona horns, drums, and firecrackers erupted. The wedding procession numbered in the hundreds. Among them, I saw Wang the Spirit Medium, dressed in the attire of a village shaman—a long robe of black and red, a hat woven from calamus and willow, a red scarf in her hand. She danced and gestured before the bridal sedan.

Seeing her unharmed, I was somewhat relieved.

Behind her was an ornate bridal sedan, carried by eight burly men, swaying as it moved. The sedan was tightly sealed; the bride inside could not be seen.

All the Ma family elders and younger generations followed in the procession.

I remembered what Madam Bai had told me: the Ma family now had eight elders. Ma Zhenxing, the eldest, was the clan’s chief elder; Ma Zhenhai, the youngest, the most junior. Elders were chosen for their influence as much as their power. Ma Zhenxing’s status derived from his authority, not his cultivation, though after his resurrection from the White River, that had perhaps changed.

Ma Zhenhai, whom I had left bleeding from every orifice at the Bai residence, had also returned from death, no doubt having learned some secret art from Ma Zhenxing’s river ordeal. His current strength was unknown.

The remaining elders were of little consequence, save for one—the fifth elder, whom Madam Bai had especially cautioned me about.